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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (15/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” And Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: Feedback is very much appreciated!

Link: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

“Belated happy birthday.” That first greeting was underwhelming in the deafening silence.

The room had been strangely quiet and it had been that way since he first entered, a far cry from the air during their past sessions. Shela should have waved one hand as he closed the door behind him. Even before he got to the seat, she should have been throwing multiple questions in succession.

What else did you get written?

Anything happening in school?

How’s Hange?

Oddly enough, Shela had only followed him with her eyes as he entered the room. The silence had felt like something pounding in his ears and her gaze had become something worth trifling his own consciousness with.

To top it all off, it had ended so anticlimactically with one greeting that Levi was left utterly confused as he sat on the chair in front of her.

What do you want her to do? Levi found himself asking silently as he matched Shela’s stare with his own.

Her blue eyes though were still warm, her eyes wide with what could have been curiosity. Levi started to suspect that it had all been a figment of his imagination that only a while ago they were watching and observing. Even as he settled on his seat, he sensed there were still questions up in the air that Levi could have grasped if he reached hard enough.

“Is that why you called me here? A free birthday session?” Levi asked.

“I just thought it was a good first greeting.” Shela’s voice was casual, innocent, and almost annoying.

Something wanted to burst out from inside him. That excuse of a greeting had only done the bare minimum to help it. In fact, it had done worse. It poked at him, whispering to him to figure out for himself what the hell that something was..

He was in no mood for a guessing game though. And he hadn’t been for the past few weeks. “Then why did you call me?” He asked. It had been a tall order to match her gaze, to come up with the right answers to questions she hadn’t even asked yet.

Shela shrugged. “I just wanted to check on my favorite patient.”

“I haven’t been your patient in a while.”

“We had scheduled sessions. You just didn’t go to them.”

“I was busy…. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do than chase one patient?”

Shela raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to come here? You had a choice to answer that message and believe me, you’re free to leave if you want to Levi.” She gestured her hands towards the door in one long exaggerated movement.

One movement that only served to sink Levi deeper into the sofa chair. In those few seconds as Levi leaned back, he saw once again the gradual shift in her gaze from something innocent to something cold and observing, and it was as if she was studying some sort of a specimen. And he was the specimen.

He was certain that was the exact same gaze he felt as he went through the door. But it wasn’t at all unfamiliar. Those had been the eyes she gave after all when she had asked the precise questions that broke the icebergs inside him into chunks instead of winnowing through the hard surface.

Why did that gaze in particular have him tense up at that exact moment? Levi didn’t have to wait too long for an answer though.

“You haven't written in a while,” she said.

“I deleted it.”

Shela didn’t look too surprised though. “Why?” She asked.

“It just seemed like a useless thing to do.”

“Why would you say it was useless?

“I was wasting a lot of time with it.” “So you did continue writing after our last meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just a guess… You only deleted the file a few weeks ago so it must mean you were thinking about it.”

Levi’s eyes widened and soon, he was starting to rack his brain for an explanation. “I don’t remember sharing you the file…”

“Hange told me what happened.”

“So you asked her about me?”

Shela shook her head. “No Levi, she approached me. She was worried about you.”

Hange. Levi found himself taking a glance at his phone in the silence that followed, the third message from the top of his inbox. Last touched weeks before.

He had decided to spend the holidays and his birthday back home. He liked to tell himself that he had only done that because with his hectic student-athlete schedule the past few years, he never had the chance to spend more than three days worth of holidays back home. When at home though, all he had done was lock himself in his bedroom for days on end.

Levi couldn’t convince himself for long. He had only gone home to avoid Hange, to avoid any reminder of the past few months and to avoid the almost nagging regret at having deleted the file.

With the file gone, he had felt like something was missing, painfully missing.

“And I’m concerned about what’s going on between you two,” Shela said.

“You’re paid to be concerned.”

“Oh? So you think I only became a therapist to get paid? Believe me Levi if I didn’t care I wouldn’t have called you here today. I could have gotten another patient and have been paid this extra hour.”

“Then why are you here? Why did you ask me to come here?” Levi felt stinging behind his eyes and a knot in his throat as he spoke up. A part of him actually contemplated leaving at that moment, yet it had been brushed away so quickly by something else, an odd feeling of desperation. He wanted something from her. Hell, he wanted something but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

“I told you, I was worried and I wanted to make sense of this with you,” Shela answered. The answer had been underwhelming to say the least especially with the way she narrowed her eyes at him.

And if Levi hadn’t been so desperate for any sort of closure, for that particular reaction he so looked for, maybe he would have just stood up and left.

Shela wasn’t done though. “Are those memories trapping you?”

Memories? Since when had it been about memories? “What memories?”

“Memories of Commander Hange. Captain Levi,” she said confidently, as if they were her memories to begin with. She spoke in such a way that she could have even been talking about real people. Very real people.

Such confidence, such forcefulness and her attempt to shoehorn all that into his reality sent a sudden sting through his chest. If Commander Hange was real, that meant she really died, that meant she really burned alive up there in the sky.

Levi would have preferred that image to have just been a figment of his imagination. “They’re stories.”

“Yet for a while you wanted to believe they were memories right? So what happened in between Levi? What did I miss?”

“I realized… They weren’t real…”

Shela let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re still trying to deny it huh? You’ve always been difficult to crack…” She cleared her throat. “So, Hange told me, the commander died. Then you deleted the file and now you don’t wanna talk about it right?”

Levi didn’t reply.

Shela continued to speak, seeming unfazed. “Here is something I noticed about you. When you injured your knee, your first instinct had been to insist you’re okay then soon you shut up and find something else to cling to--- writing. When writing started to hurt, suddenly you decide to delete the document then tell me everything’s fine. What are you gonna do now? You’re gonna find a new hobby?”

Academics, jumping. He thought to himself. Levi had spent the past few days isolated in his room back home, finishing his own thesis and following the jumping tournaments of his own teammates. As if there was much else to do anyway.

Shela rested her chin on her hands and stared straight ahead. Her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, as if the answers were found beyond the wide window behind him. “I started to think to myself… Why did Hange’s death of all things hurt you enough to cause that same grief? I read your story, you could have mourned Erwin’s death, you could have mourned your Petra's death, mourned Isabel or Farlan’s death. Why Hange’s? Why did she push you to the edge enough to delete the file?”

“It built up,” Levi answered. That was the most natural explanation right? Or at least the most natural he could think of.

Shela nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer. “Let’s move on to the next question then. Do you think that Hange’s death was any special? If there was something that made it the tipping point in the first place?”

“Can’t a tipping point be something small?”

Shela shook her head. “Tipping points can be small I agree but remember, when you told me you weren’t going to write anymore? It was as if you knew what would be happening next. You looked terrified.”

Somewhere along the way, the remnants of Shela’s gentle facade had completely fallen, replaced by something stone cold, yet confident and almost mocking. Levi was starting to get a little more irritated at such assumptions. Regardless of whether they were true or not.

“So tell me Levi, what makes Hange so special? What made Captain Levi so hesitant to write the next part? Then what made this Levi here want to delete it soon after writing it?”

Levi only had to look behind him, at the sky just outside the window to articulate it for himself. It was surprisingly easy to grasp. It was a simple feeling after all that never left. “It hurt,” he admitted. He could have said more but he had found himself at a loss for words a second later as he imagined the rumbling before him and that one silhouette that disappeared into the blue.

“And if you’re that invested in Hange’s death. I’m sure Erwin’s death, your special squad’s death, should have hurt as much right?”

“They hurt too,” Levi added. He started to become a little more aware of himself. They hurt too but as much as Hange’s death? Not enough for sure to even have him consider deleting the file.

“Then why didn’t you delete the file if they hurt? From what I could tell Captain Levi was inseparable from Erwin.”

Levi let his eyes fall to the empty coffee table in front of him, searching for something worth a distraction among the pockmarks of the wood. Shela’s eyes were getting sharper by the second.

“I’ll ease you into my theory slowly and feel free to tell me if I’m wrong...you and Hange were inseparable right?”

Captain Levi and squad leader Hange Zoe. They were from different teams but they did hang out a lot together. With that quick recall, Levi nodded.

“And you lost a lot of people in your life… So I started to wonder, if Captain Levi spent so much time keeping his distance, being aloof, completely aware that the everyone could end up dead, why did he cling to Hange?”

“Captain Levi cared about a lot of people.”

“I wasn’t denying that Levi. I was asking you, why did he cling to Hange? Why were they inseparable? Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? All three at once?”

The last three words had been things Levi found himself musing over as she continued to talk. But then, he couldn’t figure out for himself the answer. “We couldn’t fall in love. There was a war.” Those words had come out on their own. He only realized seconds later that it didn't answer the question.

Shela gave him a cat-like grin. “We? Huh?”

Levi cleared his throat. “They---,” he corrected.

“Okay, you’re beating around the bush a little too much. I’ll tell you my theory and if you don’t make the effort to figure it out for yourself, this will be my assumption. You didn't think she’d die. You didn’t expect her to die so you took her for granted. Am I wrong, Captain Levi?”

“Took her for granted…” Levi almost spat out those words as he said it. “You can’t just assume that…”

“By take for granted, I meant ‘I can get past pain, death, loss, as long as she’s there’ and for what? You just assumed she was immortal didn’t you? That she couldn't die, since she's always been there. And so the moment she died, suddenly grief hit you like a bus.” She straightened herself up on the seat. “Maybe you thought you would have died first?” Shela pressed.

“I was dying in the woods. I thought she’d be the one to survive the whole time.”

“But you know, it’s not uncommon for people to be this way. To have this person there and just assume that person's immortal, or to think ‘as long as this person is here’ I’ll be okay. It’s only natural that humans find hope in the living. For example,a lot of parents do that too with their own kids and that’s why parents losing their kids are one of the most devastating cases of grief I’ve encountered…” She trailed off. “But I digress, There’s one question about you I’ve been exploring for a while and I’ve always wanted to ask. You might not know the answer yourself but it’s worth a try.” Shela paused and looked at him expectantly.

Even when he sat on her chair, frozen by her cold stare, he still managed to force a nod.

“Why do you remember? Why is Captain Levi forcing his own memories to live on? Unless he had some unresolved feelings right?”

Attraction? Mutual Support? Love? You took her for granted.

Even when moving, Levi let those words, those suggestions run free in his mind. The feeling, the ache in his chest, the weight on his shoulders and the knot at his throat that only evolved into some tremble in his lips. It was everything at once, Levi was sure.

Maybe, I took her for granted. Maybe I should have stopped her. Levi thought to himself. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud yet.

“And something tells me you don’t regret much Captain Levi Ackerman,” Shela said. The gentleness in her face was back. “But maybe if you allowed yourself to regret back then, maybe all these feelings of regret, grief… They wouldn’t have bundled up now, you wouldn’t be hurting like this. You didn't let yourself experience grief and loss… You didn’t let yourself regret even in your deathbed. Now, everything just comes pouring out in your next life because you just let it build up inside you?” She had phrased it as a question but as Shela enunciated those words, Levi couldn’t help but see deep thought in them, as if she had discerned and answered the question for herself already.

“How can you assume that?” Levi challenged. It was a weak attempt, at that point he was starting to get more and more convinced. It had just been a matter of reality pulling him away from an almost ethereal concept.

Soon, he did grasp it, the thing he had been looking for, that one feeling he had been desiring since the start of the conversation.

It manifested first as a knowing smile. And before Levi could respond, grip on to some decent comeback to her long winded tirade, he found himself hesitating, focusing instead on how his shoulders dropped and how the wind was knocked out of himself slowly and the quick movement as he shifted his weight to his hands pressed on the sofa.

“I’m not assuming how you feel. I’m laying out some information, coming up with a theory and leaving it in the air for you to decide whether it’s true or not.” She didn’t continue from there. Instead she dropped her clipboard on the table and walked towards one of the bookshelves, pulling out a blue binder.

“What if it's too detailed to pass up as a reasonable theory?” Levi managed to say. He found himself counting the lines on the wooden table in front of him. In a daze, he had been too distracted to reorganize for himself, Shela’s theory. And he started to even doubt his own ability to respond.

“I’ve been seeing other patients, I think I’ve encountered enough to make some fair guesses. Besides, I told you I’ve been studying reincarnation for a while.” She dropped the blue binder in front of him on the table. “But you still think it’s too detailed to be believable huh? What if I told you I experienced it too? That's why I know the details."

Levi could only stare at the blue binder. He only got so far as to hover his hand over it before he hesitated. He looked up at her, following her as she sat back on the chair in front of him.

“What are you waiting for?” She asked.

“Should I open this?”

“I wouldn’t have put it there if I didn’t want you to read it Levi,” She was looking at him expectantly as if she was excited for him to see what was inside.

Levi started to wonder why he even hesitated. Regardless, he still went at it slowly. The plastic cover on the binder was warm to the touch and for a second or so, he allowed himself to pinch at it, see where the plastic would give into the pressure.

Maybe he had been on that for a second longer than he should have. He was still hesitating. He was still nervous.

“What are you scared of? It’s a binder,” Shela said.

“What’s inside?”

“It’s my research on reincarnation.”

“For your PhD?”

Shela paused for a second before answering. “I created two pieces of writing for my PhD, something stomachable by the scientific body and something just for myself,” Shela explained. “Because I honestly don’t think anyone would have believed it either if I was telling them I was seeing very clear visions of a past life.”

Do you really believe these were memories from a past life? Levi muttered. For a second, he had wondered if he had said it loud enough for her to hear. But when he opened the binder, he quickly realized he didn’t need an answer.

The title of the work was generic, easily forgettable. But the subtitle underneath and the author’s name spoke to him in ways Levi couldn’t fully comprehend just yet. Comprehension came quickly after running his eyes over the title then the subtitle underneath

He read her name out loud. Her first name settled at the back of his mouth and he couldn’t be too sure if he had pronounced it correctly. But when he said it a second time, the name rolled off his tongue too easily, as if it was all too familiar. His mind had just taken a split second longer to process it.

From my past life? Levi thought to himself. At that point, he couldn’t be too sure. It had seemed like too distant of a memory. He never had to use her name with her after all. He only remembered her having taught him to pronounce it eons ago.

Her last name next to it was all too familiar, yet surprising. And Levi had little to no problem, saying it for himself, even when still recovering from that small bout of surprise.

“Ackerman’s my maiden name,” she explained. “And I’m sure you saw it already, my first name is a little old fashioned.” She didn’t seem so self conscious though, as if she was aware that many lives ago, she had been teaching him to say it back when it had been just the both of them in the underground city.

Levi said her whole name out loud again. As soon as he looked back up at her, putting name to face, he found himself transported back to that small room, running his hand over her curly black hair and locking gazes with those piercing cold blue eyes. Then, they were his only source of comfort, his sanctuary.

And he never did figure out if he said it right back then in the underground city. Just to make sure though, he read it aloud in front of her again, willing himself to say it clearly and firmly.

“Written by: Kuchel Ackerman.”

***

Bookends. That’s how it seemed at least. Levi had two pages written out by that night.

He had his earliest childhood memories up there, everything as visceral as possible from the sights, to the scents, to her touch. With not too much context though, his earliest memories stuck to him as comforting sensations more than anything. Within an hour of writing, he gave up and concluded that he never did remember much of it.

Right under those early childhood sensations, articulated to the best of his capabilities, were memories after Kuchel’s death, training to fight in the underground. Then, written below that were narrations on life after the war, his remaining years on a wheelchair, travelling around Marley, joining the peace ambassadors on occasional trips.

There was no transition between them, nothing more glaring than paragraph breaks.

They were two sections with little to no connection to each other. But Levi at least knew for himself, that in-between would have been those long winded narrations on his life in the survey corps and his life during the war against Marley.

For some reason, he wasn’t too bothered about the missing parts though. As if he had already accepted for himself that he made the decision to delete it.

Finishing what he started. That’s what it felt like and that’s all there was to it. Reading Shela’s own work after all had him somehow accepting that they were memories more than dreams.

Something that had to be immortalized somewhere/ The acceptance though that the grief, the loss and the pain were memories not dreams was slow going. The dreams had been painful, realizing they were someone’s reality, only aggravated it.

Kuchel’s words echoed in his head. The last questions she said before they separated that day. Back then, she had escorted him to the door of her office and they had stood there for a few minutes before parting ways.

Can you let it go?

I don’t even know what I’m trying to let go of. For all he knew, something died in him back in that day in Odiha. Consequently, there were emotions he couldn’t even access, as if part of life had ended for him in that single moment.

You can’t access or comprehend those emotions because you didn’t let yourself feel it. You didn't ride through it.

And she had pointed it out then. Captain Levi had never been the most emotional person because he had never allowed himself to feel.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret. And when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go. I know you will.

Opening the laptop wasn’t easy. Staring at the blank document sheet and deciding for himself the first words to say took ages longer than what he would have liked.

As soon as he had decided for himself that he was going to write though, everything came out so seamlessly. He only had to hover his hands over the keyboard, feel for the right keys, for them to start moving on their own. It turned out writing with little regard for grammar and punctuation or for unwelcome emotional reactions, was oddly liberating.

He had started off with bullet points but soon enough the sentences were too long and the bullet points were rendered useless. Eventually, he scrapped the bullet points altogether.

“There was a peace treaty,” Levi said aloud as he typed it out. “Armin and the others, they became peace ambassadors…”

“And Mikasa…” Levi trailed off as he remembered. She was back in Paradis, back in their old town of Shiganshina where Eren’s head was laid to rest. He thought back to Mikasa and for a second he almost felt guilty for even questioning her decision to stay with Eren. “If this was how it felt for you, I wouldn’t be surprised why you’d be hesitant to leave him,” Levi said, he leaned back on his chair, stretched out his good leg and stared blankly at the ceiling above him.

The pain was similar, he was sure. He had seen flashes of visiting an empty grave as he wrote. The white ceiling above him and the contrast it provided made those dark memories all the more vivid.

The face he had been longing to see though, as he stared at the grave then, was just a phone call away. And before he even noticed it himself, he had reached for the phone next to his laptop, turning it screen up.

He had no one else to call so her number and their message thread was still one of the first on his inbox. Even if he hadn’t opened it in weeks.

Of course, it would. Hange had sent messages multiple times the past few weeks..

December 23 8:15 AM

I heard you went home.

December 25 12:01 AM

Happy Birthday! :D

January 1 12:00 AM

Happy New Year! Wishing you a bright new year and a speedy recovery

January 3 6:21 AM

Wanna talk when you get back?

January 5 2:23 AM

Hey, I’m sorry about everything. I should have been more sensitive to your needs. Even if you don’t wanna meet after this, it’s fine. I had a great time working with you and I’ll remember these past few months :D. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.

Just assure me please. Did you get to talk to someone? I hope you did. I was just concerned. But it doesn’t matter too much now. As long as you’re okay.

Levi didn’t scroll up past those last few messages. The rest had been paragraphs worth of apologies even he didn’t want to ponder.

Besides, there were more important things to him then, like finding the right words to say as a response to that latest message.

He sensed closure there. Yet, he wasn’t ready for closure. His mind was scrambling for some way to reopen the conversation then.

It was late at night though. Levi was exhausted and impatient. He was sure if he sent something and slept it off, he should wake up to a message the next morning.

So the message he sent then had been automatic, typical. It didn’t require too much thought to compose.

January 9 11:17 PM

Hey, when are you free to talk?

He decided then, he could leave it to his future self to come up with another response in the morning.

***

Levi’s sleep was light, light enough that the quick ping of his phone was more than enough to wake him up. He was awake enough to reach for his phone on the side table, pull it under the blankets with him and open his messaging application.

It wasn’t Hange who had messaged.

“Coach?” Levi muttered as he sat up in bed.

Sorry if this is pretty last minute. Mikasa agreed to meet at the track today this afternoon around 3-3:30. You think you could make it?

Levi typed a short text accepting the invite and sent it out.

He pulled at the curtains of his window. The sun was out already. He stared back at his phone at the upper right of the screen.

9:23 AM.

He was oddly disappointed. Other plans meant he didn’t have to think about the ignored message at the top of his inbox. He had sent the message at eleven last night. It had been almost twelve hours since then.

Was she taking a really long slumber? Or was she just ignoring him?

Nothing much to do until three so Levi opened his laptop and worked on his own thesis. Working on something as utterly boring and monotonous as a school requirement though didn’t make time run faster.

Levi was sure he had gone through at least fifty articles of doping cases among professional athletes. When he looked back at the clock though, he saw only two hours had passed.

He ordered lunch. Time went notably faster when he was just scrolling through his social media, yet excruciatingly slower still than what he was used to. And the main culprit? Hange’s online status and her activity on social media.

Hange was still liking photos which meant one thing: She was ignoring messages.

He went down to pick up his delivery from the dorm lobby and on the way up, he took a detour. All the way to Hange’s room on the other side of the building, a five minute walk for most people. For Levi it could have been ten minutes or it could have been ages. He still had that awkward gait which made the journey all the more frustrating.

The hallways were quiet but it wasn’t unexpected. School didn’t start for another two weeks. Hange’s room was along the quiet hallway and Hange had always been loud. So the stark contrast had been unsettling to say the least.

What do you expect her to do? Run down the halls screaming your name? He thought to himself. For some reason, that was what he was expecting and that was what he would’ve liked.

He took advantage of that silence. He padded lightly through the hallway, attempting to segregate the sounds of the creak of the floorboard with whatever he sounds he could make out from the rooms.

Nothing much. All silence. Of course it would be silent though, that wasn’t Hange’s room yet.

Her room was towards the end of the hall, the third to the last door to the right. Eventually he got tired of keeping his footsteps and his awkward gait light and he found himself scurrying--- at least to the best of his own injured abilities--- towards the door.

He willed himself not to make a sound. He wasn’t sure though if he had been the sneakiest.

He was still quiet enough at least to hear something. He had to press his ear to the door to hear it clearly, the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard, the sound of books hitting the desk and a loud yawn that had been very much Hange’s.

The loud yawn in particular sent a twinge up his spine and an ache in his chest and Levi had to swallow hard to get his bearings. He missed her.

He knocked on the door once. Then twice to make sure she heard it. Then he waited five long seconds for any response.

There was no response. He slapped the door. Still no answer.

Within a few seconds more, he started to get self conscious. She didn’t reply to his messages while being glaringly online. She was blatantly ignoring his knocks on the door. Did she actually want to see him?

And Levi was starting to notice the growling of his stomach. It was enough of a reminder that he hadn’t even had breakfast that morning.

A little disheartened, he made the journey back to his room.

***

The coldest point of winter was coming. Levi would have noticed it by just looking at the calendar. It had been a while since he stood outside long enough to let the cold sink deep under his skin.

And he was only reminded of such weather patterns when he stepped on to the open air track which was understandably empty. Two in the afternoon shouldn’t be too cold but that day in particular had Levi shivering, his teeth chattering in such an unfamiliar way.

That would have been expected. He didn’t spend much time outdoors anymore, Maybe that had explained that sudden, unfamiliar susceptibility to the cold. He could never be too sure though.

He scanned the field for any sign of Mikasa or his coach. What first caught his eye then had been the horizontal bar, set up where it always was. He hadn't returned to the field since his injuryand seeing the bar like it always had been, sent a wave of nostalgia and longing through him.

For a while, he was fixated and for a few seconds more, he vacillated between sitting on the bleachers or walking to the middle of the track where it was set up. Alone in the field though with nothing much else to do though, he opted to pass the time reminiscing

The bar was set high enough for Levi to have to reach up but still low enough for him to be able to grip it hard. It was cold to the touch. It was a fair distance away from him and it hovered over him, masquerading as something almost unattainable.

But maybe it was unattainable. Levi found himself strangely sad at the distance, still unable to fathom that only a few months ago, that bar had been a very easy height to clear.

“Hey… Your coach said you’d be here.”

Levi quickly turned towards the voice.

Mikasa stood before him in joggers and a sweatshirt. Her hair clipped back, red blotches on her cheek. Levi only had to listen to her breaths and notice the way she curled her lips as she took steady breaths to conclude that she had been running.

“Coach is training you now? In the middle of winter?”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to try out your track for myself. He left the club room and the equipment room open and told me to just try it out while he goes out to check on your team.”

“What made you change your mind?”

She avoided his gaze. “To be honest I’m still not completely sure about this yet. Your coach knows I’m not. But I thought I’d try it out, get to know your school more.”

“It’s a good choice,” Levi said.

For a second, the two were silent. Levi chose that moment to look back up at the bar in front of him but he could see from his peripherals, Mikasa still hadn’t looked away from him. So he waited.

She spoke up eventually. “Hey, about what happened at the diner… I’m sorry about that. I know I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I heard about your injury a while back, even before we met. Even if I don’t like jumping that much either, I think it would have hurt too…”

I’m fine. That had been his first instinct and he had opened his mouth ready to say it.

That’s your homework. Ride through the grief, the loss, the pain. Kuchel’s voice tore into his train of thought.

Will that actually help? He had been riding through that grief last night as he wrote, he had let it wash over him then. If he had been a little more introspective, he would have realized although it did hurt, it wasn’t a heavy, crushing type of hurt. It was a pain that still allowed him motions.

It granted him enough control to still function as a person. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m not.” But it was still hard to admit. “It takes time,” Levi added as he looked back up at the horizontal bar and behind it the clear blue sky. The color blue was bright, warm yet melancholic.

Mikasa didn’t reply. Her stare though seemed more focused. When Levi looked at her, made eye contact, comprehension washed over him. He knew she understood. And he caught that comprehension quickly like some contagion.

He spoke up again. “Eren means a lot to you huh?”

“We grew up together, lived along the same street. We went to the same school since kinder. And since we were young, he'd get agitated a lot, pick a lot of fights and I always had to look out for him.” Mikasa put one hand behind her neck and craned her neck to look up at the sky. “I almost hesitated to even try jumping since I wouldn’t be able to protect him as much anymore…”

“Why did you start jumping then?”

“After I got scouted in sophomore year, Eren convinced me to try it. He was the one who wanted me to widen my world.”

“And he talked to you again about this?”

“He and Armin did. They told me to consider this.”

“Then it should be an easy decision.”

Mikasa smiled. “I know it’s supposed to be an easy decision. But how I feel about Eren doesn’t make it easy.. I’ve known Eren my whole life and don’t get me wrong, I’ve never lost him but... Somehow, I can imagine how it would feel like to lose him. So I don’t wanna let go.”

“But losing people, losing things that are precious to us is a fact of life. We’re gonna deal with it anyway. Besides, you’re not losing him, he’ll make college in a year or so.”

“He won’t make Paradis University.”

“You’ll have him on the weekends.”

“But will I be able to handle that set up?” Mikasa met his gaze again. She never lost Eren or so that was what she said.

Will I be able to handle it? Yet why was Levi seeing grief in her eyes? Why did such a strong wave of comprehension hit him almost violently in that moment where their eyes met?

Empathy? It was an easy answer to pick up for himself. But maybe it ran deeper than that, because suddenly, Levi was aware of the ground under him, the cold air caressing him, the loud rustle of leaves. He was feeling everything at once. And with it, he felt the twinge in his stomach, the pang in his chest, the knot in his throat.

The grief never left. The loss never left. And the pain gripped him tightly then. Letting himself feel it had left him with a strange bout of confidence, and a wave of liberation that seemed to stick and when Levi spoke up again, he wondered if he was speaking for himself or for her.

“You won’t know if you can handle it until you ride through it yourself.”

Mikasa seemed convinced.

His coach had arrived a few minutes after the conversation, incessantly apologizing about the traffic. The usual pleasant exchange followed.

“How are you?”

“Slowly learning to walk again, focusing on academics.,” Levi answered. “How’s the team?” They were preparing for nationals. He didn’t need an answer. There were still things his coach knew though which couldn’t be researched and he was still invested in any response his coach could give.

“They’re preparing for nationals, training in the indoor gym.” The indoor gym a few minute car ride from their campus. Levi had been training there every winter and it was easy to picture the drills they were probably doing then.

It soon evolved into some unnecessary athlete propaganda which Levi surmised was to entice MIkasa.

“The scouts for the national team have been watching Elijah closely. He’ll probably be getting an invitation soon after nationals are over,” he said, soon after the pleasantries had died out into an awkward silence. Greg turned to Levi. “They were asking about you too. You’d have gotten the invite. No one’s forgotten about you.”

Was that for Mikasa? Or for him? Soon, Levi started to ask. Was that supposed to cheer him up? Levi couldn’t gauge intention though and he found himself looking away as he started to feel the beginnings of a loss of control.

Mikasa may have sensed it. Or at least sensed that moment as a good time to speak up. “Could you tell me more about your athletics program? Levi told me a lot about his experience here and I think I might just be interested.”

The digression and the exchange that followed was quicker and more enthusiastic than something Levi would have easily caught on to. Suddenly Greg was shifting between enthusiasm and relief. And it evolved to some offer to tour her of the school. Then some mentions about dinner.

Levi though was making excuses. The campus was too wide for him to walk through injured. It was getting a little too cold. And with the peak of winter nearing, it might just even get dark in the next hour or so. His main reason for staying wasn’t among those though.

He had been sneaking glances at the bar and at the blue sky behind it. While the field was empty, while the school was lifeless and while the bar and the equipment was set up in front of him, he realized he might just have some unfinished business on the field.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll fix up the equipment here.”

“You sure?” Greg asked as he looked pointedly at Levi’s knee.

“It’s the least I can do. Besides, it won’t be too heavy after I disassemble it.” Or at least it wasn’t so heavy when Levi had carried it before. He turned to Mikasa. “Go ahead, enjoy the day,” Levi said, nodding his head reassuringly.

It didn’t take them much convincing. Greg was too excited and Mikasa started to seem eager as well to see the school.

And Levi wanted them to leave. Alone in the empty field with the equipment all set up, brought forth within him some unwanted feelings yet feelings which Levi wanted to process for himself one last time.

That’s your homework. Ride through the pain, the loss, the grief, the regret.

He was riding through it already and he was at least trying to find hope in that dreadful journey that left him almost desolate. Along the way, as he started to process the emotions, he fixated on the view of the bar, and maybe just a flicker of someone flying through the blue sky behind him. He soon stumbled upon one conclusion, one conclusion that Kuchel had suggested yet he had never really thought too much for himself until that moment.

At that moment, Levi let the emotions speak for him.

Regret is an emotion. Even if you say you don’t regret, even if you come out as the type not to regret, for sure you’ve regretted things right? It was a feeling you willingly chose to brush away. Kuchel had said then, as they had gone through her case study.

Levi had done his part to brush it away, to find something else to entertain him and to only hope that the emotions leave. But they never left. The aches that came with the view in front of him only proved it to him even before, and in that moment, it continued to prove it to him much faster and in more numerous ways than he could count.

So how do I stop feeling this?

You don’t. You can’t control how you feel. You can only control how you process it. The emotions leave when they want.

But when the time is right, you’ll be able to let it go...Before you know it, you’ll find closure.

Around that time, she had mentioned the word 'closure'. But closure had always been a vague word. It manifested as something different for everyone else. Levi soon realized as he started to move, it was a word that could never actually be contained to a black ink on white paper, or to spoken word.

For Levi, it had manifested at something he only sensed as something hazy. He thought he had control of his body then but along the way, it had felt like his body had assessed it for himself, the circumstances that he could only take advantage of at that moment.

He was alone in an empty field, the empty field he hadn’t visited in ages. The equipment was all set up for him. And if he closed his eyes then, allow himself to ignore the biting cold wind, the bare trees. If he just focused on the bar and the blue sky behind him, he could pretend it was summer again and before that, spring, and before that the last summer… Every single season—hell—every single day he had spent jumping over the bars.

His body was moving on its own, as if it understood the concept of closure before he did. He made his way to the clubroom.

I never did clean up after the injury. Levi thought to himself. His spare clothes, his spare pair of shoes and his face towel were all still in the locker, as they had been every time before. It was surprising, he had assumed someone would have cleaned it up.

He didn’t think too much of it though. There were other things he was raring to do. At that moment, he was just grateful nobody had half a mind to remind him, or he probably wouldn’t have been able to go through with his plans.

Levi put on his shoes, his right then his left. He changed to jogging pants and to the sweatshirt left in his locker. And for a second he did some test movements with it.

It was baggier than what he would have wanted, but he wasn’t in a competition, Levi could be as lenient as he wanted about it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Levi thought to himself as he rolled up the jogger on his left leg and stared at the braced knee underneath. He could walk, he was sure. Yet just imagining himself removing the brace, left an unsettling feeling inside him.

He ended up pondering it for a while, a while longer than he was aware of. Soon enough, he decided on wearing it on the way back to the track, to just give his knee time to prepare.

On the way back, he passed by the equipment storage and he found himself thinking a lot harder about it. He looked back to the equipment in the field. Mikasa had mentioned setting it up. She had set up the pad underneath, but it had been an incomplete set up. Or so that was what Levi recalled.

There’s supposed to be a pad on top. Levi recalled. He opened the storage room to see the weather cover and the top pad, strewn on the side.

Lugging both the weather cover and the top pad would take two trips. Levi approximated. But did he have the time for two trips?

His coach was unpredictable. And just the idea of them coming back to catch him attempting such, was something Levi didn’t want to imagine then. So he folded up the weather cover and dragged the mat behind him, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in his knee.

“Hey, you need help?”

Levi hadn’t expected anyone to be there. And of all people, Armin? “What are you doing here?”

“Mikasa told me she’s going out to dinner with your coach so she asked me to pick up her things from the club room…” Armin started. “I was here on campus already so…”

Levi softened his gaze, only realizing when Armin had trailed off quickly, avoiding his stare that he had probably been glaring. “You’re meeting Hange?” He asked, willing his voice to mellow.

“She’s been busy with thesis and I offered to help her out… So I’m picking up the stuff and will be meeting her soon after,” he explained. “But I arrived a bit early and I have some extra time." He offered his hand out to help.

Armin was extra hands. Extra hands meant time could go faster. And for sure, he could get Armin to hide his next set of plans.

“So, why are you bringing this to the field?” He asked, as they walked along the dirt path to the field.

Levi shrugged. “I guess I wanna try jumping one more time before I leave it for good.”

“But…”

Levi didn’t have to look at him to know what he wanted to suggest. “You’re thinking about my injury huh? It’ll be fine. I just wanna get a few jumps in.”

“It might be better to wait a few months?” Armin suggested.

“The team is training outside. The field is empty. The equipment is all set up and I’m graduating soon. When else but now?” Levi asked. Thinking back to it soon after he asked though, he could have waited a few months, maybe go back to school to just try it out one last time. But as they turned the corner and as the field opened up before him, Levi only had to look once again at the pale blue sky that stretched endlessly behind the field to be reminded, it ran deeper than that.

“You can wait a few months… I’m sure your coach---” Armin started, as if he had read his mind.

“When else, but now?” Levi pressed. The sky was starting to make its slow transition to purple, then. Orange and bright red were the next colors beyond that. And Levi started to see some of the steam, the colossal titans that marched forward slowly but surely. That one flicker in the sky though, caught his attention. She was concealed behind steam, and flashes of orange and bright red.

How much time did he have?

Armin took a deep breath. “This might sound weird. I’m probably the last person you wanna get advice from… I’m younger than you… and we just met… But Hange probably just rubbed off on me but you know, I guess I’m worried. I heard about your injury months ago, before we even met, Mikasa told me… It was in the rumor mill of the high jump community.”

So what?

“It must have been devastating huh? To lose something like that... Something that has been a constant in your life for five years even ten years…”

Devastating. Was that the right word?

“You must have regretted a lot…”

Did I let myself regret it? He willed himself not to regret then. It was a conscious decision to let the emotions flow free. Soon he had to admit— albeit uncomfortably— he regretted it.

“Then I thought of Mikasa. I actually talked to her about this, about Eren. And you know I was able to convince her that there is a life beyond Eren.”

“So let me predict, you wanna say there’s life beyond jumping?” Life beyond Hange?

Armin nodded. “I know it sounds generic. You probably heard it a million times before but… That was what Hange told us when you left…”

Levi didn’t have to listen to Armin quote it to hear it in her voice.

But… You understand, don’t you? Everyone you meet will be parted from you one day. I know it’s difficult to accept. It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. I know that.

But even so… We need to move forward…

Armin continued. “Move forward… because the world was wider than Eren. And I guess in your case, the world is wider than jumping. Now that I think about it, maybe you and Mikasa were facing similar things.”

It’s hard to stay sane, living like that. It’s painful. So painful. But we need to keep moving forward.

“Keep moving forward… But that’s what I did,” Levi said.

“But when Mikasa brought up the injury, I noticed it and i saw it still hurt you a lot— I’m sorry if I’m just making wild guesses here. I might be wrong.”

“What else did Hange say?” Levi asked. “After ‘keep moving forward?”

It was easy for Levi to imagine her saying that.

There is liberation in riding the pain through, accepting it will happen and just believing you can get past it.

There is liberation in everything. It’s just a matter of believing that happiness will come again.

“I reflected on it too, with Mikasa…” Armin added as they settled on the lowermost bleachers, closest to the bar. “And I thought of something… What if, the reason it’s so painful is because a part of us dies when we lose something. If Mikasa decides to leave Eren, part of her will die, the part of her that clung to him, her childhood, being with him everyday. They might just fade into distant memories the moment she decides to go to university. But there’s a life beyond him. And exchange for whatever part dies with her, her world widens..."

Levi nodded, glancing subtly at the view of the horizontal bar, the sky was shifting to a bright red behind it.

“Something inside her will be reborn. Maybe like reincarnation? There’s our college life waiting after high school, then our work life after that our family life, then retirement then maybe even other lives after that… Maybe even after we die... There's another life waiting for us.”

Levi shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. There was nothing much else to say. He stood up again and approached the landing pad, dragging that extra pad behind him.

“That’s it. After jumping, after whatever we’re doing now, we’re gonna graduate, move on to our next life. Then we just trust that things will get better, we encounter new things, new people to keep us going. We’ll find something else to keep us going.”

Then an old part of us dies and we’re reincarnated as a new person. That was the last sentence, Levi remembered Armin saying, or so that was the message he remembered.

He couldn’t be too sure about Armin’s exact words. Armin didn’t follow behind him either and his voice started to fade into the background.

Even before Armin’s words could whittle into nothing though, the orange sky started to scream at him, the horizontal bar, only nearer, started to goad him in. “That’s why I wanna enter that new life with no regrets,” Levi said.

Eventually Armin gave up.

Or Levi might just have gotten better at ignoring protests. He got better at creating that world, that consisted of just him, the field, the horizontal bar and the sky. The sky that was still a bright orange, the last flash of light before night blankets it. He didn’t have much time.

So Levi gave up on putting the pad on top. He gave up on the weather cover. He unwrapped his brace and threw it towards the side of the field..

Just one jump. The inhibitor within him promised. It sent a buckle through his knee and a light twinge of pain. It could have been stronger than a twinge, but Levi refused to feel it..

There’s just one thing I need to do for myself and I’ll close this part of my life for good.

Captain Levi never regretted. Or so that was what he had willed himself to do before. But everybody would regret even at least once in their life. Levi was part of that everyone and he had kept his own regret mum inside him. It festered into a wound, then to a scab and eventually it grew to shackles that kept him from moving freely, from moving on.

Ride the pain, the loss, the grief.

So he let the shackles do their work, he let the weight slow him down as he walked towards the starting line.

For a few seconds more, he found himself having to catch his breath as the sun made its way down from the horizon. It glowed a bright red, and along the way it released flashes of orange and yellow.

Soon enough, it was just him and the sky. Then him, the sky and someone else.

“Commander Hange Zoe,” he muttered quietly, yet still loud enough to hear it himself. That word, that name, only made that flicker up in the sky a little more lucid.

The silhouette that flew up in the mountains. The silhouette that flew past the buildings and up at the colossal titans.

That silhouette that burned into nothing up in the sky.

The rustle of the leaves, the biting cold and the distant footsteps though still threatened to pull him out of that world he created for himself. With the sun starting to disappear before the horizon, before the bright red--- the flames--- burned through the flicker. Before the flicker fell to the ground and burned out, Levi knew he would have to move.

Why don’t you want to jump? Levi asked himself. His knees were still buckling. The footsteps were still moving. He could get caught soon if he didn’t do it then.

When else will I be able to do this? Levi pressed, an attempt to push his body forward. His body was starting to disobey, or at least the scabbed knee, his joints, the remnants of bruises in his neck from each painful fall that led up to his injury. The biting cold and the pain at his throat from breathing the dry winter air made him even doubt his ability to run.

Certainly, he was in no shape to jump. But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

Eventually, he did find the right question, the one that had him recalling, then feeling everything at once. And it got his body moving.

Why did you start jumping?

I had dreams. I dreamt I could fly and when I jumped, there was this sense of nostalgia…

Letting himself name the emotions for what they were, he soon realized, the comfort that came with jumping wasn’t borne of nostalgia. It was borne of regret.

Captain Levi had one regret which he never entertained. One regret that ran so deep it could never be summarized with a single question.

Should I have stopped her?

Should I have run after her?

Should I have fought with her?

Back then, he never did go after her. so he never found answers. But in that split second flying feet up in the air with just the view of the blue sky above him, he always found hints to it.

So he continued to jump, higher and higher.

You won’t find the answer, no matter how high you jump. Something inside him nagged.

But I wanna leave this part of my life with no regrets. “I wanted to save you,” Levi said. It was only himself who could have spoken or heard him. So maybe he had said it a little louder, he couldn’t tell.

The flicker in the sky started to burn and like the many times he had envisioned that scene, he expected it to fall over soon. He was certain of that.

I should have tried to save you.

Trying never guaranteed success. But trying always had that special ability of just cushioning a fall, protecting against the impact of regret that followed.

And maybe that was the right thing to do. That alone had been enough to send a burst of energy through him, to bring back the muscle memory that got him succeeding at each height, winning competition after competition.

He wanted to fly. So he ran, like he had done many times before. He let his steps bounce, ignoring the pain in his knee.

The horizontal bar was nothing but a convenient silhouette, a guide towards his actual goal.

If I tried to save you, would things have ended up different?

Commander Hange Zoe was the source of energy that got him bouncing on that knee. It got him ignoring that white flashes of pain that followed. She was up there in the sky, fighting the colossal titans and Levi was determined to fly after her.

He positioned himself to jump in that split second, like he had done many times before. As his body turned to his side though, he saw another Hange Zoe.

She wasn’t a flicker nor a silhouette though She was clearly there, chestnut brown hair, bright eyes, like she had been in every single one of the competitions. He needed a split second more to process her. He was pressed for time though so he opted to look straight ahead, to focus on the jump.

“Levi!”

Levi was already up in the air when he heard her call out, when reality gripped at him and attempted to pull him back. Suspended up in the air, floating, it had been easier to pull away.

That was his last jump, his last attempt to save Commander Hange Zoe and he would see it through

There were things though people can will with all their minds, yet their body would still choose to disobey. If the body hadn’t been such a limiting factor, maybe everyone would have been an Olympic athlete.

Levi only had that crushing lesson on reality, hit him hard when he landed painfully on pad, the bar underneath him.

The flicker that he could have sworn was Hange faded into the sky. Or maybe it had fallen over too quickly, in the few moments it took Levi to blink.

The sky shifted into a deep blue. It would shift to a darker blue, then soon, the sky would be painted black. It took the flicker in the sky that had been Hange and soon it would be taking his surroundings with it.

Right after taking her? He would have wanted to ask. He had learned it before already, reality was cruel. There was no use bargaining with it.

It was starting to get cold. The heat in that moment as he made the jump and the heat of the fiery death he had witnessed, waged war with the winter chill that was starting to eat at him too.

Too many discomforts to process at once and in that second, Levi was almost grateful for the desolation, the disappointment that was also nagging at him then.

So he gave it some traction and soon, some place in reality. “I’m sorry, I can’t fly anymore,” he whispered. Those words should have been between him and whatever flicker had disappeared in the sky.

There had been an intruder though and Levi was slow to notice it. “Levi! What were you thinking?” she asked.

Gentle hands ran through him. Familiar hands pressed at his knees, at his arms. “Just thought I’d try it one last time.” Levi answered as he turned to the voice.

Hange’s face softened as they made eye contact. “Levi… you know the momentum comes from the run… With your injury, you wouldn’t have been able to even jump heights less than two meters..”

“I wanted to. Just one last time.”

Her hazel eyes were on him again, and they could have been glistening, illuminated by the already dim light as the winter sun shone with its last few rays.

“You don’t need to...” She helped him into a sitting position and Levi followed suit, surprised out how his body was still obeying him

Need to what? He hoped to seek clarity in the seconds that followed. Shaken for sure by those bursts of movement, the pain that came and the pain he had expected to come, he found himself unable to speak.

But it turned out, he didn't need to. He couldn't speak so Hange spoke for him. “If you don’t want me to, I won't leave you,” she said.

A minute ago, it had been hot. A few seconds ago it had been chilly. When she wrapped her arms around him though, the war between hot and cold ended with a comfortable compromise. Her tight embrace was lukewarm. “I’m right here… And I'll be right here for as long as you want me to be."

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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khadij-al-kubra · 4 years

Text

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

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Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon*

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that.

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy; he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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the-sides-and-more · 4 years

Text

Time For Bed | Virgil

Inspired by THIS headcanon.

Read on Ao3 HERE.

Can be read as Platonic or Romantic Moxiety.

It was a cold Friday morning. Patton had woken up naturally at 6am – he'd never needed an alarm clock and he was grateful for this fact as he was certain the blaring screech of such a device would have him falling out of bed with a scream at the start of each day.

Anyhow, he'd woken up at 6am. The chill in the air bit at his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he pulled himself from under his duvet, and he shivered violently. It wasn't typical for the mindscape to be so cold.

Patton ignored the chill though; he had a job to do after all, and a cold breeze wasn't nearly enough to keep him from his important task. He dutifully left his room and entered the mindscape's main hallway as quietly as he could manage, lest he wake up any sleeping Sides.

Every morning, for as long as Patton could remember, this was the first thing he'd do upon waking up; checking to make sure the others had actually slept during the night. The thought of them staying up all night, exhausted and restless, made his heart ache. Call it a paternal instinct or a moral obligation, but Patton was happy to do it.

He started with Roman's room. The creative side was the most likely to be awake most mornings, slaving away over his journal as he wrote ideas galore, surrounded by balls of paper that sported no more than a few stray sentences that Roman seemed unfit or lacking. This morning when Patton held his ear to the door he was met with silence. No scratching of a pencil, no quiet humming or singing, not even the sound of dancing footsteps.

Patton smiled and moved on, knowing that a quiet Roman could only mean a sleeping Roman.

The door beside Roman's belonged to Logan. Patton could happily say that Logan slept more often nowadays than he ever had in the past. During Thomas' years of school, it was common for Logan to stay up for days at a time as he worked out a study schedule and many thesis statements of various subjects. Nowadays, and especially since being deemed "cool" by Thomas, Logan tended to keep a slightly stricter bedtime. It made Patton happy.

He still checked every morning. Just in case.

This morning Patton was happy to hear the tell-tale sounds of Logan's snoring.

Next, Patton found himself in front of Virgil's room. He knew immediately that Virgil was awake because, when leaning his ear against the dark wood door, he heard nothing at all. Virgil had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning and talking breathlessly as he dreamed. Silence always revealed that the anxious side had heard Patton's footsteps and didn't want to worry the eldest side – he never wanted to worry Patton, it seemed.

Sighing, Patton knocked. "Kiddo? May I come in?"

There was no verbal reply, but Patton could hear Virgil throwing off his blankets and scrambling out of bed to run towards his bedroom door. It wasn't a surprise when the wood flew open at a rapid speed to reveal a disheveled Virgil. His hair was messier than usual and his eye shadow two shades darker than normal.

"You probably shouldn't," the anxious side muttered after a brief moment of staring at Patton, "It's not very fun in here right now..."

Patton nodded in understanding. "Have you slept at all kiddo?"

Virgil's silence was answer enough.

"Why don't you come sleep in my room for a few hours? It shouldn't affect you too much if you're asleep, and I'd feel much better if I knew you were resting."

Virgil glanced back into his room, shoulders hunching slightly. Patton worried for a moment that the offer would be rejected and Virgil would scurry back into the darkness of his own bedroom, but his fears were eased when the anxious side gave a curt nod and stepped into the hallway. Immediately Virgil seemed slightly taller, his form raising as though tension had bled out his body with rapid speed.

Patton didn't voice his concern over the safety of Virgil's room. It wasnt the time.

Instead, Patton led the way to his own room and opened the door for Virgil to step inside. The purple-clad man only hesitated a moment before walking in.

"My bed is in the back corner," Patton told him with a small smile, "Feel free to look around, but you really should get some sleep. Do you need me to get you anything?"

Virgil shook his head but quickly thought better of it. Twisting his hands together, a sign that showed his nerves, he muttered, "Could you get me some water? Please?"

"Of course!" Patton agreed, more than happy to help in any way he could. "Anything else?"

Virgil murmured his thanks and confirmed that he wouldn't need anything else before he turned to find his way to Patton's bed.

Patton made quick work of grabbing the glass of water and bringing it to Virgil; he was happy to see the anxious side cuddled securely under the duvet. Setting the water quickly on the bedside table, he smiled. "G'night kiddo," he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss on the others forehead. "Breakfast will be waiting when you wake up."

Virgil, eyes closed and face mostly hidden by the blanket, smiled ever-so-slightly. "Thanks, Pat... Love ya."

"I love you too, Virgil."

#Sanders Sides #Time For Bed #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Ao3 #Archive of Our Own #Platonic Moxiety #Romantic Moxiety #My Writing

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youarejesting · 4 years

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BTS365 Prompts

[Masterlist]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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April 30th - 6th

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Kim Seokjin: No pants

Jin was currently working on a large project. It was a delicate thing he was producing truly from the heart. He had been planning this for weeks gathering some tools for the job from various sources. He set up his live stream ready to show the Army what he was creating. So there he was slaving away sweat collecting across his brow. He was exhausted but he continued showing the Army how his ideas and processes formed together. And that’s how you found him, no pants with such precise hand motions, he was really working up a sweat.

“Why are you doing That on a live stream?”

“Shush, I'm almost there,” he panted now using both hands, for the grand finale.

“Can I help?” You said thinking it would definitely end this whole show a lot quicker.

“Yes!” His voice cried out, throwing his hands up in the air excited. “I did it.”

“Congratulations you made pancakes”

“These aren’t just pancakes, I got them the same size five or take a millimetre or two and stacked them perfectly” He grinned proud

“That’s a pretty neat skill Jin, you should take a photo” You reached for your camera but as you looked back up he was cutting into them and eating happily.

Min Yoongi: Space

“Hey Yoongi do you have a piece of paper?”

“Yeah rip one out from any of those books” He sighed and you walked over to the small pile when you found a children's notebook, this one had a rocket ship on it and you opened it up towards the middle to rip out a page cleanly, but there was some roughly scrawled words.

I wish I could go to space camp. But Mum and Dad can’t afford it. It’s okay if I don’t go, we can have fun on our own. Love Min Yoongi

Your heart melted and you closed the book without paper and you googled the nearest space camp and you told the other boys that it was for Yoongi’s birthday, they seemed rather excited packing their things and you packed for Yoongi and yourself. You had hired out the facility to run a camp for the group and some camera men this was something that the Army couldn’t miss.

Jung Hoseok: Free

Waking excited Hoseok went for a shower and brushed his hair. He dressed and shined his shoes. Today was the day and he was so excited.

“Jung Hoseok?”

“Yes sir” He smiled at the entry, the door slid open and he was escorted through the building and down to an office. There was a mountain of paperwork to sign and when he was done they handed him another change of clothes.

He was so happy his fingers caressing the fabric of his favorite shirt. He was quick to change and they smiled. He was nervous, walking out the front door and the gate opened slowly and there you were waiting for him on the other side.

His little pregnant wife. He held you in his arms and kissed your face all over dropping to his knees and whispering to your round belly.

“I am so glad to have you back”

“J-hope!” The boys shouted running in their shirts reading. ‘Enjoy your Freedom!’

“Did you get any cool prison tattoos?”

“No I didn’t it was only three months guys”

Kim Namjoon: May the 4th be with you

You were at a convention dressed as Queen Padmé Amidala you felt self conscious about your stomach being on show and the tight outfit. That was until you walked into a very elaborate dark figure.

“Oh sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going. I really like your outfit wow, this is honestly the best Darth Vader I have seen” You smiled admiring the work that had been put into it and they still didn’t speak.

“Oh my gosh can I get a photo of you both” someone asked and you smiled and the two of you posed together and you had soon gathered a crowd people taking pictures and asking for you to act out scenes and soon a Yoda appeared painted green and grinning, alongside a gold shiny C-3PO a chewbacca and a tiny dog dressed as R2D2. Everyone was getting pictures when you heard. “Can we get a kiss?”

“Anakin takes off your mask, you put a lot of work into replicating the character” The Yoda whispered to the tall dark figure.

“But she is so pretty and I am a nerd”

“Dude she is a nerd too, she is dressed as a star wars character at a convention full of nerds”

The crowd was cheering as C-3PO was doing a very amazing Robot dance choreography. Along came a broad shouldered man dressed up as slave Princess leia, a very lethargic Han Solo and a smiling Luke skywalker.

“Take of the mask Anakin” the Yoda and the chewbacca lifted the mask and revealed a very handsome Anakin you heard some whispers about him being asain so he didn’t look like the character but you thought he was even more handsome.

“Kiss, Kiss, Kiss” The crowd chanted and he looked up at you with a blush across his cheeks and you pulled gently on the front of his costume until his lips met yours. His friends started cheering as did the crowd and you pulled out a small piece of paper from your pocket and wrote down your number and a quick message before you walked away.

“What does it say?”

“May the fourth be with you” He chuckled and you heard a laugh that reminded you of a weird clown or horse wiping down some windows.

Park Jimin: Herb @anaiss97 [Full story] Not much was known about the young Korean man who showed up to all the parties. All anyone knew was that he was the biggest flirt and he had the herbs everyone wanted. Honestly, it didn’t matter what you wanted he had it somehow. You were at one of these parties, it wasn’t really your scene.

Usually, you had no problem but tonight you really just couldn’t. So you were trying to find a place to get a quick nap, you opened the first door to see the Host with his boyfriend chatting quietly.

“Sorry I was looking for a place to rest”

Seokjin smiled “You can have the room or perhaps if you want we can entertain you?”

The two smirked and you blushed once more. “No I really am tired and want to sleep, I was working on a thesis all night last night and–”

“Say no more sweetheart, rest” you climbed into the blankets, Seokjin switched the light off and you were resting drifting off easily. ~ The light switch flicked on and even with your eyes closed you felt blinded. You couldn’t stop the harsh shriek that pierced the air. “What? What is it now!?”

“I am sorry” the voice was soft and unrecognizable as its owner switched the lights back off, “Can I sit for a moment?”

“Sure” you mumbled laying back down, you could smell the stranger’s beautiful cologne and you got curious. “Turning your phone on and using the light of your lock screen to examine the stranger's face”

Ash-blonde hair painted on the side, he smiled wetting his thick lips with his tongue.

“Ah it’s you” dropping your arm back to the bed no longer feeling uncomfortable, all the encounters you had with him were pleasant, he always used endearments because he never remembered names.

“You know me, baby?” He took his phone and repeated your process to stream a soft light over your face. “Oh my, baby it is you, what are you doing in here sleeping your usually the brightest in the room”

“Thesis” you mumbled and he hummed taking your hand.

“Hey listen how about I make you an offer tonight you can ask for anything you want and I will give it to you for half price if I don’t have it I will give you the next best thing for free” the lamp beside the bed was clicked on giving a soft orange glow throughout the room.

“You got fried chicken?” You hummed looking over at him curiously you were craving it. He opened his jacket.

“I got a warm meatball sub, a packet of lollipops a container of home-cooked spaghetti, I got spare underwear in all different sizes this is a set of slippers when your feet get sore in heels, juice, mixers spirits I got herbs for days this one will make you happy this one calms you down this one here has you seeing pretty colors this one has you asleep till morning, this is my house special it takes like a cinnamon donut” he looked over. You shook your head and he sighed lifting a gym bag onto the bed, “alright brace yourself, I got spare clothes, ramyeon packets, a scented candle, batteries pet food, I have painkillers, cold medicine, I have this thing which I think was an Easter egg, I got a 3DS, a switch and a variety of games, I got a can of tomato soup, yet no can opener weird, I got a heat pack, I got this adult diaper and I don’t know why, and a spiderman comic”

“No” you sighed

“Tell me what you want and if I know I don’t have it it’s free” he hummed

“I want a cuddle?”

Kim Taehyung: Thirst

Owner of the club ‘Thirst’ was just a front business, you were actually a hacker. A good one, if you were feeling like bragging. You were kind of in hiding and couldn’t really trust anyone you didn’t know before the incident. Who knew your skills with a computer would lead to a government website which you breached enough for them to call it treason.

You were just snooping around the dark web when you stumbled upon documents of some truly disgusting things one of them actually made you physically ill. But your computer system began screaming at you that they were reverse tracking your baby. It wouldn’t be easy, you had a unique code and half of it was utter nonsense. Saying goodbye to your baby. You destroyed everything on it. Packed everything and left. Thank god you had done everything card less, you worked for cash you paid cash and you did some shady business with people so that you would never be traced.

You moved just in case and started a front business so that in the event anything happened you would have an alibi.

“Manager-nim the computer is doing something funny, can you call the technician?” Yoongi called quietly, the guy was a terrible ‘people’ person , an excellent DJ and an expert in mixing cocktails.

“I can have a look” You smiled

“No manager last time you almost broke the computers, you don’t understand them like we do” Hoseok pushed you away from the registers and subsequently the computers attached to them.

“Manager you just boss us around okay, that's your job and we will follow your orders as it is our job”

“Manager-nim, you have a young man in your office waiting for his job interview.” Jimin cleaned the tables dressed in a charming club aesthetic. His job was to clean tables and lead people into buying more drinks. A host.

The man in your office was handsome like your main host Seokjin and charming as Jimin. Your bouncer Namjoon stepped in briefly giving you a courtesy greeting alongside the new trainee Jungkook he had potential especially with all those muscles. All your workers doubled as bouncers; they all had their strengths.

“So Kim Taehyung is it, what makes you want to be a host at thirst?”

“I really want to make friends and I can’t flirt with girls. What I mean is I can if it is for work but I can’t just do it on my own so I would like to gain more confidence” You nodded, it was all lies you had searched him thoroughly, he worked for the government more specifically the Cyber coordinator and he was here to gather Intel.

This was going to be fun.

Jeon Jungkook: Nurse

Nurse Jeon. Yup that title gave him a lot of grief from his friends and he hated it, just cause he was a man didn’t mean he couldn’t be a nurse. Sure he aimed to be a doctor, but things didn’t work out and he wasn’t accepted into medical school, so he aimed a little lower and became a Nurse.

In his opinion he was a kick-ass nurse, he worked in the Pediatric ward and spent most of his time bringing smiles to the kid's faces, he made his rounds with ice creams and cups of pudding and jelly. He sang and danced for the kids and played superheroes and he was always Ironman. The highlight of his day was when the doctors would do their rounds, not only did he admire them and their job so much he admired you and how brilliant and beautiful you were.

“Oh Aera, look at this little tool, do you know what it does? It lets me listen to your heartbeat, would you like to listen to mine first?” The young girl nodded “Wow you are a pro at this you could be a doctor when you are older”

“Doctor Y/N, Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Uh... No, why do you have someone in mind?” You grinned

“Nurse Jeon” she smiled and you giggled

“He is cute isn’t he, but I get nervous around boys and I can’t really talk to them and Nurse Jeon is really handsome, what if he doesn’t like me?”

“He does, he told us when he got drunk off chocolate puddings” a young teen in the corner nursing his swollen cheeks after dental surgery. Jungkook was making extreme hand gestures at the young boy smirking across the room. “This was before he announced he was Iron man and ran around the room pretending to shoot lasers from his hands and making all the shooting sounds”

“Well if he is Ironman than we must be destined to be together, Ironman is my favorite superhero”

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april-ruffin-world · 4 years

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BLACK MOSES SONG

“If it is true that black people are becoming increasingly well adjusted to the American way of life, then we may lose our capacity to tell the truth about our black life in America.” - Cornel West (Hope on a Tightrope p 202) The purpose of this thesis is to shed light on the historical and current, ever-increasing influence of African American/Black music on American culture and why it is crucially important to remember the past in order to thrive in the future. Secondly, I aim to demonstrate how powerful black music is and how it has been used as a catalyst for freedom. I will use as my dialogue partner, Dr. Cornel West, one of America’s most gifted theologians, educator, activist and philosopher. Dr. West, Class of 1943 University Professor at Princeton University, in 2012, returned to Union Theological Seminary in New York City where he first began his teaching career. He has written over twenty books such as Hope on A Tightrope (2008), The Cornel West Reader (1999), The Future of the Race (with Henry Louis Gates, Jr., 1996), and Race Matters (1993), where I will be drawing from for conversation. I witnessed for myself earlier this year on April 30th, 2015 at Biola University, Dr. West in dialouge with Robert George and Pastor Rick Warren, where Dr. West made reference to saxophonist, John Coltrane, whose music was lightly playing as the attendees waited for the forum to begin. In his opening comments, Dr. West expressed that he hoped Coltrane wasn’t just music playing in the background because, “John Coltrane is a part and a voice and figure in one of the greatest traditions in the modern world; which is a musical tradition that in the face of catastrophe mustered the courage to bear witness to compassion… in the face of being terrorized for four hundred years decides not to terrorize others, but fight for freedom for everybody…it’s a human tradition.” Because of the age of consumerism we live in today, “Obsession of money making and profit taking…we have less gas in our spiritual tanks, a spiritual malnutrition, an indifference to the suffering of others…a calousness,” West continued. He then quoted Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, “An indifference to evil is more insidious than evil itself.” America is in a state of emergency; many of its citizens are living and operating from a state of fear. We’re subconsciously encouraged when we watch the nightly news or peruse social media sites to fear. We are to fear terrorism, fear cancer, fear consumption of any foods that are not glucose, lactose or sugar free, and little black boys and girls are taught to fear for their lives lest they end up like Sandra Bland, Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Oscar Grant, Jordan Davis, Tamir Rice and countless others victims who suffered the penalty of death simply because of the color of their skin. Dr. West not only used John Coltrane as example, but referred to Frederick Douglas, Sojourner Truth, Curtis Mayfield, Aretha Franklin, Erykah Badu, Toni Morrison, and James Baldwin to stress his point that Black musicians, writers and artists use creative expression as an outlet to overcome and to stay above negative forces that would aim to steal their creative ideas or kill and destroy (literally) their lives. No doubt, West has perused the pages of works such as the Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglas, an American Slave where Douglas writes: “The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up, came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great Houses Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:— I am going away to the Great House Farm! O, yea! O, yea! O! This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do. I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul,—and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because ‘there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.’” (p 25-26) These songs composed by slaves would come to be known as negro spirituals. Many of these spirituals had a code message aimed to guide slaves, via the Underground Railroad, to freedom or to the “Jordan”, which was on the Northern side of the Ohio River. Here is one example of this hidden message, weaved within the words of a song: Deep River, my home is over Jordan; Deep River, my home is over Jordan. O don’t you want to go to that Gospel Feast That Promised Land where all is Peace? Deep River, I want to cross over into camp ground. These spirituals were always inspired by the “good news” message from the Bible; by Christ and his message that “you can be saved.” Negro spirituals would later influence chain gang songs, sung by “prisoners” or victims of the unscrupulous sharecropper system following the abolishment of slavery in 1865. Inmates would sing in the call and response format; the leader began a line and the other workers followed, often using their axes to keep rhythm and to keep up with the rigorous demands of the day. In 1927, the Mississippi River broke levees in almost 150 places and caused one of the greatest floods in American history. Many blacks were forced, by gunpoint, to fill sandbags to set in place to resist the flowing waters. When the flood overpowered their attempts, these blacks were left to fend for themselves and many fled, migrating north. This great flood is responsible for the largest migration of blacks in U.S. history. In fact, the actual terms “Chicago Blues” and “Muddy Waters” stem from this Mississippi flood of ’27. The blues musician known as Muddy Waters was born and raised on a plantation in Mississippi, but moved to Chicago in 1943 in hopes to become a professional musician. In Hope on a Tightrope, “Blues,” first on the list of Westian core concepts, is defined as, “The elegant coping with catastrophe that yields a grace and dignity so that the spirit of resistance is never completely snuffed out.” (p 221) It is intriguing how a rhythm birthed from pain, and the pursuit to overcome that pain, would mother genres of music we refer to today such as rhythm and blues, rock ’n’ roll, folk, country and jazz. Muddy Waters, himself, influenced musicians such as Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, Paul Rodgers, and even Jimi Hendrix. Muddy Waters’ 1950 release of the single “Catfish Blues” or “Rollin’ Stone” is where the famous London group got their name from and the magazine, too. Even the Beatles referenced Muddy Waters in their song “Come Together.” More recently, the rock group AC/DC borrowed from Muddy Waters’ lyrics and Angus Young, one of the group members, has often cited Waters as one of his greatest influences. Me: Dr. West, Besides Muddy Waters, can you name another example of a black musician who you would consider a trailblazer in this plight of using self expression to gain freedom from enervated mental and physical circumstance in America? West: Louis Armstrong, who grew up in the red-light district of Storyville among prostitutes and brothels, was able to escape the social misery and express his unbelievable genius and imagination to keep alive the greatest musical tradition of the modern world. The black musical tradition gave us blues and jazz idioms that the rest of the world now understands. (Hope p 179) Me: Dr. West, I was born and raised in New York City and have often pondered as I passed by the Cotton Club or The Apollo theater in Harlem, what it must have been like for these early black musicians who were still combating the remnants of slavery and Jim Crow laws, but simultaneously, had this new outlet and opportunity because of their musical talent. I know, from even watching the film, that blacks weren’t allowed entrance into the Cotton Club as patrons, but were only allowed access as performers. Duke Ellington and his orchestra became renown because of his appearances at the Cotton Club, but the members of his orchestra would, most likely, never be able to walk in through the front door. Blacks, as we’ve discussed, like Muddy Waters’ inspired not only other musicians, but entire musical genres and in the end, it seems he got the shorter end of the stick as far as making a profit and being in full control of his artistry. Why is this? West: Blues and jazz lost much of their black audience in the 50s and 60s when they abandoned black public spaces, such as black dances, clubs, and street corners. Without access to the participatory rituals in public spaces of black everyday life, blues and jazz became marginal to ordinary working black people in urban centers. In their stead, rhythm and blues, soul music, and now hip-hop seized the imagination and pocketbook of young black America. This fundamental shift in the musical tastes of black America resulted from two basic features of the larger American culture industry: the profit-driven need to increase the production pace and number of records, reinforcing fashion, fad, and novelty, and the explosive growth of black talent spilling out of churches and clubs in search of upward social mobility. The lessening of racist barriers in the industry and wider acceptance of black music by white consumers created new opportunities. Since neither blues nor jazz could satisfy or saturate this market, they fell by the cultural wayside or, at least, were pushed to the margins. (Hope p 122-123) Me: That explains it. So it’s all about capitalism and profit. I always thought of blues and jazz as a distinctive genre and sound influenced, primarily, by the time period that those musicians lived. I have always gotten chills while listening to Billie Holiday’s unique voice, but only recently came to understand the deep meaning behind the tone and lyrics of say, Strange Fruit. And growing up, listening to my mother play Kenny G when he first became popular in the 1980s or for example, when I was invited to see Kurt Elling in concert at Carnegie Hall, I just assumed that jazz had become “white music.” West: One of the reasons jazz is so appealing to large numbers of white Americans is precisely because they feel that in this black musical tradition, not just black musicians, but black humanity is being asserted by artists who do not look at themselves in relation to whites or engage in self-pity or white put-down. This type of active, as opposed to reactive, expression is very rare in any aspect of African American culture. (Hope p 119). West: For me, the deepest existential source of coming to terms with white racism is music. From the very beginning, I always conceived of myself as an aspiring bluesman in a world of ideas and a jazzman in the life of the mind. What is distinctive about using blues and jazz as a source of intellectual inspiration is the ability to be flexible, fluid, improvisational, and multi-dimensional—finding one’s own voice, but using that voice in a variety of different ways. (Hope p 114) The human voice itself is the greatest instrument. Black folks’ tradition begins with the voice. (Hope p 113). It was music that sustained Africans on slave ships making their way from Africa to the New World. We often didn’t speak a common language that allowed us to communicate with each other in a deep way. We had to constitute some form of comradery and community, and music did that. It preserved our sanity, as well as our dignity. Owing to white supremacist sanctions, enslaved Africans were not allowed to read or write. As a nonliterate people, we learned to manifest our genius through what no one could take away—our voices and our music. (Hope p 110). When you look at this tradition from the spirituals on through Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan, Curtis Mayfield, Luther Vandross, and Aretha Franklin on up to Prince and Gerald Levert, music sustained our humanity, dignity, and integrity. Me: Ah, yes! It seems that during the 1960s when black leaders emerged such as Dr. Martin King Jr. and Malcolm X, there were also black musicians that answered the call to use their voices as an impetus for change. James Brown released “Say it loud, I’m black and I’m proud,” to inspire and uplift the people, while Nina Simone released “Mississippi Goddamn,” but was blacklisted because of it; her music not allowed airplay over the radio. In The Future of the Race, published in 1996, you wrote prophetically: “The twenty-first century will almost certainly not be a time in which American exceptionalism will flower in the world or American optimism will flourish among people of African descent. If there are any historical parallels between black Americans at the end of the twentieth century and other peoples in earlier times, two candidates loom large: Tolstoy’s Russia and Kafka’s Prague—soul starved Russians a generation after the emancipation of the serfs in 1861 and anxiety-ridden Central European Jews a generation before the European Holocaust in the 1940s.” (p 75) If I am understanding correctly, Dr. West, black music has been created and ushered out into the world almost as a push-back; a resistance to hopeless situations and music has served as a remedy or cure. The black life and tradition in America is not separate from black music and the arts, it is one in the same. And therefore, the fight for justice; for mental, physical and financial freedom which is only experienced by a small percentage of blacks in America, is a very real and urgent task. Earlier black musicians were aware of this plight because the chains of slavery (literal and proverbial) were still evident. Today, we are in greater danger because those chains are invisible and have been set in permanent institutions such as urban schools and prisons. Nearly fifty years ago, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led marches and other peaceful demonstrations to bring attention to racism, segregation, and discrimination which greatly influenced the signing of both the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. As it can be seen, just because a law is passed, that doesn’t mean that people’s beliefs and behaviors change. In the early 1950’s, racial segregation was customary in America. Basic math would then imply that members of the KKK are still living, in fact, one can readily log onto the internet and find a current KKK website. The media and most curriculums taught in educational institutions depict the Civil Rights movement as a thing of the past, something that happened then, and everyone should just move on and never bring it up, because “Today, we live in a fair and equal society.” Contrary to these false aphorisms, racism is prevalent in 2015 America. Even after repeated injuries, incarcerations and murders of blacks, both male and female, the racism conflict advances, leaving behind blood stained sidewalks and unbottled tears. Historical advances in American music and the arts woud prove that it’s okay to imitate blacks, which is seen as early as “black face” stage and film productions where white actors would paint themselves blacks to make fun of and entertain the audience, to the Beach Boys to the modern day where so called “pop” artists imitate and appropiate hip-hop culture. It would seem that the fight for freedom is futile and a far cry from reality. West: As freedom fighters, we’ve got to become much like the jazz women and jazz men. Fluid and flexible and protean—open to a variety of different sources and perspectives. (Hope p 187). [Again] We come from a particular tradition of struggle. Our people have been on intimate terms with the constant threat of social death. No legal status, no social standing, no public value—you were only a commodity to be bought and sold. If you don’t come to terms with death in that context, there’s no way you can live psychically and culturally because the rights and priveleges that your fellow human beings of European descent had access to were stripped from you. (Hope p 184) Freedom fighters struggle for justice, not revenge. We love in the face of bigotry. We keep track of the indescribable scars and bruises. Yet we refuse to be victims! We instead mount constant heroic resistance against injustice. (Hope p 206) Those who have never despaired have neither lived nor loved. Hope is inseparable from despair. Those of us who truly hope make despair a constant companion whom we outwrestle every day owing to our commitment to justice, love and hope. It is impossible to look honestly at our catastrophic conditions and not have some despair—it is a healthy sign of how deeply we care. It is also a mark of maturity—a rejection of cheap American optimism. (Hope p 217) Black people’s deep memory of history is a legacy of catastrophe. It’s the slave ship and the body swinging from the tree. It’s the disgraceful school systems and being taught to hate ourselves. America’s concept of history is that of a chosen people, a city on a hill where the sun is always shining. Therefore, black people’s conception of memory is that of trauma, whereas the mainstream conception of memory is this progress of an every generation toward a more perfect Union. If your conception of history is one of catastrophe and your conception of memory is one of trauma, the only countermovement against catastrophe and trauma is never forgetting the catastrophic and yet still attempting to triumph. (Hope p 188) Me: The Hebrew verb zakhor ("remember") appears in the Torah about one hundred and sixty-nine times, Moses while leading the Israelites out of Egypt towards the Promised Land, would often encourage them to remember. In Deuteronomy Chapter 8, Moses and Miriam’s song Me: J. Wendell Mapson, Jr., author of The Ministry of Music in the Black Church writes: “The task, then, is to affirm the good in black theology and to offer correctives so that black theology may continue to address the needs of black people in light of their relationship to God and culture. Historically…, music in the black church has reflected the theology of the pilgrimage of black people. Set within the context of the black church, the religious music of black people has helped to articulate the very soul and substance of the black experience, most especially for those who belong to the family of God. In many instances, music has not only been shaped by theology but has also shaped theology. Not only may one speak of a theology of music, but one might also speak of the music of theology. There is no doubt that in the black church music is the lifeblood. Among blacks, music is not always compartmentalized into categories such as sacred and secular. In fact, the black church itself does not always see itself in light of such labels. Among Afro-Americans, just as in African cuture, religion permeates the whole of life, and so does music.” (p 16) Similarly, in The Cross and The Lynching Tree, author, James Cone offers a corrective and brilliantly explicates how by connecting the cross to the lynching tree, not only blacks in America, but all Americans may benefit: “Despite the obvious similarities between Jesus’ death on the cross and the death of thousands of black men and women strung up to die on a lamppost or tree, relatively few people, apart from the black poets, novelists, and other reality-seeing artists, have explored the symbolic connections. Yet, I believe this is the challenge we must face. What is at stake is the credibility and the promise of the Christian gospel and the hope that we may heal the wounds of racial violence that continue to divide our churches and our society…Until we can see the cross and the lynching tree together, until we can identify Christ with a ‘recrucified’ black body hanging from a lynching tree, there can be no genuine understanding of Christian identity in America, and no deliverance from the brutal legacy of slavery and white supremacy. (xiii-xiv, xv) Later, in this sermonic book, Cone writes: We are bound together in America by faith and tragedy. West: The major black cultural response to the temptation of despair has been the black Christian tradition—a tradition dominated by music in song, prayer, and sermon. (The Future of the Race p 101) You can’t talk about the crucifixion without talking about nihilism and spiritual abandonment. The feeling that you have no connection whatsoever to any of the forces for good in the universe underscores your relatively helpless situation (referring to Matt 27:46 when Jesus cried out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?). If Jesus had American advisors, they would have said, Negotiate with Pontius Pilate, sacrifice your sense of who you are, call your mission into question, and sneak away at night under the protective cover of the Roman Empire to live free. Jesus would have responded, No, there’s a cross for me. In fact, if you look closely enough in your life, there’s a cross for you, too. (Hope p 198) West: The American Empire is still governed by its desire to shape the world for American interests. It is still determined to have its way and do whatever it takes to preserve the resources necessary to sustain the “American way of life…” The new American Dream is to never run out of things to buy and sell, and people to buy and sell. What must happen for us to stay awake permanently and commit to critically engaging the public interest or expanding the common good? (Hope 181) West: Subversive joy is the ability to transform tears into laughter, a laughter that allows one to acknowledge just how difficult the journey is, and to delight in one’s own sense of humanity and folly and humor in the midst of this very serious struggle. This is true freedom of spirit. We can think and feel, laugh and weep, and with the belief and capacity of everyday people, we can fight. Fight with a smile on our faces and tears in our eyes. We can see the deprivation, yet hold up a bloodstained banner with a sense of hope based on genuine discernment and connection. We can point out hypocrisy and keep alive some sense of possibility for both ourselves and our children, thus fulfilling our sacred duty. (Hope p 192) West: Hip-hop, the most powerful cultural force on the globe right now, was one of the ways in which the black underclass responded to being forgotten and overlooked, with its pain downplayed and ignored. The response to invisibility was to create a whole cultural genre that represented young, black, and underclass folk. The culture and entertainment industry had to take notice by 1985. Now hip-hop is the most lucrative cultural area of the entertainment industry. It’s another tribute to the tremendous cultural imagination and genius of black folk. (Hope p 178) The vitality and vigor of Afro-American popular music depends not only on the talents of Afro-American musicians, but also on the moral visions, social analyses and political strategies that highlight personal dignity, provide political promise and give existential hope to the underclass and poor working class in Afro-America. (The Cornel West Reader p 484) is that it’s a human condition…a love caravan. West: To be human you must bearwitness to justice. Justice is what love looks like in public—to be human is to love and be loved. Me in closing: I have to believe that there is hope for Black men and women in this nation and throughout the world. Inherently, all human beings know that greatness is not achieved through material gain and worldly acquisitions, but true greatness is seen by observing the character of a man. While listening to a eulogy, we never hear the orator bloviate about how many cars the deceased one drove or how many houses he had, never! Whether the deceased was a criminal or clergyman, we hear of how good the person was, how thoughtful and generous. We sit and listen to people go on about how much they loved the person or how that person made them laugh. We know deep in our souls what really matters while we’re here on this Earth. God’s beauty, truth, love and freedom is still attractive in a world full of deceit, hate and restriction. We are all longing for more. Everyone wants to know their purpose in life and we often do not feel satisfied until it has been identified. When it is identified, but not actively pursued, one lives or exists, rather, in a dulled, gray state—full of regret and disappointment that slowly leads to an anger filled heart of stone. Even the apathetic ones feel, too. Whether acknowledged or not, these emotionless souls are feeling something, deeply. Life is completely mundane, boring and hopeless without a mission. The beauty in the knowledge of Yeshua is that we all have been given a mission…we were commanded to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves. That’s what it all boils down to…love! It is impossible to know Love, to know what love is, without knowing God. And how can we say that we love God, whom we have never seen, but hate others who we see everyday (1 John 4:20)? I want to enhance this notion of God’s beauty and take it to the streets of the marginalized, in hopes to impart the knowledge that their lives, too, have a meaning and purpose. To those who have given up on God and themselves, who will never step foot into a church, they too must know that they are wanted by God. Too long have I witnessed churches that sit in communities filled with indigent people full of despair, but the congregants sit securely in that church building, worshipping and reaching out to the Lord, yet do not reach out to the people in need that are in the community. We are to worship the Lord in Spirit and in truth; and truth is, there is so much work to be done outside of those four walls of the church building. God’s church is not the physical edifice, but His people. We must do the will of our Father, lest He say, “I knew you not,” when we go to enter the kingdom of Heaven (Matt 7:21-23). With the power of the Holy Spirit, we are to be witnesses of Yeshua to everyone to the ends of this earth (Acts 1:8). The end is delayed because of the mission. We often pray, “Come quickly,” but we must first work before He comes. We all have been given spiritual gifts in order to serve others. We serve, never because of “what’s in it for me,” but to exalt Christ. All of our giftings should be conformed and exercised to the dictates of love. The body of Christ will be edified as we serve together, some teaching, some preaching, some praying, some singing. With the songs given to me by the Holy Spirit, I wish to communicate that: “Nothing is lost, everything to gain, forget the past, forget the pain, you can climb higher, you can achieve, if only you trust and believe and never look back!” Feelings of emptiness and hopelessness can lead one to suicide or a life lived without purpose. But the knowledge of new life, believing that we ought not remember the former things, because God is about to do something new (Isaiah 43:18-19), will save lives! People must see the beauty in God’s light and how it shines in darkness, transforming from the inside out. Aristotle believed that music is the most representative of all the arts and I agree. Music is powerful! A melody could be dimly playing in the background and the listener, incognizant at times, mechanically taps along. The Bronx nursing home, Beth Abraham's experiment with catatonic patients was revolutionary. Ask any college student what gets him or her through when they have to pull an all-nighter and the answer is usually, music. Listening to their favorite soundtrack or artists helps the time pass, without feeling the burden of the task at hand. Hearing a particular song can trigger memories from our past, taking us to places long forgotten about and treasured. Music can be used to awaken a nation, as seen in the 1960s with the release of A Change is Gonna Come, by Sam Cooke, which became an anthem for the Civil Rights Movement. When John Legend and Common stood to deliver their speech for winning “Best Original Song” for Glory from the Oscar-nominated film Selma, Legend conveyed that, “There are more black men under correctional control than there were under slavery in 1850.” Something is terribly wrong with that picture. In the words of Frederick Douglass, “Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe.” SEE MORE (YOUTUBE: thekingherself)

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truerequitedlove · 5 years

Text

Formless

something deep and primal within me begged me to write this. i hope someone else finds something in it for them as well

note - i wrote this in one sitting and i’m not super sure of it so constructive criticism is not only welcome but i’m begging u

disclaimer – i’m not claiming anything portrayed in this piece of fiction as true or untrue about any of the people i’ve used characterizations of in real life

Genre: introspection, reality/non-AU

Warnings: gender questioning, sexuality questioning, bit of gender dysphoria, brief mention of depression, brief mention of homophobia, brief existentialism, lots of queerness

Word Count: too long tbh (4.8k)

Dan wished he was formless.

read on ao3

~•~•~

Dan wished he was formless. Shapeless. Amorphous. Nebulous. He wished he was hazy around the edges. He wished he was open to interpretation, able to sway one direction and then just as quickly to the next. He wished he looked different depending on the light. He wished every time he was seen, he was new. He wished he was ambiguous. Silver in a world of bright colors. Reflective. He wished he was infinite and fathomless and chameleonic. He wished he was a grey area, balancing on a line, living in a pocket to the left of the known universe.

But Dan was just Dan. Just lines and angles and flesh and bones.

And Dan didn’t know what caused him to long for this sense of formlessness. It could easily have been the sadness that occasionally overwhelmed him. The desire to be anything but human. Human with the pesky ability to feel and think and wonder and philosophize.

But that was different. When the sadness managed to take over, to eat at Dan, when the numbness set into his bones, it was different. During these times, he was formless. Not in the right way. In the confusing, fearful, way. When he melted into a puddle and parts of him kept slipping away, and he couldn’t gather himself up quickly enough to become whole again. To become a person again.

And Dan did like being a person. He liked being human. He liked the feeling of fingers trailing over his skin. He liked the way his stomach did flips before something amazing happened. He liked breathing in fresh air when he stepped outside or opened a window. He liked the way certain tastes bathed his tongue and made him feel inside his chest. He liked the way he could express his thoughts aloud, in writing, in art. He liked the way he could experience others’ thoughts through their words and art. He liked that he had a body that felt and a mind that thought.

So, Dan had begun to think that maybe he wanted formlessness only because of societal ideals.

Or, perhaps, that everyone was formless.

Perhaps humans existed in a formless, nebulous, chaotic state, and they forced themselves into molds to create forms that were organized and neat. Perhaps some humans fit those molds better than others. Perhaps some humans overflowed, seeped through the cracks, spilled out chaos.

Okay. Maybe from the moment one was born, molds were placed in front of them by the picture-perfect of the world. Molds made for them and handed to them as if one size fit all. Male. Female. Straight. Society asked humans to fit into the molds. When humans rejected these molds, they found another to try on. Gay. Bisexual. Ace.

But Dan wanted to be mold-less. Formless. He wanted to be an exception. He wanted—

“Dan?” a voice called from across the flat, breaking into his thoughts.

Dan frowned, trying to recapture the thought. Formless. Dan wanted to be formless with no limit to his—

“Dan?” the voice called again.

Dan sighed. “What?” he called back in a monotone.

“Pasta,” Phil replied shortly.

Dan shook his head, and his lips quirked up a little. He stood from the bed and walked down the hall toward the kitchen.

“You interrupted my introspection,” Dan said, knocking his hip against Phil’s as he reached to grab a bowl from the cupboard.

Phil scooped some of the pasta out of a pot on the stove into his own bowl. “Good,” he said, knocking Dan’s hip in return. “You’ve been doing too much of that.”

“I’m doing important reflection on my life and identity so that I can further my career and personal life in a way that stays authentic to my true self,” Dan argued, scooping himself up some pasta.

“I know,” Phil said, taking a seat at their table. “But, you know, I think sometimes you learn more about yourself by living life than reflecting on it.”

“I think I’ve lived a lot the past year,” Dan said, sitting across from Phil.

“Fair,” Phil said before he scooped some pasta noodles into his mouth. “What have you been thinkin’ about?” Phil asked, before fully swallowing his mouthful.

Dan raised an eyebrow, breathing out a soft chuckle at Phil. “Societal expectations versus individual identity.”

Phil chuckled. “I look forward to—to reading your thesis,” he joked.

Dan smiled. “Or maybe just watch my next video.”

Phil hummed. “Thinking about doing another deep-ish one?” he asked, and Phil always made it sound so simple.

“Maybe,” Dan said. “Haven’t decided.”

“Well,” Phil said, reaching for a napkin to wipe pasta sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Whatever it is, it’ll be great,” he promised.

Dan smiled a little. “What makes you say that?”

Phil swallowed his bite of pasta. “Because it’s you,” he said easily, scooping more pasta onto his fork. “Eat your pasta I slaved over it for hours.”

Dan rolled his eyes, still smiling a bit as he scooped some of the pasta onto his fork.

~•~•~

Dan looked himself in the mirror. He was still half-asleep, but he’d tugged on a t-shirt. And sweatpants, as it was a bit chilly. He hadn’t turned the bathroom light on, planning to try to sleep in a bit longer, but he’d paused when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He looked at himself, unsure what exactly made him stop. It was him. He didn’t look terrible or exhausted. He didn’t look amazing, either. His curls fell into his face, grown out just a bit since his last haircut. The light cotton shirt he wore hung off his shoulders loosely. His sweatpants were nestled low around his hips. His cheeks were soft and red from sleeping. His lips were much less chapped than usual, red, and a bit plumper than usual.

He liked the way he looked.

Dan couldn’t perfectly put his finger on what it was he liked, but he felt good.

He felt... He felt that sense of formlessness that he’d been craving if only a little. It might have been the messiness. An oversized shirt, unkempt hair. No, no. It wasn’t the messiness. It definitely wasn’t the messiness. He grabbed a comb from the bathroom drawer, flicking the light on.

He played with his hair a bit, pushing it back and combing it forward. No, no. He tried to capture the feeling he wanted, but it felt like it was getting further and further away. No, no, what happened? Where had the feeling gone? Dan felt frustration slowly replace the satisfaction. Tears gathered in his eyes.

Dan heard Phil stumble toward the bathroom, and he opened the door, seeming surprised to see Dan despite the light being on. Phil was obviously still half-asleep, but he noticed Dan was upset.

“Hey,” Phil spoke, voice scratchy and deep. He tried to clear his throat with a cough. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice still came out a bit gravelly.

Dan reached up to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, uh, nothing, nothing. Sorry. I’ll let you pee,” Dan said, leaving the bathroom. He was pretty sure that a less-sleepy Phil wouldn’t have let him get away so easily.

Dan crawled back into bed, trying to shake the strange discomfort that had crept up on him and just fall asleep again. Before he could, Phil crawled back into bed beside him.

“Hey,” Phil breathed, wrapping his arms around Dan’s middle. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathed, not sounding too convincing.

“Hey,” Phil murmured again, dropping a kiss to Dan’s head. “You’re gorgeous.”

Dan didn’t know how Phil knew to say that, but he smiled a little. Gorgeous . “Thanks,” Dan said genuinely.

~•~•~

Dan was thinking about high school. He was thinking about trying to be a scene kid, wearing skinny jeans, girls’ jeans, trying eyeliner, growing his hair too long, straightening it. He was thinking about the emo boys he’d known. He was noticing how the whole scene sort of allowed teenage boys to embrace a more feminine side. They got to mess around with feminine fashion, hairstyles, make-up, and express their emotions.

He was thinking about the kids who’d call him gay, throw rocks, yell ‘faggot’ after Dan and his friends. They’d just laugh at the time or yell something back, but Dan wondered if those things really did leave a lasting impact on his expression.

He was thinking about the other night, the vague rightness he had seen in his reflection for a split second. He was thinking about how he knew, objectively, that he was a good-looking guy, but he was still unsatisfied with his appearance. He was thinking about his curly hair. He was thinking about his old reading festival bracelets. He was thinking about nail polish. He was thinking about his relationship with Phil. He was thinking about his fear of being labeled gay. He was thinking about the time when he was in uni and grew his hair out a bit long, straightened it, and put in earrings. He was thinking about the time when he cut his hair, styled it like every guy he knew did, defended himself, guarded himself, and shoved a few pieces of himself into the recesses of his being. He was thinking about the change between those times and the change between then and now.

Dan was thinking quite a lot.

He was thinking quite a lot about sexuality, gender, and identity.

He was thinking about it, because it wasn’t so scary at the moment, and he needed to take advantage of that.

There was a time when Dan wanted to be seen as anything but gay. Anything but feminine.

But, had Dan ever really felt masculine?

So, Dan thought about that. Had there ever been a time in his life that he had really felt like a boy or a man?

During his childhood, before gender or sexuality or appearance mattered, Dan would live carelessly. He would wear tiaras and tutus and sing spice girls into plastic microphones. He would climb trees and skin his knees and ride his bicycle around the neighborhood. He took piano lessons. He refused to play rough and fight with the other little boys. He made friends with girls. He ran through parks, rolled down grass hills. He hugged his grandma and kissed her hello. He was never good at sports. He loved video games.

And, no, he’d never felt like a girl . But, had he ever felt like a boy? Dan had never given much thought to gender. He’d always just been Dan . Dan with boy friends and girl friends. Dan who liked girls and liked boys. Dan who cursed at video games and cried listening to Cancer by My Chemical Romance.

Dan had felt gay before. He’d felt queer.

He often felt queer.

When he laid his head against the flat, broad, chest of his boyfriend. When he kissed the firmer lips of a man, his man. When he fell into bed with his lover, pressed himself into him, let him press himself into Dan. When Dan’s gaze toward a man lingered a second. God, when Dan looked in the mirror. He always felt queer. That was irrevocably a part of him. A part of him he’d learned to take pride in.

Alas, beyond that vague queerness, Dan had always struggled to define himself.

Dan stopped running, leaning against the wall and catching his breath. He looked around at the scarcely populated streets. The sun was just starting to properly light up the sky. Dan almost felt like the only one alive. He wondered when he became a morning person, but it was so peaceful. So still.

It was easier to think in the morning. He had a blank slate to work with. He wasn’t quite afraid of the world yet, because it wasn’t awake yet. It wasn’t bustling and busy and chaotic yet. In that, it was the same as staying up until two, or three, or four in the morning. The difference was in how Dan felt, how the world felt.

Three am was full of people ending their days. Full of people hurting, thinking, crying, fucking, falling in love, feeling . There were anxieties about the morning lingering in the air. Time moved faster. There was something so heavy about the early hours of darkness.

The morning was light. It was full of fresh starts and hope. Thoughts didn’t weigh so heavily on the mind, because there was the entire day to sort them out. Getting up early was already an accomplishment. The world was quiet, and time moved slowly.

At least for Dan.

He smiled a little.

Maybe Dan wasn’t entirely a man. He had never even felt too comfortable calling himself a man. ‘Boy’ has been okay. ‘Man’ was too…masculine. Too definitive.

Maybe he was just overthinking like he always did. Maybe gender roles meant nothing and Dan just refused to give into them. Maybe being a man was whatever he wanted it to be. Or maybe gender identity was just this vague and confusing feeling. Maybe Dan was a little bit formless. Maybe he couldn’t fit into any of the molds. Maybe he craved the same label-less formlessness for his gender as he did his sexuality. Maybe these thoughts would become terrifying in a few hours.

That was okay. Mornings were full of ‘maybe’s. Maybe he’d make breakfast. Maybe he’d crawl back into bed and fall back asleep. Maybe he’d look through old video idea files and see what he could update to match his current self. Maybe he would just watch the new Queer Eye episodes and play the piano and laze about. Maybe he would look in the mirror and say ‘maybe I’m not a man.’

Dan looked up at the sky again before changing the playlist on his phone to play the more upbeat instrumentals he had compiled for these runs. He set of jogging again.

It was still early.

~•~•~

Dan set a bottle of base-coat nail polish, a bottle of black nail polish, a bag of cotton balls, and a bottle of nail polish remover down on his desk one by one. He turned on a light and sat down.

He untwisted the top to the base nail polish, wiping the brush on the sides to get rid of the excess, and brought the applicator to his fingernail, slowly painting a line of the clear polish onto his nail, messing up the moment he had to fill in around his skin, and painting over his skin.

Dan took in a breath. He reached for a cotton ball and the nail polish remover, cleaning his nail off.

He tried it again.

He messed up again, this time after a few more swipes of nail polish.

He took in a breath, wiping the nail polish away with a wetted cotton ball.

He tried again.

He didn’t mess up until he got to the black polish. He painted insanely messily and out of the lines, covering his skin and cuticles in the polish.

He took in a breath and reached for the nail polish remover.

He tried again.

Paint went onto the nail. It was messy. It was outside the lines. It wasn’t right.

Dan didn’t allow himself to get frustrated. He took another deep breath. He wet another cotton ball.

He tried again.

It was understandable that the nail polish wouldn’t stay within the confines Dan had created for it. But, Dan wanted to find a way for something to fit right. He wanted the polish on his nails to be perfect. He wanted to get good at it. He wanted it to be normal and to feel second nature.

Once he could do this, he could do the next step.

Dan didn’t know what the next step was, but he knew he wanted to get there. He needed to get there.

So, he wiped his nails off, until he did the first one perfectly, none of it on his skin or cuticles. Then he moved to the next finger and did it again. He bit his lip as he focused, painting over and over until he got it perfect.

Then, once that was dried, he repeated the process on the other hand.

~•~•~

“Look,” Dan said, holding his hand out to Phil.

Phil spared a small glance. “Cute,” he said because this was normal.

“No,” Dan said. “Look.”

Phil perked an eyebrow, but looked again, taking Dan’s hand and holding it in the light to look them over. “Very pretty,” he said.

“I did a good job, yeah?” Dan asked because Phil was clueless and he needed the reassurance.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, they look great,” Phil assured. “Perfect, actually,” he said, looking them over.

Dan rolled his eyes and sat back. “Took a few attempts,” he said.

“Well, you’re getting good at it,” Phil said.

Dan smiled. “I try.”

Phil’s gaze remained on Dan’s face for a moment.

“What?” Dan asked, blushing . He was fucking blushing, he could feel the warmth in his cheeks. Phil Lester had spared him many a long glance with similar amounts of affection. Still, Dan felt his stomach flutter just a bit. Dan didn’t know why it felt different in the moment, but it did.

“Nothing,” Phil said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just. Dunno. You look very pretty.” He turned back to his laptop.

Dan smiled, looking away. “Thank you.”

~•~•~

Dan was scrolling through the Instagram of Ben J. Pierce and trying to remember when they’d ended up in a mutual following.

There was something lovely and inspiring about these queer creators he followed. The pride they took in their identity and expression was comforting and inspirational. Still, Dan managed to find sadness in it. He couldn’t help but feel strange. Ben, for example, was only just twenty years old. When Dan was twenty, he was entering the throes of repression, about to spend a year or so trying to change himself, to make himself more desirable to the audience he felt he wanted. Yet, there were so many younger than him who seemed to be so aware of themselves. So proud of themselves. And so loud about it.

Dan looked at the lipstick painted across Ben’s lips. The dresses pulled over his chest. The colors around his eyes. The shimmer on his cheekbones. Dan loved it. He loved it for Ben. But there was also a sort of longing in his chest as he looked at these pictures. Make-up seemed like a lot. A dress seemed like a lot. But, still, he wanted it. He wanted to be comfortable with the idea of his face covered in makeup and his awkward body stuffed into a skirt or dress. Not just in front of the mirror at home. Not just for the sake of trying it.

Maybe he would be someday.

A few years ago, it would have felt like a joke to want such a thing, so at least he was making progress. The idea of being anything but a man would have seemed like a joke.

Dan knew a lot of things now that he hadn’t known back then. He had met people in the past few years that a young, sexually confused and repressed Dan could never even have imagined existing. Young people with bright smiles and grateful words and knowledge of their own identity that Dan sort of envied.

People who looked up at him with bright eyes and said “thank you so much for always using inclusive language,” and “I met people through you that allowed me to find parts of myself and piece together my identity,” and “I’m glad you’re comfortable with traditionally non-masculine things, because I was made fun of for being a boy that likes feminine things.” People who made Dan feel like somehow this silly YouTube thing had a genuinely positive effect on hundreds of people. People who gave Dan way too much credit.

Dan looked down at his nails, painted flawlessly. He remembered the first time he’d properly painted them. The endless support and excitement that flooded in from fans. It had been silly. Love and support for putting a bit of paint on his nails. But, it had also been amazing. He had genuinely been afraid. He’d looked that the bottle of nail polish a fan had given him. A cheap, barely opaque, dollar store bottle. He’d felt the same longing he did now.

That was one thing. Not wanting to conform to gender roles. Life was too short to just live in the box set out for you by society.

The thing that was different was the strange euphoria that washed over him when he looked down at his painted nails. When he wore a too-big sweater. When his hair fell over his forehead just right.

Just the thought of drifting further away from the labels, boxes, and societal rules of gender made something bubble up inside of him. Something distinct from his current queerness but queer nonetheless. After all these months of introspection and striving to live as authentically as possible, Dan was ready to fully acknowledge this facet of his queerness. He was ready to acknowledge that he might not just wish for formlessness, but already be, in a way, formless.

~•~•~

Dan had been quiet and contemplative for a while. He was ready to talk now. He wanted to lay it all out verbally and piece it together in words as best as he could. Dan hated fixed labels, but his mind also hated leaving things nameless. Phil had patient ears, and soft encouragement, and had foolishly agreed to stay with Dan and listen to his contemplation for nine years and counting.

So, Dan walked into the lounge where he knew he’d find Phil and caught his gaze.

“What if I told you I wasn’t a man?”

Phil set aside his laptop, giving Dan his full attention. Dan hoped he wasn’t going to make a big deal, but he knew better. That wasn’t their style. Phil smiled a little and seemed neither startled nor bothered.

“I would say ‘okay,’” Phil said. “And I would ask if you’d like me to change the way I refer to you.”

Dan almost felt as though these were words contemplated by Phil before this conversation. Dan smiled little. Of course. He was stupid. Phil knew. God, Phil had probably known before Dan had even begun to properly question.

“And if I said I wasn’t sure?” Dan asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch so he could face Phil.

“Then,” Phil said easily. “I would say ‘okay,’ and ask if you wanted to talk about it.”

Dan smiled. “How long have you suspected?” he asked.

Phil understood because of course he did. Dan wasn’t sure how people communicated with people who didn’t know them so well. Talking to anyone else about this would have been so much different, so much scarier, and so much harder.

Phil shrugged. “I didn’t know anything for sure, but I hadn’t ruled it out. I just figured if you felt like you needed to say anything you would, and you have.”

Dan leaned back into the couch cushion, smiling a bit, but unsure exactly how to proceed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil asked.

Dan looked down at his black nails. “Yes.”

Phil shut his laptop, moved a bit closer to Dan and Dan talked.

Dan talked for a long time. He talked about the stupidity of gender roles, about the articles he’d read about gender being merely a construct. Scientific research studies. Phil mentioned gently and with a chuckle that Dan didn’t have to cite medical journals to justify the way he and many others felt.

Dan talked about being queer. He talked about painting his nails. He talked about catching glimpses of himself in the mirror and feeling warmth well up at the casual androgyny he sometimes found in his reflection. He talked about baggy clothes and small hoop earrings and curly hair. He talked about euphoria and dysphoria.

Dan talked about the non-binary and binary trans people who showed up to meet and greets. He talked about the queer pride that radiated off of so many of their audience. He talked about all he’d learned about the world in trying to understand his and Phil’s audience, and incidentally, all he’d learned about himself.

He talked candidly about the difficulty he often had equating himself with a man. With maleness or masculinity. He talked about male beauty gurus and gender nonconforming people and drag queens and non-binary genders.

Phil listened. He added comments. He brought up things that he noticed about Dan that Dan hadn’t even noticed. He occasionally asked for clarification, but he knew all of the terms and the ideas and Dan was so glad Phil was quite queer as well.

They talked for hours, between bites of food and snacks. They talked until the sun went down. They talked until Dan’s jaw got tired and they couldn’t keep their eyes open.

“We should head to bed,” Phil said because he knew Dan could stay up and talk despite the tiredness.

Dan nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Did we…did I ever reach any sort of conclusion?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d say I did,” Phil said, smiling, eyes drooping and hand on Dan’s thigh.

“Mhm?” Dan asked, gently pushing Phil’s hair from his face. “What’s that?”

“You’re you,” Phil said. “And I love you.”

“Gross. Cheesy. I’m putting you to bed,” Dan said.

Phil smiled. “I know you like to think and sort things out,” Phil said, yawning. “But, I think things get clearer with time, you know? We’re moving slowly right now. You can let yourself slow down too. You’re ready, you know? Who you are—your truth—it’ll come to you, yeah? Piece by piece.”

Dan smiled. There were tear tracks on his cheeks because this was a lot. Talking about this was a lot. He was ready. He was finally ready to confront this vague feeling within himself that he’d always dismissed. And he didn’t have to do it alone. Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he swiped it away.

“Just let me know if you need me to change anything, or do anything. I know you’re getting so close to where you wanna be.”

Dan smiled, leaning into Phil. “I love you.”

Phil smiled too, taking in a deep breath before forcing himself to stand. He offered Dan a hand. “Alright. Bed now.”

~•~•~

Dan looked down at their freshly painted nails. They smiled. They’d removed the polish once it began to chip and reapplied it for a few weeks now. It was so strange how such a small thing could make Dan feel so much more in touch with themself.

They supposed for a lot of people, nail polish was just an extra pop of color. To Dan, it felt like a step into a new way of expressing themself. A reaffirmation to themself that their identity was real. That their formlessness was real. That their queerness was good and beautiful. That they were good and beautiful.

Dan walked into the kitchen, finding Phil buttering some toast. “I want you to switch them up,” Dan said.

Phil looked up. “What?” he questioned.

“Pronouns. Any are good. I mean, I don’t mind any. I like them all, so. I’d like it if you switched them up,” they said.

“Oh,” Phil said, smiling. “I will.”

Dan still wasn’t sure who Phil would speak to about Dan using any pronouns other than ‘he/him,’ but that was a question for another day. Dan knew Phil understood that as well, turning back to his toast.

“So, they, she, and he?” Phil clarified, wiping the butter from his knife and dropping it into the sink.

Dan felt a flutter in their stomach at the idea of being referred to as they or she. “Yeah. All good,” they said.

“So, like, ‘you should meet my boyfriend—” Phil started, moving to wrap his arms around Dan’s waist. “They’re beautiful, thoughtful, and talented. She has pretty eyes. She has a few freckles and patches of red. Her lips aren’t chapped anymore, which means they’re even better for kissing.” Phil pressed a short kiss to Dan’s lips. “I love them a lot,” he said.

A wide smile spread over Dan’s lips, they could feel their eyes water a bit, and their stomach buzzed with euphoric butterflies. “Yeah, pretty much,” Dan breathed, giggling a bit. “Although I hope you don’t always talk to people like you’re a fourth grader writing a story.”

Phil smiled, pressing another kiss to Dan’s lips. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he said, grabbing his plate of toast and taking a seat at the dining table.

Dan smiled. “I’m proud of me too,” they said.

#decided heck it and posted #arys writes #phanfic #phanfiction #nonbinary!dan #enby!dan #introspection fic #gender identity fic #edit: this was posted pre coming out just for a lil context

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amratsu · 5 years

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so whats maya drangleic's story?

oh boy oh boy oh boy!

Maya’s a character I played for a couple years in an XCrawl pathfinder campaign. Tiefling Alchemist, focused on a mix of self polymorphing and bombs. Two meters tall, warm to the touch, and warmer of heart; basically a giant mom friend. ask @stuffman-main about the character he played in the same campaign too!

here’s a read more cause the rest is long

She was born to normal human parents who unfortunately had to give her up, because raising a Tiefling in the NORTH AMERICAN EMPIRE, under the rule of IMMORTAL GOD EMPEROR RONALD, was not good business. Then she bounced around foster homes for a while until college, where she studied her ass off at the California Institute of Alchemy (CIA) until graduation; Maya’s thesis submission in her Practical Bioalteration course was one of the red tentacles you see grafted onto her back.

Afterwards she became an XCrawler, which meant live television dungeon crawling under the supervision of a Dungeon Jockey, or DJ, but these were shady illegal XCrawls for a very long time. Joining her were a number of other shady fellows, like a psychic weeaboo/hikkikomori samurai, a tiny middle aged murder hobo, an amnesiac elf, and BROCK OHMAMA (who was the party bard). Things happened, she accidentally made herself a twin, and then stopped the XCrawl equivalent of the Super Bowl from being used as a ritual to plunge all of America into hell by Senator McCarthy. Long story.

Now she and the rest of her party are semi-retired, with Maya taking long vacations from work to travel across the planes and discover new people, places, and cultures.

I wanted to explore a couple of things with her, and that developed further as the campaign went on: everything you see on her body besides her eye color and horn, from the grey skin grafts, to the tron lines, to the armor shards and plates on her neck and face, to both tentacles are all self installed. With every level up I changed her design just a little bit more, because I wanted to explore a tiefling type character that purposely chose to stray away from humanity.

Instead of just being saddled with the bad luck of your ‘typical’ tiefling appearance and cursing fate because of it, Maya has no excuses. She consciously chose every step of the way to become what she is, because it was the only way she figured to keep up with her immensely talented party members. Thus, Maya has no one to blame but herself for any discrimination she faces, which is fine by her. Her results have spoken for themselves, and her achievements mean she’s created a sort of safe haven for the discriminated in the heart of Los Angeles, her home city. Chief among that is the Drangleic Union for Humanoid Rights, an organization that strives to ensure equal opportunity employment for non-slave and slave races across the Empire. (Many non-human races are forced to be slaves under the Empire’s government, but with the Union they gain much more protection and rights than under any other master)

The other thing that got attached to her character was the sin of ‘gluttony’, which was assigned to her by an opposing cult because of her nature. Rather than ‘greed’, where she’d want to hoard everything, Maya is instead ‘gluttonous’; she consumes everything in sight, regardless of circumstances. She of course has a giant appetite to fuel everything she does, but that also extends to her philosophy of doing good. If she can do it, then she will. If she can intervene and help someone, she will. If something is in reach, she will reach for it. Interjecting in other people’s business, fixing other people’s problems, taking on the burdens of other people; all of that is stuff she’ll jump at the call to.

If you would call gluttony ‘excessive consumption’, then Maya’s fits it to a conceptual tee. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do, no excess, no limit, if it means she can help people, and as a fundamental flaw she’s never satisfied. Always looking forward, always hoping to do more good, because otherwise why has she done everything she’s done? In addition, wizards of sin in Pathfinder/D&D attribute gluttony to excessive and frivolous usage of transmutation, which, well, fits her pretty well too.

I played Maya for 2 years, from campaign start to finish, and I’ve RPed with her many times after. And I can honestly say she is my favorite, most loved, most developed OC of all.

#maya drangleic #Anonymous

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sonofhistory · 5 years

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Ron Chernow: Tales of False Information, Hypocrisy and Sucking Up.

I’m not doing this in a pretty essay because I wanted to get the taint of his name from my keyboard quick enough. Often enough, I exclaim my opinion of Ron Chernow. What comes afterwards is a bucket of asks questioning my reasoning, to which I have explained on numerous occasions. Today, once and for all, I will answer it in a clear formate so that I may 1) Stop being asked of Chernow and 2) Give you all the information to choose properly when reading up on your history! Let’s begin.

This is Ron Chernow:

Ah, yes. The man himself. Historian, best-selling writer, journalist... you name it. Kinda looks like your uncle who gets you a child’s Christmas present even though you are seventeen years old. If you are interested in history, or follow it to some extent you most certainly have heard his name in the past. Whether it be in a book store, online, or for your especially crafty people--this blog ;) You are bound to be able to recognize his name. He has published titles such as Titan, The Death of the Banker, Grant & Washington to name a few with the most popularity or catch among readers and stats. However, if it is one biography of which stands out the most against anything it is: Alexander Hamilton. You know that big yellow book?

I can assure you, that while this book looks to big and bright as to blot out the sun: it is nothing but a walk in the park. The biography delves heavily into the life of the first Secretary Treasury of the United States in a manner which has never been performed to such an impressive extent for the historical figure before. From the poor island to by Washington’s side and then the forest of Wekawken to his last breath beside Eliza, just as David McCullough did with John Adams, Ron Chernow masterfully articulates all of the information in a conscious and extraordinary manner. So, perhaps you ask: why, Presley, do you hold an utter disdain for Ron Chernow if you think it was good?? Well to answer your question:

Because he does too much sucking up.

Sucking up.

But what do I mean by that? I mean rather poignantly that if Ron Chernow could, he would get down on his knees and please Hamilton in any which manner that he wishes. He sucks up. Alexander Hamilton is solely one example of this manner of creating a larger and life picture of the man. I have stated all this before, in my review on this book, but today I am going to tackle a few reasons why you shouldn’t rush out to read from Chernow on this interesting figure. From not allowing Hamilton to take account for his wrong deeds, to blaming the people in his life to blatant lies among the text. Ron Chernow, is, in my honest and collective opinion, a lying and untruthful historian.

First and foremost: bias. You’ve heard this word before often coming from me on this blog regarding historians. In my context, it means an author who does not take both prospectives in an argument and is always inclined to one specific side. Perfect examples of how historians have been masterful in avoiding bias is Jon Meacham in Thomas Jefferson and John Ferling in Jefferson vs Hamilton. Those authors were able to perfectly walk the line between giving their figure’s opinions and being able to tear their views to shreds. Ron Chernow does not walk the line. Actually he pretty much fell the thousand feet away from the line to his doom in hell. Strong wording? You bet. Chernow is EXTREMELY BIAS. By bias in Chernow context, I mean that he does not understand how to incorporate differing opinions into his passages or know how to interpret Hamilton in what manner he was: a brilliant but extremely flawed man with a multitude of moral issues who constructed the country from scratch with the rest of them. Instead, Chernow chooses to view Hamilton is a divergent light.

So what does this do for his character? Hamilton’s. It amplifies it. Chernow spends the entire biography attempting to convince how holy, forgotten and sacred Hamilton is that he entirely disregards that Hamilton is already interesting by himself! We don’t need useful false information or bias information. For example, Chernow portrays Hamilton in a light of “do no wrong” and that is was everyone around him of which had issue. For a few examples:

Thomas Jefferson started all of the arguments between them and he was evil. Not like Hamilton did anything to be either...

Maria Reynolds is a stupid whore and she seduced poor Hamilton into banging her.

James Monroe just stopped being friends with him and backstabbed him. Lmao. Right.

It is Eliza’s fault that Hamilton cheated on her because she was pregnant all of the time.

It was Eliza’s fault being Hamilton needs to protect his fragile masculinity and bang other women.

It is Eliza’s fault.

IT IS ELIZA’S FAULT FOR EVERYTHING.

This brings me onto another point about characterization. So, in the wake of him having to amplify Hamilton to his extraordinary human bring who cannot do any wrong, he had to, at the same time, ruin the characters and personalities of the people around Hamilton. He spends the entire book trying to say that it was Eliza who was the hero but then completely goes against his claim just to bring attention and say that Eliza was responsible for the largest blot on Hamilton’s character. He trashes James Monroe by putting him the light of a Hamilton or Jefferson wannabe. He characterizes Jefferson the wrong way and takes numerous amounts of time just to dig at his character in the text like a middle schooler talking shit about someone. The thing is? Jefferson sucks! Yeah! We all know that: Jefferson is a piece of shit. However, Chernow doesn’t diss Jefferson in a way that is so bring to light how disgusting he was, he does it just to prove how much “cooler” Jefferson was to him and in turn ignores all of his subject’s flaws. James Madison is portrayed pathetically as well. Thought I’d mention... I believe the most horrifying thing, however, is his incorrect take on Maria Reynolds. That she was a stupid whore and Hamilton couldn’t resist her beautiful, sexy and entrancing sex sex sex.

Alright. I spoke enough about character. Now allow us to tackle a fundamental reason why Chernow drops the ball in all of his biographies. The sacred ball. The sacred, holy ball that all historians must follow.

CITE YOUR GOD DAMN SOURCES.

Chernow puts information in there that you cannot find anywhere else. I mean... anywhere. But... what do I mean? I mean it is no where. No sources, no archives: nothing. A lot of his information is completely and utterly false! He places it in there just to serve his own agenda! It is completely crazy. Here are a few examples I noticed (there are many):

He states that Hamilton never owned any slaves and places him in the light of an extreme abolitionist. WHICH IS COMPLETELY FALSE. Chernow shows him as a fervent abolitionist and only mentions on one page in one sentence the possiblity that Alexander Hamilton owned slaves. Alexander Hamilton owned one or two house slaves, he married into one of the richest slave owning family, he bought slaves for his family member and Chernow tries to say this was all against his will–seriously? Newsflash, Alexander Hamilton was NOT an abolitionist.

Stated that Hercules Mulligan was in the New York Manumission Society yet he is not in any records and was owning slaves all throughout his life.

The story about Martha Washington’s tomcat is also untrue and the Boston Globe stated the emailed Chernow multiple times to no answer.

Let us also not forgot to mention the incorrect labeling on the William S. Hamilton picture.

As you can see: Chernow puts in facts and flowery information in order to pump up his nice thesis. He spends so long trying to do exactly what David McCullough did masterfully: bring a figure up from the depths and turn him in one fellow swoop into an icon. Sure, Chernow has gotten that done. He has a musical, which is pretty amazing, and everything. But masterfully? Debatable.

At the end of the day, Alexander Hamilton is just one example of Chernow’s dirty deed. He did the same thing in Washington btw which is why I don’t recommend it. I must giver Chernow props however: his writing style is complex but fascination, interesting and he does immense research for his writing. Kudos on that.

If you are looking for entertaining book with many facts and nearly a thousand pages of information on one person: you will go to the right now. I am not asking you to not read Chernow because in the end, he actually is quite good. What I am saying is that when you are going to read Chernow: you will need to take everything he says with a big pinch of salt. Because you may never know what is fact, what is reality and when he is crossing between being a historian and being a fan boy.

Take Chernow with a pinch of salt. A big pinch of salt. A whole thing of salt. A bucket of salt. A damn house of salt. As you are reading, you are going to have to question everything that he is writing about and you’ll never know fiction and fanboying between truth and reality. Want to relax instead? Come to me and I’ll recommend you anything better than him.

#got long #but here you go #ah finally maybe now I can #be done with him #ron chernow #Alexander hamilton #us history #history #pressles musing #american history

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thekoshertribble · 6 years

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“You can't play a game without rules. Even Grups ought to know that.” Women of Star Trek Blog Entry #5 Miri

Hello dear readers! I’m back with another blog for your reading enjoyment! Today I’ll be discussing one of the more controversial episodes of the Original Series: Miri. And, as you probably guessed, my subject from this episode is the titular character herself, Miri.

Miri is a human girl from an alternate Earth the Enterprise encounters on its travels. The crew comes across the planet because of a mysterious SOS signal coming from the planet. Upon beaming down, they find a deserted wasteland that once was a small town, and hiding among its ruins, they find a girl.

In our first scene with Miri, the crew talks to her and pieces together her account of an apocalypse: a strange plague wiped out all the adults, causing them to become extremely violent before mercifully succumbing to death. The only survivors were the children who had yet to reach puberty. The plague decelerated their growth, so that they would only age a month every hundred years. So although Miri appears to be 14, she is in fact 300 years old by the time the crew of the Enterprise finds her hiding in a closet. They soon realize, as they become ill and learn more about the disease, that Miri’s days are numbered. Once she reaches puberty she will become a violent, scar-covered zombie-like creature before finally dying.

As if puberty was bad enough already.

Miri’s character has essentially been sculpted by her surroundings. As a young teenager, she witnessed all adults, including all her relatives, teachers, neighbors and mentors, go violently mad and commit unthinkable atrocities against themselves and innocent children. Therefore Miri, as well as all the other child survivors, “the Onlies,” developed a deep distrust of any adults they might encounter. Most of the Onlies therefore treat the Enterprise landing party as hostile intruders, either hiding them or throwing rocks at them from the cover of shadows.

Miri, while at first terrified for her life when she is cornered by Kirk and his crew, seems to trust them enough to stay and help them. This decision on her part makes her stand out from the rest of the Onlies. While they all know these strange new “Grups” are different, only Miri acts on her curiosity and is brave enough to follow help them in their strange quest. She could have escaped their grasp or tricked them so she could sneak away - we know she’s clever and cunning because she successfully kidnaps Yeoman Rand later in the episode - but for some reason, she makes the risky decision to stay with them. And I’m going on a limb to suggest why...

It’s all in the name. Miri is a shortened version of Miriam, the name of one of the Torah’s great matriarchs. In summary, Miriam was the sister of Moses, the man who would guide the Hebrews out of slavery in Egypt. Miriam lived out the first half of her life as a slave, but despite this bitter life she did not give up her faith in God, who would later command Moses to free His chosen people from Egypt.

I believe that Miri, like her Biblical namesake, had a silent, underlying faith - perhaps not in God, but in a world better than the post-apocalyptic, Lord-of-the-flies Neverland hell she lived in for most of her life. Curiosity may be one reason Miri decided to stay with Kirk and his crew, but I do believe she followed them because she knew (perhaps only unconsciously) that’s these people would make her life better. So no, I don’t agree with Kirk’s thesis regarding why Miri followed them along: “Loneliness? I don't know, curiosity? I think children have an instinctive need for adults. They want to be told right and wrong.”

Which brings me to the next, much more controversial topic of this blog: Kirk and his interactions with Miri. I’ve read many reviews of this episode and they all discuss how Kirk’s interactions with Miri just feel weird if not outright creepy. From the swelling romantic music to the awkward romance jokes (”I never get involved with older women”), the episode feels like its seriously setting up Miri, a 14 year old girl, as a love interest for 34 year old Kirk. And that’s...really, really not okay. At all. Period.

That being said, I personally do not believe Kirk is attracted to Miri. If I did I wouldn’t even be writing this because I wouldn’t be watching the show. While I do agree with other reviewers that Kirk uses Miri’s attraction to him to get information and cooperation from her, I cannot accept the James Kirk that I know - the one that respects his female crew members and protects children from distress - could even consider such an immoral thought. Yes, he does compliment her on her looks and her name, “pretty name, for a pretty young woman,” but I believe this is his way of attempting to gain her trust, nothing more.

Speaking of Kirk, I think I know why Kirk seems to have so much interest in the Onlies, especially Miri - it’s because he’s been in her shoes before, on Tarsus IV. At Miri’s age, Kirk witnessed a devastating plague and the cold-blooded massacre of 4,000 colonists. We don’t have canon information regarding how Kirk survived these horrors, but I can guess confidently that when he realized what Miri has been through, he identified with her position. This is my only explanation for why he is so attentive and (almost creepily) gentle around Miri.*

But let’s focus back to Miri herself, shall we? Let’s talk character strengths. Besides having (perhaps unconscious) faith, Miri also possesses great bravery and cleverness. Although she does cry out of fear several times during the episode, this does not mean that she isn’t brave. I would say she is the bravest of the Onlies, simply because she 1) stays and helps the new Grups, and 2) continues to stay with them even as they begin to lose their tempers as the disease begins to affect them. Even her planning and executing the kidnapping of Yeoman Rand tells us that Miri is not only clever enough to hatch a risky plan, but also gutsy enough to carry it out.

Which leads me to discussing Miri’s main weakness. Miri’s actions are almost exclusively driven by her emotions. While not totally irrational, she is rather sensitive, considering she’s been living in an apocalyptic wasteland for 300 years. The best example of her emotion-based action is her kidnapping of Rand. She does this purely out of revenge. She sees Kirk trying to comfort Rand and decides that “Mr. Lovey-Dovey” needs to be taught a lesson. She doesn’t consider the consequences or fallout from this act, she just lashes out. I hate to say it, but much of this is just hormonal behavior for a girl her age.

I can understand where Miri is coming from. I attended an all-girls middle school for three years, and it was angry hormonal dramatic hell every. Single. Day. The teachers didn’t really care what we did or said to each other as long as we followed the dress code. So girls constantly lashed out at each other either out of spite or petty revenge. (It was actually by watching Star Trek that helped teach me about balancing my emotions with logic in a healthy way, but that’s a story for another post).

I know exactly how Miri felt when she saw him and Rand hugging. Seeing your first crush with another person is like getting hit with a meteorite in the chest. Getting revenge on Rand and Kirk is quite rash and dramatic but it makes a lot of sense from Miri’s perspective. As Kirk points out, Miri doesn’t understand what’s happening to her - she probably didn’t get “the talk” before the plague. She may not even know about menstruation. She is blinded by emotions emboldened by new hormonal changes, and even worse, she has no idea that it’s happening.

Emotional struggles aside, Miri comes around and helps Kirk rescue Rand and help the children. Again, she does the braver thing, confronting her mistakes and siding with Kirk when challenged by Jahn, the leader of the Onlies.

Miri: Listen to [Kirk].

Jahn: You listen, Miri!

Miri: I did. What do you think I brought him here?

Without Miri’s help, without her faith in Kirk, the Enterprise would have lost its captain and chief officers to plague and the Onlies would have starved to death in a few months. Like her biblical namesake, she believed in a better future for her people, and her faith helped to lead them there.

Thanks for reading this, everyone! Again, I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please like and reblog, or maybe leave a comment to continue the conversation. Stay tuned for my next entry: Dagger of the Mind!

*important note: I recognize that this a rather awkward and delicate topic. I completely understand if you have a differing opinion from that if my own and I welcome hearing it. As I said, my theories regarding Kirk’s behavior in this episode are purely speculative and based on my own intuition and biases.

#star trek #star trek original series #miri #kirk #captain kirk #miriam #biblical reference #post apocalypse

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (10/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: This took a while. I had this written out for a while, I just spent a good amount of brain cells trying to figure out where to cut this. It’s almost done actually. I’m expecting like (at the most) 5 more chapters so maybe I can get it done by the end of March if I muster up the courage and the effort to do all the final revisions to the last few chapters.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Other Chapters:1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Link to cross-postings: AO3

As Levi soon found out, Hange kept a folder online tagged ‘Levi Ackerman.’

The oldest pictures were dated more than three years ago and the first had been one of his cool down after his performance at his first tournament. There was variety in the pictures and they covered everything, all the way from warming up on the bench, positioning himself to run and those few moments right after launching himself in the air to the peak of his jump. She had even snuck pictures of his interviews.

The first time he opened it, he had first checked the dates to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming or assuming she of all people had been a fan. The weirdly strong emotions he had felt at the realization of the existence of such a folder had only made him all the more vulnerable and the last thing he had wanted to do was an act on an illusion or trick of the mind.

The experiences he had on the field clearing jump after jump had become routine over the five year period. Despite the changes among the faces in the crowd, the cheers that had only been getting louder and louder and of course, the oval that changed with the venue, sometimes the only thing Levi did remember was the blue sky staring him down and gravity pulling from behind.

Maybe that was why he had ended up in a state of disbelief the first time she had shown it to him.

How did you not notice her? Levi was sure he wouldn’t have anyway. She was a stranger, one stranger in a crowd of people. Although she may have been one unchanging face in a crowd of thousands of changing faces, she was still a stranger to him. And strangers just tended to blend in more easily.

A valid point. Yet the regret and frustration were still fresh inside him despite it having been weeks since she first gave him access to that folder

She had first showed it to him the morning after that eventful night, after having dealt with a hungover Nanaba. It was only in the evening that day after Hange had escorted her three friends to the station did she sit next to him on the bed and scroll through the pictures herself with Levi right beside her. Naturally, she was still hesitant to show that side of her, she scrolled a bit too slow at times, while a bit too fast at other times.

For a while their roles were reversed and Levi found himself prodding Hange for more details. Eventually, she did share the link to the folder in exchange for links to his story and Levi was quick to comply. They were both exposed anyway, there was no need for any more secrets between them. Only one condition that had seemed a little too frivolous at first glance, yet somehow Levi understood it.

Hange requested that he go through the pictures when she wasn’t around. And soon after she requested it, Levi realized he preferred that too. Despite the fact that he did trust her not to judge whatever she may find on the folders, there still existed an uneasiness at baring one’s heart out to someone in words one couldn’t control anymore having written the stories out too long ago.

Consequently, he requested the same thing from her. Do not read it while I’m around. When he told her the stories, he at least had control of his tones, his diction and the packaging of the overall story. Watching her read them, he knew he would find himself doubting the words he had written while at the same time vacillating between decisions to correct his previous writings or let her read. The constant self consciousness that came with the second option had just been too stressful of a prospect. He decided himself, he would rather have full control of the exposition or none at all.

The decision to have no control and no input, to be absent when he bares his heart out was not easy to make. And he continued to feel the traces of that struggle in the way he so easily lost focus and ended up mindlessly scrolling through the folder. His mind had shifted to other things more specifically the prospect of whether or not Hange was doing the same thing then and there.

She was only a phone call away. He could ask. But it had just seemed idiotic. Of course she wouldn’t be checking on it, she had been cramming for an exam that morning in between preparing for her mid semester thesis presentation. She hadn’t even bothered to say any greeting but an ‘I’ll follow’ before he left for the therapist that morning.

He looked through the messages in the waiting room, and up at the time displayed on the upper right part of the screen.

9:43. She was still in the middle of her exam. She won’t be checking on it.

Levi looked at the ceiling above him, allowing the plain white view above him to ease him back to his reality. How long had he been staring at the phone? He closely felt for the aches and discomforts around his body. The dull soreness that made itself known as he stared up at the white ceiling above him only served as a reminder that he had been a little too exposed to quick scrolls and the unnatural glare of his phone for a potentially unhealthy amount of time.

It was his first physical therapy session and Hange had pointed out that he should be early just in case. Consequently, he had shown up at 8:30 for a session at ten.

Just in case you get lost. Just in case there is paperwork which still needs to be filled. Hange would have done the paperwork already. He had ended up clocking that little doubt and that need for a little prophylactic thinking to caution on their end. First times tended to make people a little more cautious. And more importantly, what else was there to do on a Saturday morning other than sleep in?

Either way, that long wait had left him with eyes a little too tired yet at the same time, he was bored out of his wits. He looked around the waiting room finding something else to entertain himself with.

I only have seventeen more minutes to kill. It shouldn’t be too hard.

The atmosphere of the waiting room was nothing like getting lost in nature or on the road. It was stark white, bleak and a little too rehearsed. In other words, it lacked dynamic and consequently. it was too boring to find any amusement in. Of course, they wouldn’t want to stress out any patients with anything too fancy or overwhelming. Yet, the only thing which Levi could have found worth giving more than a passing thought to were the people around him.

And only when Levi started focusing instead on the people and not on the off-white plastered walls of the waiting room, he somehow was able to distract himself from the dragging motions of time.

There was an old man with a knee brace. A middle aged man with an arm in a sling and a girl with a casted right leg. There were others who could have passed up for nothing more than a visitor, until they stood up and Levi noticed in their gait the slight hesitancy to put one foot in front of the other. A small detail which Levi probably wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t looking for it then.

As he preoccupied himself and reflected over the small details that could have told stories of the people around him, that natural reflection to one own’s self had him a little too focused, a little too fixated.

The door to the waiting room slammed behind him and the trance disappeared as quickly as it came and as silently as a bubble that had just been popped.

Levi found himself irritably following the sound of the footsteps that came right after the slam of the door. It reverberated across the quiet and tense room, so loudly that if Levi did look around him, he would have realized he wasn’t the only one who had been so abruptly disturbed by it.

“Aaaand... My rounds are over for today,” The man said looking not at all guilty for that rude awakening. He wouldn’t have known anyway, and as Levi looked towards the front where the man had settled by the nurse’s desk, he might just have been the only one in the room rudely awakened by that sound.

“Ah, Doctor Jaeger, That was quick,” the nurse commented a little too pleasantly for Levi’s taste.

“Not too busy of a morning.” The man said, or as Levi soon deduced, was Mr. Jaeger. He recognized that irritating voice and as he looked up at the man, taking in the gruff features, the blond hair and beard and the rounded glasses, he quickly grasped for the name.

Zeke Jaeger. He hadn’t even said the name out loud just yet, but somehow he tasted venom. Levi though had enough awareness of his surroundings and his own ability to quickly yet correctly guess names to have kept silent. Regardless, he continued to watch as Zeke lowered his voice, possibly whispering something about going out for a drink and some dinner with the nurse in front of him. He found himself silently judging that audacious invasion of privacy as Zeke looked over at whatever paper was on the teacher’s desk.

Ackerman?

If Levi had actually been a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have realized Zeke did not at all say the name loud enough for him to hear. It was the result of Levi having watched too closely as Zeke enunciated those syllables, having noticed as the nurse made eye contact with him and having heard peppers of conversations about a jumper and an injury.

“Oh… An Ackerman? Who does high jumps?.” Zeke confirmed it himself, as he once again spoke a few decibels louder, obviously with the intention of making himself heard.

It wasn’t anything new. The past few months, Levi started to realize that at the least, many people in the local scene were familiar with him.

“My brother’s best friend is an Ackerman too and she started jumping recently.”

“I don’t have any relatives who jump,” Levi answered, in an attempt to shoot that attempt of a friendly interaction down.

Zeke stared at him, looking surprised. “You sure? With how quickly she picked it up, I thought she should have been related to you.”

Levi kept silent, making no effort to look open at all to conversation. Somehow, Zeke didn’t seem to get the hint.

“She’s been sweeping their interhigh competitions since the start of autumn… With the pace at which she’s going, she might even replace you.”

Levi had gotten used to those types of comments, hearing them as whispers the few times he went out, seeing them on a few forums as people discussed his injuries. He shouldn’t have been at all bothered by the statement, having shifted his attention in life to things which weren’t jumping

The blond man in front of him had been crass and blunt and Levi was starting to feel the beginnings of a bad mood. The irritability only worsened even as Levi tuned out the blond doctor. His mind went elsewhere, as he instead decided to seethe silently at the insensitivity of that statement.

A Tale of Two Slaves

Eventually Levi did get a break from that one-sided conversation. But the countdown to that break was slow and painful. He only noticed as he struggled under the trappings of that long and excruciating wait how long it really took for minutes to count down on a digital clock.

An eternity could have passed before Levi was called from the waiting room. As soon as the clock struck ten, Levi could not help but be more than slightly annoyed that she had been late.

If you’re early then you’re on time. If you’re on time, then you’re late. Any other day, Levi would have acknowledged the hypocrisy of that statement since although he was always early to training, he was never that religious when it came to academics. Having just bounced back from such an excruciating exchange with Zeke though, everything had just been pissing him off more than necessary.

It was almost remarkable how he managed to nod in return at the woman who met him at the exit of the waiting room. But Levi soon realized, as the anger quickly dissipated from inside him, she seemed like an old friend more than a stranger and like for all people, as long as there was history between them, he could save a little more patience points.

The woman who helped him up and led him to the room ahead was shorter than him yet had a way of handling herself that made Levi guess that she was at the least, a university student.

Levi didn’t need to guess anything else. Somehow, her name, her personality and the familiarity had all been somewhere in his head.

She cocked her head to one side in greeting and spoke up. “You can call me---”

“Petra,” Levi said. Somehow, he just knew her name. He had been inclined to complete that statement, only to make more real the nagging feeling in his head as soon as he had noticed her enter the room.

Petra’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s on your nametag,” Levi answered almost automatically, thanking the heavens she was wearing a nametag.

“Yeah, my bad. I get a little absent minded at times,” Petra patted her own head and gave Levi a wry smile.

Petra was hospitable. And when Levi thought that exact statement, he couldn't help but think how the word 'hospitable' had fit her so well. It was in her presence. She had this special talent, of finding ways at least to add color to the stark white hospital walls and the overly sanitized tiled floors underneath.

It could have been the tone or it could have been her word choice as she rattled off what could have been an outline of his physical therapy regime. As Levi did figure out, it could possibly have been the unique enthusiasm she had towards the whole patient recovery process

"So you're my physical therapist?" Levi asked. He never really did pick up what she was saying. He had heard enough about leg raises, timings on when to remove casts and knee bends that he at least guessed she knew enough about them to be one.

Petra though was quick to shake her head. "No actually. After college, I have plans of taking the exam. Then after that, I’ll be a physical therapist. I’m just taking advantage of this internship to learn more about the occupation.”

“It suits you,” Levi said. He kept his own comments brief. At that point, he did start to lose a little bit of awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts flew slowly back to his dreams.

Those first two encounters in the hospital had been two missing puzzle pieces. The stories had been an incomplete puzzle set of words and pictures and as he put it all together in his head, he couldn’t help but note how vivid the memories actually were. It took all his strength not to react, not to bolt out then and there, and go back home, to fill in the gaps on his laptop.

He put two names on his phone.

Zeke Jaeger. Petra Ral. Levi could have sworn there was more to remember and to write about.

And who did Zeke mention then? The other Ackerman? The other jumper?

The dreams were faint, as faint as the image an incomplete puzzle would make. Some parts were clear and vivid like a scenery behind a newly cleaned window. Others were hazy, his mind having filled up those gaps with blurry images. But the other Ackerman was there, and she moved fast enough to justify those blurs in the scene. Back when they fought the war, she flew in those cables much faster than he and Hange had.

I am strong. I am stronger than all of you.

A Tale of Two Slaves

The pain that came with his first physical therapy session was excruciating and it only served to further aggravate the anguish and his eagerness to get home before the sceneries in his head faded into faint memories of something else.

He managed at least to keep himself in a good in-between, by repeating the mantra of that other Ackerman to himself as he went through each and every exercise.

They had started off slow, as slow as a walk in the park maybe, a few stretches here and there. While doing some of the stretches and the warm ups, he did wonder if he had attended the right therapy session. Some of the warm up exercises had nothing to do with his knee after all.

The actual challenge came when Petra and the physical therapist he had failed to get the name of, had him sit down. As soon as Petra unwrapped the brace and pulled it from underneath him, Levi felt the weight of his injury almost instantly. It didn’t help at all that he was looking right at it.

“We’re going to try bending it a bit. Maybe put some weight on it if we have some extra time” The physical therapist’s words felt ominous.

The surgical scars and the healed wounds on his knees from more than two months ago only served to rattle Levi a little more. He had avoided looking at the scars many times before during meetings with Erwin and Hange. The few times Hange did pull and prod at it, he had it stretched out on some pillow.

It was fragile. And it felt unnatural. There in front of him then, it was dangling from the exam table, gravity pulling it down from underneath. Levi swore that if he tried hard enough he probably could imagine it completely disconnecting from his body at that moment. And maybe if he did move it, attempt to stand up without the confines of a knee brace as support, it might just fall off.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us,” Petra said.

No, it doesn’t happen to the best of us. In the room at least, there were at least five other people struggling to do something so simple as to bend a knee. But Levi could have sworn, in the outside world he was surrounded by people who wouldn’t think twice about bending their knee.

“Just bend it as far as you feel comfortable.” Bullshit directions. Levi had to admit, he wasn’t comfortable having it bend at all. Just the sensation of having it dangle so easily in the air, at the mercy of gravity underneath was already unsettling.

Was it a challenge then? To get it to bend as far as he could?

The directions of the therapist were flawed and Levi naturally opted for a flawed response as well. The process of bending his knee had been slow and excruciating. Levi found himself closing his eyes a few times, finding some sort of a rhythm in the faint sounds of the heater in the room, the murmurs from all the way across the room.

Or maybe a mantra? From someone a little too familiar. I am strong. Stronger than all of you. Another Ackerman.

And the way Zeke had mentioned it was grating. Was it a challenge? A threat? Was it supposed to be pushing him to go further?

It could have been Zeke or it could have been that phantom Ackerman that had been a motivation at that moment. But something then had Levi’s heart racing, his mind going in circles.

I’m strong too. I’ll get out of this rut. He thought to himself, a weak yet still effective act of protest. It worked both as a catalyst for a burst of motivation and an odd source of rhythm. The flexibility of bending came in slow, steady but continued attempts. The rush of adrenaline came halfway through.

A few minutes later, he was sweating and maybe he had been shaking a bit before that. When Petra had mentioned the optimistic progress and the plan to at least attempt to put weight on his bum knee, Levi was quick to comply.

And maybe a little too reckless. They had least helped him next to a wall, a good place at least to lean his body in the off chance he did lose control.

“One foot forward then one back.” The therapist guided.

As he watched the therapist simulate that same position, Levi quickly followed suit. He remembered, he had put some weight on his leg. Back then the brace had kept his knee stable.

At that moment, the brace was off, and it would be his bum knee, exhausted from the prior exercises taking the full weight.

I’m strong. Levi repeated to himself. Bending wasn’t an issue before. He had been bending his knees, possibly before he even knew how to walk. It should have been nothing, The excitement of a while ago, the adrenaline rush, pushed him further. It had him so seamlessly balancing the weight from the back of his foot, to the foot in front.

And maybe his knee had been bending farther in, the weight of his body on it. Somewhere along the way he did start to feel the beginnings of a dull pain.

I’m strong. To keep going, Levi had to find an escape. Stronger than all of you. It was easy at least, to leave the movements to his procedural memory as he distracted himself with his own musings, willing himself not to forget what he had wished to write down.

Where did they all fit? The Beast Titan… The Survey Corps… The War… The Alliance?

“Levi, I’m sorry I’m late. The test ended later than I expected…” She came as a faint voice, but Levi was too far gone to hear it.

He had only felt her presence then, when the physical therapist called a break, when he had collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, his knee throbbing, his breaths coming in heaves. He only realized she had been watching for a good long while when he looked up to see the concern etched in her face as he caught her gaze.

“I’m fine…” He at least managed to say that much before he closed his eyes, allowing that few minutes of rest to gather his thoughts and steady his breaths.

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard. This is just your first session,” Hange said from right next to him.

He still had enough energy to process those words at least.

A Tale of Two Slaves

That night, Levi gripped his dream catcher a little tighter and pressed it close to the back of his phone as he scrolled through google links on the other Ackerman.

It hadn’t been hard to find her at all. Zeke’s tirade that morning had been more than a guide enough.

High school. Ackerman. High Jump. Those were the only three keywords he needed to figure out the whole name of that missing Ackerman. For a moment, he had expected to find his own articles, and had braced himself for the pain of sifting through old articles about himself in between looking at hers.

It turned out Mikasa Ackerman had been the talk of the high school high jumping scene for a while, and she had been the topic of at least 90% of the articles he was scrolling through on Google.

A few times they did allude to the other Ackerman. The older articles heralded her as a successor to the rookie Levi Ackerman, the newer ones that were dated past his injury called her the brand new Ackerman, a replacement.

A replacement to damaged goods. Levi had to add that part himself, an attempt to make a joke out of his shitty situation as he closed that last article. “Mikasa Ackerman,” Levi repeated those words so quietly to himself as he dropped the dreamcatcher haphazardly onto the table in front of him. It had been useless at that moment. Or maybe at the least it had been the reason he felt a little too frustrated at having looked through too many articles that evening.

He looked to Hange who was sitting on the dining table, looking deep in thought on something on her laptop. Mid semester presentations for her thesis proposal were coming up, along with a few new exams next week. She had been conscious enough to point that out at least and Levi happily gave her the space she needed.

The turmoil inside him at first seemed difficult to pacify. Just watching Hange so focused and deep in thought had helped somehow quell whatever unresolved tensions and feelings were settling in his stomach then.

Maybe if he talked to her, the tensions might just disappear altogether. Levi deemed it worth the effort at least. “Hange? You okay?” He asked

Hange’s head shot up and she looked straight at him almost instantly. “Sorry, how long were you calling me? I’ve just been a little too focused on my exam on Monday and the thesis presentations on Wednesday… I don’t think I’ve been in the right mind for a while…”

Levi saw it in the way she looked at him, she hadn’t been focusing on his eyes. It was as if she were still probably seeing whatever words or numbers she was studying. She had been like that the past week since the line up of the thesis presentations were released along with the midterms schedules for all the exams.

Their kiss, their one night in the bedroom almost forgotten. Levi was sure though there was something that had been bothering her, maybe something that extended beyond academics.

I can ask about that after finals. Levi thought to himself, pushing aside that bout of concern. He could start with a light question at least, which didn’t involve Hange too much. “Have you heard of Mikasa Ackerman?”

“Mikasa Ackerman? The high school high jumper?” Hange asked. “Maybe I have been following her too… Lately...”

“She’s really good apparently.”

“Her jumping positions reminded me a lot of yours, so she had been fun to watch. I always did want to ask… Is she related to you? I did some research but I don’t see much which connect you both other than a few articles comparing you as jumpers and maybe speculating a relationship.”

Levi shook his head. “I never heard of her… Until today… A doctor mentioned her back in the hospital before my therapy session.”

“She only started making waves last month when her school made it to the regional competitions. No one really follows the district and the interschools… And apparently she only started jumping recently, during summer and she only started breaking records during the regionals,” Hange said. “That is… According to what I’ve read up on her.”

“So, you have been following her?”

“I still watch videos during study breaks,” Hange admitted. “And she just broke a few records a few weeks ago, of course they’d show up in my feed.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to ask me about it before? About an Ackerman doing the same jumping positions I did? You didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I thought of asking you about it maybe after exams. Besides, do you want to talk about jumping? After everything that happened?”

Levi put his phone down beside him and looked up at the ceiling above him. Of course he wouldn’t have heard of her until then, he had purged himself of all track and field news since the injury. The tournament with Nanaba and Mike and the round of research on Mikasa have been two exceptions and the feelings after that had only reminded him why he had spent his days actively making the effort not to think of the life he used to have. "I told you I'm fine," he said. He half meant that part at least, the writing had helped.

"No you aren't.”

Levi found himself shocked by how certain Hange’s tone had been. And for a second, maybe he had been a little irritated at the audacity of it all. Who was she to assume how he felt? But the surprise and the irritability had him silent and listening. Hange always had a reason for her conclusions. She never made assumptions so easily, he had known her enough lifetimes to be sure of that.

“There's a certain sadness to knowing you can't do what you used to before.” Hange continued. “I think everyone feels it, even a bit."

"A certain... sadness?" Levi asked.

"Wait, that does sound vague... Lemme think of an example." Hange paused for a second, looking up in thought. "Like maybe if you imagine people who’ve been skating or people who've been playing instruments their whole childhood. When they stop training or practicing these things altogether, these people can feel themselves lose their motor skills or their thinking skills that got them jumping double axels or playing arpeggios or pulling off vibratos like they’re second nature. And when they come back to it years later, I’m sure everyone feels the sadness or some sort of a frustration, looking back at their old self and processing the realization that they can’t bring their body or their mind to do something as effortlessly as they had done it many years before. Processing how they ended up so weak, so stupid after abandoning their old passions for so long."

“What if I’m an exception?” Levi challenged, still a little annoyed at such an assumption and at such a long unsettling tirade.

Hange shook her head. “You’re not. For a while, I wanted to entertain the possibility that maybe you and I are exceptions, maybe we can easily jump from one passion to another. When I was watching you during therapy though. I saw the terror in your eyes, the frustration, the sadness. ‘Why isn’t my body moving the same way it used to?’ Maybe you don’t want to think back to jumping because you don’t want to see how quickly your body has forgotten the motions, how quickly it had lost the flexibility and the strength to carry you over the two meter bars…” Hange trailed off. She avoided his gaze and for a while she had been staring at the blank wall in front of her. For a second after that, she did look to him, and there was a glint of realization in that. Realization at what she had just implied possibly. "But you know what, you might just be an exception. Maybe I’m just projecting." Hange added a second later.

Levi was sure though from the quick change of tone that accompanied those last words that Hange probably didn't mean it. On top of that, having heard Hange's small lecture, Levi almost immediately realized he wasn't at all an exception.

Her voice had been light as she mentioned that last sentence. It could have been a thoughtless comment. Hange didn’t make too many thoughtless comments though. “Projecting?” Levi asked.

Hange let out a short light laugh “I’m talking too much, I should go back to work…” Her words seemed like a band-aid, a lazy coverup for whatever emotions had supported such a tirade in the first place.

Projecting? There was a reason behind that word use and Levi was more than eager to press on it.

Hange wasn’t listening anymore though. She was buried once again in whatever subject she had chosen to study for that night. She was in work mode again and she had gotten back to that mode as quickly as she had fallen out of it.

All questions can wait until after her exam week. Levi told himself. The word ‘projecting’ had stayed though. Hange’s words had left its mark and maybe it did have Levi reflecting on his own feelings, his own fear and his own frustrations at his regressing skills, the painful awareness of his body that was slowly forgetting the motions he had built over years. At the end of that tunnel of reflection, he did end up thinking back to that word.

Projecting. She had to be feeling something for herself to say something like that right?

Hange what are you projecting?

And that at least distracted Levi enough, enough for him to ignore the dull pain in his left knee, channel his focus elsewhere. The next few days, having been left alone in the apartment while Hange went about classes, lab work and library visits, Levi did manage to channel his energies to academics or to filling his gaps in his own stories: Levi Special Squad, the Beast Titan and something about some new rookies in the survey corps.

The pain in his knee never left though. It was nagging and annoying like a cavity. It was a pain Levi had assumed would disappear in time. His left knee had always been painful since the injury.

Yet, maybe his left knee had started to get a little frustrated at Levi’s negligence. Maybe it had started to get angry. It was a creature and Levi soon realized, it was a monster that demanded attention.

The night it demanded his attention so stubbornly, so angrily., it did it through sharp pains that coursed through him like bolts of electricity, it did it through a crushing sensation that left Levi almost unable to breathe.

And maybe it did have Levi hallucinating----Or could it have been dreaming--- of having saved one of his soldiers from being eaten by a titan.

A Tale of Two Slaves

“Connie!

“Captain!”

In his dreams, he had been too out of breath, or maybe a little too distracted to have reacted at the crushing pain that had spread through him like bolts of lightning. The dream was hazy that Levi doubted whether he had been completely rooted in anything or not.

He had been flying. He had been in pain. And he had been pushing past the pain, slicing at a titan in every direction. And when he had seen one of his soldiers unconscious, about to be eaten by a titan, he had jumped in between the titan and the soldier so instinctively, so desperately that the in-between had been a blur. He found himself in the midst of an excruciatingly painful ordeal. He gritted his teeth, biting back any attempt to scream. For god knows if he screamed, he might just run out of energy, he might just pass out.

When he woke up to the dark room though, he processed almost naturally the fact that the circumstances his reality had offered him were different. The view in the middle of the night, the faint sound of cars had been different. He wasn’t in a battle field and as if his body had been completely aware of that, it did push past his attempts to subdue any reaction.

Even before he realized it though, he had been screaming. Only when his throat burned and the sounds faded into a whimper, only when the tears started to run down his face, only when he closed his eyes and keeled over, a pathetic reaction to the bombardment of stimuli, did Levi realize the pain of having his leg almost bitten off by a titan was still there.

“Levi! I’m here. What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hange was right next to him. Beyond the pain, that was all he could process.

Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. God knows where Hange had been when he was flying from titan to titan. God knows where Hange had been when he found himself, jumping in between his fellow soldier and the titan that had lunged to eat him.

And god, it was painful. Even past the dream, even when he started to realize that Hange was right next to him at least in the dark room at 3am. The pain stayed and it was crushing his knee, it was leaving him unable to even take any sort of a decent breath, his own coping mechanism reduced to ragged breaths in between tears.

“Levi, breathe…”

How pathetic where his own breaths sounding for Hange to have to coach him like that?

“Oh god, Levi, we might have to get you to a hospital?”

How pathetic did he look for Hange to have to suggest a hospital visit? When she helped him up at least, when she slung her free arm over his shoulder and helped him to a sitting position, he did at least feel the unnatural weight on his left knee. What was going on?

Everything after that, came as a hazy dream. As hazy as the fight against the many unnatural looking titans. In that dream, Hange had been absent for some reason he could not yet comprehend. And Levi found himself trying to push it away, instead focusing on the Hange in front of him who had put a blanket over him, who had dialed a number on her phone and who was rattling off medical jargon to someone on the phone.

“Erwin… I…” Why would you need to call Erwin at three in the morning?

After that, Hange had helped put a hoodie over him, she had called one more number. And within a few minutes, Levi found himself lying down on a taxi, half conscious, only hanging on by a thread at the view of Hange under the dim light of the taxi and the city lights.

Somehow, he was terrified of falling asleep again. Hange hadn’t been there in the dream. And she might just disappear if he closed his eyes. As he unwillingly held on to the crushing pain in his knee and the view of Hange who sat next to him on the taxi, he was awake. Only barely, but barely was enough to not fall into another world of dreams, a world of wars and a state of complete chaos and confusion.

Eventually, he lost consciousness but it had been a gradual process.

He had lost some sense of time along the way, his body having been too focused on Hange. The darkness in the taxi had quickly shifted to the stark white of the hospital as he was helped onto a stretcher. Then along the way, he may have heard Erwin’s voice rattling off something about a swelling knee that was crushing his joints and a knee aspiration.

Then there was something about painkillers, an IV, a slight pain in his hand before everything enveloped him again. Maybe at his peripherals, Hange had been by his bedside.

It was a huge improvement at least from the messages of his own dreams. And maybe it was relief that finally had him letting go of his tight yet weak grip on reality. The crushing pain on his knee hadn’t been from a titan biting it off. Hange’s absence in the war had only been a dream.

The last few things he had processed then before completely letting the darkness enveloped him, may have been the sound of a laptop opening next to him, a few wires pattering on the floor below, the sound of the mouse and finally, the relaxing rhythmic clacking of the keyboard..

Hange was right next to him and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

A Tale of Two Slaves

“Sorry.” It came out as a croak but Levi was still hoping she heard it. Despite the haziness of the first few moments as he opened his eyes to the light streaming into the hospital room, despite the discomfort which came with a dry throat, it had been Levi’s first instinct to apologize.

Hange looked worse off than last night. He at least picked up enough images of her to know that there was a stark difference between the Hange of a few hours ago and the Hange then. The laptop hadn’t moved, it was still on the table next to his bedside, just like he had guessed it to be having fallen unconscious to the sound of the clacking of the keyboard.

Right then and there, Hange’s hair fell in chaotic waves, her glasses askew. And compared to last night where he saw panic, in front of him, he saw calm etched on her face, an ominous calm that somehow seemed even more alarming.

“Hange,” Levi said a little louder. The concern he felt only gave him the motivation to push past the discomfort of having just woken up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry? Hadn’t everything to this point been my fault?” Hange’s voice was soft, reflecting the ominous calm. It was cold, maybe even frozen. “"The reason the fluid built up in your knee was overexertion apparently. They’re guessing it was the physical therapy session last Saturday." Hange looked away. "I can't help but think... If I didn’t bring you to the tournament or talked to you about jumping , maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself too hard."

Levi had listened closely and he could have sworn he heard a crack in her voice. “But the fluid is gone right?” He asked. He noted that his knee was numb and to his relief, the pain had devolved into a dull ache, similar to the one he had been dealing with the past month. Not at all as alarming as it had been the night before.

Hange shrugged. “Maybe it’s the painkillers or maybe it’s the fact that they drained the wound. But don’t count your eggs before they even hatch. Your back to square one. All progress, out the window. Fuck this. Fuck all this. And you wouldn’t have been in this damn situation if he hadn’t fucked up way too many times. Was I pressuring you to jump? Was I pressuring you to recover quicker? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Elijah, or maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned MIkasa? Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go to that fucking meet in the first place.”

Levi kept quiet. Watching what had been Hange, leaving her laptop open on the table, watching her pace around the room, avoiding his gaze as she fell into her soft tirade had been unsettling. Even he couldn’t tell how it was making him feel. “It’s over. It happened. So many things had happened at once, it couldn’t have been anyone’s fault.”

“Fucking hell Levi, when I’m supposed to be writing about your injury, when I’m supposed to be writing every single bout of mini progress, writing out the mechanics of the injury… I can’t help but see… you were in no condition to jump. You were exhausted, your wounds from the first time we met were far from healed. But for fuck’s sake, if I had told you to wait it out a week, instead of letting you do jump after jump, maybe you’d be in class right now or maybe you’d be preparing for your next tournament… I don’t wanna write this anymore. I don’t wanna reduce whatever is going on inside you to a fucking case study.” Hange slammed her hand on her keyboard, and sat so violently on the chair, she had pushed it a few inches back.

“You need to graduate,” Levi said. What will Erwin think? What will your parents think?

“At this point, who cares? I’m miserable. I can’t fucking get anything written. I write a paragraph, I get self conscious and I delete it. I write out my interpretation of the numbers, of my findings, my gut wrenches then I delete it again."

“Take a break?” Levi weakly suggested.

Hange had laughed at that. The reaction came out of nowhere and Levi found himself speechless and maybe a little confused. Take a break? That had seemed like a natural suggestion. He had at least spent a good few seconds thinking in between listening to Hange’s rant to have come up with such a suggestion.

Either way, from the way Hange had laughed it off and slammed her laptop close, from the way she had sat back on the chair and looked at nothing in particular, the way she had avoided his gaze through the whole tirade and the fit that had followed, Levi was sure that had been the wrong thing to say.

A little ashamed at his own ability to have come up with something a little more comforting, Levi kept quiet. And for a second, he looked up at the own ceiling above him, and maybe distracted himself by appreciating the view from the wide hospital window, following the birds that were doing some sort of dance in the sky

For a moment, he did forget about Hange. She hadn’t helped at all to make herself any memorable, having kept silent.

The silence in that moment had been too peaceful, had been too otherworldly that it was only natural that it would be broken by even the softest and steadiest things.

Like an off-rhythm knock on the door.

“Hange?”

Levi recognized the voice even before his head popped up from behind the slightly opened door. “Moblit?”

Levi looked towards Hange. The latter sat unmoving on her seat, her head bowed down, her face unreadable. Even as Moblit opened the door a little wider and approached her, she hadn’t moved at all or even looked back to greet him. Levi bent over to get a better look at her and saw panic. A type of panic he had never seen before. Panic, confusion, maybe a little urgency. “Hange? Moblit’s here.” Levi managed to say. He kept his voice gentle, a natural gesture having to process Hange’s face at that moment.

“Hey Hange. Erwin told me you’d be here. The others were worried about you--- I was worried about you. You’re supposed to be presenting now."

Hange stayed silent. From what Levi could see, her face was frozen. Was that panic? Shock?

Moblit continued. "I explained your situation… They said they could push it back until this afternoon...You think you can make it?" Moblit paused as he got closer to her, as if waiting for her to say something. He had his phone out,as if ready to call the panelists at any moment.

"Hange. Go to the presentation," Levi said. It was difficult to bend over and make eye contact with her with her head bent down, her eyes downcast. He kept his words firm, hoping at least that was enough to reach her.

“I can’t…” She managed to say. She left her mouth half open, as if she had expected to say something after. She looked back up at Levi, then bit her lip. Levi could have sworn that was the first time he had seen her in such a loss of words yet at the same time, struggling to get something out.

“Hange, go. I’ll be fine…”

“You don’t understand, I can’t… present.”

“Hey, I’ll help you set up. We have until tonight.” Moblit scooched beside her on the table and typed out her password.

“No, you don’t get it, I have nothing…”

“Hey, I’ll help you get a powerpoint. We can revise your manuscript together. That’s what friends are for,” Moblit pressed as he pushed the laptop towards Hange. “Come on, type out your password.”

“No Moblit, there’s nothing in here. It’s over. I’ll try again next year.”

“It’s too early to give up Hange, remember how fast you got Elijah’s data processed? It helped me a lot.”

“You don’t get it do you?” Hange pulled the laptop towards her and angrily typed what could have been the password. The laptop booted to life and from where he sat, Levi made out the characteristic log in tone of the computer. “There’s nothing in the document. Just the introduction. No preliminary results. No observations. Nothing.”

Levi couldn’t see the screen from where he sat. But he did see the flashes of a changing screen through Moblit’s eyes. He could guess the results from the way Moblit’s jaw dropped and the way Hange just avoided both their gazes, keeping her eyes downcast.

Levi maneuvered himself to the side of the bed, getting Hange’s laptop at arm’s reach. His leg protested the action but that was the last thing on his mind. God forbid, what Moblit was seeing at that moment could have been Levi’s first assumption.

Hange… Didn’t you spend hours in the library getting everything written out?

Didn’t you spend whole days outside working in the lab?

Didn’t I fall asleep every night to the angry clacking of the keyboard?

Didn’t I wake up in the middle of the night to you in the dining room writing out your thesis?

She had been writing at least. The introduction, the review of related literature were all filled out. The methodology had been filled out. It was a far cry though from what she had made in high school. Each part had been furnished with links to sources, half completed sentences and maybe a few question marks here and there.

The observations and the results and discussions though, were all blank.

“Hange… You….” What were you doing? This can’t be it. Levi didn’t even know if he had said that last part out loud. His brain was on overdrive trying to prove his own quick conclusion wrong. He navigated through old versions of the document. His hands were quick, maybe they had been moving on their own and the PC couldn’t catch up.

A few times, Levi found himself tapping impatiently on the keyboard as the laptop loaded each version.

More links, more half completed sentences, and a very empty observations and results section. “We can get something written right? Help make a powerpoint? If we work together, we could get something presentable."

Moblit shook his head. He bent down next to Hange and spoke softly. “Does Erwin know about this?”

“I told him to just leave it to me… But I can’t. I can’t write this anymore.” Hange shook her head as she looked up at Moblit then up at him. There was some sort of a smile of resignation plastered on her face, reminiscent of the laugh of only a few moments ago.

That was what the laugh had meant when he had suggested the break.

Of course, she would laugh. There was no time for breaks. There was no time for work either. Hange was royally fucked.

Moblit left the room, neither Levi nor Hange asked for what. For a few more minutes, maybe for even an hour longer while Hange had been in her catatonic state, Levi did continue to look through her drafts, see what kind of sense he could make of the half complete sentences and the links to journals in her document with his limited knowledge on human anatomy.

His background had him very much unready to complete a thesis proposal on a technical subject he studied nothing about, let alone in the span of a few hours. Having been pumped with painkillers and sleeping drought only an hour before, his brain was in no state either to bullshit what he could. Despite all his desperate attempts to make sense of it, to write out something coherent, he found himself converting it back to the state he and Moblit had found it in.

Levi closed the laptop slowly and pushed it towards Hange. He was surprised and a little relieved to find that she did pull her weight, setting the laptop back on the table next to his bed.

Hange smiled at Levi and spoke up. “I appreciate you trying to do all this Levi but… I’ve given up already. I’m not getting this thesis done.”

It was a pained smile. A smile of resignation. A smile that was so clearly telling him that he had definitely wasted those last few minutes pouring through the versions of her document for nothing.

Levi took a deep breath and spoke up. “Then what’s your plan now?”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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tomhollandisdaddyaf · 6 years

Text

Cheater Cheater

Authors note: Tom sees a picture of you and a musician leaving a club in LA and thinks you’ve been cheating, also I just picked that photo of Perrie Edwards as a reference to what the photo would be. Enjoy :)

Tom’s jet was set to land in an hour, at the beginning of the journey all he could think about was getting home to you. Now, however, all he could think about was the photos.

About an hour into the flight, when the wifi was enabled, Tom’s publicist sat beside him. “Tom, sweetie,” she was using her mom voice on him.

“Whats wrong?” Tom perked up, worried that something had gone wrong or there was a delay in him getting home.

“An editor from TMZ, a friend of mine, distant friend but,” She held her iPhone close to her chest. “He sent me this as a courtesy, but they won’t pull the story,” Handing him the phone.

“How bad is it?” Running his fingers through his hair, expecting a headline about being rude to a fan. Instead, his heart dropped into his stomach.

TOM HOLLAND’S GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT CHEATING LAST NIGHT IN LA?

Tom Holland, your friendly spider, may not be the only boy y/n y/l/n is getting friendly with. Photos of Y/N coming out of a club late last night in downtown LA, on the arm of up and coming musician Guner, who was said to be playing in the club that night. Sources say she arrived alone and met up with the musician after his set.

Tom couldn’t believe what he seeing, it was clear as day, there you were with your arm around another mans arm.

Harrison replaced the seat beside Tom, “Let’s not jump to conclusions mate, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation?” Harrison had always taken your side and wanted to believe that it was nothing more than a friendly night with a picture taken out of context.

“I didn’t know they were friends?” Tom handed the phone back to Harrison who nodded at the publicist. “If she were going out with friends she would have told me,” Hot tears threatened, swallowing them down he looked at his best friend “I love this girl, I wanted to marry this girl,”

Tom was now seated against the window, ignoring the commotion of his best friend and brothers messing around. Scrolling through photos of the two of you from 6 months ago, the last time you had seen each other.

YOUR POV

Last night was a much needed break from the stress of finally finishing your senior thesis, now just to kick back and wait 2 more weeks until graduation and you’ll have college degree. Nothing could go wrong, you finally met Guner, your best friends secret boyfriend, who was nothing but a total gentleman last night. You and your best friend had gotten a little too tipsy on free booze and needed to be walked to the car seperately as there was no way he could carry both of you to the car. Not in the stilleto heels you both refused to take off. When it was your turn to be walked to the car, you had enough of a sense not to be caught drunk off your ass, for Tom’s sake, he didn’t need his drunk girlfriend being carried out of a club with her best friend. But today your love bug was coming home, your hair was done in loose waves, faux lashes and a sultry red dress, slaving for hours over a perfect 3 course meal. Tom would appreciate it, a home cooked meal followed by intense love making and a long bubble bath. A bottle of champagne on ice, and a pack of stellas in the fridge, tom’s find my friends said he would be pulling up into the driveway any second now. You heard the front door open and close, perching yourself on the counter, the room only lit by candles, you held your breath as he walked in.

“Welcome Home my love!” You squealed, you wanted to be seductive but your excitement taking over.

“What is all this?” He hadn’t looked up at you, looking at the table set with disgust.

“I thought you’d want a nice home cooked meal,” your voice low and dripping with disappointment, “I made all your favorites,”

Taking a deep breath Tom looked at you “What is this for? You think dinner is going to make me forgive you?”

“Forgive me? For what?” Walking towards him, your hand landing on his arm, which he pushed off. “What the fuck is your problem? I spent all fucking day making all of this for you, and you’re mad because, what?”

Tom looked you up and down, a look in his eyes you had never seen before, hatred. “You thought I wasn’t going to see the photos from last night?”

“You’re honestly pissy because I was drunk last night?” Kicking off your heels, pulling up a chair. “I’m an adult Thomas, I can get drunk with my friends if I want,”

“That you most certainly can, but next time you’re going to fuck someone behind my back, maybe don’t get caught leaving a club with him, yeah?” Tom could hardly look at you.

“Excuse me?” You stood up, marching your way towards him, “And who the fuck am I fucking Tom? Please, oh for the love of fucking God tell me who am I fucking?” Pressing your finger hard into his leather jacket.

“Here,” handing you his cell phone with the photo of you and Guner last night, “What the fuck is this huh?” Hot tears leaking down his face.

“Guner? You think I’m fucking Guner? That’s fucking hilarious, so fucking funny,” Biting your lip, tears now coming down your face, “Fuck off Tom, like actually go fuck yourself,”

“Me? Fuck you! I’m gone for 6 months and you decide to start fucking someone behind my back? Seriously? You think this guy is better than me?” Toms voice cracking, looking down at you.

“YOU LEFT ME HERE TOM!” Shoving him slightly “You left for 6 months, never ever inviting me to go see you, never ever letting me come up. Now i’ve ignored every rumor that you’re fucking someone else,” Turning away from him, you felt your heart shattering, “And you wanna accuse me of cheating because of a photo?”

“If you did nothing wrong, then why didn’t you tell me you were going out last night?” Rubbing his mouth in frustration

“Why the fuck would I need your fucking permission you possesive prick?!” You couldn’t handle it anymore, he had no idea how hard this was on you. “Do you ask my permission when you miss a skype call because you and Harrison can’t fucking keep your hands off a god damn bottle? Should we talk about that Thomas? Should we talk about all the girls on Instagram you follow, so many fucking models Tommy, and we both fucking know I don’t look like that.” Your eyelashes were hardly hanging on now, mascara running down your face. “You wanna fucking check my phone? Go right the fuck ahead!” Throwing him your cell phone, grabbing your keys off the hook, his hand grabbing your arm. “You have two seconds to let go of me,” Sniffling, he complied and you stormed off bare foot and heart broken.

Left alone Tom sat in the chair, going through your cell phone, a series of texts coming through all at once

> I am so thankful that you met Guner last night, I’m so glad you got out of that house last night, hope Tom loved the food you made for him!

>Ok but, isn’t he so sweet for taking our drunk asses home? tbh, i might love him dude!

>Last text I promise! You’re a babe!

>holy shit i just saw the TMZ thing, are you okay?? dont worry, Guner’s publicist is on it!

>tom will understand so don’t stress and let me figure it out, i got us into this mess, just stay strong n remember graduation is 2 weeks away! you did it!

Tom felt like the worlds biggest piece of shit, looking up at the meal you had made him, back to the texts from your best friend, he fucked up.

You drove around LA before parking in an empty lot, tears rushing down your face, barefoot in LA, no phone, no money, too hurt to go home, and too proud to go to a friends, you stayed in your car all night crying your eyes out, ruining the red silk in an attempt to clean your eyes when an officer tapped on your window.

“Ma’am? Everything alright?” His voice sweet and soft, signaling to his partner to join him.

“Heartbroken, but physically I’m okay,” You coughed, looking up at him.

“Hey sweetie, mind stepping out of the car?” The female officer asked, “We just have to make sure you’re not drunk or anything ya know? It’s LA,”

“Yeah, but I’m kind of barefoot, had a fight with my boyfriend and stormed out,” You realized how that sounded, shaking your head, “He didn’t hit me or anything like that, he just accused me of cheating on him and I haven’t seen him in almost a year and I tried really hard tonight ya know?” Shaking your head again and getting out of the car, you had the sense to leave your license in the glove box, and after a chat you sat on the hood of your car with the female officer, drinking black coffee at 3 am, telling all your woes to this stranger.

“Go home sweet heart, go somewhere, LA at night is not the place you wanna be right now, not now,” Signaling to your current state.

“Yeah, thats probably a good idea,” You both slid off the hood, waving goodnight as they waited for your car to exit the lot, driving back to your shared home, turning off the lights before pulling into the driveway. You could go inside and be confronted again, or you could sit in your car and cry some more, which is exactly what you did. Locking the doors, turning off the engine, you crawled into the backseat and sobbed into the leather.

Tom hadn’t left his position in the dining room chair, except to put away the meal you had prepared, finding a note on the 6 pack;

I LOVE YOU! Please Enjoy this and meet me upstairs ;) btw, yes I am using sex and beer as a way to get you to clean the kitchen but you love me!

Fuck did he love you, and he fucked up horribly. He let you walk out without a word, without your shoes or your cell phone or even a coat. He sat back against the wall, finishing the six pack, no longer able to cry.

The sun had begun to peer over the kitchen window, illuminating the mess of last night. The ice of the champange had long become water, the candles flame died out, what was supposed to be a romantic reunion was now a painful reminder of what he had just let walk out of his life. Fresh tears threatened his eyes when the front door quietly opened and closed, bare feet were the first thing he saw, dirty and blistered, then the black stained silk, and finally, her. Her puffy eyes, makeup running all over her face, hair in a mess.

“Y/N?” Tom whispered, praying it was really you and not a hallucination.

“Don’t worry, I just came to change and get my phone, I’ll be moved out by tonight.” She said coldly, fresh tears leaking down her face.

“Angle, no” Tom leapt up. blocking you from leaving him. “I fucked up, I really really fucked up.”

“No shit Holland,”

“I deserve that, but you,” He took a look at you, his heart breaking, feeling as though he could never ever make the world right again, “you don’t deserve any of this” His hand brushed your arm, but stopped when you flinched at his touch. “I’m not going to hurt you,” His voice was low, pained that he had lost all your faith in him.

“I don’t really know that do I?” You began, shaking your head “Never mind,”

“where did you sleep last night?” Looking down at the mess of a broken soul that he made, “You look rough love,”

“In my car, in some parking lot in downtown LA for a few hours before the police came and made me leave, then in the driveway,” Tears dripping down your face, but too tired to wipe them away.

“Baby, I fucked up, I really really fucked up,” lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “I love you, I haven’t been good to you, I’ve been the worst boyfriend and I guess I thought you were slipping away from me. I knew I wasn’t being enough and when I saw that photo, I just, I thought that maybe you were,” Shaking his head and pulling your little body into his, your sobs shaking his body, “I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry,” His grip on your body tightening, “ I fucked up and I hurt you and even if you walk out of this door right now and never want anything to do with me, I will spend my whole life trying to makeup for hurting you. I love you so so fucking much, I was trying to keep you away from the mess of my life during filming, I wanted you to be focused on school, but in reality I was being selfish and an asshole.”

“I’m not leaving,” You choked, gripping onto his leather jacket, needing him as close as possible.

“May I take you upstairs and take care of you?” He asked, looking down at your frail body, your puffy eyes and stained face and neck. All he needed was a nod from you, putting his hands under your legs and carrying you bridal style to the bathroom, your hands pulling on his t-shirt. “I love you so fucking much,”

“I love you Tom, I would never ever-” your words halted by a brief kiss from Tom

“Don’t, you did nothing wrong, you have nothing to prove to me,” Setting you down by the tub, slipping the dress off of you, “I’ll replace this,” Running the hot water, adding a bath bomb to it, helping you step in.

“Please, hold me,” locking puffy eyes to puffy eyes with the boy you loved, watching him nod and strip, finding his spot behind you, your head on his chest, silent tears rolling down his face.

“I don’t ever want to lose you,” Kissing the top of your head, Toms hands pulling you into him more, rubbing your hips. “I love you Y/N, I really fucking do.”

Tag list @jkam3327 for giving me the idea!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #sad holland fic #tom holland sad #you and tom holland

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