#after 3 years of trying to rebuild his life and regain normality and happiness (at least what he thought would give him happiness).

[cannibalovers]

jack coming back, showing pics of the crime scene to will AND molly, pressuring him to come back and molly telling him that she would be satisfied knowing he did the right thing and that he should go and Will actually going made me actually shed a tear.

#at the scene where he started to act as dolarhyde and kill the family #specifically during shooting the kids #THAT made me lose it #i get justice #everybody wants justice #especially if it means saving families #but jack tell me why are u coming back to an agent that u wouldn't even give the title of an agent to cuz he was too unstable for the field #and got mentally destroyed by this job and so he quit and doesn't wanna come fucking back #after 3 years of trying to rebuild his life and regain normality and happiness (at least what he thought would give him happiness). #all thrown out the fucking window #GO HIRE MORE PEOPLE THAT U WILL GIVE MORE RESPECT TO INSTEAD FFS #THERES A LOT OF PASSIONATE PPL THAT WILL HELP SOLVE THE CRIMES #WILL ISNT THE ONLY PERSON IN THE WORLD #MARIAM FOR EXAMPLE EXISTS HOW COME HE LEFT HER ALONE or at least thats what was implied #anyway<3 #as much as will wasn't truly happy so technically it was for the good to yk return to hannibal someone he felt truly understood by #and complete with #still. seeing him give up that carefully crafted (although full of lies) life that he thought would make him happy was SO heartbreaking #but perhaps he wanted to do it and needed the push? #ok rant over #nbc hannibal #will graham #text post #my post

[treechangeseachange]

The return

It’s coming up to 3 months since we returned to our block and it took us 8 weeks to slow down. On the weekend we slowed down we enjoyed the first official Friday night catch up with our neighbours as the full moon rose. On Saturday we went out for brunch. No sport on Sunday morning meant a sleep in. I played handball with my boys for the first time ever in my life. Lamb shanks slow cooked on the wood heater. We squeezed in a late Sunday afternoon fishing trip. It took us 8 weeks to find some calm. We had forgotten how to do normal. I haven’t written for this blog since um wow December?! My leisure time since then has been extremely limited and when it occurred I prioritised my mental wellbeing and sleep.

This journey has brought me to the edge of my psychological and physical limitations. I watched my husband do a terminator style non stop renovation while trying also to commence a rebuild. His promises to take time off over Christmas dwindled to 2 days. There was so much to do. I helped with whatever jobs I was able to and then focussed on the household and occasionally, our boys. Midway through January this year we realised trying to work on both the renovation and the rebuild was insanity. The local real-estate market was booming. Post COVID, Sydney city dwellers realised they could put in a few days in the city then work from their coastal holiday pad the rest of the week. We decided to get our investment property, come bushfire haven, onto the market before the summer ended. We mapped out each remaining job and the days required to accomplish them. We calculated selling time, settlement time and remaining bank balance. What were need to do’s and what were optional extras. If everything went to plan, we could pay to get some work done at the block and make it habitable enough to move into. It was an extreme test of time, energy and resources.

It worked. We listed by the end of February, sold in three weeks and settled five weeks after settlement. I write that all in one glib sentence. Of course all of that only happened with considerable focus and effort. Life for the boys was hectic. 99% of their toys were packed and moved into storage weeks before the house went on the market. As the house neared completion we stressed about them damaging something. When the house was on the market we stressed about them getting things dirty - the walls, the windows or the cupboards. I banished them from the bathroom, they had to brush teeth in the laundry and shower outside. Luckily it was warm and didn’t rain much in those few weeks! Anyone who has sold a house while living in it knows how painful open homes are. The logistics and effort of cleaning and styling, while working full time from home, scheduling everything between work appointments, getting the dog out of the way and the boys to school, nearly broke me. Thankfully the selling process was short, but we packed a lot of opens into that time and by the end of it all, I had become a shouty, grouchy mum and wife. It was also a real highlight to hit menopause and bring some phenomenal hormonal energy into the mix. Phew.

Before we packed up and left I was lucky enough to have a week away with the boys. My fully wired self hit Melbs and my family gave me refuge and forgave my intensity. We managed some fun and the change of scenery was a big relief. Husband, however, stayed behind to work on the temporary shed home. Holiday behind me, I returned to packup and clean and polish the house for the financial return of our lives. Literally.

Can you then imagine our triumphant and spectacular return to our block bathed in happiness and light? Um well perhaps instead picture this - we arrived exhausted to an unpowered, work in progress temporary residence in the middle of a mice plague and endured 200ml of heavy rain in four days leaving us surrounded by mud. Happy to catch the rain in our tank? I wish! The new tank leaked 8000L the week before we moved, and only our neighbour’s spare tank loan meant we had any water at all. But being so small, it overflowed and made even more mud. The heavy rain was so loud on the tin roof it frequently woke the kids in the night (who then woke us), mice ran across the floor, huntsmen spiders dropped from the ceiling. With nowhere really to unpack things, cooking became like the biggest ever memory game, which box were the bowls in? Where did I pack the cutlery? The rain delayed our solar power install so for 10 days we lived out of an esky and by torchlight. We both kept working full time, getting the boys to school, after school sport commitments and then husband kept building after he got home and into the night. After a week of stress and chaos we knew something had to give, fortunately husband could take time off work to focus on our build and family life.

Fast forward to now. The financial pressure of the summer has eased. The temporary living quarters are functional and steadily improving. We have a beautiful wood heater. Our off grid solar system is powering us even during these short winter days. I have more kitchen cupboards than ever before, plus a dishwasher! I have hung up my clothes in a full wardrobe for the first time in nearly four years. The boys each have clean new wardrobes. Their separate rooms are still being built so they are in what will be our room which is insulated and wall paneled. We can cope with an outside shower and toilet. My husband is a legend.

What’s it like actually being back? I confess I was nervous about my own and the boys emotions. Eldest son is extremely happy to be back. Youngest son has taken time to adjust but that has more been due to his fear of the dark. The noises of the bush are unfamiliar and there are no streetlights out here! There has only been one time where a prebushfire memory overwhelmed me. Every person’s bushfire experience and recovery is unique. Unlike many others we are fortunate have the opportunity to not have to build on the exact footprint of the old place and I think this is psychologically helpful. It’s not the same space, and with some trees dead and gone the landscape is altered, its a slightly different perspective. The boys are older now, so our lifestyle is different too. Slowly we are finding a new rhythm on our land. The boys are absolutely loving being back on their bikes on bush tracks.

I was excited to resume my morning walks, although maybe not as excited the dog! He’s happy to have his off-lead roam again. But the first week of walking I found tough, the burnt and recovering state forest I traverse didn’t bring me the joy it used to. In the heavily logged areas where only isolated saplings were left unlogged, they couldn’t survive the heat of the fire or they didn’t have community trees to share nutrients through their roots to support recovery. The undergrowth is now the canopy and is booming with all the extra sunlight but when I look at it, all I see is fire hazard. Then as the weeks went by, my view softened, I recognise the bush is healing like me. I am appreciating small wonders of nature. A spider’s web highlighted with morning dew or the fascination of new plants thriving. There are trees that have fully recovered, others seem to be doing well, and there is much green in the landscape to enjoy.

On my morning walk I also see which animals are about in the night from what they leave behind. There is at least one very busy wombat! We see wallabies reasonably often and last week one morning I found big roo prints in the clay right near our place. We hear a boobook owl calling most nights and more frogs chirping croaking from the gully than I ever remember. Which now makes sense, we definitely were in drought for some years prior to the fires and the creek has this year been running for months. Less exciting is hearing foxes at night, my son especially dislikes their eerie calls. In daytime the bird life is altered. We are down to one lyrebird, there used to be two with adjacent territories battling loudly with their extraordinary mimicry. But at least there is one, how a ground bird survived I can’t imagine. The yellow robins aren’t around us now, we have wrens in the cleared spaces and in the lush shrubs busy brown gerygones dart and chirp. A shrike thrush has made a nest in our bushfire remains pile, her song is piercing and wonderful. Rarely are the yellow crested black cockatoos here now. This past weekend we did see two circling wedge tailed eagles the silent assassins of the sky wheeling high over the gully with that phenomenal wingspan.

Surprisingly my greatest source of happiness in these first few months being back has come from the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, the sky feels bigger in the bush. I’m loving the late winter sunrises. My very favourite time is just after the sun has risen when the horizontal sun rays set tops of the trees bright orange. Those are magical minutes of golden tinged trees. The sunsets. The stars. The moon. the sky has been a revelation and a source of happiness. Maybe because I’m spending more time outside I notice it more. Seeing glittering stars through the steam of a hot outdoor shower makes the cold walk inside completely worth it!

Slowly I am regaining my sense of gratitude for this place. The quiet. The privilege of not seeing another house. Having no curtains and that not mattering. Not worrying about noise and neighbours. Lack of street lights at night.

All of a sudden things aren’t hectic and we are settling in. It still amazes me after 6 moves in 5 years how intense moving is and then how imperceptibly things transition to not being new anymore. Normalcy sneaks up on me every time. Clearly this isn’t really normal but we’re enjoying this new start in our old place.

#treechange #seachange #nswbushfires #recovery #offgrid

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 2: Chapter 9

Harry comes home: July 2016

Word count: 2.4k

Fair warning, I know absolutely nothing about prosthetics and I've made all of this up, especially all the new tech that Tony and Peter have designed.

The song Louis and Rori write in this chapter is Turn The Lights Down by Cavalcade

SkyFire 2 MASTERLIST

>Instagram posts

A week before Harry was expected home, Louis was still staying with them and he accompanied Aurora as she stepped into her fathers’ workshop.

“JARVIS said you needed me,” she said when they stepped through the glass door.

“We’re ready for testing,” Peter announced excitedly, gesturing to the prototype hand he had been helping Tony to build for the last few months.

“I haven’t met with a prosthetist yet,” Aurora pointed out. “Not sure I’m meant to be trying anything on yet.”

“No need,” Tony explained. “We just want to test out the neural connection to see if you can operate it.”

Aurora nodded in understanding, Peter having excitedly explained some of the science to her weeks ago. She hadn’t really understood most of what he’d said but she’d been able to grasp the basics. She swept her hair out of the way, allowing Tony to slip an electronic device around her left ear that looked a little like a hearing aid without the part that went in the ear itself.

“What is that thing?” Louis asked, watching on with interest.

“Normally the way the body works is that the brain sends a message down the spine to tell certain muscles to move. This device will pick up on that neural message and convert it into an electronic signal,” Tony explained, oversimplifying a process that had taken him and Peter months to design. “If we’ve got this right, that signal will be picked up by the prosthetic and move the hand.”

“So, you’re saying that Rori will be able to use the prosthetic hand just like it was connected to her and part of her body?” Louis asked, his voice laced with awe in the face of something he would have thought only possible in science fiction.

“That’s the idea,” Tony replied. “We want to avoid fusing the prosthetic to the skeleton like Bucky’s is. This way will be a lot less invasive and less painful.”

“Two things I am all for,” Aurora joked, attempting to shake off her own nerves.

“Ready?” Tony asked.

“Yep,” she said. “What do I do?”

Tony tapped away at his tablet for a brief moment, monitoring the connection between the device on her ear and the prototype hand. “Ok,” he finally said. “The transmitter is sitting correctly and it’s picking up everything. Rori, I want you to close your eyes and try to clench your left hand into a fist.”

Aurora followed her father’s instructions and the three men held their breath; the prosthetic on the table in front of her didn’t move. “Did it work?”

“Not yet,” Tony said. “It might be easier if you try to do this with both hands, just to give you something physical to focus on. Try to make a fist with both hands.”

They all watched as the fingers on her right hand curled up to form a fist, again the prosthetic remained unmoving. They continued on for another 20 minutes, trying different things to no avail.

“I don’t get it,” Peter huffed. “The device is picking up all the correct signals, but nothing’s working.”

“It’s not the device,” Tony replied. “Aurora’s spent the last 10 months not moving her left hand. Before the amputation her brain spent 6 months teaching itself not to move it because it used to cause pain. We need to train her brain to rebuild those pathways.”

Louis had been watching on in silence, not wanting to interrupt. Without a word he stood up and left the workshop. Everyone watched him go, confused by his abruptness. “I guess he’s not very patient,” Peter mumbled. “Don’t worry Aurora, we’ll work this out.”

She smiled back at him. “I know you will Pete.”

Louis returned a few minutes later, carrying the keyboard from the recording studio down the hall. “What about trying this?” he asked, placing it in front of Aurora. “You’ve been playing for over a decade. If your brain needs to remember how to use both hands, it knows how to play. You could do this with your eyes closed.”

“Louis, you’re a genius!” Tony exclaimed, smiling broadly.

“I’ve been trying to tell her that for years,” Louis joked, elbowing Aurora in the side. She laughed loudly, the tension leaving her body.

“Alright kiddo,” Tony said, turning back to his daughter. “Wanna play us something?”

She placed her right hand over the keys, the stump of her left arm resting on the table as if the ghost of her hand was also extended towards the keyboard. She took a deep shaking breath and began to play. At first it was disorientating; in her head she was playing both the left and right hand of the piece but only half of the notes were actually being played. She pushed through the discomfort, focusing on visualising her left hand dancing across the keys. She knew she’d done it when Peter let out an ecstatic whoop. She looked away from the keyboard to watch in fascination as the fingers of the prototype twitched and bent as if playing. A wide grin split across her face and tears spilt down her cheeks, her hand faltering, the song stuttering as she watched the prosthetic move.

“Holy shit,” she murmured. “You did it. Dad, you did it!”

She launched herself from her seat and into Tony arms, hugging him tightly as she cried. “I knew you would but oh my god. I’m really going to be able to play again. I’m going to get my life back. Thank you.”

xXx

By the time Harry returned to New York the following week, Aurora, Peter and Tony had conducted many more tests and work had begun on creating a wearable version of the prototype so that it would be ready when Aurora met with her prosthetists in a few weeks’ time. As a result, she had been in an excellent mood, one that was contagious, bringing smiles to the faces of all the residents in the tower. The mood was instantly apparent to Harry when he finally arrived at the tower, thanking Happy for the lift before taking the elevator up to the penthouse. Since Aurora had always enjoyed surprising Harry by arriving unexpectedly or earlier than planned, he had told her he was arriving the following day, and so he dropped his bags in the living room before going  in search of her. Steve was in the kitchen when Harry arrived, they hugged briefly, and Steve welcomed him back before directing Harry downstairs to where he found Rori in the recording studio with Louis. He smiled as he watched them together. Louis was sat on the sofa playing his guitar as Aurora danced around the studio singing.

Turn the lights down We're gonna shut it out Close your eyes now We won't know tomorrow Only one night No one's gonna see you here No one's gonna hear you clear

Harry continued to watch as Louis added his own voice to Aurora’s, the sound of a piano playing out of the speakers in the ceiling, clearly something they’d recorded earlier.

I saw you walking through the street Street lights bright on your misery Stumble down falling from your feet No one understands you

Louis stopped playing when he spotted Harry watching them, a grin lighting up his face and drawing Aurora’s attention. The next line of the song died in her throat when she saw him, rushing across the room to jump into his arms. The piano track continued to play in the background as he lifted her into the air, spinning them around as he kissed her.

“I missed you so much,” she murmured against his lips. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Missed you too my love,” he replied, chuckling as she planted kisses across his cheeks, her legs wrapping around his waist so that he couldn’t set her back down on her own feet.

Over dinner that night Harry was caught up on much that he had missed while he was away and shared his own tales from set. Once the meal was over and they all migrated over to the sofas, Aurora curled up in Harry’s lap, her head resting against his shoulder as conversation swirled around them. One of his hands absently rubbed along her spine, a pint clasped in the other as he chatted away with Louis, happily looking at all his photos of baby Freddie.

xXx

In the initial weeks following the amputation back in April, Aurora’s arm had been heavily bandaged and, in a bid to regain her independence, she had chosen to go alone when she returned to her doctor for her check-up appointments. Because of this, Harry had left for France to film Dunkirk before she was ready to have the limb exposed. So, it wasn’t until he was back in New York, 3 Months after the surgery that Aurora finally had to prepare herself to show him. Thus far she had avoided anyone other than her doctors seeing the stump without its compression stocking and despite growing comfortable with the other scars she had collected, she still felt vulnerable in an entirely new way showing it. Despite feeling exposed, she knew that if she was ever going to learn to be comfortable with her new body, Harry was the first person she needed to show it to. Rationally she knew that it wasn't like he would recoil in horror or anything, but she still felt nervous as she sat down facing him on her bed the day after he came home.

“H?” she began hesitantly.

“Yeah love?” He replied, reaching out to run his hand along her thigh.

“I want to show you my arm,” she explained, her voice shaking with her nerves. “No one’s seen it yet.”

“You don’t have to if you're not ready,” Harry said, shuffling closer on the duvet. “I don’t want to push you.”

“You're not,” Rori promised. “I want you to see it. It’s probably silly of me to be nervous again. I feel like I’ve had this exact conversation with you so many times. It’s just a big step, you know?”

“I do know,” he said, “and there’s nothing wrong with being nervous. This is different to you showing me your scars, but just like I said back then; this doesn’t change how I see you.”

“I love you so much Harry. I don’t think you realise how rare you are.”

Harry blushed always shy to receive compliments and he leaned forward to kiss her instead of replying. When they pulled apart from the kiss, Aurora’s hand fell to where the compression stocking covered what was left of her forearm and she slowly peeled the edge back.

Slowly Harry’s hands fell over her fingers. “May I?” he asked softly. She nodded, swallowing against her nerves as his long fingers removed the last of the stocking from her stump, revealing the angry red incision line at the end. “See?” he asked. “Nothing to be nervous about.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she found only love and acceptance looking back at her. “It really doesn’t bother you.” She hadn’t meant it as a question, simply in awe of how lucky she was to have found such an incredible man to spend her life with.

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Harry answered any way. “Nothing could change the way I feel about you. I hope you understand that someday.”

They kissed then and Aurora pushed Harry backwards until he was lying flat across the bed. She moved with him until she was lying atop him, their lips never leaving each other’s.

xXx

Louis stayed for a week after Harry arrived home, both men glad to have some time with one another, but eventually he flew home.  Harry spent a few days with Aurora, enjoying some much needed time together, before he returned to the studio to get back to work. After months away from music he was excited to be back in the studio and the team he had assembled earlier in the year were equally excited to return. Aurora spent more time in the studio than she had before Louis and Niall’s visits, jumping in wholeheartedly with the writing process, which Harry loved. She would occasionally slip out of the studio to either go paint or to assist Peter and her father in further testing for the prosthetic.

xXx

At the end of July, Aurora’s prosthetist came to the tower for her first appointment. Given the fact that Tony was building a custom prosthetic it had occurred to them early on in the process that the fitting process would need to be a collaborative effort that would go smoother with home visits.  Aurora was already in the workshop with Tony and Harry when the prosthetist was accompanied into the room by Happy. He introduced himself as Ben Sherman and shook everyone’s hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “I’ve been looking over your medical files Aurora, and I’ve also read over your designs Mr Stark and I’m very excited to be involved in such a revolutionary project. If it’s alright with you I would like to start with looking at your residual limb. May I?”

Aurora nodded, holding her left arm out towards Ben. She was only wearing a tank top, allowing him to take full stock of the limb. She winced a little when he pressed against the incision line and he apologized. He then had Tony show them the latest prototype and they demonstrated how Aurora was able to operate it, something she had been getting much better at over the past weeks.

Once he was satisfied, he showed Tony some examples of sockets and the pair discussed the best methods and materials for constructing one to suit Auroras needs. Once that was completed, he set about taking a mould of her stump for Tony to use to form the socket.

“OK,” he said when he was finished and had repacked his bag. “I think we’ll be ready to start trying things on in about 2 weeks, so if you think you’ll have the next prototype ready by then we can book in a time for me to come and help you try it on and get used to wearing it.

“Thank you, Ben,” Aurora replied with a gentle smile. “I really appreciate you making a house call.”

“Well this is a special circumstance case,” he said. “I’m happy to help.”

Harry walked him out to the elevator and when he returned Aurora was staring at the prosthesis with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m going to finally get to try it on soon,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire #skyfire fic #aurora stark #dad!tony #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #stony #stony fic #boyfriend harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #superfamily #harry styles #tony stark #ptsd #domestic fluff

[eskalations]

Could a retired sniper even become a loving mother after all she had seen and done?

FFN Link

(Day 3 "Old Wounds" - Royai Week 2020)

A/N: Here's my entry for Day 3 of Royai Week for the prompt "Old Wounds". I didn't really know where this was all going until it suddenly became a comprehensive retelling of everything that happened post-canon. I know the fandom likes to headcanon that Roy and Riza have a little boy named Maes, but I really wanted to give them a child who had her own name and identity. Plus, Roy Mustang with a little girl is an absolute weakness of mine.

I also have him calling her Lizzie because I’m a sucker for Pride and Prejudice and can just imagine how sweetly he would say it (much like Darcy says ‘dearest, loveliest Elizabeth) *swoon* 

I hope you enjoy! 

~

"Mommy?"

Riza was awoken from her slumber by a small voice and a tugging hand. She blinked her eyes several times, trying to regain her bearings in the near darkness of the room. Glancing at the window over the form of her sleeping husband, she noticed that the moon was still high in the sky.

'It couldn't be more than midnight,' she thought to herself, rubbing a weary hand over her eyes in an attempt to clear her vision.

"Mommy?" It was then that she remembered the reason for her sudden wakefulness. The tiny voice that she knew and loved so well was trembling with an escalating fear, the tugging hand at the back of her nightgown pulling a bit more roughly than before. Sensing the desperation in her plea, Riza turned around to face the small child.

"Elizabeth?" She asked, her voice coarse with sleep. A pair of dark, swollen eyes peered up at her from over the edge of the bed. "What are you doing up?"

"Nightmare."

Riza could tell that her daughter's sleep had been less peaceful than normal, just by the way her wild, dark hair was pulling out of her braid – evidence of the tossing and turning she had done before running to her parent's room. In the dim light of the moon, she could also see the fresh tear marks that marred her daughter's cheeks. The sight broke Riza's heart.

"Come here," Her mother quietly beckoned, reaching her arms out towards the three-year-old. Elizabeth stood on her tip toes as warm hands were placed under her arms. Once the young girl was settled between both her parents, Riza wrapped her up in a warm embrace and nuzzled her face into her shoulder.

Elizabeth was not the type of child to seek out her parents' comfort in the middle of the night, so this type of behavior was incredibly unusual for her. Whatever she had dreamt about must have really frightened her to have her traversing the dark halls of their home in the middle of the night.

"Lizzie?"

Riza cringed at the sound of her husband's sleepy voice, knowing that he needed to be up early in the morning for a meeting with his generals. But a tiny pair of cold feet had made their way to the exposed expanse of his back, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting him to his sweet daughter's presence.

The woman watched as her husband turned over – eyes heavy with sleep but concern evident in their dark depths. At the sound of her father's voice, Elizabeth buried her face even deeper into her mother's neck, fighting back the tears that forced themselves forward at his gentle tone. Riza glanced over their daughter's head, meeting his questioning gaze with a concerned one of her own.

If you had told them ten years ago that they would be sequestered together in a lovely home, married, and snuggled up with their daughter – they would have laughed at the sheer idea of it. Two killers, as horrible as them, could never repent enough to ever deserve the happiness that most human beings sought. It just wouldn't be fair after how many lives they had taken that they would get the chance to be together.

But life was full of surprises.

The first surprise was the pardoning of them for their crimes in relation to Ishval. Though they argued with Grumman over his decision to sign the papers to forever have them excused for their actions on the frontline, they couldn't find it in themselves to argue with the Ishvalan Elders. The Elders had asked that they, and whoever else had taken part in the efforts to rebuild Ishval, be pardoned on the grounds that, they would continue to commit their time and energy to ensuring something like the Ishvalan Extermination campaign never happened again.

While both Riza and Roy did not believe they deserved to walk free after all they had done, they swore that for as long as they were in a place of power, the Ishvalans would not be persecuted again. Roy took it one step further and even began lobbying for laws against hate crimes that would bring an ample amount of punishment to anyone who participated in them. They still had not forgiven themselves for their actions – however, they were adamant in their resolve to provide Ishval with whatever help they needed. If they wanted them alive and working, then that's what they were going to do.

The second surprise was Grumman's dissolvent of the Anti-Fraternization Laws. After having sat in the Fuhrer's chair for nearly three years, the old coot had decided that he had had quite enough of the laws that dictated a soldier's personal life, and chose to abolish those along with a few others. The moment those laws had been dissolved, the entire military seemed to turn their eyes towards Mustang and Hawkeye – but the two of them had far too much to do than worry about dating and marriage. Besides, they quite liked the secret nature of their relationship.

The third surprise was Roy Mustang's decision to not run for Prime Minister after power had been shifted to Parliament. The general public was shocked that the young upstart, who at the time was still a fresh-faced thirty-five, had decided not to move along with the power. Even Riza could hardly believe his decision to pass up the opportunity – that was, until he explained it to her.

'I'd rather become Fuhrer and be able to control the military than become a politician,' Roy had shared with her one night over supper. 'I know I would be decent at it, but I would rather focus on ensuring that the military never fall back into corruption than sit in on meetings where all they talk about are laws. I need to be doing something. I need to be in the Fuhrer's chair to make sure that the military will never be used to cause so much destruction ever again.'

The fourth surprise was Grumman's campaign for Prime Minister and his ultimate winning of the title. It was the first democratic election that Amestris had held in over two hundred years, the voters all agreeing that if they had liked the old General as a Fuhrer, they would most likely like him as a Prime Minister. Roy couldn't have been happier with the turn of events, now knowing that someone he trusted would be in control of Parliament.

That only left one thing to be decided. Who was to be Fuhrer?

Having jumped the ranks easily after his participation in 'The Promised Day', it came as no surprise to anyone that the newly minted General Mustang would not hold on to that title for long. Upon his 'promotion' to Prime Minister, Grumman had announced Mustang as his desired predecessor. There were few naysayers who remarked that the title truly belonged to Olivier Armstrong – however, the majority of the military found no reason to argue with the decision to give Mustang the chair. Besides, Armstrong preferred her title of "Queen of the North" to Fuhrer and wouldn't have it any other way. Briggs was her's; Mustang could have Central.

It was only after Roy Mustang had officially become Fuhrer that the idea of marriage finally became a possibility. With Roy's climb to the top done, he saw no reason for Riza to continue to stand behind him, and voiced his desire to have her stand beside him instead. The First Lady of Amestris would have many responsibilities of her own and he couldn't imagine any other woman filling that role but her. It took a while for Riza to agree to their union – still having lingering doubts after all she had done in Ishval – however, eventually Roy was able to wear her down.

Their wedding had been a spectacle, much to both their displeasure. They would have been happy with just a small ceremony and a few friends – but given Mustang's position as Fuhrer, they had no other choice. The whole of the military was there along with Fullmetal and his rambunctious brood of children. Though Roy was too proud to say anything, Riza knew that he greatly appreciated Ed setting aside his business in Resembool and making the time to attend the ceremony. Even Al, in his Xingese inspired get up, was able to make it as well.

After the wedding was done – the real work begun.

Roy settled in nicely to his new position, taking to his fuhrership like a duck took to water. Riza also had an easy time falling into her new role upon her retirement from the military. She enjoyed the opportunity to participate in projects that would assist the lower income families across Amestris and found that she had a real passion for projects that involved children.

Speaking of children…

At the age of thirty-five, Riza had begun to assume that her and Roy would never be blessed with a child. Naturally, she was disappointed – but she couldn't really say she didn't understand the reasoning behind fate's cruel decision.

That was when – a month after her thirty-sixth birthday – the sickness began.

To say she was terrified was an understatement. She had spent so long assuming that her and Roy would never have a child, that she hadn't even begun to think about what to do if they did have one. Could a retired sniper even become a loving mother after all she had seen and done?

There was one thing she knew for sure though – and that was that Roy Mustang would make an excellent father.

From the moment he knew of their child, he immediately accepted the "dad" role. There was not a single doctor's appointment that Riza went to alone. Not one morning did she spend her time on the cold tile floor of their bathroom alone, Roy always there holding her hair and whispering loving words of comfort. He was so gentle, so concerned, and so excited – fully accepting the good fortune they had been given and thanking whoever may have resided above for the blessing.

As time went on, and Riza grew bigger, her anxiety developed into her own sort of excitement. She was still scared – oh was she scared – but after having felt the baby kick for the first time, she could no longer question whether she would be able love this child enough. With that one little movement, she had realized that she already loved this baby more than anything – and no past of her's was ever going to negatively affect the future of her child.

Mustang's men, still loyal to the man as ever, had placed bets on what the gender of the baby would be, despite Riza's annoyance in regards to the whole affair. Being the total men they were, they all bet that the child would be a boy.

'Powerful men like the Fuhrer have boys,' Breda had told her once, positive in his assumption. 'Your little kicker is going to be a boy – I'm sure of it."

The only person who dared bet against the 'boy theory' was Prime Minister Grumman himself. He said that he had no inclination one way or the other, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bet against the majority.

'I like to take my chances.' He had commented when asked about the rationale behind his bet.

Little did the man know that he would be walking away from Central Regional Hospital about thirty-thousand cens richer the day that Riza went into labor.

It was a girl.

Though her and Roy had never spoken about what they believed their baby would be, they had been convinced by their men that this child just had to be a boy. But man, were they wrong.

Elizabeth Mustang entered the world as pink as the blanket they used to swaddle her. With a small nose and heart-shaped lips, she was definitely her mother's daughter – however, she took more after her father. Even at birth, she possessed a head full of thick black hair and eyes as dark as the night sky. She was beautiful. She was perfect.

The men had been disappointed at first, but once they saw the newborn's face, their hearts were no longer theirs's. Elizabeth was going to be one spoiled little girl.

It wasn't until everyone had cleared out, and Riza and Roy were left alone with their daughter, that a thought occurred to the very tired, new mother. As she watched her husband cradle Elizabeth in his arms, his body naturally swaying in an attempt to comfort her – she realized why men like Mustang and Hughes were blessed with daughters rather than sons.

It was because they needed them.

Already, Riza could sense a change in Roy. His eyes held a sparkle in them that she had only seen a few times in her life, and she knew exactly what it meant. He had a new purpose. He was going to be the best man he could be for this little girl and protect her from all the evils that lurked in the world. Roy was a man that needed purpose in his life – he was too driven to live without it – and in Elizabeth he found a lifelong purpose that he was only happy to fulfill.

The goofy grin that appeared on his face as Elizabeth gurgled and twitched, had tears forming in Riza's eyes. In that moment, he looked more like Hughes than he ever had before.

The look he gave his daughter on the day of her birth was the same one he was giving her now. It was a promise, a promise to protect her from any harm she could possibly imagine. Riza was brought back from her reverie by her husband's sweet voice, beckoning their daughter again.

"Lizzie, what's wrong?" He asked the girl gently, placing a hand on her small shoulder in a show of support. Riza could feel the child's tears against her neck, the small puffs of air escaping the girl's mouth in her panic causing her mother's heart to ache. She had never seen Elizabeth this worked up.

"Elizabeth?" Riza asked, pulling the girl back from her neck so that she could see her face. The small girl tried her hardest to latch on to her mother, not wanting to be moved from her spot, but she was fighting a losing battle. "Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?"

"Scary," The little girl mumbled, her bottom lip trembling. She gazed up at her mother with puffy, dark eyes. "Too scary. I couldn't – I couldn't – find you. Fire."

The child's words were near incoherent with her breathing as rapid as it was, but both Roy and Riza were able to decipher the last word she had mumbled. Fire?

"Lizzie," Roy stroked the messy black braid that lay haphazardly down his daughter's back. Both his touch and tone were gentle. "It was just a dream. There's no fire."

"Daddy hurt."

Roy's brow furrowed in confusion. His hand went back to its previous place on her shoulder and he turned her over to face him. Reluctantly, the girl disengaged from around her mother's neck and laid flat on her back.

"I'm not hurt." The man insisted, gently pushing a few unruly strands of hair back from her face. He even gave her a soft kiss on the forehead for good measure. Usually these soft ministrations would be enough to calm his daughter down – but tonight, it just set off another round of tears.

"Burn."

"Burn?" Roy asked, taken aback by the fresh set of tears rolling down her cheeks. "What burn?"

At this point, Riza turned on her stomach to reach for the bedside lamp. With neither her husband or her sleeping, there was no point in leaving the room shrouded in darkness.

With the light now on, Roy had to squint to see the face of his small daughter. Although he had regained his sight many years ago, his eyes were still sensitive to light. Once he was able to blink away the pain from the unwanted intrusion, he focused back on the girl. Though the light seemed to calm her slightly, she was still pale as a ghost and crying.

"Burn." The young girl finally answered, lip wobbling as she attempted to speak clearly. "You're burn, Daddy. It hurts."

Ah, that explained it.

When Roy had put her to bed that night, he had foregone his shirt in favor of a light robe. It was summer and their home stayed warm in the evenings due to its position in relation to the sun. Though Elizabeth had seen him multiple times without a shirt, it was the first time she had taken notice of the large burn on his side.

Roy had thought nothing of it – just telling Elizabeth that it was a burn he had received in his earlier years with the military. Being the Flame Alchemist's daughter, Elizabeth knew about fire and what happens if you touch it. Knowing this, Roy had simply brushed off the situation, kissing her on the head and tucking her in for the night.

He never even thought to reassure Elizabeth that it no longer hurt (well, it still ached – but not bad).

"Lizzie," He murmured, moving closer to the toddler. "Daddy's burn doesn't hurt anymore. Everything's fine."

At these words, his daughter stopped mid-hiccup. With small fisted fingers, she rubbed at her eyes, before looking up at him in confirmation.

"No hurt?"

"Nope!" Roy told her, smiling widely before turning over on to his back, the sheet sliding down to his waist and exposing the old wound. "See? I can even touch it!"

Elizabeth watched as the man took two fingers and prodded the puckered skin of his side. She watched his face for any sign of pain, but there was none. From her side of the bed, Riza breathed a sigh of relief, believing this was confirmation enough to soothe the child after whatever nightmare her mind had managed to conjure up.

"Mommy's?"

Roy's brows furrowed in confusion at the question, his fingers pausing over his skin. "Mommy's what?"

"Burn. Mommy has burn."

So much for not allowing her past to affect her daughter's future.

Riza was normally so careful with her back, only ever exposing it on hot, summer nights when she opted to wear a nightdress instead of one of Roy's old shirts to bed. Elizabeth had never had reason to see it, her mother's blonde hair reaching just past her shoulders once again and covering up the small sliver of tattoo that resided at the base of her neck.

However, when the young girl had crept into their room that night, she must have seen the burn that lay on her mother's shoulder blade, and recognized it as the same wound she saw earlier on her father. Whatever nightmare she had – doused in fire, surely – must have only been made worse once she chose to seek comfort from her mother, only to be met with a back full of scars.

"My burns don't hurt, Elizabeth." Riza assured her – one hand coming up to gently play with the sweaty locks that lay on her forehead. Oh, how she loved this child. "Daddy and I are all better now."

"Really?" The toddler asked in a sweet voice, her tone hushed. The hopeful look in her eyes was enough to almost make Riza cry. Such a big heart, for such a small girl. How did two killers create this?

"Yes, really." Riza leaned in to kiss her cheek, taking her thumb and wiping away the last remnants of tears that lay on her pale skin. "Mommy and Daddy will never let the same thing happen to you. You're safe with us."

Roy regarded his daughter with a tired smile, nodding at his wife's words. "You have nothing to worry about, Lizzie. Old wounds are old wounds."

Though her toddler brain couldn't comprehend what he was saying in the last part – the young girl nodded, accepting her parents' reassurances. This had Riza breathing a sigh of relief, hopeful that they might be able to go back to sleep.

At that exact moment, Elizabeth's mouth opened in a yawn – the excitement of the night finally catching up to her. The sleepy expression on her face was too adorable for her parents to ignore, both looking at her fondly as she snuggled down into the pillow between them.

Riza had already turned over on to her stomach, arm reaching out to flick the switch of the lamp off – when she felt a tiny pair of warm, chapped lips graze over her back. Tilting her head back, she watched as Elizabeth repeated the gesture by placing a small kiss right over the burn mark on her father's belly.

As if she didn't realize how much of an affect her actions had on her parents, the small girl snuggled down in the blankets once more and was out like a light before her mother could even turn the lamp off.

Roy looked over at her, shock written across his features. She imagined she looked much the same.

Once they had gotten over their initial surprise, both settled back into bed, praying that sleep would come easy with the busy day they had ahead. After she turned the light off, Riza lay facing away from her husband and daughter. She didn't want either of them to see the silent tears that now streamed down her face.

If she had turned around, she would have noticed a slight telltale shake in Roy's shoulders, as well. It wasn't the first time she had thought about it that night, but she found herself asking the same question again.

How did two killers create this?

#royaiweek20 #royai #roy mustang #riza mustang #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai fanfiction #fma fic #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic #royai child #royai week

[thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain]

Wonderwall [Kai Parker Fanfiction]

OK guys, I feel the need to start this chapter with an enormous apology. I can't believe it's been over a year since I've updated this fic! That seriously wasn't my intention, and please believe me when I say that I truly never forgot about it.

In this time that I haven't updated... Welp, it's been a year. i got a huge career opportunity that I jumped on, that suddenly crumbled very badly very fast. i had made friends during this time that completely stabbed me in the back, and I fell in love with someone who I thought was a friend, but it turns out that that give a damn about me. I got a new job recently that completely stole all of my writing time, but now I think I've figured out how to manage my time enough to start posting again, even if it's not as regularly as I would hope. I am still working on pursuing that career opportunity again, since it's a dream and I miss it, so I'm hoping when the opportunity comes again, it won't mess up my writing time this time. But I can't be sure, so please be gentle with me and know that I'm trying my best.

Anyway, that was a long thing just to say that it's seriously been a year, but I honestly do appreciate all the comments I've got on this fic while it's been sitting seemingly abandoned. I love each and every one of you, and I can't put into words how happy I am that you love this fic, and how grateful I am for all your comments.

With that said, this is the second part of the fic, where we time jump a bit. The chapter is a little different because of that, and the next one will be different too. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to leave kudos and comments. I read and respond to every one, and I really hope to be able to write and post the next chapter very very soon. Love you all. <3

You can read it on AO3, or you can read it here. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated, and I respond to every anon and comment.

[Table of Contents for the entire fic can be found here]

CHAPTER 11: VISIONS

"I think I'm losing my mind."

I couldn't deny my words, but they tasted like failure in my mouth.

Eighteen years. I had survived eighteen years without reaching this level of helplessless, without feeling so out of control, without feeling like my grip on sanity was slipping.

I thought I had put all of that behind me. I went to anger management for years, trying to reconcile my anger and learn how to control and silence it. I spent years rebuilding my relationship with my mother; it was nowhere close to the bond that we used to hold before everything had happened, but it was something I could live with. We had moved from Oregon to Pennsylvania, moving us across the country in the hopes of giving ourselves a clean slate and a fresh beginning. Therapy had become as normal to me as breathing; going every week to try to work through two lifetimes of baggage and dirty laundry, with the hope of getting to a place where I felt like I was me again. And with those words, it felt like everything, all of those years of self-work and effort, was for nothing.

Mina looked up from her clipboard at me, and I noticed that she had stopped writing to study my face. Her silky auburn hair was falling over her shoulders as she looked at me, her head cocked to the side and her eyes squinted ever so slightly, giving me a view of the winged eyeliner adorning her monolids. My answer had caught her off guard, that much was for sure. After being my therapist for as long as she had been, she was probably just as surprised by my backslide as I was. I had been making such good progress, as she liked to say.

She didn't ask anything else, still processing my response to her standard opening question of how are we feeling today?

I forced myself to look away from her, the weight of her judgment too much to bear at the moment. My eyes landed on the door to her office, tracing over the letters of her name plaque instead.

Mina Lee had been one of the volunteers at my anger management meetings, and once I had been deemed "okay enough" to not have to attend anymore, she had offered to take me as a client for continued therapy. She had been a lifesaver for me, dealing with my breakdowns and anger and years of pain. She was young and a natural at getting me to open up, something I was grateful for. Unfortunately, she was human, not a witch or any other fancy supernatural creature, so I had to hide the details of some of my trauma from her. I felt guilty for doing it; I surely wasn't making her job any easier by withholding information, but it definitely made her much safer. I tried not to let myself care too much for her, despite the fact that she was probably one of the people I was closest to in my life. I had learned years ago that nothing good ever came from getting close to me.

My attention was drawn back to her when she tapped the back of her pen on her clipboard. My eyes shifted to her again, and then down, trying to get a peek at her clipboard. She was used to me doing this though, and was holding it at just the right angle to prevent me from seeing anything.

"I'm not judging you, if that's what you're wondering," she said, knowing me way too well. I knew that she took notes every meeting, and I had told her once that I tried to look at her papers to see if she was pitying me, but I was astonished by her memory nonetheless. She always seemed to remember every detail that I told her, no matter how small. Kai was the only person who had managed to do that before, but I found it easiest to attempt to push his memory as far down as I could. It was better that way, when my memories of him were pushed so far down that I could recall them if I wanted to, but that I was still somewhat shielded from the pain they brought me. But it was getting harder to do that by the day, especially with everything I had been experiencing recently.

"I was just wondering what you meant by that," she continued, her features soft and open, but still looking at me with a hint of an analytical gaze.

I stayed quiet, and the room lapsed into silence again. I knew that she was waiting for my answer, but I was still too rattled by my own confession to answer her.

She let out a quiet sigh, one that she probably didn't want me to hear. I had become a lot more willing to share my feelings in the past year, to the point where therapy felt less like an interrogation and more like a conversation.

But not this time. Not with this.

"Okay..." she started, measuring her words. "Did you have another incident?"

"No."

Incident was her polite way of asking if I had let my anger run wild again. I had never fully disclosed to her the details of my previous 'incidents', but she knew that they were bad and that people had gotten hurt, and I'm pretty sure she was able to figure out that I caused the fire that burned down my childhood home. That was all that she needed to know.

"Well, that's good," she replied, flashing me a quick smile before she made a little note on her clipboard. From what I could see, it looked like she made an x, but I couldn't be sure. I had the urge to use my magic; cast a spell that would allow me to see from her eyes and see what she was writing, but I resisted. It wouldn't feel right to do that to her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she prompted.

Not really, I thought, but now that I brought it up, there was no way she'd let it go, and she always managed to see straight through my lies.

I grabbed the tips of my hair in between my fingers, playing with the strands as I thought. This had become a habit of mine ever since I had dyed the ends aqua again. The roots remained brown, and faded into the blue color. It had felt like a good way to blend the old and new me, reminding me of the people I had been while still giving me room to become someone else. Seeing this always brought me a strange sort of comfort.

I sighed before I managed to get my words out.

"I've been having... These dreams," I started, and already I was lying. Vision was a better word for what I was experiencing. Dreams don't hit you in the middle or the day, paralyzing your body and clouding your mind with nothing but it. Dreams weren't so terribly vivid that you felt like you had become someone else, were seeing things through someone else's eyes.

Her features faltered as she looked down at her notes for a second, so quick that I could've missed it if I wasn't looking straight at her. It felt like she was trying to remember if I had ever mentioned anything about dreams before.

I hadn't. This was definitely a new experience.

"Something tells me you've been dealing with this for a bit?"

I stayed quiet, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from her and look down at my shoes instead. She could always tell when something was off, and in this case,  she knew that the only reason I was bringing this up was because it was becoming too much to bear. I replied with a soft nod.

More pen scratches on her clipboard. I didn't even try to look this time, not wanting to know what she was thinking about me in the moment.

"What is it about these dreams? What has you rattled?"

"They... Aren't me," I started, knowing that the words coming out of my mouth didn't make any sense. I wanted to have more time to think over what I was saying, but knowing Mina, she would continue to push until I answered her. I was sure she was already judging me, so I decided to just go for it. "Like... it doesn't feel like me. I'm seeing people I don't know, places I've never been before, having reactions that I wouldn't have. And..."

I cut myself short, not willing to finish the sentence. I could feel the cracks in my heart starting to open up just thinking about it. I feared that if I spoke it, it would make it real.

"I hear him. In my head."

Her expression faltered for the quickest of seconds, flashing momentarily into surprise before she regained her stoic posture. She didn't even dignify that with an immediate response. She just immediately went to scribbling down notes onto her clipboard.

I wanted to snap that pen of hers in half, but I resisted.

"Okay," she started slowly. I could tell she was tiptoeing now, not wanting to say the wrong thing and trigger me even more than she knew I already was. "I'm going to assume here, that when you say him, you mean you're hearing... Kai?"

"Yes," I whispered, scared of the quiver my voice would hold if I spoke above that volume.

Years of sessions had been filled with stories about the mystery boy Kai from my past. I had never given her enough information for her to identify him, and tie him to the murders of the Parker family years ago in Oregon, but I had told her enough about the trauma that had been left in his wake before he left me and died.

The love I had for him. The fear I had for his safety, day in and day out. The pain he caused me. The abandonment I felt the last time I spoke to him. The shock at finding out about his death. And the trauma that finding out about his crimes caused me.

Mina nodded, and in that simple movement, I could tell that surprisingly, she wasn't judging me. I had been her client for years, and somehow, she still managed to shock me. I was sure this wasn't a claim she heard every day, and with the progress I had been making in her care, surely she wasn't expecting me to suddenly be hearing the voice of a dead man.

But she didn't ask any of that. Instead, she capped her pen and placed her clipboard facedown on the table between us. I could reach out and snatch it up before she even had a chance to reach out for it. But we both knew that I wouldn't. She leaned forward, directing all of her attention to me.

"And are these memories?" She asked. "Are these things that he had told you before, echoing in your dreams?"

I was shaking my head before she had even finished her sentence. "No, this... This is different. He had never said any of these things to me before. It's completely new. And, the people I'm seeing... I don't know who they are."

That was the part that was most troubling to me. I could chalk Kai's voice up to my mind finally betraying me and playing tricks on me, but I couldn't explain the images I was seeing in the visions.

She grabs the clipboard again, rearranging it so she had a fresh page. "What do they look like?"

"A blonde girl. Wild curly hair, young face, blue eyes. She was bleeding. Screaming."

As I describe the girl, my mind recalls the visions I had with her. She was on the floor, clutching at her head and bleeding from her nose, as if someone was hurting her with magic. Her scream rang out through the air, coupled with his voice ringing in my ears.

I get my emotions mixed up.

"A girl. Dark skin, short hair, sad eyes. Beautiful. She was in a club."

The red and white lights flash across my vision as I describe her. She was staring at me with glassy, wide eyes, and looked absolutely terrified, like she was seeing a ghost. The faint sound of music played in the background, but I wasn't able to make out the song. It didn't matter anyway. I was more concerned about his voice. The words I heard then were different.

I wanted to apologize for anything I did that hurt you.

"A guy. Blue eyes, dark hair, sharp jawline. Looked shifty."

He was in a dark room with stone walls surrounding. He was in a dark leather jacket, and nerves were filling his features. The words didn't make sense with the image to me, but they seemed to anger the man in the vision.

Not if she were like you.

"A guy with long blonde hair. Short. He was far away. I couldn't make out his features too well. It was nighttime."

He was standing far away, but squared up directly at me. His posture looked confident in himself, and like he was trying to challenge me in some way. The voice sounded just as confident.

I always win.

"A girl. Tan skin. Lots of brown hair. She was in chains. She looked tired."

She hung limply from the ceiling of what looked like a high school. Her hair was falling over her face in waves, but it did nothing to hide the exhaustion evident in her features, nor did it hide the terror in her eyes. The words that coupled the image sent a chill down my spine.

Anyway, do you mind if I try to turn your blood to acid again?

"Young boy. Long brown hair. Dark eyes. He looked angry."

He was in a house I had never seen before. The walls were made of a dark wood, and there were ornate furnishings all around. I had a feeling that there were other people in the room that I couldn't see, and that the words I heard were directed at all of them, not just him in particular, but that didn't help them to make any more sense.

I tried every method in the book.

"Short blonde hair. Older guy. Rage in his eyes."

He was standing in a doorway, and from the look on his face, I couldn't imagine how he hadn't slammed the door in my face yet. His entire face was set in an expression that couldn't make his disdain for me any clearer. His voice echoed the sentiment.

I know you hate me.

"Black hair, blue eyes. A girl with super pale skin. I think she was sick. She looked like she hated me. She looked familiar, though."

I found my brain replaying this one the most. The person I saw had a weird sense of familiarity to her, like a memory that had somehow fallen through the cracks. Behind the hatred burning in her eyes, I could sense a bit of concern. This vision was stronger than the others, his voice booming louder in my head.

Could you please fix me? Like now?

Mina stayed quiet as I spoke, not even looking up at me, keeping her focus on her paper as she scribbled down everything I was saying. We fell into another silence, but this one felt emptier. It felt like my claims were hanging between us, making the air heavy and thick with my insanity.

"I feel crazy,"  I continued, desperately wanting to fill the empty air. "But it's real. I know it is, and I see it, and I don't even feel like me when it happens. It feels like I'm in someone else's body."

I let out a chuckle, but it was devoid of humor. "I know it sounds crazy. I'm sure you have a lot to write from that, But yeah."

At that, she looked up at me. I couldn't place the look in Mina's eyes, but it looked pretty damn close to pity. I hated the sight.

A knock sounded through the room, tearing our attention away from each other and to the door. We both knew what that meant; session over. She was always fully booked, and so even if I wanted to get some more time with her, I could never manage to. She had given me her personal cell number to text if I ever needed to talk more, but I felt guilty using it. I already threw enough onto her plate. I didn't need to add more when she wasn't even on business hours. Plus, texting her about my problems would make my brain start to see her as less than my therapist and more as my friend. I needed the buffer there; I needed to see her as anything but my friend. Bad things happened to people who got close to me.

Mina sighed again, a sound she seemed to constantly make around me. She rose to her feet, and despite not wanting to, I followed her lead, standing up as well. She took one last look at her clipboard before once again placing it facedown on the table.

"I, for one, don't think you're crazy," she told me, and I could see that she was sincere. But it did nothing to ease the sick feeling in my gut when I thought about the visions.

"I just think that you have... A lot of trauma. And maybe something we did in one of our previous sessions triggered trauma that you had buried before. Things you wished he would have said, fears about his mental state towards the end."

I nodded slowly, processing her words. It was possible, but it felt like something bigger. Something... Less normal, but I couldn't tell her that. "And the people?" I asked instead.

"I think that's something we have to dig deeper into," she said simply. Which, to me, meant she had no freaking clue either, but I nodded anyways.

She came around the table, placing a hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the contact.

"You've made great progress," she said, her voice soft. "Don't let this make you forget it, okay?"

I nodded. I couldn't bring myself to look into her eyes, and I couldn't bear to be there any longer.

I rushed out of the office, letting the cool night breeze hit my face and blow my troubles away. I closed my eyes and tried to take in the serenity of the night. That was, until I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around to face the person. Mina.

The streetlamps bounced her honey skin, almost illuminating her in the darkness. She stepped closer, until she was by my side.

"Let me walk you to your car," she said, and as I looked at her, I didn't see any judgement on her face. What I saw was genuine care for me. It shocked me, but I allowed myself to nod and fall into step with her.

Being near Mina was easy. It was normal, the closest thing I had had to normal in quite some time, especially since everything that had happened with Kai. I knew that she didn't see me as anything more than a patient and a friend, and it was for the best. I tried to avoid moments like this with her, moments where my mind could run wild and think of us as anything more than patient-client, but I let myself indulge today.

I'd put my walls back up tomorrow.

Conversation was effortless with her. It was ever flowing and natural and made me feel like I didn't have to take myself too seriously, and it was no different this night. It was a feeling I hadn't felt in a while.

I wasn't sure if I had been so lost in conversation that I didn't notice, but two men appeared in front of us suddenly.  We both stopped, shock filling us as we looked at the two guys in front of us.

The first had light brown hair standing up all over his head. His features were soft, with sad, old eyes, and had a backpack slung across one shoulder. But it was the second man who gave me pause. His features were sharp, a stark contrast to the features of the other.  He was wearing a leather jacket, and his blue eyes looked determined but also mischievous.

Sharp jawline. Leather jacket. Shifty eyes. It was him. One of the men I had seen in my visions.

"You..." I whispered, too startled to say anything else. Mina was silent beside me, and I prayed she was seeing him too, and that my visions hadn't upgraded to full blown hallucinations.

"Hi," the familiar guy said, waving his hand to dismiss my words. "Which one of you is Halyn Chase?"

I didn't reply, my brain still too busy trying to process the events happening before me. Mina took a step forward, blocking me with her body, and stepping to the man. It gave me relief.

He was really here.

"What do you want with her?" Mina asked him, her voice protective and stern.

"Oh okay," he responded, sounding sure of himself. "Then it's not you."

He stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, locking eyes intensely with her before I could say anything.

"Go home," he demanded. "Forget this ever happened."

He removed his hands, and she started to walk away, as if in a trance. I tried calling out for her, but she didn't even acknowledge my voice.

"What did you do to her?" I asked. My voice rose as I felt anger building in my chest. Who did this guy think he was, and why did I see him in my mind?

"Good, now that you're alone," he said, completely ignoring my question, and sounding so smug that all I wanted was to slap him. I resisted. "You need to come with me."

"Like hell, I will."

"Well, I tried. Time for the easy way," he said, and started to take a step towards me, before the other man grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing, Damon?" the other asked him. "You can't just compel her."

Compel?  Where had I heard that word before?

"Well, if you have another idea, I'm all ears. We don't have time to convince her of things."

The familiar man, Damon I guess, pulled his arm free of the other and stepped towards me, locking eyes with me in the same way he had just done with Mina.

"Come with me," he commanded.

I waited for a spell to activate, for something to happen... Nothing.

So I did my own spell.

Damon went flying, my spell throwing him across the park until he hit the back of a tree stump. He looked taken aback, but not completely surprised at my use of magic. I walked forward with my hand still outstretched, the gesture keeping him securely pinned to the wall as if my hand was around this throat,

"A witch? Seriously?" He sounded more annoyed than bewildered at the discovery.

"Who the hell are you guys?" I asked.

"I should be asking you that," he countered. "Why on Earth are you on vervain?"

Vervain? Vervain was one of the first things I had added to my routine once I got my memories back. My mom had worked to help me to better control my powers, and to protect me from the darkness that had threatened to consume me, the darkness that bubbles under the surface when I'm not careful. I had been wearing an anklet laced with vervain for years at this point, remembering her warning of how it protected my magic from getting into the wrong hands. But most of all, I remembered what exactly she had told me vervain would protect against. Or who, for that matter.

"You're a vampire?" The question was more rhetorical than literal, but with the way his face blanked, I knew I was right. "I've read all about your kind. The dangers."

"Says the girl who's has me pinned against a tree."

I didn't say anything to that, instead just rolling my eyes at how he could still sound so sure of himself and cocky when he clearly didn't have the upper hand in this situation.

I muttered another spell and slowly started to close my grip, watching as the effects of the magic started to run its course, tightening my magical grip on Damon, pulling him off of his feet and lifting him into the air a bit.

He groaned. "You psycho," he breathed out, the tightening obviously impairing his ability to speak. But it did nothing to prevent me from hearing his next words.

"No wonder Kai knew you."

My jaw dropped at the mention of his name, that name I hadn't heard in so long. The name that had echoed in my dreams whenever I closed my eyes. The name that's been on my lips for eighteen years. The name that could instantly make me breathless.

My focus faltered, and the spell was broken. My hand fell to my side limply as Damon followed suit, crashing hard to the ground as he sputtered for breath.

"Thanks for the help, Stefan," he rasped out when he got his breath, scowling at the other man with him, who had done nothing to prevent me from suspending him in the air. For the briefest of moments, I wondered what that was about. But I was too preoccupied to let myself be concerned with that.

"How do you know that name?" I demanded,

"I wish I didn't," the man replied from the floor. "He's been a real pain in my ass. Making everything a lot more difficult."

"What are you talking about?" I growled at him, taking big strides until I had closed the distance between us. "He... he's dead."

Saying those words never ceased to send a chill through my body. After all this time, and after all the therapy I had went through, I still could never fully come to terms with what had happened. How everything could've been so much different. After everything he did; to his family, to me, I still couldn't help but long for more time for him. I couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if we had more time.

Damon scoffed from his spot on the ground, the sound turning into a cough as it left his hoarse throat. "Yeah, see, he's not dead yet."

"What..." I started, but the word died on my lips, coming out as a breath. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see that the man addressed as Stefan had come over to me. His eyes were full of concern.

"Kai isn't dead, Halyn." He stated with confidence. At my reaction, his voice softened. "He's in Mystic Falls, and he's about to do something terrible. We need your help to stop him."

My brain couldn't process any of his words. How? How was it that Kai could be alive? Josette had told me herself. He was gone. But I couldn't help the ache in my chest at his words. I wanted so badly to believe him.

"Why should I believe anything you say? And how did you find me?" I asked him, my voice coming out small.

"Why would we drive hundreds of miles to trick some random girl?" Damon questioned as he rose to his feet, his voice dripping with sarcasm and annoyance. I ignored his words.

"A friend did a tracking spell for us. It led us here to you" Stefan responded.

He swung his backpack around to his front, and I watched in a daze as he unzipped it and rummaged through the contents for a second. He passed me a map, showing the trail of blood that led them to me, emanating from the spot that reads Mystic Falls.

With what? I wanted to ask him. I was so in my head I wasn't even sure if I had voiced the words or not. My thoughts were still running at lightning speed, trying and failing to make sense of any of this, desperately wanting it to be true almost as much as I was trying to disprove their words.

My eyes were still fixed on the map when Stefan removed another item from the bag, and I felt it before I even saw it.

The unmistakable pull of Kai overtook me, drawing a gasp from my lips and leaving me breathless. The wave of energy was so strong, or maybe it just felt that way after eighteen years of it lying dormant. My bones began to buzz immediately, and the feeling of pure light in my veins was something I hadn't felt in a long time.

I looked up at Stefan, gasping for breath as my gaze fell from his eyes down to his outstretched hands. His words sound muffled in my ears, as if the energy is drowning me and he's speaking to me from above water.

"We found this with Kai's belongings. It seems important to him, but..."

His words trailed off as he extended his arms even further, practically putting the item into my hands. My whole body felt numb as I recognize it immediately, lightly letting it fall into my hands. There was no denying it, but my brain couldn't help but turn it over in my hands. This entire thing was impossible. I had to make sure it was real.

But there it was, my old black scarf back in my hands. The material was worn and thin, and looked more gray than black at this point from years of wear. There were some holes in the fabric, some blood, and a stain that I knew was made by someone wiping pork rind crumbs onto the fabric. It smelled partially musty, the way that old material starts to smell over time, but there was another scent mixed in that was undeniably Kai.

My breath got caught in my chest as I found what I was looking for. I felt tears begin to fall from my eyes, but I was too preoccupied to even attempt to wipe them away. My heart seemed to stop as I looked down at the tag, where I had written my name in Sharpie pen many many years ago. The letters were faded from time, but there was no mistaking my penmanship.

This was it. This was the scarf I had given to Kai all those years ago, and with it, I felt him again. Our connection. Our magic calling out to each other.

My mind was screaming at me, drowning out the millions of thoughts I was thinking with one phrase, repeating over and over again.

He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.

When I found my voice again and spoke, the words came out clipped, leaving no room for debate, and full of determination.

"Take me to him."

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[junker-town]

What it's like to play football after a hurricane, and why recovery is never complete

America is trying to return to normal after Harvey, Irma, and Maria, but it can only rebuild so much.

When Brandon Charles tells his story, he starts with the exact date: Aug. 27, 2005.

He had waited until the first week of school to finish a summer book project, as any 12-year-old starting sixth grade would. He took it with him to his uncle’s house in St. Martinville, a tree-lined, several-hour drive up Interstate 10 from New Orleans, where Charles and his family lived. He took his Nintendo GameCube with him, too, but only a few days worth of clothes. The Charles family has been through hurricanes before; what was one more?

Hurricane Katrina grew from a Category 3 to a Category 4 storm on the day Charles left. It reached Category 5 status a day later. On Aug. 29, Katrina struck New Orleans, dumped 6.5 trillion gallons of water onto the city, and broke more than 50 levees. It caused $70 billion of damage and put 80 percent of the city underwater. It killed more than 1,500 residents.

Charles never finished his school project. Why would he? His home was gone.

Twelves years after Hurricane Katrina, we’ve learned that there are losses that are impossible to calculate. Oh, we know the numbers. We can measure wind speeds and estimate dollar figures of damage, and we can add up how many of inches of rain. We can watch projections of these violent monstrosities of nature unfurl on our computer screens. We can count the dead.

“It’s at least three hours where they’re not pulling carpet out of their house, Sheetrock out ... It’s three hours where they get to come cheer for the kids”

But while losing a house is a statistic, losing a home can't be represented by a number. How do you put a value amount on a family broken apart, or a bright future that is sent spiraling, or even a senior football season that cannot be replaced? These are the immeasurable losses of a disaster.

In the wake of Harvey, Irma, and Maria, these are the losses that will linger years after towns are rebuilt. To begin to understand them, you have to talk to the people who lived through the storms.

Josh Smalley is the head coach of Orangefield High School, a town that’s a hundred miles outside of Houston. Harvey ripped through the town, and Orangefield’s elementary and high school both suffered water damage. It’ll be months until the facilities are back to where they were before storm season.

But the football team has found a way. When I talked to Smalley last week, he was preparing his team for its first football game since the flood.

“The kids need this, the community needs this,” Smalley told me. “It’s at least three hours where they’re not pulling carpet out of their house, Sheetrock out, worry about what they lost. It’s three hours where they get to come cheer for the kids, cheer for the community.”

While Smalley doesn’t know of anyone who is leaving the area completely, there are thousands of families across the southern Texan coast who are dislocated and migrating away from floodwaters to where family can take them in and jobs are available. In Orangefield, at least one senior had to quit the team after three houses among his family members were ruined.

“What they’re dealing with is a lot more important than football,” Smalley said.

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Brandon Charles is one of those people with stubborn American ideals who refused to let the storm permanently move him. He’s back in New Orleans now, and while the house is different from the one he grew up in, it’s on the same plot of land that his family left 12 years ago.

After Katrina, the Charles family moved to Dallas. Brandon had been a baseball player, but at a bulky 6’3, he joined the Lake Dallas High School football team his freshman year as an offensive lineman. His success led him to Division I football at Texas Southern University in Houston. He’s now pursuing social work in graduate school at The University of New Orleans.

Charles is back in his hometown, but Katrina permanently affected him. He’s very aware that he had to mature quickly after the storm ripped his home away without warning. He remembers having a cell phone, but when he called his friends, there was only a dial tone. It would be months until he finally learned all of them were alright.

“Everything never really was back to normal. Matter of fact, here we are 12 years later, and it’s still not normal,” Charles said. “I think that was definitely the scariest thing.”

Charles is happy with how his life turned out. Some of his closest friends were ones he met in Texas, after all. But I asked him if he’s glad things happened this way and he hesitates.

No one is glad for a hurricane. No one would ask for this. Twelve years later and New Orleans is still marked by the damage that was caused. There are still abandoned homes marked only by the spray-painted Xs across the front doors. Sadder, still, is that the city has accepted that they won’t even ever know exactly how many residents died that fateful month in 2005.

The hurricane changed Charles in big ways, and in little ones. He remembers at Texas Southern, for every road trip, he would pack a week’s worth of clothes. His teammates would laugh at him, of course. “Why you got so much stuff,” they asked. The team would only be gone two days.

“Hey man,” he’d reply. “You never know.”

Photo by Mario Tama/Getty Images

The people displaced by Harvey, Irma, and Maria are only beginning to be shaped by the storms. Yedidiah Louis would like to fully credit his parents for his maturity at a young age, but Hurricane Katrina also forced his teenage self to grow up.

The Louis family relocated to Dallas in 2005 but moved back to New Orleans a year later. Louis knew it wasn’t right for him, and told his family just that. In their neighborhood in the Seventh Ward, Louis was around crime and drugs, the last thing a budding football star needed.

“(There) used to be shootouts at the corner of my street,” Louis said. “There were a couple of close calls. It just wasn’t a good environment in general.”

Louis’ parents had the same realization, and left their home again to return to Dallas. Louis played for Lloyd V. Berkner in Richardson, Texas, and is now a senior and a record-setting receiver at Sam Houston State University.

In that brief time back in New Orleans, Louis remembers the “havoc” and disorganization in the city.

“We didn’t have teachers. We would just sit in (one) class for 50 minutes foolin’ around in school,” he remembered.

Statistically, the city has recovered. Residents have returned as crime rates have fallen from pre-Katrina times. A corrupt mayor was convicted of federal crimes. Among Louis’ friends, he thinks they all seemed to make it out alright. One ended up playing football at Texas A&M.

But Katrina is a scar, make no mistake. No one I talk to, no matter how great their life turned out, is grateful for the storm. They can’t be. They all saw the life-altering power of nature, and how some people never recovered. These storms are inescapable.

“That happened to people,” Louis said. “Everyone was deeply affected in a massive way.”

NorthJersey.com-USA TODAY NETWORK

Smalley is amazed that relief workers even found Orangefield. It’s a tiny town, after all, just outside of Beaumont, Texas. There’s only 500 kids in the school system. First, two trailers with Meals Ready to Eat from South Carolina showed up a few days after the storm, then a truck from Knoxville, Tennessee, with hundreds of water bottles. An 18-wheeler was even rerouted from Houston, delivering cleaning supplies and more.

“How do you explain all that?” Smalley wonders.

It’s Friday night at Orangefield High School, just before kickoff, and his kids had earned this moment. Many players left practice in the Texas heat and headed right back to work tearing out molding Sheetrock and carpet. The city will be recovering for a long time, but football is finally back for Orangefield, and that is something that residents can rally around.

Smalley senses that this game has a different vibe. Admission is free, and so is the food -- the booster club raised enough money to feed nearly 2,000 people. Before the game, Smalley tells his team that the town just needs to see an effort that represents them: a toughness, a selflessness.

“People got the totality of what it was about,” Smalley said. “It was about more than trying to win a game.”

Smalley feels certain his team did what he asked them to, and he’s proud of that, even as the game ends in a 35-7 defeat. It wasn’t a perfect symbol of the town’s recovery, and there may be never be one. It was a step towards rebuilding life as they know it, however — an attempt to regain normalcy until the next time something comes.