#I want him to be my close friend. a trusted friend. my psychiatrist perhaps. then perhaps he frames me for all of his murders or something.

[devilishdelights]

I’ve been… brainrotting, …..if youwill, with solomon the past few days……………. And lesson 14 is out it seems……………………hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 4

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky was speechless after you kissed his hand, even though it was through the leather gloves.

You let go of his hand. "Was that too much? Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed by the offer you gave."

“I take that as a yes?” Bucky asked, still processing.

“Well yeah, didn’t I seal it by kissing your hand? I thought it was clear.” You smiled, a hint of playfulness in your eyes.

Bucky chuckled softly. "That's a new way to accept an offer, but joke aside, I’m grateful you accepted."

You lowered your guard, leaning back slightly. "So what happens next? I have to say, I won’t do anything that makes me a homewrecker."

“Oh gosh, nothing like that,” Bucky reassured you, his tone earnest.

“That’s a relief.” You let out a breath, feeling more at ease.

Suddenly, Bucky's phone rang. He picked it up and saw the caller ID: "Victoria." He bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to talk to her at this moment. However, he didn't want to ignore the call either, as his fiancée would quickly learn that he had no feelings for her.

He excused himself to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, my fiancé. I apologize for bothering you, but I heard something that doesn't sit quite right with me. I heard that you are with my older sister?" Victoria asked, her voice calm and cheerful, though her perfectly manicured fingers were crumpling a few papers nervously on the other end.

Bucky felt like he had just been caught cheating. "I am. I have something to discuss with her because of what happened last night."

"Oh, I see. Alright, I won’t bother you. See you soon." Victoria ended the call, smirking as she looked at her phone. She knew Bucky's reputation—quiet and calm but ruthless if disrespected. She remembered how you embarrassed him last night and thought perhaps he was giving you a warning.

Victoria felt a tickle of satisfaction, believing Bucky understood her without her needing to lift a finger. She felt lucky to have him as her fiancé.

Bucky, not entirely sure what had just transpired, felt relieved that Victoria didn't seem suspicious and quickly ended the call.

He returned to you and saw you chatting with the waitress and his secretary. In seconds, you had already become close to new people.

Unlike you, Bucky’s circle of friends all had to undergo background checks before he could trust them.

"Let’s talk in the car. I’ll drop you off," Bucky suggested.

"Sure," you agreed, thinking this would save you transportation money.

Inside the luxurious car, you felt like you were being enveloped by the comfortable seat. Even if you worked for 20 years on your teacher’s salary, you wouldn’t be able to afford this car.

Bucky wore his reading glasses and read a document. He spoke to you without lifting his head. "Tomorrow, after your school is over, I’ll pick you up, and we'll meet my psychiatrist."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

Bucky explained, "He knows my condition, and I hope bringing you to meet him will help us find a solution." His voice sounded serious, a little desperate.

"Have you had this disorder since you were little?" you asked.

He flinched, his hand stopping mid-motion as he was about to flip the paper. "It started when I was 12 years old," Bucky replied, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

His expression turned grieving. You knew this was the moment to stop asking questions; after all, you’d just met him for the second time. There’s a limit to how personal you can get with someone you barely know.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The car stopped in front of a small house. It looked old but cozy, especially the garden with its many flowers. Bucky wondered if it was you who took care of all the roses.

You rolled your eyes, "It was my grandma who has the green thumb."

Bucky glanced at the flowers. "Pretty. I’m grateful for your cooperation, but I hope none of this gets leaked to outsiders."

So he was giving you a warning. You made a gesture of zipping your lips. "My lips are sealed." Then you closed the car door and headed to your house.

After he saw you enter the house, he told his driver to start the car.

You watched the car drive away from behind the curtain.

"Is that your boyfriend, my Ophelia?" The cheerful voice of an older woman startled you. You jumped, turning to see your grandma, Cassandra, standing beside you.

She smiled at you, happiness evident in her eyes, but you couldn't share her joy. To your grandmother, you were her daughter, Ophelia, your mother, who had passed away years ago.

Life had been cruel to her, taking away her only daughter, her son-in-law ignored her, and her business at the same time, which took a significant toll on her. The final blow was dementia.

She didn’t remember you at all. At 70 years old, her mind had regressed to when she was 40. Because of the striking resemblance between you and your mother, she thought you were Ophelia.

You sighed and put on a smile for her. "No, he's just a friend."

Cassandra giggled. "Really? Your father will be jealous when he hears this. Uhuk... uhuk..." She started coughing. You bring her to sit on her chair.

Your heart clenched each time you heard your grandma cough. It was getting worse.

She needed surgery, but you didn't have the money.

Having a rich father like Jonathan was useless because you didn't have access to your money. The reason was clear: Genevieve and Victoria.

She really hated you and wanted you to starve to death.

You quickly put a blanket on Cassandra lap and turned on the air humidifier to help ease her cough.

As you added the eucalyptus and lemongrass essential oil into the humidifier, your eyes caught the family photo on the wall. It was a picture of your family—your dad, your mom, and your grandparents—standing in front of your childhood home. Everyone was gathered to celebrate your birthday. But now, it was all just a memory.

You clenched your fist, feeling a surge of determination. Soon, you would get what was supposed to be yours.

💋💋💋💋

The next day after school, you went with Bucky to see the psychiatrist. But before that, the school was in an uproar because of the clothes you were wearing. You, who always dressed like a vampire hunter in jeans, combat boots, a grey shirt, and a black jacket, were now wearing a casual outfit with a vintage aesthetic.

You wore a cream-colored blouse tucked into a high-waisted plaid skirt paired with brown loafers and a light brown blazer with elbow patches. Your hair was styled in soft waves, and you carried a small leather satchel. The change in your appearance left everyone talking.

Jimmy couldn’t believe you were the same teacher who always yelled at him. “Who are you?”

You replied with a smirk, “Your worst nightmare.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Despite your elegant outfit, you still commanded authority.

Bucky also noticed the change in your appearance. “You look different.”

You explained, “I don’t want your psychiatrist to think that I could be a bad influence on you.”

“Fair point,” he nodded in agreement.

After a while, both of you arrived at the destination, a fancy clinic. The receptionist, already accustomed to Bucky's appointments, greeted him warmly. “He’s waiting for you.”

Bucky led you to the room, which was bright and comfortable, conducive to a relaxed atmosphere. The walls were painted in calming colors and adorned with abstract art, and the furniture was modern yet inviting.

There was already someone sitting in the chair, holding a pen and a writing board. It was Dr. Javier, who had known Bucky for a long time.

Javier waited until both Bucky and you were seated. "You told me that you had a breakthrough. Is it her?" he inquired.

Bucky nodded, taking off his leather gloves and putting on a pulse oximeter on his finger. He then reached for your hand, and you placed yours in his.

Javier widened his eyes and adjusted his glasses. Bucky showed no signs of panic attacks, and his pulse appeared normal. "Wow. Incredible. How long has this been happening?" Javier asked.

Bucky replied, "Three days."

"After you touched her, you mentioned trying to shake somebody else's hand. Did the panic attacks suddenly reappear then?" Javier inquired further.

Bucky confirmed, "Yes."

Javier wondered what made you so special. Suddenly, he moved closer to you without warning.

You exclaimed, "What the-?"

“Interesting,” Javier nodded. “I can think of one reason: your body fragrance.”

You were taken aback. Did you really smell bad? You started sniffing your clothes. They were still new; you had only worn them three times, and they had been dry cleaned.

Then you remembered, “I am surrounded by buckets of sweat and cigarettes.”

Being around students who smoked and sweated a lot due to their frequent sports activities made you open all the classroom windows to get rid of the smell.

Bucky found it difficult to accept that his disorder could be triggered by your body odor.

Javier felt as though four eyes were judging him. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Your case is one of a kind, Bucky. Perhaps her scent doesn’t trigger your trauma—” He didn’t continue when he felt someone glaring at him.

Trauma? Bucky’s trauma? You wondered what Javier meant.

Bucky crossed his arms and changed the subject. “So the solution to my disorder is the smell of a locker room?”

Javier raised both arms, trying to calm down his patient's anger. “I’m not saying it’s the solution, but it could be.”

Bucky sighed heavily. What kind of nonsense was this? But the way he met you was also out of the blue. His life is full of surprises now.

Author Note: Poor Cassandra. 🥺 Also the reader is a non-smoker.

Taglist:

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@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@chemtrails-club

@dexter99

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@bada-lee-ily

[bunnyprismatic]

I'm pretty sure I'm the anon you mentioned. If you still like this guy after he encouraged whirl to self harm, that says a lot about you

I still like Rung, and I will vehemently state he's a terrible psychiatrist, and did fucked up things before and during the Lost Light quest. He's a messed up old man robot, I have never denied that. It's perfectly fine if you don't like Rung, hate him even, that doesn't bother me, Anon. It's absurd to go into a fandom and think everyone is going to like my fave blorbo equally. I hold similar strong dislikes to some fandom faves, a few my close friends adore. Either they're just not compelling to me as characters, or, I find their actions and behaviours in the comics to be too egregious to look past. The way that they act, what they have done, or how they treat others is upsetting to me personally, and I just can't look past it.

However...

I understand the feelings I have about these characters are a me thing. Whether their actions are something too close to abuse from my past, or a personality trait that just rubs me wrong, my dislike is personal. I also know that most people who like problematic characters don't agree with their problematic traits. They know their faults, they know they're not good, but are able to separate fiction from reality. A person who likes a problematic character usually isn't agreeing, condoning, or have committed the same crimes that character has. When a modicum of media literacy is applied to MTMTE then I can understand how people find characters like these appealing. Because the thing is Anon, yes, Rung is a fucked up old robot, but so is everyone else on that ship, and that's what makes MTMTE and LL really good. While I like a well written Good Guys Good and Bad Guys Bad story, sometimes ya crave a little nuance, ya know? A pinch of the grey morality makes for a tasty comic. Not a single robot on that ship is good, and if we were to give human laws and sensibilities to every one of the main cast, well that's going to be a problem, isn't it? Not only for the actions of their past, but also how they behave during the quest. They're all fucking assholes to some degree :"D I would never forgive a real, human, psychiatrist, who has been trusted with someone's vulnerable state if they did the things Rung did. But when it's a several-million years old, amnesiac elder god, giant, transforming robot from the planet Cybertron, well it makes them a little more interesting. All in all anon, if you find morally ambiguous, selfish, mean, spiteful, harmful characters are upsetting to you, then perhaps MTMTE and Lost Light isn't the right fit. That's okay though, as there's plenty of other pieces of TF media more aligned to the Good Guys Good, Bad Guys Bad narrative. You're welcome to hate Rung, and dislike me, you're free to block me, put Rung in the filters (I make sure to tag my reblogs and posts with #Rung for people who don't want to see him), whatever it is you need to do to protect your peace and curate your dash, go for it. And if you think me liking a problematic character, despite me acknowledging he is a terrible, woeful, psychiatrist by human standards, makes me a terrible, evil person who allows or is complicit in vile things like this. Especially without actually knowing me or my story, well that says a lot about you.

[scullysflannel]

top 5 tv articles

this is not my all-time top five (aside from the first one) because my memory isn’t good enough for that. but these are five articles that are still on my mind

1. “In the Dark” - Brian Phillips, Grantland — THE definitive piece of X-Files journalism

“But The X-Files was there, in the background, for that year and for several years after it. In my memory of that time it seems to be running, muted, on every TV in every room I enter after dark. We are huddled around a phone trying to figure out whether there are such things as girls we might plausibly call, and in the other room we see the back of my friend’s mother’s head and Mulder’s and Scully’s faces staring out at us. Years later, when I watched the show in sequence, I never minded the incoherence of the main story line, which infuriated longtime fans, because I was already used to imagining the series as a montage of empty atmosphere, and in fact I had fallen half in love with it as such. The show’s cinematography, lush by today’s standards and astonishing in 1993, looked shadowed and moody, and because Scully’s expression was a striking combination of horror and numbness and bravery and trauma, none of which we had experienced and all of which we wanted to pretend we had experienced, nothing could have seemed more natural than that the show would move along the margins of our secret world. Although if you had asked me whether we were the border surrounding it or it was the border surrounding us, I would not have known the answer.”

2. “‘X’ Factor” - James Wolcott, The New Yorker — the fact that this was written after season 1 makes me lose my mind

“The X-Files is the product of yuppie morbidity, a creeping sense of personal mortality. (The sense of mortality in The Twilight Zone was the prospect of mass annihilation—We’re all gonna die!) It tries to cheat the big sleep by prying open so many doors into the beyond. Where middlebrow culture has begun to ponder angels again, pop culture courts immortality through soul migration or in hologram images or through the rejuvenation of cells or conversion into electrical charges. Nobody on The X-Files is ever dead dead. People die with a shudder, their souls removed like luggage, to be rerouted elsewhere. Perhaps the afterlife will be part of the information superhighway, a hub in cyberspace. What’s erotic about the show is its slow progression from reverie to revelation, stopping just short of rapture. It wants to swoon, but swooning would mean shutting its eyes, and there’s so much to see.”

3. “The Leftovers series finale: EW review” - Jeff Jensen, Entertainment Weekly — love the way this builds from theology to close reading to personal revelation

“The stories gave us people trying to move on (or not) and thrive anew (or not) by putting their trust in the darndest things — or refusing to believe in anything at all. The perspective on the characters took seriously the idea that we possess a God-shaped hole — we need to believe in something — but the perspective on epistemology was such that it distrusted anyone or anything that claimed to have certain truth. There was grace for people of faith, even silly faith, and deep anger on behalf of anyone burned by it. Concluding amid a pitched moment of worry and mournfulness (as I write these words, London is reeling from yet another terrorist attack), The Leftovers ends right when we need it most. Here was a series that aspired to be a cultural friend to us in our dismay and disorientation, offering outraged witness for our pain and invitation to reflect on our remedies for assuagement. Keep the show near you; it’s a keeper that will endure. The Leftovers was, and will remain, a show for a time of sitting in ashes.”

4. “Culture in the 2010s was obsessed with finding community — and building walls” - Emily VanDerWerff, Vox — this goes way beyond TV, but it’s incredible culture writing

“But Twin Peaks stands at the edge of something dark and old, hidden out in the woods. It’s an age-old conflict — though not between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ exactly. Instead, it’s closer to ‘connection’ versus ‘dissolution.’ We want community, but the more we seek it by looking back to the past, the more we spin into oblivion in the present. Twin Peaks: The Return underlines this notion magnificently. The point of any revival series is to revel in nostalgia, to bring back a TV show people loved and let them spend a few more hours surrounded by its charms. But Twin Peaks pushes back against fans’ desires at almost every turn. Instead of serving up easy nostalgia, it sends the characters searching for a place that made them happier in the past, then deprives them of it over and over again. The more that life in Twin Peaks stays the same, the scarier it gets.”

5. “I Couldn’t Imagine Being Happy. But I Could Imagine Being Carmela” - P.E. Moskowitz, Vulture — recency bias? maybe. but it’s fun

“When, midway through season three, a psychiatrist tells her she’ll never feel happy unless she leaves her husband, she willfully misunderstands him over and over again, softening his words, telling herself that she needs to set boundaries and internalize less conflict, and ignoring the doctor’s blunt warning. Carmela may be a mob boss’s wife, but she also is the embodiment of a womanhood that many, cis and trans, yearn for, against their better instincts: one that replicates the infantilized yet secure state of the suburban housewife, where we can be both victim and perpetrator, but mostly have our agency taken away from us.”

bonus:

“The Apocalypse According to The Leftovers” - Emily Nussbaum, The New Yorker

“Alena Smith’s Subversive Dickinson” - Katy Waldman, The New Yorker

“Killing Eve Says Out Loud What Buffy Never Could About Catastophic Queer Desire” - Lindsay King-Miller, TV Guide

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 7 [NSFW]

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: The idiots have admitted they love each other, but are still figuring out how not to be assholes. Included in this chapter: a fancy dinner party that goes horribly, Chilton getting drunk, Frankenstein references, and a little smut

5,568 words

Trust was a difficult thing for Dr. Frederick Chilton. There were few people he had ever trusted, and one of them had been feeding him people at dinner parties.

Any show of weakness, he learned, would inevitably be turned against him, and clearly he could not count on himself to realize when he was being manipulated. Played. He had been played so many times.

When you said you loved him, how could he be certain?

The entire concept was abstract as it was. His parents had an icy relationship, and he had been raised more by nannies and boarding schools than them, so love was a thing he had observed hints of around him, and become aware of its existence through its absence in his own life. Love was a negative space drawing.

He distinctly remembered one of his childhood friends being picked up by his parents at the end of a school year, crying tears of joy as he leaped into the smiling couple’s arms. They held his hand, and asked about what friends he had made.

It made him feel so hollow.

Pity made sense. You had a basic empathy response to his woundedness, and it compelled you to nurture him to health. Pity he understood. But you said you loved him now.

Love was more. Love was many things, as he gathered it, defined in different ways. Neurologically, love was a release of chemicals such as oxytocin to form lasting bonds. Evolutionarily, it was a symbiotic partnership that benefited the survival of both parties and their children. Love was an intense feeling, and a deliberate commitment. It was mutual respect and care. It was more than he could imagine anyone feeling toward him.

Chilton eyed the Is Your Crush In Love With You? quiz advertised on the cover of a teen magazine at a newspaper stand and almost—almost!—considered buying it before his pride as a psychiatrist (and an adult man) stopped him.

It should be easy to diagnose love. Abnormal psychology was far more complex than this mundane tripe. He simply had to list out the evidence in a logical fashion. He scrawled down pro and con columns in a notebook.

Definitely Not Love:

1. Face too gross.

Before getting shot, he thought he had been reasonably handsome—not tall or athletic, but acceptable. Who would accept him now? Anyone in their right mind would be disgusted after seeing his face so mutilated. And yet…

Proof It’s Love:

1. Kisses my gross face.

You saw his face, and if you were disgusted, you hid it damned well. You had been alarmed, and worried… and then you kissed him. You kissed him on every horrible part as if you loved him even more for being broken—which, frankly, made you diagnosable, but reassured him that your bond was stronger than a mere act.

Or did it prove even more conclusively that it was an act? Anyone who wasn’t after something would have run away, but you didn’t care what he looked like, because it was all a performance!

Definitely Not Love:

2. Kisses my gross face. Fake.

It was as yet unclear what the something was that you were after, however. The more time that went by, the more it seemed you really didn’t care about his money. You tried to turn down a $900 Montblanc pen, proving yet again your utter lack of taste. Even when he was presumed deceased, you were so overwrought by his assassination that Jack Crawford insisted upon letting you in on it before you did something rash. You mourned him when there was nothing to gain.

Proof It’s Love:

2. Not in it for money

You were frequently rude to him. It was what he first loathed about you—that absolute disregard for manners and polite conversation. Maybe—maybe—he had done a few things which could be construed as dishonest or mishandled, but he was still an esteemed doctor. You would have shown the respect his station warranted if you desired him as a partner.

Definitely Not Love:

3. Calls me an idiot.

A poor strategy if you were pretending to love him, though. His most manipulative exes would certainly apply insults strategically to bend him to their will, but always started off with nothing but flattery and kindness in the wooing phase. Traps are usually baited with honey.

Your behavior was crass out of blunt honesty and an absence of diplomatic tact. You were rude when he was unethical or selfish, because he was those things. Hannibal was at his most friendly when he was at his worst, but you wanted him to be better. You wanted a partner.

If your relationship were an elaborate manipulation, you would have to be an intelligent psychopath, but that hypothesis simply did not hold up to scrutiny. Psychopaths chose their words carefully, and always maintained their cold, predatory calm. You once called him “ass-butt” when you were mad. No serial killer could be as clumsy and tactless.

You were the opposite of a psychopath: warm, nurturing, emotional, and an utter mess.

Proof It’s Love:

3. Calls me an idiot.

He leaned back in his office chair, staring down at the paper. There were dozens of things he could add to the love column, now that he thought about it. You laughed at his bad jokes. Listened to him talk about things that certainly bored you. Reminded him to take his medicine when he worked late and forgot. Spent time with him. Admired him. You never turned against him. Never tried to hurt him. He had to accept the evidence: you loved him. Entirely.

At the very least, he was certain he loved you. This novel rush of feelings that had been painting in the negative space of his soul since he first woke up to your smile could only be love. Your warmth radiated around him, enveloped him in its light, and he could no longer imagine how he’d lived without it. He was certain he loved you, because he had never cared about anyone more than himself before.

Love was an unusual thing for Dr. Frederick Chilton. It was weakness, and it was invulnerability. He was exposed. Raw. It made him feel safe with you, and more afraid than ever that you would be taken away.

It took four decades, but Frederick Chilton’s walls were coming down, and it opened up a Pandora’s box of feelings he was not equipped to cope with.

  *****

He loved you! It swam around your head in a sing-song voice, distracting you and making you hum subconsciously and sway to a secret rhythm while you were at work. That wonderful pompous jerk loved you. You were in a dream.

It made you dizzy how tender and uncertain he could be. He was not particularly comfortable with public displays of affection—there was a vulnerability when he was with you that he could not tolerate anyone else seeing—but he still managed to have his hands on you at nearly every moment. A light touch on the small of your back: restrained, but possessive. His finger grazing across the back of your knuckles under the table. Leaning close to see something you were looking at and putting his hands on your shoulders. He hated being far from you for long.

Since showing you his face and finding that the world did not end, he had been downright clingy.

“You know I’m out of town on a case,” you explained for the thousandth time to an increasingly sulky doctor.

“I see,” he pouted, “Well, perhaps I will call Vanessa and see if she wants to have dinner tonight.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Excuse me?” he feigned offense very seriously, as if he didn’t know you knew he was being a dick on purpose.

Early in your relationship you had both been very clear that it was just sex, and not at all anything that involved a monogamous commitment or, god forbid, feelings. You’d never explicitly updated this agreement to better reflect the love you were in and he was provoking you with it.

“Who is ‘Vanessa,’ anyway? Your cousin?”

“Aunt,” he admitted tersely. “I demand you come to my house this evening!”

You laughed into the receiver, imagining the way his cheeks were puffing out. “I miss you too, babe. I’ll be back in Baltimore tomorrow.”

There was a quiet sigh. “Please be careful.”

He loved you, but was he your boyfriend? Were you exclusive now? These were questions you’d been having, and were too afraid to ask for fear that the answers would be no. Even though he was just being a manipulative little brat, his casual implication of dating other people still hung in your brain, interrupting the pleasant birdsong.

  *****

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

Chilton paused mid-comparison of two ties from his closet and scoffed. One was blue and formal, while the other had splashes of bold purple, and he was trying to decide which gave off the better impression of staggering wealth and success.

“Yes,” he answered with impatience. “You do not know how to behave as a civilized adult.” He went back to sorting through his closet for an outfit.

Your impulse to punch him in the face was acutely returning. “Seriously? Because I didn’t know which fork was for the salad?”

“You have no etiquette, you dress like a tourist, your favorite wine comes from a box...” He would have continued but your cheeks were burning and you screamed with indignation.

“Wow, so I’m just your dirty secret then, is that it?”

“I thought you did not like ‘fancy’ occasions. This dinner party will be attended only by the foremost luminaries in the psychiatric field, and other professionals of note. You would find it tediously dull, I am sure.”

“You said it was an old friend. I don’t know any of your friends, and if we’re going to be together you can’t just… keep me in your closet for sex!”

“Do not be childish.”

That was the last straw. You stomped your foot (not necessarily disproving the ‘childish’ remark) and shouted, “You are unbelievable! You have no respect for me at all, do you? I thought that you—that we were… But really, I just let myself forget what a raging asshole you are!”

He called out your name from somewhere behind you as you stormed out, but you didn't listen, slamming the door.

  *****

Were you being unfair? If he wasn’t ready to introduce you to an old colleague, could you fault him for wanting to take things slow? But no—he expressly admitted to being embarrassed of you. He didn’t think you would fit in with these people so he was hiding you in shame—and he was probably right.

How could you ever hope to really be with someone like him? You were kidding yourself.

You were crying and watching Aliens (you needed to watch people getting ripped apart and exploding to calm down) when there was a knock at your door. Chilton stood on the other side with a purple tie, and some flowers that were definitely yanked from your neighbor’s garden. He handed them to you indifferently.

“Come on, then,” he said.

You grunted in confusion.

“Come to dinner. Be my plus one.”

“Are you kidding?” you retracted the spoon of Chinese takeout from your mouth. “Why would I want to go anywhere with you and your snobby friends where I’ll just embarrass everybody by being a pleb?”

His shoulders sank and he looked like a man half his size—which was already fairly small. He looked like a folding chair you could tuck under your arm and carry away. You worried you might forgive him immediately.

“Because I want you to be there. Because I love you.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, unyielding.

An uncomfortable groan rumbled his throat, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling as they always did when he admitted to being wrong. “I apologize. For my rude behavior.”

Your arms considered the apology, and reluctantly uncrossed themselves.

“I am sorry. I love you.” He pouted, meeting your gaze with those irresistible puppy dog eyes, and took your hand. “Now just… come, we are going to be late.”

“Jerk.” You kissed him. His breath tasted like mint, and his spicy aftershave was fresh and strong.

“I know.”

“Big jerk.” You kissed him again, this time letting your lips linger at the edge of his when you pulled back, his nose brushing against yours.

“The worst,” he breathed.

“Poopyfacejerkbuttpants,” you declared.

“You are a child!” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Why do I love you?”

“I’m very sexy,” you grinned, wagging your eyebrows.

His chest puffed with a short laugh. “You are very sexy. And patient, and wise, and most likely smarter than me. Well,” he changed his mind on the last point, “close, anyway.” He looked down over the teriyaki-stained sweatpants you were wearing. “Now put on real clothing, and try not to appear homeless.”

  *****

What he had described as an annual dinner party with an old friend from his Harvard years was actually a pissing contest carefully couched in the trappings of polite high society.

Nobody mocked Chilton’s dietary restrictions or recent arrest under suspicion of being the Chesapeake Ripper (that would be rude), but they did express their sincerest worry for him, observing how such trauma must have explained why it had been so long since he last published.

Everyone was dressed so elegantly you felt like a Good Will clearance sale rack, and they were so accomplished and interesting you felt like a Good Will clearance sale rack. A woman named Linnea was visiting from Norway with hair like the sun’s rays and eyeliner sharp enough to cut diamonds. She spoke five languages and had sequenced the genes of a plant that might one day cure cancer. When Chilton smiled his best used-car-salesman trying-to-impress-you smile at her, your skull nearly burst open.

Not that you were jealous, you just—OK! Of course you were jealous! She was a goddess who seemed more his type than you ever were, and he was being nice. He was never that nice!

The host, his “friend” Victor, had walked off the cover of a GQ magazine. Where Chilton always seemed to be trying too hard, Victor emanated confidence and power as naturally as breathing, a trait infused in his blood from generations of old money—though there was something unnaturally macabre in his sallow complexion.

He had four children stashed away somewhere with the au pair in one of the guest houses. You knew, because he brought it up, putting his hand around the shoulder of his equally magnificent golden-haired wife, as a point of pride. Emphasis on point. The purpose of dinner was clearly for them to take stock of each other’s lives and achievements and determine who was winning.

No wonder Chilton didn’t want you there.

It was the kind of environment that made you want to slam your fist down on the table, scream, “CUT THE CRAP!” and tell them to suck a bag of dicks. But Chilton clearly wanted to ingratiate himself with them, and you had promised not to be too embarrassing.

However out of place you felt at that stately solid oak table, it was thrilling to watch Chilton at the peak of his game.

“It’s always an honor to treat someone who has been in space, you know?” Victor humbly recounted working as a therapist for NASA. “What those men get to see up there among the stars is beyond anything I can understand as a mere doctor. You can imagine the challenge.”

Chilton nodded amicably. “Not every psychiatrist is cut out to deal with the difficult cases. The psychopathic mind is dangerous territory, but I have always sought to delve into the most inaccessible parts of the human psyche, at the frontier of our understanding of the brain. That is where the greatest discoveries are to be made.”

He just made his job sound cooler than astronauts. Point, swish! You wished you had popcorn instead of whatever fermented mollusk nightmare was on your plate.

“I’m just sorry for the horror stories this one must have to endure when you get home!” Victor’s wife laughed a friendly, teasing high-pitched trill, gesturing to you sympathetically. Oh no, you thought. They hunt in packs.

Chilton’s amicable smile tightened. Besides the obvious snub toward the grim nature of his work, they knew the two of you weren’t married or even living together, and therefore his house was desolately empty when he got home. Point to Blondie.

Counteroffensive: You took Chilton’s hand and pet it in the most sickeningly saccharine gesture of affection you could think of, and swooned about how dearly you appreciated the wonderful, important work he did. The danger really spiced things up in bed, too!

He choked on his wine. So did Victor. You wondered if anyone had food in their mouths and how many points you’d win for fatalities.

A roaring laugh echoed through the dining room, shaking the table. A man who shared Victor’s features, but younger and with a bigger smile, air high-fived you from across the expanse. You ended up being surprisingly popular after that little ice-breaker, lightening the mood by telling hilarious crime scene stories about dumb criminals and weird accidents. They thought you were a breath of fresh air.

You and Ernest—the host’s younger brother—especially hit it off. He’d joined the military as soon as he turned 18 as a rebellion against all the “hoity-toity nonsense” in his family, and had some stories that made even your toes curl. After dinner you hung out in the garden looking for bugs while everyone inside chatted about opera, wine, and what important doctors they were. The Norwegian goddess joined you for awhile, too, rattling off plant species in the landscaping. She was actually pretty cool. If Frederick were going to cheat on you, she’d be your top choice for sure.

  *****

Chilton stared sideways out the panoramic glass wall overlooking the gardens. There, under the faded yellow glow of string lights and cradled by a lush border of foliage, you were still talking with that meathead. He tried to use his peripheral vision so the others couldn’t see him staring after you like a lost, lovelorn fawn, but was not doing a good job.

You were going to leave him. He knew it would happen if he brought you (though he thought it would be Victor who seduced you away from him), and he couldn’t stand it. It burned like hot coals in his chest.

He drank.

He drank a lot.

He drank until he got up the courage to stagger outside on his cane to grab you and say, “We’re leaving!”

“Excuse me?” you said, startled by the abruptness of his demand. Pulling your wrist back out of his grasp you were surprised at how unbalanced he was. You had never seen him drunk, and a tiny voice tempted you to poke him in the chest and see how far he wobbled.

He hissed in your ear, “Do not talk with him, he is trying to steal you from me!” not as privately as he thought he was being.

“Hey. Watch it, pal,” said Ernest.

Chilton lurched and caught himself on you, wrapping his arms protectively around you until he was draped on your shoulders like a human Superman cape, dropping his cane on the floor. “Don’t... do not leave me,” he slurred. “I love you. I love you.”

Cool. He was a goofy drunk. A sad, goofy, koala drunk.

You spun in his arms to face him, and pressed your cool palms against the flushed sides of his red face. He was trying very hard to look serious, and you were certain he thought he was doing a great job at it, in much the same way a kindergartner thinks they are being very serious and grown-up demanding a second juice box. “Oh, honey… you really can’t drink like that with one kidney. It’s not good for you.”

“Please don’t leave?” he begged.

“Frederick...” So this was what being a parent to a toddler was like.

“I knew… you would...” His eyelids drooped, and more of his weight shifted onto you.

“OK, I think it is time to leave,” you strained to hold him up.

Ernest very kindly helped you get him and his cane to the front of the house and called for the valet to bring the car around. Judging eyes watched from inside while he vomited into a topiary. Eventually the hosts came to the door to inquire if everything was all right, and you politely apologized for Chilton being such a lightweight since his very tragic, very brave recovery from being maimed. Hopefully that would save him some face.

Thanking Ernest one last time, you grumbled as you slid behind the wheel. Chilton had, naturally, driven his impractical vintage penis-substitute car, and now you had to figure out how to drive the thing back.

  *****

Chilton groaned, slowly rolled his shoulder, and woke up slumped and contorted into the passenger seat. He groaned louder.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like someone drove a brick through my skull. No—like I was shot in the head again.” He massaged his temples blearily as he recovered consciousness. His eyes flew open. “What happened? Why are we in the car?”

“Well, uh...” you adjusted your grip on the steering wheel. “Let’s just say one of us was embarrassing and leave it at that?”

“Merciful god.” He remembered the fourth glass of wine. And the scotch.

He remembered that guy you were talking to.

“You were flirting with another man,” he accused.

“I was not flirting. He was married. All he could talk about was getting back to his husband in Colorado Springs—he’s only visiting here for a week.”

Chilton paused. “That does not preclude flirting.”

“And what about you? I saw how you looked at Linnea. You were so nice to her—to all of them—like you were trying so hard to impress those people.”

“It is called having manners.”

“You never look at me like that. Why aren’t you ever that polite with me?”

You knew the answer—because you weren’t good enough. You weren’t some high-class snob he needed to impress, you were just a nobody. But he took a long time to reply, as if the question had come as a shock.

“I never thought you wanted that,” he finally said. He grew quiet and serious, talking in a soft voice. “We have always been forthright with each other. You detest false kindness, and that personality is a construction. You know me too well—you know I am a miserable, misanthropic, autocratic, petulant egoist… but you still want to be with me. The flawed fool. That is why I love you, why I could never bear to start over without you. You are the only one who sees me, and still wanted to...” He drifted off and lost his train of thought. “Perhaps I could be kinder. I do not want to lose you. I do not want to drive you away. Sometimes I forget… I forget how to be kind to one I care for most.” Words would not stop spilling from his mouth. He was being unusually candid, a sign that he was still very drunk. “I knew if you came, you would find someone better. You might leave. Maybe not tonight, but you would see what was out there, and eventually...”

“I thought you were embarrassed of me.”

“That too.”

”Ah.”

A sleepy, squinty-eyed smile lit his face as he thought he about it. “You are so very unrefined, and yet irresistibly appealing. Do you realize you could charm anyone? That you would choose to stay with me is...” He sighed and swung his head loosely until it came to rest against the side window with a dull thunk. He frowned. “Victor and I are the same age, and he has a wife, and children… he treats space men. I can never measure up to his accomplishments.”

“Well that’s a dumb way to look at life, you ding-dong.”

His hangover growled and glared at you through heavily squinted eyelids.

“Life isn’t measured in the number of achievements you’ve tallied up.” You risked taking your hand off the fiddly antique gearstick to reach for him, and he hummed with affection as your fingers interlocked. “I’m not going to trade you in for a better model. I love my misanthropic, petulant Frederick. I’ll take him as-is. I don’t know why you think I’m going to leave you, but I won’t. I love you.”

  *****

You drove him back to your apartment at his request, because, quote: I love and respect the fuck out of you, baby. He would later vehemently deny phrasing it that way. Then he dropped off into sleep again with his head against the window for the remainder of the drive.

His car stuck out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood, as did he in his thousand-dollar suit, but it was sweet that he wanted to stay on your turf for a change.

He whined, stretching out cramped muscles as he settled into the pillows. You spread out on the blankets next to him, admiring his restraint in not complaining about the thread count. You had to confess, your own bed felt stiflingly small compared to what you were now used to.

Quiet, murmured conversation filled the dark long into the night, talking about your fears and jealousy. You confessed how inadequate you felt in his world, how it much stung when he smiled at that beautiful woman. He didn’t tease you like you thought he would, but comforted you honestly that you had nothing to fear—he would never.

“She seemed more your type than me,” you mumbled into a pillow, remembering the glamorous woman.

“Linnea? Don’t be ridiculous—you know my type. You.”

You emitted an incoherent trill of bird and chipmunk noises as your cheeks went red. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you against him, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. A question had been nagging at your mind for weeks whose answer seemed obvious now, but you still had to ask it.

“Frederick… are we a couple?”

The gentle rise and fall of his chest stopped abruptly. “What would you like us to be?” he carefully asked after a few tense seconds.

You swallowed. He was putting it all on you, then. It would destroy you if he said you’re too demanding, clingy, or moving too fast, but it gave you encouragement that he was literally clinging to your body like a tipsy koala.

“I want you to be my boyfriend. I don’t want to be with anyone else. And I don’t want you running off on random dates with random Vanessas to make me jealous.”

“How old-fashioned,” he quipped, trying to sound nonchalant while a wide smile beamed quietly across his face, cheeks red with an alcohol-assisted flush. “You want to be mine, then?” he nuzzled his nose against you.

“Yes, I do,” you breathed, fireworks going off in your stomach.

He melted at the confession, and spent the rest of the night curled around you possessively, dreaming of sweet visions that were, for once, uninterrupted by nightmares.

  *****

His hips jerked rhythmically up into you as you rode him, his fingers searching, clawing up your back. His hungry mouth left dark bruises as he nipped and sucked his way up your throat, snarling against your skin. “Frederick!” You gasped and moaned with each bite. You knew he was leaving marks above your collar that you’d have to creatively hide, or make excuses for (or just deal with everyone at work knowing), and that he was doing it on purpose, but you didn’t care. It was exciting having him claim you.

As his nips and kisses crested the outline of your jaw, you dipped your chin down and took his mouth. His lips were soft and yielding to you, but burning with heat and hunger and already wet from the sloppy work he made of your neck, and he moaned your name with needy satisfaction as you kissed him, his eyes closing. His tongue slipped between your lips, tracing the inside flesh and the outline of your teeth without interrupting the rhythm of his thrusting hips that worked you open and built up a sensational throb.

Your breath and sweat mingled as you rocked together, intertwined. His helpless, pleading noises drove you crazy as he whined and growled, making you buck against him harder just to draw more sounds from him and watch his face as he lost himself completely. The throbbing between your legs roared to a frenzy as he arched beneath you and his pace became erratic, each thrust driving deeper, hips snapping against you roughly as his cock buried its full length deep inside.

The warmth of his seed flooded you, but he pulled out quickly before he was completely finished, flipped you onto your back and kneeled over you. His hand frenetically stroked his cock until long lines of hot cum drizzled your stomach.

He leaned over you and kissed you ferociously, a clashing of teeth and tongues, while you curled your fingers through his hair and continued rocking your hips against his leg chasing your unfulfilled release. “Mine,” he smiled against your lips.

He sat up, breathless and content.

You looked down at the sticky mess he made of your torso. “Marking your territory?”

“You make me sound like a dog lifting his leg.” He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Aren’t you, essentially...?” you began to tease, but gave up with a shake of your head. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but you grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Work, my dear.”

“I don’t think so.” You pulled him back into bed, pressed him down on his back and climbed on top of him, angling your hips into his mouth. “You still have a job to do here.”

“You’re sticky!” he complained, squirming under you.

“I know. You made such a mess, doctor. Help me?”

He glared up petulantly between your thighs, but a coy pout spread over his lips, and one of his long fingers traced the length of your leg. He does ever so love it when you call him doctor.

“Very well,” he conceded as you grabbed the back of his head and rode his face into the pillow.

  *****

Hannibal the Cannibal was finally captured, and Frederick Chilton wrote the definitive book on him. And by “definitive,” you meant full of lies, sleaze, and enough half-truths that nobody would know the difference.

How could you complain? It worked.

He got a bestseller, and the next three years were a whirlwind of book tours, press releases, panels, and all the fame and respect he ever wanted. It was a good thing you were there to make sure it didn’t go to his head! (In reality, the mild-but-constant aching of his left cheek was enough to keep him as humble as Chilton-ly possible—which was, admittedly, extremely arrogant.)

He stepped away from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, leaving it under the care of Dr. Alana Bloom. According to Dr. Chilton, it was to focus on writing and speaking engagements for which he was hotly in demand, however the decision came just weeks after you warned him to stay away from Hannibal Lecter.

“I am writing a book about him. Stay away?” he mocked. “Do you know how long I have waited to have him in captivity? In my facility?”

“Don’t be an idiot! Trying to get revenge by being his jailer is just poking the bear.”

“The ‘bear’ will be spending the rest of his days rotting behind bars,” he replied in a honeyed voice dripping with sarcasm. “You cannot deny me the pleasure of watching him grow old and infirm, slowly forgotten by the world as his teeth one by one fall out.”

“You always do this—you always think you’re above danger, and then it comes back to bite you! Hannibal will find a way to hurt you if you piss him off.”

“You give the man far too much credit,” he scoffed.

“Stop trying to get revenge.” You stepped close, tapping the chest of his tattersall dress shirt. “Focus on what you still have instead of everything you’ve lost.”

“You mean you?” he quirked a brow, scoffing. “I did not think you so trite.”

“I mean your other eye, asshole! I mean your life!”

Tempers flared as you snarled in each other’s faces, and twenty minutes and several broken pieces of office decor later, you rolled off of each other feeling much calmer.

“Stay away from him,” you started again, softer this time, your hand buried under the unbuttoned opening of his shirt. “I don’t want him in your head. Everyone changes when they’re around him for too long, and I don’t want you to turn into someone else. I don’t want to lose you. Just walk away this time. Please?”

And he did. And for three entire years, he wasn’t brutally maimed.

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Dancing With The Devil Part 3 Thoughts:

(I’m going to put this under a read more but trigger warnings for self harm, sexual violence, anon hate, suicide, drug use and eating disorders)

I don’t really have as much to say on each topic as I did with the first two parts, so I’m not going to put it into specific categories, just dotpoint it all.

- I understand that Demi was going through a lot of trauma, but god do I wish that her or her team or somebody came out with a statement about the hate towards Dani earlier. Even just a “guys, you have the wrong idea about Dani. You don’t know what happened so don’t point fingers until I’m ready to say.” because jesus 5000 hate messages a day for someone else’s choice? It’s a wonder she’s still alive too to be honest. And obviously Demi’s silence doesn’t excuse fans sending hate, and the fact they still haven’t learned from that by trying to pinpoint her childhood rapist when she doesn’t want us to know, is horrific, but Dani’s case could have been mitigated and it’s sad that it wasn’t.

- I also find it very interesting (and paralleling to what Matt said in the first parts) that Demi has once again said that a lot of the control her old team had over her was out of love, but ultimately it just wasn’t helpful in the end. Likewise, it was good to hear that she made the choice to leave, not that her old team forced her out. In saying that, and connected to the Dani stuff, perhaps it’s another sign that fans jumped the gun with blasting the Jonas Brothers, and particularly Nick, for that situation. I’m not saying that they’re on good terms because I don’t know. But this mixed with Ain’t No Friend sounding more like it’s about her ex drug dealer than anyone else given the new information we have, perhaps pointing fingers without the full story didn’t help the Jonas Brothers anymore than it did Dani.

- Alternatively, I find it interesting that Sirah seems to feel it was the old label’s choice for Demi to get clean the first time thanks to the ultimatum when Demi spoke in the first two parts about not seeing her sister being the major reason.

- I had to laugh at her case worker pretty much being like “Well if you’re paying for this and don’t want to be here, you can leave” and the implication of how deep down Demi did want to be there but was scared because that reminds me of my psychiatrist so much and definitely gives me good vibes.

- I agree with others that Scooter’s role in this documentary seems very PR. I also find it very interesting that despite them saying that Ariana was the main reason Demi was signed with Scooter up until now, her role in all of this was completely erased. I mean it’s not like what they said on the documentary negated anything they’ve previously said, but yeah, again, feels weird that even a mention of “Demi is good friends with Ariana and she helped me reconsider signing Demi when I was gonna say no” is nowhere to be found. Anyway, as much as I don’t trust Scooter as far as I could kick him, I really hope for Demi’s sake everything they said here was true.

- Her sister’s comment that she wanted to give up on Demi but you never truly give up on someone you love really resonated with me and is probably the answer I would have given to that question.

- The way Demi talked about her self harm, drug and eating disorders came from the unresolved issues with her first rape and how the plan to wait until marriage to have sex just for that to happened really messed with her is unfortunately super relatable to me. While technically my issues started with witnessing the suicide of a close friend earlier in the same year, being a “good Christian” girl who got gang raped at 15 had a similar effect on me. But I was incredibly lucky and privileged to find the people most helpful to be around within two years of that which by the sounds of it, Demi did not until recently. I touched on this with the first two episodes in regards to the overdose rape, but it does really make me sad to know she tried that whole “I’m going to take the power back by having sex with you” twice, and I’m glad she’s seemed to have learned that that doesn’t work.

- I am also really glad to hear that her and Max stayed with her mother and stepfather during quarantine. Like with her partial blindness and the sketchy rumours about him, I’m just super glad she had that extra support.

In general, this documentary, and particularly this part, has been far less scandalous than I thought it would be, and I’m really glad about that. It would have been so easy to make cheap shots at her old team or the Jonas Brothers or whoever else and made them seem like evil people Demi escaped from. But by giving them one liners of “Demi needs to be around new people” and “She wanted a new management team” and “They meant well but were very misinformed” and leaving it at that for the most part, it allows the focus to be on Demi like it should be. 

With this in mind, it will be interesting to see just how much of the final part is going to be centred around Max given that relationship was used as the preview. Personally I’m hoping they’ll take the same approach and only use his name to contextualise Demi’s sexuality revelations and the rest will be focused on how having to stop with the pandemic has somewhat forced upon/given her the time to heal. 

Likewise, as I mentioned in the first two parts, I still find it interesting that the album is coming out before the last part. Does it mean that the story of the album “ends” before the documentary? Or was the album initially meant to be listened to afterwards but was moved to hype up the last part of the documentary?

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

[writers-block246]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - The Light Amidst my Darkness

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

Warning: Mentions of mental illness. I tried to present Bucky’s challenges as accurately as possible. However, if anyone has some suggestions as to better portray his illness and resulting therapy, please lmk! (I researched to depict his struggle with mental illness and the type of therapy he would recieve as accurately as I could). Curse words are also included.

Notes: Italics are thoughts and emphasis. Set before Infinity War and Endgame. Slow burn. Mentions of suicide, heavy angst (unresolved), and cursing are in this chapter, specifically.

——————————————————————————

Chapter 4:

It was like a dam had broke.

Since your session where he actually revealed a part of himself to you, he had become more open; more willing to talk about his feelings and past experiences. Once you had showed him that, while you had never gone through something as traumatic as he did, you could still understand where he was coming from. You could still empathize with him. Not to mention, when you told him that you, too, desired to become a better person, he appeared to become more comfortable with you. Perhaps, because you could relate to him, at least in some small way. He probably never felt like he could relate to anybody. The fact that he held on to such a small connection between you two proved how desperate he was for human interaction and bonding. It made your heart ache. You also noted that your honesty seemed to be very important to him, as he was fed up with the lies he had been fed by so many others in his life. He yearned for the truth, to not be treated like a fragile child.

In short, over the past few conclaves, he had, slowly but surely, let you in; let you see some of his emotions. At least, to some extent. You had a feeling you had only scraped the surface of his psychological trauma.

And, by God, had he been through so much.

The past few weeks allowed for you to gain a better comprehension of just what he had experienced. Everything he told you made your heart weep for him. Your past session, especially:

“I’m a monster.”

That was the first he said to you when he sat down.

Schooling your expression, you replied: “Why do you think that?”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious. Do you know how many people I’ve killed?” he said angrily.

“Yes,” you stated calmly.

He seemed to become more outraged by your impassive expression.

“How can you just sit there and act like I’m not utterly horrible? Like I haven’t killed? Like I haven’t destroyed?”

The pain in his voice was evident, and you could tell he was close to a complete breakdown. It hurt to see him like this.

I need to calm him, and soon—before this gets out of hand.

“Because you’re not. That wasn’t you, James. You weren’t in control of your actions. That was Hydra.”

“But I still did it. I could’ve tried harder to escape. I could’ve just killed myself. Anything to make the destruction stop.” He was practically seething, self-loathing clouding his eyes.

“Think rationally, James. You tried to escape, didn’t you? Multiple times?”

He looked conflicted. “Yes, but—“

You didn’t let him continue. “But nothing. You tried, and that alone proves that you didn’t want to commit those acts. Not to mention all the times you could’ve killed Steve, and yet you held yourself back. You’re a good man, James. The real you, is a good man. Not what Hydra made you think you are. And killing yourself? What good would that have done? Hydra would never have let you get away with it. And even if they did, who would be here to help the people today? Because of your experience, you provide a key insight into the minds and methods of the enemy. No one else could help in that way like you.”

He had fallen silent, and you had sworn you saw a tear fall down his cheek.

You didn’t comment on it.

The silence continued on, and finally, he spoke. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“I meant every word, James. You know I wouldn’t lie.”

He settled back into his seat, taking in your words. The rest of the time was spent in quietude.

That session stayed with you. You couldn’t quite forget the look on his face when you vehemently disagreed with him. And you didn’t think you ever would.

It was like he couldn’t believe I saw him as anything else other than a monster.

You so desperately wanted to help this poor man. And by the looks of it, you were. He was talking more, delving deeper into his feelings.

The more he opened up, though, the more you realized that you liked the man behind the mask. He was charming, funny, a little shy, and very intelligent. The worse part, though, was that he didn’t even know how good he was. He couldn’t see it, but you did. He had been through so much, and he was still trying to help others. He had fought longer than a man should ever be expected to, and yet, he was still willing to fight some more. You soon found yourself looking forward to sessions with him, as you could learn more about the soldier.

Images of the smiles and laughs you shared during your time together flashed before your eyes. You grinned.

Of course, there were good days, and there were bad.

Today was one of the bad ones.

He was five minutes late to your session. Which, in hindsight, should’ve made you more prepared for the outburst to come. But, you were hopeful, telling yourself that he was just running a little behind. Maybe something had come up?

The angry knock at your door told you something different.

You called for him to enter, and the door burst open. He stalked to his chair, settling down heavily.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is something the matter, James?”

He ignored you.

You coughed to get his attention, and repeated your question: “Is something bothering you?”

“You’re a liar.”

You startled. What?

“Come again?”

“You heard me. You’re a fucking liar.”

You tried to keep your voice from giving away your true emotions. Steeling yourself, you said: “Why do you think that, James?”

“You told me that I wasn’t a monster. That I was a good man. That the past was in the past. But you fucking lied. Something you said you’d never do”

“In no way did I ever lie to you, James.”

“The fuck you didn’t.”

You tried to keep a soothing tone of voice. “Let’s just calm down and talk this out. How are you feeling right now?”

He only became more enraged at that. “Don’t tell me to calm down. And don’t pull that fucking stereotypical psychiatrist shit on me.” He stood up, tossing his chair to the floor in his frustration.

Okay, bad choice of words.

You remained sitting, hoping to show him that you weren’t afraid of him. That you trusted him.

But it didn’t seem to register with him. He only became angrier, more caught up in his own head. You knew, logically, that his hatred was directed at himself, and he was just taking it out on you. But still, his words hurt, and you worried that he was regressing.

He kept raging, throwing insults your way. He tossed your papers across the room, destroying like he believed he was meant to.

All the while, you remained seated and silent. Until finally, his anger turned cold. Those intense eyes that you loved (that stopped you in the middle of the hallway all those months ago, just like they floored you now), settled on you once more.

He uttered one word. One word. One word that had you holding back tears: “Liar.” So much hatred, anger, and self-loathing coated the word. Enough, in fact, to make your insides curl.

I feel like I’m about to puke.

With that, he turned and strode out of your office. The walls shook with the force of the slamming door.

Left in silence, a stark contrast to the hurricane that rampaged through your office minutes ago, you sat frozen in your chair.

What the hell just happened?

He was pissed. You lied. The person he trusted the most, other than Steve, had lied. All the time you spent together, those past few months, claiming that he wasn’t a monster. That his past was just that— the past. You lied. You were wrong. He had put so much faith in you, had opened up to you (like he had with no one else, not even with Steve), and you had had taken his trust, his feelings, and just stomped them into the dirt.

Those sessions didn’t mean shit. They were a waste of time. He didn’t progress. He didn’t get any better. You must’ve lied about that, too.

Why? Why does this have to happen? Why couldn’t you have just told the truth? Told me what I already know? What everyone already knows?

He was just a monster. That was all he was, all he ever would be.

I though I could trust you. That you were different. I thought you were my friend.

Hours later, you still remained in your office, sitting in the exact position James had left you in hours ago. You were still in shock due to the day’s events.

What if he never comes back? What if he refuses to see me again?

He was your friend, and you feared you might’ve lost him forever.

No.

You wouldn’t let that happen. You didn’t put your blood, sweat, and tears into this, into him, to just let it all go down the drain.

You were determined to bring him back. To keep working with him, even if he had regressed. There were good days, and bad days, you knew that. And before it got better, it would get worse. You reminded yourself that his outburst was normal, expected, even. You weren’t going to give up on him. You had made a promise.

After all, this was your job. And you were damn good at your job.

But above all, he was your friend. And you were going to stand by him—through thick and thin.

It was then that your phone chimed. A message from Steve.

A cup of coffee had been thrown on James early this morning, in his favorite coffee shop (his only happy place, other than your office). And with it, the offender had yelled a single word: ‘monster.’

-Admin Cheyenne

More chapters are on the way!

[karihighman]

There was a time I couldn’t imagine a future without you, but I can now. [And] I feel…free.”

– Will Halstead (Nick Gehlfuss), 5×09 “I Can’t Imagine The Future”

Chicago Med had to end their fifth season early due to the pandemic, so their 20th episode served as their makeshift season finale. Since we’re unsure of when they will exactly be back filming, I figured it’d be a great time to take a look at a “wish list” of sorts for their up-and-coming sixth season. From happy couples to hospital policies, there’s a lot that can be done during season 6 of Chicago Med. Keep reading below for some ideas.

Learn more about Crockett’s past

Perhaps it was just bad timing for Crockett Marcel’s (Dominic Rains) past to come to light during their season finale, but regardless, it would be cool to get to know more about Med’s newest doctor.

How did his lost child come to be? As in, was he previously married? Engaged? In a relationship? And how was he as a father? We saw a little bit of how his loss affected his current work – in episode 12, and in episode 20. But, it would be – I hesitate to say nice, because who wants to see a character in pain? – interesting to see if we could learn more on how he was affected by it. Did it change how he operated as a doctor? Was it the reason for his move from New Orleans to Chicago?

We’ve only really seen the overconfident, cocky Dr. Marcel – I think it’s time we could stand to see another side of him. Not that he has to break down completely, but to show a little more vulnerability would be refreshing, I think.

Can Manstead make it work?

…At least as friends, that is. Natalie Manning (Torrey DeVitto) said she would want to try and be friends with Will Halstead (Nick Gehlfuss) again, so why can’t they make it work? I think they could, and should give it a shot at least.

Now, before anyone freaks out, that’s not to say I don’t “ship” Manstead. I’ve been rooting for them since day 1. But, that being said –– Will and Natalie have both seemed to have moved on. Will’s been dating Hannah Asher (Jessy Schram); and Chicago Med has hinted at a potential connection between Natalie and Crockett. Yep, as in Crockett Marcel!

Will and Hannah started off as a bit of a wildcard romance at first, and while I’m not quite sure if we can fully trust Hannah, Will seems to, which is really all that matters. Meanwhile, Natalie and Crockett have been working closely, and way more often, together. So, will there be more in store for those two? It’s hard to tell for sure, since Med was cut short by 3 episodes.

With where they left off, it appears as though Crockett may open up more to Natalie about his past. That could be a good thing, as it would further my first point.

But, back to Manstead.

While we saw Natalie and Will argue quite a bit during season 5, it would be nice to see them interact in some way again next season. Even if it starts as a simple “Hello.” Maybe kind of getting back to their season 1 vibe? Just a thought.

Explore Chexton as individuals

While I did like Chexton together, now that they…aren’t, I think it would be a prime time to give some screentime to April and Ethan as individuals. Who are they without the other? We know their backgrounds, but we haven’t seen them interact with many others besides each other over the last season. (Well, okay. Unless you count Crockett. But let’s not get into that right now).

It would be interesting to see April have to find a place to live. Or, maybe she could live with her brother, Noah? I missed seeing the Sexton siblings on my TV towards the back half of the season! It would also be intriguing to see how Ethan fares on his own. Like, does he miss April? Or, does he thrive? Does he – dare I say – find someone else? Or, is his heart still attached to April, despite her indiscretion?

And what about April? Can she work alongside her ex-fiancé and her former crush? Well, I’m assuming it’s in the past, as we haven’t seen anything more personal between Crockett and April; only professional, which is good given the situation, I think.

See Maggie, Ben, and Auggie as a family

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIVE BEN, MAGGIE, AND AUGGIE A HAPPY GO LUCKY STORYLINE. PLEASE. THEY DESERVE IT!

In all seriousness, Maggie and Ben have been through hell and back. The both of them fought cancer, and beat it to remission! Then, they got engaged and married! Now, they’re going to tackle raising a young kid together. The best foster parents ever? Check. Adorable kid? Check. Family unit in the making? Check.

They deserve to have that idyllic family life: cooking pancakes in the kitchen on the weekends; Ben taking Auggie with him to school while Maggie jets off to work; Maggie coming home and reading Auggie a bedtime story, etc. Would that not be the cutest thing ever?! And who deserves it more than Ben and Maggie?! My heart is bursting at the thought.

Have more scenes featuring Owen, Elsa, etc.

I’m well aware adorable Owen Manning is very different from super-intelligent medical student Elsa Curry. But, in general, what I’m saying is it would be lovely if we could utilize these sort of, “background” characters more. Give Elsa a storyline beyond desiring Will’s affection (thank god I think Med has moved past it for now). Give Natalie some more scenes with her own child, Owen. Please? Please, @ Chicago Med, I’m begging you. Can we also get Nurse Doris, Trini, or Monique into more scenes? They offered great lines of dialogue and an extra layer that makes Chicago Med more realistic (though it’s already very realistic)!

More storylines for Sharon Goodwin and Daniel Charles

CHICAGO MED — “I Will Do No Harm” Episode 515 — Pictured: S. Epatha Merkerson as Sharon Goodwin — (Photo by: Adrian Burrows/NBC)

CHICAGO MED — “The Ghosts Of The Past” Episode 517 — Pictured: Oliver Platt as Daniel Charles — (Photo by: Elizabeth Sisson/NBC)

The veterans of Gaffney Medical Center have gotten quite a few spotlit stories on their personal lives, so let’s keep that going into season 6! We left off with Sharon’s son doing business with a medical supply company, and he seemed to have bonded with Dr. Lanik fairly well. But, Sharon was seen looking a little uneasy. Why? Could it be the methods with which Michael secured this information? If so, could we see them have a discussion about it?

For Dr. Charles, it was great to see him step into that paternal role more. Can we keep that going with his daughter, Anna next season too? Yes, we saw him suffer a devastating loss of his wife, Caroline “CeCe” Charles, and we saw Robin make an appearance during that time. But, after that, his ex-wife and Anna made an appearance. Anna came back recently too, and it was great to see Daniel admit his slight failings as a parent with her…and to see him try and make it right. It gave the always so smart psychiatrist Dr. Charles a more humanistic quality. It kind of made him more relatable, more everyday.

It would be nice to see the more real sides of both of Med’s fearless leaders.

There you have it, 6 wishes for Chicago Med’s sixth season. Do you have something you wanna see happen? If so, comment below, or reach out on social media! 

Courtesy GIPHY / Twitter / Chicago Med. 

    6 Things That Should Happen on Chicago Med Next Season There was a time I couldn't imagine a future without you, but I can now. I feel...free."

[i-heart-danchou]

Deserving

Okay!  This is for @bottomerwinweek​, prompt 1, Reunion/Reincarnation AU This ended up being a million words long (well, 6k), so I’m sorry about that.  I also switch between Levi and Erwin’s POV which will be differentiated using different fonts.  I hope you enjoy it! ------------------------- For as long as Erwin could remember, he had been harboring a secret.  It had started when he was a small child; he would wake up in the night screaming about titans and monsters and dangerous governments, and his father would cradle him to his chest and promise him, promise him, that he was safe in his bed.  It got worse over time- he had memories which weren’t his, visions of a world and a life that had never and could never have happened.  His parents had sent him to a school psychiatrist a number of times and the diagnosis often wavered between ‘wanting more attention’ and ‘severely mentally ill.’ He learned rapidly to hide his dreams, his memories, the pain of loss which he felt every day.  It was easier to make friends that way, to do well in school, to be bright and successful like everyone seemed to envision for him.  His parents were glad; it was just a phase, then.  Imaginary friends, he’d grown out of it. Over time he learned that virtually no one else in the world experienced life as he did.  His friends at school weren’t born yearning for a face in their dreams, and certainly none of them had lived through the downfall of civilization, a military coup, nor been sentenced to death by hanging.  He assumed he was unwell, and after trying a number of different mood altering medications had determined that he wasn’t going to get any better. It would have been fine if it weren’t for Levi.  Dreams and delusions were easy enough to get past, but for as long as he could remember, Erwin Smith had been in love with another human being, one which (in this lifetime, at least) he had never even laid eyes on.  It was more challenging as he went through puberty, as his friends were discovering porn on the internet and their love for large breasts, Erwin found himself unable to get past this surly man in his mind. 

He was teased for being a prude, but it didn’t bother him.  The Levi in his heart was worth waiting for, and he couldn’t really imagine finding happiness with anyone else.  He had a few flings of course, short people with sharp eyes but… There was no one in this world who could hold a candle to what he’d shared with Levi— an odd mix of passion, trust, respect, and absolute devotion to one another.  Even the memories with Levi where things had been grim, dangerous or terse were precious to him.  

He smiled even now when he recalled Levi threatening to break his legs, how they’d fought hand to hand in those difficult beginnings… how Levi had swallowed his feelings and put Erwin first, telling him to give up on his dream in those last crucial moments.  

**

Erwin tried to find Levi in any way he could— searching for his name on social media, using the internet to see if there was anyone, anyone else in this world who had lived a past life like Erwin had.  That was how he connected with Mike, and the relief at knowing that he wasn’t crazy was almost impossible to describe.

They agreed to meet at a nice gastro-pub near Erwin’s work, and idly Erwin wondered if this was too good to be true.  He and Mike had been so close… and yet, he held himself responsible for Mike’s death.  It was likely that Mike resented him, blamed him, hated him now.  It might also just be a scam; a con artist online taking advantage of desperate people like Erwin.

He needn’t have worried though.  From under his umbrella Mike spotted him across the street and knew him immediately.  It wasn’t often Erwin was swept off his feet in an embrace, but he found himself actively reciprocating and burying his face into the warm crook of Mike’s neck.  “Erwin.”  He whispered, taking deep, long breaths in through his nose.  “It’s you.  It’s you.  I thought I was mad.”

Erwin squeezed tight, his heart racing in his chest.  He looked the same, he sounded the same, he smelled the same.   Fuck, it was real.  Levi was probably real.  He pulled away and looked into Mike’s eyes, his eyes crinkled with joy and relief.  He was almost too happy to speak.  

“You ah… you wanna grab an overpriced cocktail and some avocado based appetizer that probably won’t be served on plates?”  Mike managed eventually, his hands perched on Erwin’s shoulders.  

“I’d like that.”  Erwin nudged Mike’s body with his elbow and they walked in together.  

Erwin was all questions— have you always felt like this?  Have you found anyone else?  Nanaba?  Do you hide it?  Do you remember how you died?  Why is this happening?  Who are we?  Who were we?

Mike smirked, apparently glad that some things never changed.  Erwin’s inquisitive and brilliant mind was as sharp as it ever was.  “Yes, no, no, yes, no, I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know.”  He said without much emotion in his voice.  

Erwin nodded.  “It’s funny.  I can’t remember how I died either.  I was leading the charge against the beast titan and... that’s where it ends.”  He swirled his drink around in the glass with his straw, watching the ice cubes dance.  “My whole life I’ve been researching alternate realities, parallel universes… trying to find evidence of these titans, of the walls… I haven’t found any.”  He looked wistful.  “I imagine we’re not the only ones.  A whole world can’t have disappeared into nothing.”

“I wonder.”  Mike mused.  “You might be onto something with parallel universes.  Wormholes, old souls, that kind of thing.”  He shrugged.  “I’m glad we found each other.”  

Erwin nodded.  “Me too.”  He could see it on Mike’s face; the man was searching for someone too.  A face in his dreams that consumed his heart and most of his thoughts.  He had a hole in his heart and only a faint memory guiding him towards fulfillment.  

**

By the time Erwin was approaching his thirty-fifth birthday, he had more or less given up on finding Levi again.  Or, that’s what he told himself anyway.  He’d tried to function in a romantic relationship a number of times, but nothing had ever quite clicked.  He was too aloof, maybe, not good enough at displaying his feelings.  He was never… there, in an emotional sense.  

Gone where the days when Erwin had browsed teashops, underground fighting rings, cleaning supply stores in hopes of finding Levi again.  Mike in that time had found Nanaba, and Erwin was truly happy for them both.  It was difficult to give up hope, he supposed, but hope was making it difficult to function.  In the other world his depression had consumed him, had damaged the lives of the people around him.  He didn’t want to make his parents worry, after all.  They had done so much for him.  

Despite his resolve, Erwin still found himself always keeping an eye out for Levi wherever he went.  He never used headphones in case he missed Levi’s voice calling out, he tended not to stare at his phone for a similar reason.  At night, he’d look through obituaries, death announcements, anything to just… prove that Levi existed.  That it was okay to give up on finding him.  

Nothing ever panned out, of course, so on his birthday he decided to treat himself.  He took the Monday off to give himself a nice three day weekend at the beach.  Living in the city as he did he very rarely got to get out and see nature, and… well, the ocean carried a lot of significance for him.   He’d always, always dreamed of seeing it with Levi one day.  

It wasn’t very difficult to rent a cottage by the beach in the middle of October, and he spent the better part of the weekend huddled up inside next to the quaint little fireplace.  The weather was awful, the winds were roaring, and he was glad he had a bit of privacy here.  He filled a solitary glass of wine and watched the watched the beautiful full moon break through the clouds and dance on the surface of the water.

**

The weather broke on his birthday, at least enough for him to stroll up and down the coast and get some fresh air.  He ignored the notifications on his phone and shoved it in his pocket.  Aging was hard.  Perhaps harder still now that he knew he was approaching the age when he’d died in that other world.  That Erwin Smith had accomplished so much in that time and… although this Erwin was successful by virtually all measures, he felt he had accomplished nothing. Thirty five years of looking for a ghost.  Thirty five years alone and desperate.  Happy fucking birthday, commander.  

He snuggled up against his thick woolly scarf and made his way down the pebbly shore.  The wind was harsh and angry, but at least the sun was vaguely trying to make itself known.  It wasn’t pleasant, but the ocean spray in his hair was making him feel alive.  There was something haunting and beautiful about the vast expanse of the sea, and he found himself looking across the horizon and wondering where… wondering where Levi was.  If he was even alive at all.

Possibly he needn’t have worried so much.  Off in the distance he heard a soft ‘fuck.’  

His ears pricked up, his eyes widened, and he scanned the beach.  Maybe a hundred yards away there was a slight man standing at the edge of the water, staring right back at him.  His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed, a shock of black hair blowing in the wind around his eyes.  His clothes were worn but clean, he looked healthy.  

Levi.  Erwin’s mind was racing— it was Levi, it was Levi, he was certain of it—yet he hadn’t considered the possibility that Levi might not know him, might not remember or recognize him, might not want anything to do with him— shit. His heart ached with how much he adored this man, and it took everything he had to keep himself restrained and not throw himself at Levi.

He took a calming breath and started to approach, as it was apparent Levi was not going to come up to him first.  Each step closer hardened his resolve; it was Levi, he knew his face, he knew his stance, he knew this man.  Thirty five years of searching, it was him, it was him. 

“Levi?”   He called tentatively, carefully… as a young man, Levi had been so skittish and mistrusting.  Who knew how old he was now?  What his life had been like, if he had any reason to be wary of strange men calling out to him on the beach.  

There was something difficult in Levi’s expression— pain, certainly, worry, confusion, heartache… a touch of excitement, disbelief, joy too… but… pain was the predominating feature.  “Erwin.”  He said at last.  “Of all the fucking beaches in all the fucking world.”

They didn’t run to meet each other in the sand and hug, they didn’t kiss, they didn’t cry.  That interaction answered a few questions, actually.  Levi knew him.  Levi had at least some of his memories from the past.  Levi likely had met someone else from their world, or he would have been much, much more surprised to see him.  And… Levi had been actively avoiding him all this time.

Erwin hesitated for a moment, trying to plan how best to proceed.  “It… it’s been a while.”  

Levi’s expression fell into something detached and cynical, a more typical look for him to be sure.  “Yeah.”

“I rented a little cottage by the water.”  Erwin said, forcing a plastic smile to his lips.  “Do you want to come in so we can catch up?”

A war raged in Levi’s eyes.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  He muttered, and started turning his back on Erwin.  

“Levi.”  Erwin said softly, the vulnerability and hurt was obvious in his voice.  “Please don’t walk away from me again.  I’ve been searching my whole life for you.  Only you.  Please.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a small groan.  “Fine.  It better not be a long walk.”

**

They were both silent as they walked to the cabin, the soft crunch of the sand beneath their feet and the soft roar of the waves as they hit the shore were the only real sounds.  Erwin kept a respectful distance from Levi, but he noticed that although Levi was keeping his eyes in front of him, on occasion he snuck a little glance up at Erwin.  He smiled then.  It was such a Levi thing to do that it made his heart sing.

“Make yourself at home.”  Erwin said pleasantly when they arrived, tossing a log onto the dying embers in the fireplace.  

“You kept the place clean.”  Levi remarked with no small amount of surprise.  His fingers ran along one of the wooden surfaces, coming up dust free.  “Not bad.”

Erwin chuckled.  “My whole life I’ve been looking for you, Levi.  I got into the habit of keeping a clean home just in case.”  

Levi cocked an eyebrow.  “Gay.”  He decided, inviting himself into the kitchen so he could brew them both some nice tea.  

The swell of love that Erwin felt was almost indescribable.  His face ached from smiling, and it was all he could do to stop himself from hugging Levi from behind, from kissing his neck up and down, from running to the bedroom and just… seeing where the day took him.  

But he didn’t do that.  “I suppose so.”  He tried to swallow his smile.  “How have you been, Levi?  Tell me about—“

“What do you remember?”  Levi demanded, his eyes sharp and desperate.  “From before.”

Erwin swallowed.  “I remember titans.  I remember a world crushed from the outside by disgusting monsters who threatened to destroy everything.  I remember losing my father to my own stupidity, and I remember being in the army.  I found a young man in the underground who changed my life, a man so brilliant and talented that I believed he and I could save the world together.  He was my right hand, and he stood beside me and supported me through all my crazy ideas.  I was in love with him, and he knew me better than I knew myself.”

He paused there, watching Levi carefully.  He’d always been good at coaching his expressions, and he was difficult to read, but… the pain in his face was escalating, and the tips of his ears were red.  “We did everything together.  People seldom saw me without him— without you.  You supported me through losing my arm, through the coup, you helped me chase my dream and… and when everything was falling around us, you stood beside me and helped me lead the final charge.  I died proud, I died as the man I wanted to be.  I died knowing you would finish what I started.”  He reached over and took Levi’s hand.  “You were in my heart as I faced the beast titan.  The greatest love of my life.”

Levi’s face was grey and ashen.  He pulled his hand away from Erwin and licked his lips.  “Do you want to know what was in the basement?”

Erwin narrowed his eyes for a moment.  “Yes.”  

“You were right.”   Levi said, putting on his coat as he headed to the door.  “You were right about everything.”

**

Letting Erwin die had been the hardest thing Levi had ever done.  Leaving him alone in that cottage, that desperately lonely look in his eyes, was certainly a close second.  His whole life he’d been dreaming of Erwin, wondering where he was, what his life had ended up like.  He seemed put together, at least.  Well dressed, wealthy, nice car, nice watch… good.  He’d done well in this life, he was probably happy, had friends… this was fine.  

Levi hastily texted Hanji before he got on his bike.  ‘Meet me at the bar.  Some bullshit happened.’

He had come to the ocean for the same reason Erwin had, dammit.  He’d wanted to be close to him on his birthday, he wanted to honor the commander in one of the only ways he could think of.  He didn’t fucking like the ocean, it was cold and polluted and fish fucked in it.  …besides, the ocean had always been a sore point for him.  It reminded him of Armin.  It reminded him of he day he’d let Erwin rest.  

He hated the ocean, but he often did things he hated out of respect for Erwin.  He hadn’t expected to actually find the piece of shit, with his stupid gorgeous face and his hopeful eyes and god dammit why was this happening?  He was never supposed to see him again.  Erwin deserved better.

Despite his helmet and hood Levi had ended up soaked by the time he peddled up to the bar.  “Levi you look like a drowned squirrel!   So cute.”  She patted him dry with some questionable bar napkins and Levi slapped her hand away.  

“Fuck off, Hanji.  I’m not in the mood.” He went behind the bar and poured them both some whiskey.  

She rolled her eyes.  “What, did you find Erwin or something?”

He shot her a glare so withering and severe that she actually flinched.  “Oh.  Jesus Levi.  I had no idea, I’m so sorry.”  She put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged her away.  “Did… you talk to him?”

“Yeah.  He remembers the old world.  He remembers me.”  Levi swallowed.  “He doesn’t know how he died.  Hanji I can’t—“

“I know.”  She said gently.  “And you know that I’m going to tell you that he’s not going to be angry with you. You must have been wondering, right?  All these years— where he’s been, who he’s become, if he dreamed of you like you dreamed of him?  Finding me was one in a million, Levi!  Finding both of us was one in a billion!  Don’t fuck this one up because of your hangups.  Look at me.”  She forced him to make eye contact by clutching his cheeks.  “Erwin will love you no matter what.  Don’t fucking do this.”

Levi had reconnected with Hanji a few years earlier, purportedly by chance but he now suspected she had tracked him down on her own.  Her whole life had been marred with difficulty, as the memories of her past life had caused her nothing but trouble.  She had refused to hide her ‘mental impairment’ and it had cost her dearly.  When she had finally found Levi, she had broken down and sobbed.  

On Levi’s end, he had spent his whole life wondering if he was insane— cursing himself every time a tall blond man made him turn his head.  Meeting Hanji, confirming that it wasn’t all in his mind had been extremely liberating but… that meant Erwin was real too.

He’d been able to avoid tracking him down for a while, as Hanji was highly motivated to find Moblit first.  After an exhaustive search they found him at last, as the subject of a gofundme page for a young man with leukemia.  According to the last update, Moblit had died about two years prior, surrounded by family and loved ones.  Hanji didn’t speak about him much, but knowing Erwin was out there, that Levi was squandering this chance was probably killing her.

But it didn’t matter.  Levi had allowed Erwin to die.  He had snatched his last chance at life away, and ensured his dream would never come true.  Beyond that, he had failed to kill the beast titan.  Levi Ackerman had spent the last decades of his life crippled and useless, unable to join the final fray, unable to keep his vow.  Levi had survived all of them.  Little by little his world became empty, and he wasted away to nothing.  His penance had been a life of solitude and reflection, and that wasn’t about to change now.  

He had robbed the world of Erwin Smith, he didn’t deserve to find happiness with him now.  Erwin fucking deserved better.

**

Erwin had stood for a good long while staring at the door after Levi left.  He thought about following, about grabbing Levi’s arm and forcing him to stay but it just wasn’t the way Erwin operated.  He’d watched through the window as Levi had cycled off and covered his eyes with his hand.  

He could have followed, but he didn’t.  If Levi didn’t want anything to do with him, he had to respect that.  Perhaps it was enough to know that Levi was alive and well, that he was well, not happy exactly but… functional.  Fuck.  

He wondered what might have transpired in their old world to have gotten Levi to turn on him so completely.  Maybe in his last moments, Erwin had betrayed humanity, let them all down, disappointed Levi beyond measure.  Maybe Levi had reconsidered all of the deaths Erwin had been responsible for, maybe he blamed him and thought him a monster now.  Maybe he’d lived a long happy life in a titan free world, settled down with a nice man and felt disloyal to consider the love of another?

Erwin had never entertained the possibility that Levi would reject him if they were ever reunited.  He’d taken their love for granted, and now he was paying the emotional price.  Idly, he wondered if he would ever recover from such a blow.  

He called in sick to work for the rest of the week, and extended his lease on the cottage.  He was in no shape to work right now, and he needed some time to heal and plan his life from now on.  Levi was not an option anymore, and he had the rest of his life to think about.  Maybe he could get married now, give his parents some grandchildren.  Maybe he could fake his way through the rest of his life, and die knowing his soulmate had moved on long ago.  

It was fine.  He was fine.

He sunk into the plush little armchair which sat beside the fireplace.  His head fell into his hands and he took some deep, solid breaths as he tried to calm the miserable anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach.  Depression had destroyed commander Smith once before.  He wondered if loneliness might do it this time.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket and of course he ignored it.  That is, until the buzzing became incessant, annoying, and worrying in its urgency.  An unknown number was calling, and he sent it straight to voice mail.  Immediately following was a series of texts.

‘Erwin, it’s Hanji, I found your number online.  I know Levi met up with you, I know everything is fucked up right now.  Can we talk?’

**

Levi examined the glass he was holding against the warm yellow light of the bar.  Spotless.  Just how he liked it.  His heart was aching and he swallowed it down, deftly placing the glass in line with its siblings.  Had it always been this monotonous?  In a strange way, it reminded him of what life had been like immediately after Erwin had died.  The world was darker, music seemed muted, everything moved slower.  

It had been an awful part of his life the first time it had happened.  He’d staggered through life, his face unchanging, having to hear the snickers and whispers of those who blamed him for letting Erwin go.  What a fool that Levi was, he’s doomed us all, and that Erwin Smith, what a monster, what a villain, the two of them deserved each other.  Levi had silently borne it all.  He owed no one an explanation, and he felt he deserved some retribution for what he’d done.  It had been the right call, but it was hard to convince himself of that sometimes.  

Eren and his cohort had scarcely noticed a difference in Levi after Erwin died, and he wasn’t surprised.  They got to their fucking ocean, and the world kept spinning like Erwin had never mattered.  The fucking shitshow that followed was another story entirely but… fuck, what was wrong with him?  Levi never reminisced like this, it was pathetic.  

He’d seen Erwin for less than an hour yesterday, and his whole life had been turned upside down once more.  The man had a strange and terrible power, that’s for sure.  He shut his eyes and tried to banish Erwin from his mind, but as was often the case his beautiful gentle smile came to the forefront of his thoughts and made his heart clench.  

He’d spent the last decades of his first life praying for a chance like this… to be with Erwin again, unencumbered, free, living a life where happiness was a real possibility but… he’d let Erwin die, he’d broken his promise.  Erwin deserved better.  

The bell above the door chimed cheerfully as a customer allowed himself into the bar.  Levi glanced up, started offering to take the guy’s order when he saw it was Erwin.  His eyes widened and his jaw clenched.  “What the hell are you doing here?  You followed me?”

Erwin shook his head.  “Hanji called me.  She told me I would find you here.”  He sat down at the bar.  “I’d like a beer, please.”

Levi poured him one of the microbrew special crafted IPA bullshit beers he had on tap and set the glass down in front of him.  

“Thank you, Levi.”  

Levi’s heart clenched and he felt like he might be sick.  

Erwin was silent for a moment as he sipped his beer.  He carefully placed the glass on a coaster and looked started watching Levi with those impossible beautiful eyes of his.  Levi knew he looked pained, nervous, highly strung, and defensive.  He hesitated, not sure what to say.

Erwin broke the silence, then.  “I’d like to speak with you, Levi.  I’d like you to listen to what I have to say, and if at the end of that you still don’t want me to be a part of your life, I’ll accept it and I won’t bother you again.”

Levi met his eyes and nodded his consent.  How?  How could he still be under this man’s spell after a lifetime and a universe apart?

“I spent the final years of that other life loving you.  Wishing that we had the luxury of security and simplicity so we could just find happiness together.  Wishing for a world just like this one.  I loved that you were able to prioritize our mission, I loved how passionate we were, and I loved how I could be myself around you.  I’ve spent this entire life yearning for you and searching for you.  I never stopped loving you.”

Levi kept how moved he was off his face.  He kept his expression hard and cold. “You don’t understand.”  He muttered.  “You just don’t—“

“Hanji told me how I died.”  Erwin interjected, and Levi’s blood ran cold.  

“I don’t resent you for that, Levi.  She didn’t understand why you did what you did, but I do.”  He reached over and offered his hand for Levi to take.  His palm was warm and inviting looking, but Levi resisted taking it.  “You did it out of love.  It was a gift, an act of mercy.  You let me die with my humanity, my dreams, my sense of self intact.  I can’t forgive you, Levi.”  Levi’s heart dropped.   “…because there’s nothing for me to forgive.  You were right to let me go then.  I was ready to end it, I was at peace for once in my life.  It never would have ended up like this world, not in our lifetimes.  We never would have been happy.”  Erwin looked so tired, so hurt.  “We have this chance now.   A chance to carve a beautiful, peaceful life for ourselves.  I love you and I want to be with you.  Please, please don’t send me away.”

Levi recalled when Erwin had died.  How the news had hit him like a punch in the gut, how all at once the light had been snuffed from his life.  The way he’d crumpled into himself, picked up the pieces of his heart, and forced himself to keep standing.  Letting Erwin go was a choice he had to live with, one that he told himself he’d never regret, but… it had killed him.  His soul had died with Erwin, and that moment of intense, visceral pain hadn’t left him even now.  

He came out from behind the bar and hugged Erwin as tightly as he could.  His eyes screwed shut, the vague threat of tears at the back of his mind, he squeezed Erwin nice and hard and his breath hitched when he felt those strong arms envelop him.  “I missed you.”  Levi said simply.  “All this time, I thought of you.  I never stopped fighting for you, Erwin.  I never let you go, not really.”

“I know.”  Erwin’s voice was deep and soothing as ever, and Levi found himself smiling as Erwin nuzzled his hair.  

**

Erwin had often wondered what his first time with this world’s Levi would be like.  He sort of imagined someone getting slammed into a wall, fists raking through hair, more biting than kissing… a marathon of desperate animal sex which one might find in the deepest caves of the internet.  But it wasn’t like that at all.

Levi had closed the bar early and taken Erwin’s hand, and they’d walked to his little apartment in blissful, almost giddy silence.  Erwin followed Levi to his bedroom and sat down beside him on the mattress.  A comfortable beat of silence passed between them, and Levi made the first move.  

He crawled into Erwin’s lap and kissed him up and down his face, deft fingers working his shirt open, breathing in the soft skin beneath the fabric.  Levi was soft, tender, reverent even, and it made Erwin’s heart sing.  

Erwin cupped Levi’s face and drew him in for a kiss, urging him out of his clothes too.  Levi yielded, presented his neck, started rubbing himself along Erwin’s warm arousal.  He could see Levi wanted to be submissive, perhaps a show of apology for… everything, but it wasn’t exactly what Erwin had in mind.

In letting Erwin die, Levi likely felt he’d betrayed Erwin’s trust.  Like he’d been trusted with a precious jewel and he’d thrown it away without a thought.  Levi probably wanted to make things right, to spend the rest of his life apologizing and worrying that Erwin loathed him for his act of love and mercy.  Erwin didn’t want that.  They had this second chance, and he didn’t want to waste another second lamenting over a world filled with monsters and angry teenagers.

Levi began to prepare himself and Erwin gently caught his wrist with his hand.  “Not today.”  He said peacefully, his eyes hooded with affection.  Erwin leaned back on the bed and coyly spread his legs, an act of love and trust which he would do for no other.  “I want you.”  He informed Levi.  “I love you and I’ve never stopped loving you.  I always, always want to be with you.”

Levi’s expression relaxed into something trusting and warm, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows diminished and he licked his lips.  “You might regret that.”  He said, a light tease in his voice.  “You might not realize this, but I’m a cranky, fastidious, miserable little asshole.”

Erwin laughed and the mattress vibrated beneath him.  “I think I can probably handle that.  I’m a manipulative, emotionally distant, megalomaniacal bastard.”

“Not much has changed then, old man.”  Levi’s eyes were warm, a cautious joy threatening to mar his facial features.  He took his time prepping Erwin, kissing his temple and cheeks as he worked.  Every touch was tender, and the whole room was heavy with love and affection.  Erwin was glad to take Levi like this, and he shut his eyes against the pleasure he felt as he was filled.  

Yes.  Everything about this was right.  

The sex itself was over quicker than might be desirable, but perhaps that was to be expected considering how long they’d both wanted this.  It didn’t really matter; they were both satisfied, fulfilled, and drunk on each other.  Levi insisted on washing up before they cuddled, but as soon as they’d rinsed off Levi found his usual spot nestled up against Erwin’s chest.  

“I never thought this would happen.”  Levi admitted.  “I never imagined we could get time like this.  To just… be together.  Nothing hanging over our heads.  It’s not bad.”

Erwin smiled and stroked his shoulder.  “Not bad at all.”  He agreed.  “The rest of our lives is going to be like this.  I never want to be apart from you again.”  He kissed the top of Levi’s head.  “Move in with me?”

“Fuck, Erwin.  You move fast.  This wasn’t even a proper first date.”

“Oh goodness, you’re right.  I barely wined and dined you at all.  Your friends are going to think I’m terribly cheap.”

“Guess you could make it up to me by going for another round?”  Levi was smiling.  

“Levi, I’m sorry, but I’m just not the type of man who has sex twice on the first date.  I have to have some boundaries.”  Erwin was smiling too.

“You’re such a loser.”  Levi grumbled affectionately, wrapping his arms around Erwin’s neck and kissing him all over his face.  “You’d think I’d have developed better taste in men by now.”

“Mm, can’t argue with that.”  Erwin flipped him over and pinned him to the bed.  “You never said if you’d move in with me or not.”

Levi looked up at him, his eyes sparkling as he pushed Erwin’s hair out of his forehead and back into place.  “Duh.”  

**

Life fell into a pleasant routine after that.  Erwin sold his shares in his company and used the profits to buy a quaint little tea shop in a cozy village by the sea.  He loved his life with Levi, the simple pleasures that came with living a normal existence.  He was getting better at baking, and Levi seemed truly content.

Each night they’d make some time for each other, even if it was just snuggling up together while they both dicked around on their phones, or doing chores together, just… simple, gentle time.  

Sometimes they’d reminisce about the old world, or wonder about how the universes were connected, about the metaphysical implications of past lives or wormholes or… it didn’t matter.  Erwin sometimes surprised himself by not obsessing over that life anymore— the basement, even held only a small appeal now that there was no war to be won, no ghosts to avenge.  

Still.  It was in his nature to be curious.

“Levi?”  He asked one night, resting his head on Levi’s thigh as they both sprawled out on the couch together.  “So… after the basement, what happened next?”  He wiggled his eyebrows.  “Didja miss me?”

Levi flicked his forehead and let out an exasperated but affectionate sigh.  “Don’t even go there, Erwin.  The whole thing was a fucking shitshow and you should be thanking me that you weren’t there for it.  Teen angst everywhere.”

Erwin laughed and snuggled into the warm flesh of Levi’s leg.  “Mm.  We should have gotten a spinoff.” “Two old men bantering in the woods.  Dunno if it has any real market appeal, commander.”

Erwin just shut his eyes.  “We just need a media strategist.  I bet it’d be very popular.  I’ve never been wrong before.”  

Levi smiled and stroked Erwin’s hair.  “That’s true.”  His voice was gentle.  

Erwin found it so easy to fall asleep like this.  The couch was warm and comfortable, Levi’s body was soft and smelled amazing, and the gentle hand in his hair was soothing beyond words.  He drifted off with a smile on his face, wondering what Levi would mumble now that he was sure Erwin wouldn’t hear him.

“I love you, you bastard.”  The words were soft and reverent.  

Erwin wondered what he’d done to deserve such happiness.  

[laurapaq]

Attachment Theory

Without further adieu, the first psych installment of my grounded fantasy series (which I’m fangirling over like a dork):

In attachment theory, the child is constantly checking if the primary caregiver is close, available, and attentive. If they are, the child feels secure, and behaves normally, playing, exploring, and interacting with other children. If not, the child experiences anxiety and distress, and responds by seeking and summoning the caregiver until they return or the child gives up.

Attachment theory was proposed by John Bowlby in 1958 after he had served as a psychiatrist in London treating children. He observed their behavior and noted that the children who’d been separated from their mother showed emotional distress even when their physical needs were meet, such as crying when they were fed by other caregivers. However, Bowlby still believed the strong attachment between the mother and the child was survivalist in nature because the mother had first fed the child, so she was associated with safety.

Attachment is defined here as a deep and enduring emotional bond that does not have to be reciprocal. This is different from ‘bonding’ which is a theory based off close skin-to-skin contact that has been largely discredited. Basically, attachment revolves around the parents’ response to the child when they feel threatened. This first attachment with the caregiver (the mother in John Bowlby’s original theory as he placed a strong emphasis on the mother due to her initially feeding the child) is believed to influence the rest of the child’s relationships, including those in their adult life. It can be considered a WEIRD theory (Western, educated, industrialized, rich, democratic) in origin and worldview, but has been empirically grounded and claims universality as one of its early proponents, Mary Ainsworth, conducted studies in Uganda.  

Specifics:

The stages of attachment were studied by Rudolph Schaffer and Peggy Emerson in a 1964 study that studied 60 infants for the first 18 months of their life. The stages of the baby’s attachment were recorded in mother’s diaries and by monthly visits. 

(0-6 wks) Asocial: Most stimuli, social or non-social, produce a favorable reaction. 

(6 wks-7 months) Indiscriminate attachment: The infants show no preference to anyone, and just want constant attention. Around three months, the infant can recognize familiar faces, but still responds roughly equally to anyone.

(7-9 months) Specific Attachment: the infant shows special preference for a single person who is associated with protection and comfort, and unhappiness if separated from that person, while others may be regarded with fear or anxiety.

(10+ months) Multiple Attachments: the infant becomes increasingly independent and forms multiple attachments.

Mary Ainsworth classified children into types of attachments in a study done with year old infants who were repeatedly separated and reunited with their caregiver. About 60%, the securely attached, responded as Bowlby expected, with distress at the caregiver’s absence and joy at the return. About 20% or less, the anxious-resistant, were despondent at their caregiver’s absence, but this distress continued even when their caregiver returned, and these children even appeared to punish their caregiver for leaving (or maybe for making them human lab rats). The avoidant, about 20%, didn’t appear upset at their caregiver’s absence and turned to toys or other distractions (although biologically they showed signs of distress, such as elevated heart rate). These behaviors were modeled at home, with the securely attached able to trust that their needs would be met, whereas the anxious-resistant or avoidant could not always depend on their caregivers.

In 1987, researchers Hazan and Shaver explored the adult romantic connotations of initial attachment. Romantic behavior was studied as an attachment since similarly to the initial bond, it requires the partners to feel safe with the other is nearby, requires the partner to be responsive, involves intimate contact, and those involved show preoccupation with the other, and pay close attention to facial features and body language. If this is true, we’d expect to see secure, anxious-resistant, and avoidant bonds between adults in a romantic relationship. It also implies that adults consider one another desirable by the same standards they did as an infant: safety, attentiveness, and availability. Or, perhaps an adult would seek to replicate their initial relationship, for instance, someone who had a secure relationship would continue in a pattern of healthy relationships.

The theory of attachment has since been modified, with secure attachments, anxious-resistant (or insecure-resistant), and avoidant (or insecure-avoidant) remaining, but with the addition of insecure-disorganized. These are children who don’t easily fit into the other three categories because their response varies. At home, the secure know they can rely on their parents to provide responsible care. As adults, they’re willing to show displeasure or frustrations without punishing their partners. The insecure-resistant have experienced inconsistent or unpredictable behavior at home; this doesn’t have to abuse, this could also be an overwhelmed parent. This child responds by amplifying their behavior to showcase their displeasure and try to get the response they’re seeking. As adults, they tend to worry about their partner’s response or take their frustrations out on their partner. The insecure-avoidant have experienced ridicule, irritation, or rejection to their needs, and so avoid their caregiver when distressed. As adults, they may be unable to acknowledge their distress or isolate themselves. The insecure-disorganized are typically victims of abuse or unresolved trauma, and appear to be frightened or frightening or atypical sexualized behavior. This type of behavior is often linked to psychopathy, defiance disorders, or other issues.

Why It Matters:

Although unless you’re writing a very strange book you’re not going to say “my protagonist has a disorganized attachment,” but it’s still an interesting thing to know. Personally, I tend to group my character’s childhood into ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or ‘very bad,’ but it’s helpful to be more specific when crafting characters. Having variety also adds interest, instead of having three different pairs of abusive parents to traumatize your characters, in which case it starts to look like your world is populated by losers, you could have a character feel bad since his parents loved him but were young and didn’t know how to be parents, or a single parent who loved his daughter but had to work all the time.

Besides psychologically damaging your characters, you can use attachment theory to add complexity in character relationships. Mature characters will realize they have anger issues or tend to be clingy (even if they don’t know why), and so may try to overcompensate and seem aloof because they’re trying to give their friends space or may be a bit of a pushover because they’re constantly biting back their anger. Or, characters that behave normally in most of their relationships might have a sore spot in their relationship with their parents, children, or significant other that seems to come out of nowhere. 

Or, if you get nothing else out of this, you can at least diagnose yourself and your friends.  

https://www.simplypsychology.org/attachment.html

http://labs.psychology.illinois.edu/~rcfraley/attachment.htm 

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2724160/ 

http://www.psychology.sunysb.edu/attachment/online/inge_origins.pdf 

https://www.pnas.org/content/115/45/11414

https://www.britannica.com/science/attachment-theory 

[homesoutofhuman]

Hannibal x reader - Scarlet

I shouldn’t be writing anything new without finishing all my WIPs but here we are, this just came out

Warnings: Dark af, d/s vibes, smut and sexual thoughts, brief mention of blood.

Summary: You’re seeing a psychiatrist, Dr Lecter for your issues with sex, loneliness and hyperfixatons. Will he be your cure, or have you just met the man who will only make things worse?

He eats you up. This man this...force of nature that is Hannibal. You never thought real life people could be so interesting. Most people aren’t, but him? He’s cultured, he knows about wine, food, classical music, classic literature...fuck...even listing it makes you horny. Rather a large problem then that he intimidates you so, that you feel like a complete idiot around him. That he makes you clumsy, stutter, lost for words. That he’s your fucking therapist.

Forbidden, you see and all the more tempting for it. Like the ripest apple just out of reach. And yes you’re comparing yourself to Eve, although Jezebel is more fitting. Hannibal is no Adam. Some days he’s the devil (your devil), other times he’s an angel, or how you picture angels anyway. Tall and big and terrifying. Awe inspiring even. Makes you cross yourself before you enter his office, makes you cross your legs when you hold his gaze just a little too long.

You never wanted to be so wholly consumed before. Your obsession (for that is what it is) is serious. You want to lie down on the floor and just let him...what do you want? For him to walk on you? Crush you? Or just lay down and cover you with his body, let you no longer feel, or see, or speak, just the sweet blackness of oblivion, just so you don’t have to feel this painful want anymore.

“I want you inside me” you tell him one day and see the flash of surprise in his eyes before the mask descends. What you wouldn’t give to see it fall completely, see him weakened by desire, made wordless with sensation- moaning as you touch his skin, proving he’s human after all.

“What you think you want and what you actually need are two different things” he replies, glancing down at his notepad a few moments too long. Your gaze falls to where his fingers grasp his pen, knuckles turning white, the pads of his fingers slipping over the nib.

“Explain.” you say shortly,

“You’ve found a confidant in me…” Hannibal continues, smoother now that he’s back on his psychiatrist track. “A connection, a kinship. Your instincts are sexual because you want to control this relationship. But I’m telling you, you can’t.”

“How does turning things sexual mean I’m in control?” you tilt your chin up as a clue, you want to submit to him more than anything.

Hannibal’s eyes follow to curve of your neck. “I would show myself to you- naked and vulnerable. I would lose my position of trust, of detachment. It would be an abuse of power. “ His tone is calm, steady, but he almost sounds like he’s considering the idea.

Leaning forward,  “How about if I promise to let you take control? Just as we are here, I’ll still be your patient, I’ll follow where you lead.”

He sighs, a deep, shuddering noise. You feel the warm caress of his breath on your face. “I want to help you more than I want to….possess you.”

“It hurts Hannibal, it’s all empty and I can’t get out…” you gesture, words failing you.

Hannibal frowns, a doctor after all cannot ignore someone is pain. “I have an assignment for you. Go without sex for a week, do not touch yourself, no dirty thoughts, no porn, no...erotic literature, until you see me again, think you can do that?”

Smiling, you tilt your head, an attempt at flirting. “Probably not.”

He leans forward then, fixing you with a stern, dark gaze. “You will do it (Y/N). Send me updates, you have my number. If you’re feeling desperate I want you to identify it. We’ll use a code word- scarlet, let’s say…if you use that word I’ll know you’ve failed your task. That you’re thinking...about sex.”

It’s the hardest week of your life, but in searching for things to fill the void you are productive - taking on extra tasks at work, meeting friends. It’s the evenings that are hardest, when you’re alone and your thoughts stray to Hannibal - craving to immerse yourself in fantasies of him. You drive to the grocery store and buy ingredients to make a meal from scratch. You ignore the glances from the lone men in the liquor aisles. Not today Satan.

At home, you prepare your work surface and begin to chop the vegetables, getting into an almost meditative rhythm. A blackbird squawks outside and your hand slips, the knife slices into your finger and blood is everywhere. You patch yourself up feeling wounded, betrayed. The meal abandoned you grab some popcorn and sit, self-pitying in front of Netflix until your heart lightens slightly.

Remembering your assignment you message your therapist. You have him saved under ‘Dr Lecter’. Keeping him at a distance while wanting him closer than anyone else. 

Took a walk today but now feeling sorry for myself on the couch.

The reply comes swiftly; A walk is a very beneficial.

It’s not enough, it’s never enough, so you take a deep breath and raise the phone to your face, snapping a photo.

I cut myself- ouch! You caption it, holding your bandaged finger up for Hannibal to see, a pout jutting out your bottom lip, your eyes wider and innocent. The perfect image of a vulnerable, needy damsel in distress.

You see the bubbles forming on the screen to show Hannibal is typing a reply, then they disappear.

“Fuck it.” you drop your phone on the couch and let your hand drift down to the waistband of your sweatpants. Closing your eyes you let your mind swim with a kaleidoscope of images. Hannibal shoving you up against the wall of his office, biting your neck, pushing you down as he sits in his chair, on your knees looking up as though praying. You imagine his mouth - thin and cruel yet soft on your skin, his large hands at your throat, on your breasts... perhaps he’d even bend you over his desk. In all of your fantasies he is fully dressed, either in his suit or in the waistcoat with his shirt sleeves rolled up. You cannot seem to conjure of the image of him naked. Not yet.

A message tone interrupts your reverie.

It’s beneficial to lick your wounds.

Staring at the phone you think you’re still in your imagination. Could Hannibal have really…? Emboldened by your desperation you take the bandage off your finger and suck it into your mouth as you take another photo and send it before you can second guess your actions.

When the reply comes you see yourself, cheeks hollowed and eyes full of lust, the finger in your mouth a perfect approximation of another phallic object you’d rather feel against your tongue.

His message is one word, but you resume touching yourself and your orgasm hits you like a wave as you read it, let the meaning and hope of it wash over you.

Scarlet.

[ser-yolomere-of-swagalore]

Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race myself, bitch.

James Joyce -- Ulysses (with some much needed editing)

I haven’t written here in a long time. In fact, after this post, I don’t really see myself writing here every again-- and no, before any of you (if there is, in fact, any one who will see this) jump to conclusions, this isn’t some kind of weird suicide note, or plea for help. What this is, is a sort of manifesto, or a summation, of everything that I’ve felt, and am feeling at the moment, and in a way, hopefully, purging myself of these feelings forever. It’s a goodbye, but also a new opportunity. A creation, as well as a destruction. A final litany of things that I have to say, or wanted to say, and a final exorcism of numerous antagonistic little ghosts that have been rattling around in my head for God knows how long. 

I’ve always been struck by the concept of a sort of Joycean paralysis. Maybe because it’s true-- that Irish people are, in a weird way, struck with a sort of deep, abiding, spiritual malaise, a psychological and emotional paralysis, as a sort of weird, post-colonial hangover-- or maybe because it simply hits too close to home. The narrative of a sort of genealogical, archaeological torpor is one that is all too easy to believe, because it is something that I have experienced quiet viscerally throughout my entire life, but also in a way that is difficult to articulate. The sense that you’re fundamentally at odds with the world around you because of some fundamental, spiritual displacement resulting from years (centuries?) of imperialistic and religious abuse isn’t something that goes well over dinner, after all-- especially when dinner is a hurriedly bought Burger King and the sound of mopeds careening up and down the Cardiffsbridge Road muffles the sound of Coronation Street on the television. 

But it’s a feeling that has stuck with me so long. Longer than I can really remember. This sense of being held back. By myself, by the world around me, by the people around me. Dreams of leaving, of emigrating, have been a consistent fantasy of mine. Occasional spurts of creative writing have always been characterized by the theme of a departure, whether through the realm of some childish Tolkien-esque fantasy or through a plane ticket that randomly fell into the protagonist’s (read: my) lap. That feeling of momentary, ontological vertigo, when the plane leaves the ground and you can feel yourself lifted in that miniature pocket of zero-gravity, is a sensation that I’ve craved and chased (either literally, or figuratively) whenever possible, with varying degrees of success. I even had, at one point, a bit of a miniature breakdown (you know those ones, where they creep up on you, where you have this vague sense that at any minute things are just going to collapse all around you, and nothing will ever be the same) and I started doing some pretty illegal things to get money (fill in the blanks there however you wish) in order to essentially run away, get a plane ticket to somewhere, and just start afresh. But that did crash down, either way-- I started having some viscerally severe panic attacks; I felt like I was going to be trapped here, forever, that I was going to die here, that all the dreams and aspirations I had of doing something worth while were just gonna be swallowed up the dull, plot-less relentlessness with which life here seemed to drive itself--arguably into the ground. I attended counselling, got a professional, objective perspective, and was able to get to grips with things. The anxiety stopped. The borderline insane drive to escape was lulled, and while the gnawing sense of there being a sort of hole, at the center of everything, dissipated, it didn’t quite disappear. I was, once again, able to manage, and plod right along. 

Over time, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my sense of malaise is not, in fact, the result of some kind of literarily prescribed sense of paralysis-- or, at least, not entirely. It is the result of years, perhaps arguably even decades, of mistreatment. By a family and a home that is so deeply dysfunctional that it is, legitimately, tragic. By an early upbringing so neglected and isolated that, to look back and take an earnest look, is genuinely pathetic. By a mindset and by people who see who I am and see something to laugh at. I’ve slowly come to terms with the fact that my family have never quite seen me seriously, as someone incompetent, flowery, soft, and not worth paying attention to. Years, again, potentially decades of subtle gaslighting, invalidation, negation, criticism, patronizing, condescension-- all compounded by shitty, so-called friends, who were all too happy to take advantage of my desire to please and turn it around on me-- had resulted in a person who had so much self-doubt, such a negative self-image, such a horrible sense of failure that, to further disappoint, would result in self-harm. Decades of having my life dictated to me, taking up responsibility and accepting the burden of my family’s terrible choices, of having my potential and my opportunities circumscribes by what seems to be the endlessly unfolding soap opera of my extended family’s self-inflicted pain.  And the worst part is that I simply thought all of this was normal. The concept of Joycean paralysis was able to help me understand, in a vague sense, what was really wrong, but only hindered me in truly understanding its origin.

I worry that if I go on like this I’ll only end up sounding like some kind of serially self-pitying asshole, one of those people that advertises their personal trauma and tragedy as a means to win the Sadsack Olympics, or obtain sympathy, or blame their lack of success and fulfillment on their past. But in the end, that isn’t what this is about. That isn’t the reason why I’m writing this post. In fact, the reason why I am writing this is far more joyous, written with a deep smile spreading across my face. I’ve spent my entire life orientating around myself around other people, of pleasing other people, and I’ve gotten very, very good at figuring out what is that people want, and giving it to them. What I’ve learned, an what I’ve finally gotten the balls to do, is do what I want. I’ve learned to say no. I’ve learned to pursue what I want, to accrue self-confidence, self-love, self-esteem. I’ve learned to deny people, to put myself first, and tell people who need to be told what for. I’ve learned that to be “good” is to give in, to do as I’ve told and take it all on the chin, and I’ve learned that to be “bad” is to pursue what I want, and to rebel. And, fundamentally, I’ve learned that when I am good, I am very, very good, but when I am bad I am FUCKING FIERCE. 

So I am leaving. In fact, I’ve been planning on leaving for quite some time now. Since March, roughly. I am moving to the U.K, getting away from this place, to spend time with people who I have chosen to spend my time with, that I have build up relationships purely of my own choosing and initiative, and whom I trust. To build a life that I choose to build, for myself, and shirking off as much of the trauma, pain, insecurities and self-doubt as I can. Psychiatrist Harry Stack Sullivan believed that the core motivating force in all human behavior was anxiety, and not just anxiety, but the creative and ornate ways we go about avoiding or managing it. According to him, a personality was simply a collection of habits and strategies people gathered over time to “avoid or minimize anxiety, ward off disapproval, and maintain self-esteem.” What I’ve learned, personally, is the sheer liberating power of identifying and deconstructing the aspects of my own psychology that are life-limiting, and taking great joy in completely and utterly destroying the ones that are build up anxious defense mechanisms. I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t scary, because when these mechanisms fall I’ll be thrust, head first, into facing the things I am most deeply afraid of—social rejection and abandonment, unworthiness and failure, unlovability and isolation, to name a few. But it is liberating because I’ve come to realize that, yes, our defenses serve a function, but no, we don’t actually need all of them to survive-- and then, suddenly, an entirely new life is possible. I’ve come to realize that I actually CAN tolerate anxiety; I CAN live with not being liked, I CAN be misunderstood, I CAN make mistakes, I CAN feel bad. And let me tell you, it is a relief. God is sometimes understood as a creator, but he can also be understood as a destroy-- And I am choosing to be the God of my own goddamn life, and taking great pleasure in destroying that which I don’t like.

I’ve ended up prescribing some great, symbolic significance to the act of me leaving. It is me righteously striking back at all the things that had made me hate myself in the past, because they couldn’t simply tolerate hating themselves and needed to destroy me in order to feel better. And so, to them, I say: 

Fuck my family, who have done nothing to actually foster and cultivate who I am as a human being

Fuck the people who have turned my own kindness against me and made me doubt myself

Fuck the people who have made me feel as though my command of words is a weakness-- I am a fucking fantastic writer, and I dare any of those people to challenge me, because I’ll write them into the fucking ground. 

Fuck the people who made me doubt my intelligence; I am more than smart enough to figure things out for myself and smart enough, at least now, to see them for the self-hating, jealous troglodytes they are.

Fuck this place that has made me feel that who I am is wrong, and lesser, and subordinate-- I am worthy, and powerful, and capable.

Fuck this country, and its backwards, stagnant, repressive culture

FUCK

YOU

And that’s it. There’s my gigantic, theatrical display of radical self-acceptance. In a way, what I want to do is leave, and never come back. To delete all my social media, and start afresh. But I know that’s not realistic. I know I have to tether myself to “home”, as much as I disagree with the idea this place is truly home. I will say this, however-- there are parts of my experience here, and my life thus far, that have been wonderful. I’ve got a handful of genuinely fantastic friends, and I’ve forged some very important memories with them. To burn those bridges would be unforgivable, and I would never be able to do that to them. 

It’s 2:16am. I was already exhausted but I had to write this and get it all off my chest. But this is it-- me signing off, forever. Let this be a testament to everything I want to be, an will be, from here on out. 

-Ian.

[emospritelet]

KOL prompt: Dorothy witnesses a particularly painfully awkward encounter between Belle and Gold once Belle comes back to work. She harasses Gold about it.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17]

AO3 link

Belle was relieved when she could return to work, and made her way to the hospital with a lightness in her step that she hadn’t felt in days.  Even the weather seemed to be celebrating her newfound freedom, the winter sun shining brightly on the snow, ice crystals glittering on the boughs of trees and the top of the park fence.  She greeted Mary Margaret cheerfully as she entered the locker room, shrugging out of her coat and shoving it with her bag into an empty locker.

“How are you feeling?” asked Mary Margaret.  “You look pale.”

“I’m okay,” said Belle, turning to face her.  “A little tired, that’s all.  Glad to be back at work.”

“Hmm.”  Mary Margaret looked amused.  “Even with the impending naked photo shoot?  I heard you agreed to do it too.”

Belle pulled a face, but couldn’t hide her grin.

“Dorothy called me yesterday,” she confessed.  “I don’t mind - it sounds like a bit of fun.  You’re in too, right?”

“I’m in,” said Mary Margaret, blushing a little.  “I just hope none of the school kids see the finished product.  I’m counting on the townsfolk to hide their innocent eyes.”

Belle grinned.

“So, do we have a full dozen victims?” she asked, smoothing her skirt, and Mary Margaret nodded as they turned to head for the ward.

“Six girls and six guys,” she confirmed.  “Literally no one was shocked that Doctors Whale and Milliner stepped up.  Dr Gold was a surprise, though.”

Belle stumbled, arms flying out to keep her balance.

“Dr Gold?” she said.  “He’s doing it?”

“I couldn’t believe it either,” said Mary Margaret.  “He’s always buttoned up to the neck.  I guess you just never know what someone’s really like underneath it all, huh?”

Belle thought that she knew exactly what he was like, down the last inch, but she elected not to say anything.  They rounded the corner and went into the long term ward, where Mary Margaret picked up a tray and began collecting empty water jugs from patients’ nightstands.  Belle left her to it, crossing the ward to where her little mobile library cart was stashed beside the waste bins.  She wondered if anyone had been doing the rounds in her absence, or if the patients had missed out on reading material.

Once she had made the rounds of the long term patients, she pushed the cart out of the ward, almost running into Dorothy, who swerved to avoid her.

“Sorry,” said Belle.  “I should slow down, I’m just excited to be back.”

“Well, it’s good to see you on your feet again,” said Dorothy cheerfully.  “We could use all the help we can get.”

“Just let me know where you need me,” said Belle.  “I was going to do the library rounds but I’m free after that.”

“We need supplies in the kids’ ward,” said Dorothy.  “I’ll get you the list, if you can swing by on your way around.”

“Sure thing.”

Dorothy nodded, and put her head to the side with a tiny grin.

“So, the photo shoot,” she said.  “Jefferson says the photographers are coming tomorrow.  I vote we go for drinks at the Rabbit Hole afterwards.  You in?”

“Sounds good,” said Belle.  “Who are the photographers?  Someone local?”

Dorothy shook her head.

“Couple of Jefferson’s friends from New York,” she said.  “Apparently they’re big time - do a lot of work for Vogue.  Nice of them to do him a favour.”

“Well, now I’m even more interested to see what the finished product looks like,” remarked Belle.  “Is there a theme or anything?”

“Other than ‘hospital staff strip off their clothes and their dignity for cold hard cash’, not that I know of,” said Dorothy, with a grin, and Belle giggled.

The tap of a cane made her look around, and she felt her heart thump as Dr Gold came into view, his hair brushing his cheekbones, his eyes a little tired.  Belle beamed at him as he approached, and he nodded to her.

“Miss French,” he said.  “I trust you’re feeling better?”

Belle gave him a flat look.

“If you start Miss French-ing me again, I’ll have to revert to calling you Dr Gold,” she teased.

“Well, we are in a hospital,” he said, a little stiffly.  “Given my professional status, perhaps that would be best.”

Belle felt as though a cup full of cold water had been thrown over her.  He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes, fingers twitching on the cane handle, and Dorothy was frowning at him.  She tried again.

“You must be enjoying having the house to yourself,” she said.  “Although if you ever want someone to kick your arse at cards again, feel free to give me a call.”

She grinned at him, and he looked away, off down the corridor.

“I’m enjoying the peace and quiet,” he said.  “No doubt you’re pleased to be back in your own bed.  As am I.”

“Right,” she said, feeling awkward, and Gold sighed.

“If you’ll excuse me, Miss French, I have a busy schedule,” he said.  “I’m glad you made a full recovery.”

He set off down the corridor with his limping stride, and Belle chewed her lip, sharing an awkward glance with Dorothy before pushing her cart on down to the children’s ward.  It seemed the close friendship they had been nurturing had taken a strange turn.

Gold was almost to the next ward when Dorothy caught up with him, swerving to stand in front of him and blocking his path.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

“What the hell was what?”

“Could you have been any more rude and dismissive?” she asked.  “I thought you two were friends!”

“How was I rude?”

Dorothy put her hands on her hips.

“What, so telling her she has to call you Dr Gold and you’re glad she’s no longer in your house wasn’t rude?”

“I told her I was glad she’d recovered!” he said, aggrieved, and she puffed out her chest, raising her chin.

“’My dear Miss French’”, she said, in a ridiculously deep and somewhat plummy voice. “’I’m delighted both that you didn’t die and that you’re no longer bothering me with your foolish chattering’. That’s how you sounded!”

“I did not!”

“You know, the next time you talk to someone you like, I’m just gonna record a video of their face going through the five stages of grief and show it to you.”

“She didn’t do that!” snapped Gold, and blinked.  “Wait, what do you mean ‘like’?”

Dorothy leaned forward, fixing him with a beady eye.

“You like her,” she whispered.  “Don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t, because you’ll be a lying liar who lies!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he growled, and strode off.  She trotted at his heels like an insistent terrier.

“Don’t walk away from me, you know I’m right.”

“I don’t know any such thing!” he snapped.  “And I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my personal affairs.”

“Oh believe me, if you had any personal affairs going on, I’d be more than happy to mind my own business.”

“Then do so.” 

“Can’t do that.”  She slipped in front of him again.  “Look, just ask her out.  I bet she’d say yes.  One date.”

“I don’t date,” he said stiffly.

“Since when?”

“Since forever,” he said, and she straightened up, looking surprised.

“Oh,” she said.  “Not ever?”

“No.”

Dorothy looked awkward.

“Oh,” she said again.  “I didn’t realise you weren’t attracted to people that way.  Guess I read you wrong.  Sorry, dude, my bad.”

Gold grimaced.

“It’s not that,” he said, his voice cool.  “When I say forever, I just mean - I mean not for decades.  It has nothing to do with attraction.  It’s a personal choice, and frankly it’s none of your business.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, stepping back so he could pass her.  “Sorry.  I’ll - I’ll butt out.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” he said, in a dry tone.  “Perhaps we might get on with some work.  I believe I have a photo shoot tomorrow, and given that I’m dying inside just thinking about it, I’d prefer to get around as many of the patients as we can.”

Dorothy snorted in amusement, falling into step beside him as he walked on.

“Okay, you win,” she said.  “I’ll stop teasing you.  For, like, at least a day.”

x

Gold couldn’t recall why he had agreed to be photographed naked, and was convinced that he had still been sick at the time and that Jefferson had taken advantage.  There was no other reason for him to be standing in the corridor outside one of the operating theatres, which was thankfully not in need of use, along with four other men from the hospital staff.  Jefferson and Whale were looking positively gleeful, Leroy appeared his usual grumpy self, hands shoved in his pocket and a woollen hat pulled down over his head, and Dr Hopper, the psychiatrist who ran a clinic in the hospital every Thursday, had an expression on his face that suggested he was facing a painful death.  Gold could understand how he felt.

The doors to the operating theatre swung open, and two women swept into the corridor, arms folded as they looked the little party over.  One had rich brown skin and shining dark hair worked into elaborate curls with gold highlights, a cream silk blouse above loose brown slacks. The other was pale and thin, her white-blonde hair cut into a bob that fell to her jaw.  She wore tight black leather pants and a white silk vest, and her red lips curved upwards at the sight of them.

“The first victims,” she purred.  “Jefferson, darling, how the devil are you?”

She stepped forward, kissing Jefferson on both cheeks.

“Thanks for agreeing to do this, Ella,” he said.  “I owe you one.”

“Oh, Ursula and I simply had to come,” she said, waving a hand.  “Shocking the residents of small towns always was our thing, you know.”

“Hey, I thought there were supposed to be six of you,” said Ursula.  “We need a Mr February.”

There was a patter of feet further down the hall, and Graham, one of the nurses, came hurtling into view, skidding to a halt as he reached them.  His firm chest heaved beneath his dark blue scrubs, perfect stubble setting off a handsome face.

“Sorry I’m late,” he gasped, and Ella and Ursula looked him over with approval.

“Oh, I think we can forgive a couple of minutes,” said Ursula.  “Why don’t you go first?”

They put their hands on his shoulders, steering him towards the double doors, and Graham glanced at the others with a faint look of panic in his eyes.

“Great,” grumbled Leroy.  “I’m supposed to follow the guy that looks like an underwear model?  The camera’ll break.”

“I don’t think any of us is expecting to come out of this with our dignity intact,” said Gold, in a very dry tone.

“Just smile for the camera and suck in your gut,” said Jefferson helpfully, and Leroy glared at him.

“Hey, this is muscle!” he snapped, patting his midriff.

Gold sighed, exchanging a glance with Archie and shaking his head.  Why the hell had he agreed to do this?

x

The photo shoot went reasonably quickly, considering, but Gold was made to wait until last.  He was growing steadily more irritated as each man came out and a name was called other than his.  When Jefferson came out, with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, Ursula stuck her head around the door and beckoned to Archie, which made Gold sigh. Great.  So I’m Mr December. Bloody feels like it, too.

“This calendar is gonna be an artistic masterpiece,” announced Jefferson, spreading his arms.  “You should have seen me, Gold! Tall and stoic - and almost impossibly handsome - gazing off into the distance as though I had just come up with the miracle cure for all ailments!  Dr Milliner, a modern day god, walking upon the earth so that mere mortals can—”

“Yes, alright,” interrupted Gold.  “I’m sure the camera shattered into pieces rather than be forced to take a picture of anyone else.  How much longer are they going to be?”

“Not long, keep your pants on,” said Jefferson.  “Or not, I guess.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Gold rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”

“Because I’m a good friend and you’re a good sport,” said Jefferson.  “You want me to come in with you?”

“No,” sighed Gold.  “I’ll be fine.  Is it just us?  Dorothy said she was posing, too.”

“Yeah, the women should be turning up any minute,” said Jefferson. “Speaking of, I’d better get back to work. Try not to kill them with how awesome you are, okay?”

“I’ll try not to give them nightmares,” muttered Gold, and Jefferson chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder before heading off down the corridor.

By the time Archie Hopper came out, looking a little shell-shocked, Gold was beginning to lose patience.

“How did it go?” he asked Archie, who blinked at him from behind silver-rimmed glasses.

“I was reclining on a couch with an arm behind my head and a copy of Psychiatric Times over my genitals,” he said, with a pained expression. “Please don’t ever speak of it again.”

He hurried off, straightening his jacket, and Gold couldn’t help grinning.  The sound of the double doors behind him made him turn, and Ursula was smirking at him.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr December,” she said.  “Come on in.”

“At least let’s make it Dr December,” he said dryly, and strode forwards as though he was going to his doom.

The inside of the operating theatre had been transformed.  The equipment was still there, including the table and instruments, but there was also a couch, as Archie had mentioned, a radiography film viewer, a IV stand complete with a bag of saline, and large amounts of photographic equipment. The woman called Ella looked up from her camera, pursing her lips as he walked in.  Music was playing from a stereo to her left, and Gold really wished they hadn’t elected to play You Sexy Thing.  He felt anything but.

“Right,” said Ella briskly.  “Let’s have a look at you, then.”

She straightened up, dusting off her hands and stepping closer.  She over-topped him by several inches, and she took his chin in between cool fingers, turning his head this way and that.

“Excellent bone structure,” she mused.  “Great hair.  I can definitely work with this.”

“You think people are going to be looking at my hair?” he asked, in a wry tone, and she released his chin and stepped back.

“Well, that’s really up to you,” she said.  “Take off those scrubs, let’s see what you’re hiding.”

“Nothing of any interest, I assure you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, darling,” she said.  “We’re here to make you look as delicious as possible.  Just do as you’re told and it’ll all be over soon.”

Her matter-of-fact tone and air of brisk efficiency made him feel oddly at ease. He supposed that as photographers, they saw bodies all the time. Much as he did, as a doctor.  He was simply a tool, a piece of material they used to create their art. It made it far easier to shed his clothes, and pretty soon he was naked, wriggling his toes on the cold floor as they stared at him with folded arms as though he were an interesting museum exhibit.

“So, you’re a doctor, right?” said Ursula.  “Do me a favour and loop that stethoscope around your neck.  You can use that clipboard to cover yourself if it makes you more comfortable.”

Gold obeyed, holding the clipboard over his groin, and she leaned in close, frowning slightly as she studied his face.

“I think we need a warmer filter,” she said to Ella.

“Agreed,” came the response.  “Something a little more golden.  Give me a second.”

“The pose is wrong, too,” said Ursula.  “Is there any position you’d prefer, Dr December?”

“I’d prefer it if no one could see my face, does that count?”

She chuckled.

“Oh, we can manage that,” she said, and turned her finger in a circle.  “Spin it around.”

Gold turned, putting his back to them, and heard a sharp intake of breath from Ella.

“Now that,” she announced.  “Is definitely something I can use.  Turn ever so slightly to your right, Doctor.”

“Oh yes,” said Ursula approvingly.  “Raise the chart - there!”

Gold could hear the clicking of the camera from behind him, so he stood as still as he could, the clipboard with its chart held up in front of him, as though he were checking someone’s vitals.  Naked. He supposed it wasn’t too bad, really. If cold.

“If you could raise your left arm?” asked Ella.  “Just run your fingers through your hair and breathe in.”

He obeyed, feeling a slight stretch on his left side, his back arching a little as he sucked in a breath, and he heard a sound from the both of them that was almost a purr.

“That’s perfect, darling,” drawled Ella, and the camera clicked and whirred.

They asked for a couple more poses, instructing him to turn slightly, bend a little, or raise the chart in his hands.  He was starting to get cold, and he was relieved when they announced from behind him that they were done.

“Marvellous, darling,” said Ella.  “I think you’ll like the finished product.”

“I won’t exactly be making it into my official Christmas card,” he remarked, wriggling back into his scrubs.

“Oh, you may not,” she said slyly.  “But I have a feeling many a woman with a doctor kink will be getting hot and bothered this Christmas.”

Gold closed his eyes with a pained expression as he shrugged on his lab coat.

“I didn’t need that mental image, thank you.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know you’re free to go,” said Ursula.  “Tell Jefferson he owes us a drink, and we’re coming to collect when we’re done.”

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” said Gold, and bowed his head.  “Ladies.”

They sent him almost identical grins, and he sighed to himself and headed for the door, pushing it open and stopping dead.  Six women were staring at him, most of them grinning. Dorothy was in front, and sent him a wink, but behind her were Astrid, Alice, Zelena Mills, Mary Margaret Blanchard, and - to his horror - Belle.  She was staring at him with wide eyes, and he wanted to sigh. Well, Jefferson did say everyone…

“Hey Dr Gold,” said Alice, winking at him.  “Sorry we missed the show. If you want to give us a sneak preview I’m sure there’s time…”

“I think not,” he said severely, and she giggled.

“I’m just teasing,” she said.  “You’re not my type. I mean you’re really not my type.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said.  “If you’ll excuse me.”

He could feel their eyes on him as he walked off.

“Well,” he heard Zelena say, in a satisfied tone of voice.  “Guess who’s pre-ordering twelve copies of this thing?”

[ayurvedarishikesh-blog]

Health: First of all Liberties

In this age when health awareness is increasing, we must be more careful about on-going adverts of so-called healthy food and other catered health products.

We are at the junction of the change in climates all over the world. In southern hemisphere winter is going and spring is ahead. The birds are making nests; spring is in the air - a time of rebirthing. Trees are budding and welcoming the spring and ready to blossom new leaves and flowers.

But are we? Are we ready to cooperate with the change of weather just around the corner?

Our rhythms are directly connected to the seasons because our metabolic nature is derived from the penetration of five elements.

Now Sun is changing its directions to earth. When we take our food in harmony with the season, we strengthen our rhythms and we can achieve our optimal state of health. By observing the seasonal influence on our food we remain in harmony with nature. This is the easiest way to keep our body and mind in a state of balance.

The Ayurvedic texts say:-

Kapha is accumulated as toxins during cold weather and during spring this increased accumulated Kapha, liquefied by the heat of the sun, causes diminished Agni (digestive activity) thus blocking our energy channels and causing diseases.  During the junctions between the seasons, when all nature is in flux, the disease can also take root in the body.  Due to the upheavals dominating these junctions, the body’s natural immunity becomes virtually defenseless against impending disease.

I have already spent 15 years working in this rainbow nation. I advocate an integrated approach to health and work closely with my patients to find unique solutions to questions by combining the ancient wisdom of Ayurveda and Therapeutic Yoga with current practices, and by drawing on a variety of techniques. I am grateful to thousands of South Africans for their trust in this oldest art of healing. I am also thankful to some of my friends for whom I was unable to provide a cure through a lack of understanding of each other. One always learns from these experiences.

I am writing this article on the basis of my experience and expertise. My intention is not to offend the work of conventional approaches to medicine, but having said that, it is clear to me that we are conditioned to believe certain issues about health that have no relationship to the truth.

There are two ideas that have become more embedded in the health and wellness sector than any other. The first is that certain foods are bad for us and the second is that we need some vitamin supplements to keep us well. We have been taught to believe these myths which are deeply entrenched and are promoted by everyone from gym trainers to doctors to public health authorities. For more info, you can read more about Ayurveda Courses.

Here is a short story that I have translated from Hindi. I think it demonstrates nicely how the issue of supplements, food, and medication can be imposed on us unnecessarily, and how situations in our lives are actually quite simple and easy to fix without these complicated and unhealthy solutions.

                     “A boy was born into a privileged family”

The lovely boy entered kindergarten and mama and papa watched him grow. They were very proud, but one afternoon when mama and papa went to fetch their child, the teacher took them aside for a moment. She was concerned, she explained, because the lovely boy had started to paint his drawings in black paint. This was very sudden and she was sure it was not good.

The teacher explained that the precious boy had painted a sun in black. In his beautiful picture, the background was all white, but the sun and its glorious waving rays were black. And then again he painted, on a starkly striking white background, a perfect tree with a sturdy black trunk, and the strong black boughs that reached for the sky were adorned with tiny black leaves. And in the third picture, the clever boy had painted a gorgeous summer’s day; again against a pristine white background, he’d painted lush grass, verdant tall flowers waving in a gentle breeze with a butterfly suspended delicately above – all in black.

The teacher and doting parents were very concerned. They discussed many possibilities and eventually, mama and papa disclosed that at times there was discord between them. They hadn’t thought it was serious, but they resolved then and there to hide it better from their fragile boy, and discussed what was necessary to fix the damage. Teacher reflected for a moment and then recommended a special psychologist for children.

Therapy began immediately. Mama and Papa and teacher watched the beautiful boy closely for any changes or signs of improvement, but while he still laughed and played with the other children and continued to produce pretty pictures, they were all in black. Mama grew more alarmed, and in speaking to her sisters and cousins daily decorated the drama with tears and anguish.

The teacher and doting parents were very concerned. They discussed many possibilities and eventually, mama and papa disclosed that at times there was discord between them. They hadn’t thought it was serious, but they resolved then and there to hide it better from their fragile boy, and discussed what was necessary to fix the damage. Teacher reflected for a moment and then recommended a special psychologist for children.

Therapy began immediately. Mama and Papa and teacher watched the beautiful boy closely for any changes or signs of improvement, but while he still laughed and played with the other children and continued to produce pretty pictures, they were all in black. Mama grew more alarmed, and in speaking to her sisters and cousins daily decorated the drama with tears and anguish.

Eventually, the special psychologist for children asked for help. She suggested a special psychiatrist that she knew, and a meeting was arranged between the boy and the new expert. After many hours spent assessing the young child the new expert prescribed medicine for him, that should make him happier and perhaps even make him more compliant. She also said he was missing vitamins and strongly urged mama and papa to procure for him supplements that would fill the gaps. A new diet was drawn up and only those foods that would aid in his recovery were allowed from now on.

Mama and Papa, teacher and new expert continued to watch the boy. And then one day while they were busily engaged in discussing the problem, the boy went outside and began to play in the school grounds. There he was found by a trusted old gardener who had watched over the children for many a long year. Having noted all the meetings and discussions and therapy, the gardener asked the child if all was well.

“All is fine.” Came the cheerful response.

“There are so many people who gather together to discuss you.” Said the old man.

“Yes, I know.” said the boy, “I don’t know what they want, but I’ve been to play in a hospital and that was fun. I have to take some pills and eat special food, and that’s not much fun, but the lady who gives me the pills is very beautiful. She has soft shinning hair, and she wears clothes with threads that shimmer like silverfish in water. She’s very kind and I like her very much. She also gives me sweets each time when I leave.”

“But are you feeling sad?” gently pressed the old man.

“No, not all!” replied the child. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” said the man, “You paint all your lovely pictures in black paint, and they want to know why a happy boy would paint in black.”

“But,” exclaimed the boy, “if you look inside, you will see that all the other colors in my paint box are finished!”

It must be made clear that there is no standard diet that is ideal for every individual. Furthermore, how we eat is as important as what we eat; how we cook is as important as what we cook; what kitchen equipment is used and what feelings accompany the preparation of food, all affect us as human beings.

What is a negative feedback mechanism?

Our food is digested, assimilated in the liver and then sent to different parts of our body according to the need. Blood vessels work as the transport system and nerve endings as messengers. In a healthy situation, if we eat lots of sweets and our blood glucose is high, a message will be conveyed to the pancreas to secrete more insulin. If we feel hot, our skin starts sweating to keep our temperature normal.

On the other hand, if we are taking synthetic or unnecessary hormones or vitamins, our body prevents our intestine from absorbing the same vitamin from food. It also prevents the natural production of hormones.

If we have been taking vitamins or supplements for a long time, then every so often we should stop doing so for a while. Such pauses provide a chance for the body to assimilate all medicines.  We must be very careful not to take unnecessary supplements, and we must not become victims of multinational pharmaceutical companies. Also, one can read about Nutritional Ayurveda Course

There’s no doubt that what we eat can have a massive impact on our health, performance, and body composition. However, there’s no evidence showing that we can’t achieve all of these things while still enjoying any of the food we like. The biggest problem with the idea of “clean eating” is that clean has no unique definition. Everyone believes different foods are “unclean.”

[thesearchforspirk]

1 x 1 : Where No Man Has Gone Before {Subtext Study}

As we’re going in production order (which seems to produce a more linear story) the story of Gary Mitchell and his tinfoil eyes is where we’ll begin this journey into Star Trek subtext. There’s quite a bit in this episode to wade through, particularly of the homoromantic quality, so let’s get started. 

Tellingly, perhaps, our episode opens on our two main objects of study playing their beloved three-dimensional chess. As someone who has been in Spirk fandom for awhile now, I can attest that 3D chess is mentioned as an activity Kirk and Spock engage in together in their recreation hours in about 99.9% of fanfics (logically, the chances of them having recreation hours that overlap with one another is about slim to none, given their respective positions, but a little willing suspension of disbelief never hurt anyone). However, I think we only see them actually play it in-canon in about 2-3 episodes total, if that. 

Still, there’s something significant about the choice of chess as a game for these two to engage in and this particular game’s history as a means of courtship and flirtation. 

This is also our first indication that Spock adheres strongly to the fact that he’s Vulcan and “without” emotions and that Kirk delights in teasing him about the fact. “Certain you don’t know what irritation is?” Kirk asks, knowingly, with a shit-eating grin after he makes a move that Spock wasn’t anticipating (having already smugly announced he would have Kirk check-mated in his next move). The banter here relies heavily on the natural affection between the two of them, that which the script wants the audience to be aware of. Though Spock alleges to be immune to emotions he is clearly anything but, and yet, Kirk finds an affectionate delight in this fact. He’s allowed to rib Spock a little bit about this without threat of any real offense, indicating a very high level of trust between them.

Certainly this could be the banter of two who are just friends and have no unspoken attraction or romantic interest between them, but talk like this often manifests as flirtation as well. Kirk’s decidedly sultry smirks at Spock (the first of thousands that would proceed them in the next few decades of material) and his huskier tone of voice are interesting acting choices for Shatner to have made if he hadn’t intended to play Kirk as flirty in this scene. 

As I will often disclaim, I’m not suggesting that the original intent was the same as the interpretation I’m asserting here. What I am saying is that the evidence for a layer of flirtation is there, be it intentional or not, and to not at least acknowledge it is to ignore the obvious. 

Moving on!

Kirk has been attempting to stay alert for any news about a recently heard Earth distress signal (despite the -ahem- distractions). News of said distress signal finally comes in, interrupting this little verbal tango between our boys, and Kirk and Spock rush to the transporter room to find an old-style ship recorder. Spock asserts that due to the damage on the object it’s likely that something happened to the ship (in the vein of blowing up or whatever I guess). The recorder begins transmitting a signal as soon as Scotty starts feeding tapes into the computer and Kirk puts the ship on red alert. 

Enter Gary Mitchell, barely missing the turbolift ride alongside our boys. It’s made obvious right away that Gary and Jim are close from the casual way they greet and chat about ship stuff even under red alert. Gary then turns his attentions to Spock and, weirdly, sort of sizes him up before asking in a more straightforward tone “So, you finished the game?”. Spock nods and moves forward to the doors preemptively while explaining, “[Kirk] played most illogically. His next move should’ve been the rook.” Behind Spock’s back, Kirk grins and makes a throat-cutting motion to Gary to subtly indicate Spock’s obvious loss. 

When I first saw this episode, and each time I return to it after a prolonged absence, I always initially get a sort of antagonistic vibe between Spock and Gary. On my original watch I thought it was going to be some sort of bigotry thing on Gary’s behalf against Spock’s being a Vulcan (which does happen with a different character in a different episode) but that ends up not being the case here. We really have no reason to believe there’s anything antagonistic between them, at least nothing that’s addressed directly.

(note Kirk’s got another amused, if not sultry look for Spock here)

The likelihood is that Spock’s cold retreat to the turbolift doors is more attempt to escape mention of his chess defeat than anything else. Gary’s once over of him, however, and hard tone of voice might suggest something else. Could be an organic jealousy in the fact that they share a mutual, close friend and seem to be on equal levels of bonding with the same person, but don’t seem to have much in common with one another and occupy awkward spaces beside him, sort of privately elbowing one another for the same category in Jim Kirk’s life. But what is that category, exactly? Is it just one of platonic friendship or something else?

A common argument against Kirk/Spock is the assertion that Jim (specifically) is clearly a lover of women and has never taken a male lover in canon and so must be, therefore, purely heterosexual and uninterested in men. This is a bit of fallacy in an of itself because 1) of course we never saw Kirk take a male lover in any sort of obvious way, this was a show produced in the 60′s for godssake, 2) Kirk’s frequent and, presumably exclusive, taking of female lovers doesn’t necessarily exclude him from being able to find men attractive and enjoy romantic/physical relationships with them, 3) most of the time when Kirk would take a female lover it was to gain something for the purpose of a mission; only rarely was he actually indulging in sincere feeling or attraction. 

All that said, there is an argument that Gary Mitchell might be the earliest precedent and indication that Kirk has taken at least one male lover before and, therefore, has a history of finding men physically and romantically attractive. Due to the attitudes of the time it’s purely speculation based on subtext and ambiguity, but one I’ll explore here as we learn more about Gary and Jim and their history together. 

In any case, I will also add that sexuality is fluid and being attracted exclusively to one gender for most of one’s life doesn’t mean that one may never find themselves drawn to something different at some point. Even if Kirk had never taken a male lover, had never found men attractive in any way prior to Spock, it doesn’t mean that Spock couldn’t have been an exception. I would also assume at this point in earth’s social development that relationships of all kinds between consenting adults are accepted with much more open minds, that any bigotry that might keep someone from indulging in or owning up to a desire would no longer exist. Food for thought. Back to our regular programming. 

The three men go to the bridge and take their respective places. Kirk orders neutral warp at the edge of the galaxy and puts out a ship-wide message that the disaster recorder came from the SS Valiant two hundred years ago, the hope being that more insight will eventually be granted to them as to what happened to said ship. Meanwhile, Spock continues to have no luck with the burnt out tapes. 

The department heads arrive on the bridge as ordered and we meet Dr. Elizabeth Dehner, a psychiatrist that recently joined the crew. Sidenote: if the Enterprise was ever granted a psychiatrist to replace her after this episode (spoiler alert) they certainly aren’t part of the ‘department heads’ club as we never meet them- maybe due to the events of this episode, who knows, but I can at least hope the Enterprise continued to value the mental health of her crew members despite all that. I digress. 

Spock announces that the recorder has finally begun to transmit something and Kirk steps up behind him at the science station because it’s absolutely 100% necessary to the mission. Completely. Because it’s not as if Kirk would probably have been able to hear him fine from his chair or anything. 

(okay, this one is just me being a bit silly but STILL, really now, Jim)

Dr. Dehner expresses an interest in knowing how the crew of SS Valiant might have fared psychologically under the distress. Gary Mitchell expresses his respect of his female crewmen and women in senior positions of power by openly flirting with her in front of the crew and then, just as openly in front of the Captain, calling her a “walking freezer unit” when she doesn’t reciprocate. He even makes ‘ooo ice queen’ face at Kirk after she rebuffs him. Nowadays that would probably, hopefully, rightfully so be grounds for sexual harassment and something Kirk would’ve had a responsibility to shut down right then and there, but y’know. 60′s. Women in power are scary so we have to knock them down a peg. 

Weird how Star Trek is meant to take place in a more open-minded, less bigoted, socially progressive time in our future, but is still sometimes a product of the generation it was produced in. I love it regardless, of course.

Anyway, Spock begins to relay the spotty transmitted information; apparently the Valiant encountered a magnetic storm and then, for reasons that are unclear, began frantically searching for information on ESP in humans. Kirk asks Dr. Dehner about this and she helpfully explains that some humans can indeed see future events, but that the ability is never very strong. Spock continues that one crewman seemed to have recovered and that was when the frantic search for ESP info began, followed by an apparent self-destruct order from the Captain. Unnerved by this, Kirk orders that they leave the galaxy at warp factor 1.

Unfortunately, a magnetic force field appears right about then and the two women on the bridge grab the hands of the men nearest to them because, obviously, right? 60′s. Gary and Dr. Dehner are struck by the magnetic surges while the rest of the bridges’ control panels get various levels of fucked up. Even still, the Enterprise makes it through the storm and Kirk orders Spock to collect damage reports (with a very necessary and much needed hand on his shoulder, naturally). He then checks on Dr. Dehner (who appears to be fine) and then Gary, whose head he lovingly cradles in his hands.

(This tender moment only goes on to show us that Gary has spooky tinfoil eyes now!!! Can’t even imagine how painful those archaic contacts must have been for the actor.) 

Upon return from commercial break, Kirk informs the audience that the Enterprise’s main engines and warp drive have been fucked beyond use. He also has Spock checking out Gary and Dr. Dehner’s records for ESP ratings, only to see that they have some of the highest on the ship (these must be old records though because there’s no way those two are 23 and 21 years old, respectively, at the time of this episode- SORRY, BUT TRUE), concluding that this must be why they were shocked and lived to talk about it. Dr. Dehner returns with autopsy results on the deceased, informing that their brains were burned out with the electric shock. She also vehemently defends ESP ability against Kirk and Spock who are suspicious of whether or not ‘espers’ are dangerous. 

Kirk then goes to check on Gary who’s been under medical observation and we’re granted a deeper insight into their friendship.  

Gary somehow knows it’s Kirk before he sees him or allows him to say anything. He points out that Jim looks worried and Jim replies with a knowing smile, “I’ve been worried about you ever since that night on Deneb IV.” Gary laughs and looks down coquettishly. “Yeah, she was nova, that one.” The fact that we have no idea what they’re talking about and that this conversation barely makes any sense of is no real importance. We’re not supposed to understand. This is meant to feel like listening to two friends who’ve known each other so long and so well they’re almost speaking a shared, exclusive language about experiences and jokes only they understand. Gary talks some about his weird eyes and then he goes back to teasing Kirk. Apparently our strapping Captain was something of a bookworm nerd back in his academy days, who knew?? (His bookishness happens to be one of my favorite aspects of Kirk’s character and one that history so often forgets in favor of him being some kind of machoman womanizer- ugh) To this teasing Kirk responds with a blush that would rival that of a school girl with a crush on her teacher.

(tee hee OH GARY STOP IT) 

Gary mentions how he “aimed that little blonde lab technician” at Kirk probably to distract him from being too tough in his student-teaching position, to which the latter responds with, “You what??!” “Yep. I outlined her whole campaign for her.” “I almost married her!” So, we know Kirk likes the intelligent types as much as he is one himself. Fascinating. (Sidenote: I personally headcanon that the “little blonde lab technician” was Ruth that Kirk ‘sees’ in Shore Leave, but that’s for another episode discussion) Gary warns Kirk to be good to him because he’s “getting even better ideas” now. He also has a forebodingly echo-y voice now to indicate to a wary Kirk that shit’s about to get real.

So, what’s the deal with Jim and Gary? Everything is played rather ambiguously between them, certainly in no small part to indicate to us, the audience, that they’re close and have been for years. To have them discuss blatantly spelled out exposition of their shared past would feel in-organic and I’m glad the Star Trek writers chose ambiguity for this reason. But this ambiguity, plus the sultry way Gary teases Kirk and the affectionate, bashful blushes and smiles he gets in return could easily indicate that their friendship may not be platonic (or perhaps it is now, but hasn’t always been- maybe there was some sexual exploration together at the academy and feelings due to this that Kirk never really shook). There’s subtext enough here to believe so, I think. I’ll leave it to the reader to decide whether or not Gary could qualify as one of the earliest indications that Jim may not be so immune to masculine charms as history would so direly like for us to believe.

Anyway, Kirk returns to the bridge to find Spock watching Gary’s superhuman reading speed that is ever increasing. Spock pointedly asks the rhetorical question, “Is that Gary Mitchell? The one you used to know?”. A rather...knowing question for a being that claims to not understand or experience emotions. Kirk orders a 24 hour watch on Sickbay and all the examinations and tests possible. Gary then looks over at the viewing screen, right at Kirk, as if to suggest he knows he’s being watched.

Back in Sickbay proper Dr. Dehner has arrived to...probably do an examination or something but she’s not coming off as 100% professional. Since she’s being a little bit more receptive now Gary reluctantly apologizes for having called her a “walking freezer unit” and she assures him that “women professionals do tend to overcompensate”. Once again, this has been obligatory misogyny thanks to the 60′s!!! This little song and dance continues between them as Gary changes the readings on his vitals panel and pretends to be dead (just to get Dr. Dehner close to him- smooth, buddy) and recites a love sonnet at random from memory (that was actually written by Roddenberry himself when he was an aviator- the more you know!). 

It’s funny how het flirtation in this show is only different for being more blatant in dialogue and sometimes physicality. The acting choices, reactions, tone of voice, expressions, etc, are pretty much the same when the subtext suggests it’s two men flirting. Just saying.

Lt. Kelso comes in to check on Gary and Gary informs him exactly what’s wrong with the engine. Have you gathered yet that this guy has special powers now? Gee, I hope so, because it’s not as if the show has been making that abundantly clear. 

The Department Heads once again meet in the...meeting room, I suppose, Lt. Kelso showing via a blown circuit that Gary was right somehow. Dr. Dehner is late because she’s apparently in love with Gary now to the point of throwing all sense of professionalism out the window; when Spock points out Gary is transforming into something unnatural, Dehner chides him for not showing more compassion despite those on his planet not having feelings like “we” do. Kirk naturally jumps to his defense and Dehner continues in her tirade, chiding Kirk also for not ‘caring more’ about his close friend. Kirk justifiably reminds her that he and Spock are just doing their damn jobs, lady, JESUS. Also what happened to the professional that wisely rebuffed Gary’s attempts to openly flirt with her in front of her colleagues back at the beginning of the episode? I’m more concerned about Dehner’s changing personality at this point, tbh. 

It soon becomes clear that Dehner’s been withholding information about Gary’s abilities. Her defense for having done this is that maybe a superhuman man would be really great thing, guys, like a better kind of human being. There’s a long, awkward, uncomfortable pause while everyone in the room gawps at the fucked up eugenics bullshit she just spouted out and it’s kind of a glorious moment, honestly. Instead, offers Spock, Gary’s power will likely grow beyond their ability to thwart him and they will become a nuisance to him and who knows what kind of shit will go down then.  Kirk dismisses his Department Heads with the instructions not to tell any of the crew about this. 

Kirk solemnly wanders off to the side, lost in thought and no doubt conflicted about possibly having to watch someone he, well, loves (in what way is up to you) change into a monster. Spock, who can’t seem to go a minute of screentime without himself or some other character reminding us that he supposedly can’t feel or doesn’t understand earth emotions or whatever, stops dead in his tracks and slowly turns around to his Captain. Something has compelled him to stay back and continue talking to Kirk and it certainly wasn’t an order. 

(the emotionless, stoic Vulcan who can supposedly feel nothing ever looks on concerned for his friend and captain. Does anyone in the crew really buy that no emotions story or-...?)

Spock basically restates what Kirk likely already knows (that Gary is dangerous, duh) and we also hear the first very important, vulnerable use of the name “Jim” instead of Captain. They’re alone, after all, and despite all protestations Spock knows how this affects his friend and cares about that. Deeply, perhaps. Even still, Spock isn’t one for soothing platitudes. He elects instead to remind Kirk of the facts of the situation and when he’s defensively asked to provide suggestions and not just state the obvious, Spock says they can basically maroon Gary on the planet they need the lithium crystals from or they can kill him. No pressure, Jim.

Kirk is upset by all of this so he tells Spock to “get out of here” and Spock insists that those are the choices, whether he likes it or not. “Would you try for one moment to feel?” Kirk rallies back, though he seems more sad than angry. “At least act like you’ve got a heart...we’re talking about Gary...” Spock says that the Captain of the Valiant probably felt the same way- and look at where the waiting got him! Spock also says he thinks he and Kirk probably came to the same conclusion. From the look on Kirk’s face we can assume Spock is right about that.

It’s interesting in this scene that the one thing we already know Kirk finds endearing about Spock -his defensive need for logic in any situation- is the one thing that irritates him enough here to throw back in Spock’s face when he presents the cold hard facts about their situation. However, we as the audience should know by now that the fact Spock was affected and moved enough by Kirk’s mood to stay back and talk to him in private indicates that he does care a great deal. What’s more, that logical perspective, rather than some simpering “poor you” sympathy speech, is exactly what Kirk needed to get his head back in the game and do what needed to be done.

This is the part where I’d go so far as to say Spock has been a better friend (boyfriend, in time) to Kirk than Gary probably ever was. Granted, most of what we’ve seen of Gary thus far has been under the influence of the evil tinfoil eyes, but we do know that Gary was one for toying with Kirk’s emotions to get him to behave a certain way (the “little blonde lab technician”). Gary is even more charismatic than Kirk and one gets the impression he knew what to say to get what he wanted long before the powers. Perhaps Gary was good at telling Kirk what he wanted to hear. Spock tells Kirk what he needs to hear and cares enough about him to bother.

In any case, the decision is made; Kirk will attempt to maroon Gary on the uninhabited lithium mining planet. He, Spock and Dr. Dehner return to Sickbay to retrieve him and Gary has become as cocky as he is powerful. He can read thoughts now so when Kirk asks him what he’d do in this position, Gary says, “Probably just what Spock is thinking now. Kill me, while you still can.” He smiles knowingly as Kirk goes and gives Spock a reproachful, sort of scolding head shake, but no sooner does Kirk come back that Gary strikes him with some kind of electric shock. Was this manipulative little smile just a result of evil tin foil eyes or was this some of a rivalry with Spock resurfacing? Hard to say for sure, as we don’t know much about Gary Mitchell prior to the evil powers. 

Once Kirk is struck, Spock, the emotionless Vulcan who we can only assume has no impulse to act on, jumps quickly into action with his phaser because like hell you’re going to strike the Captain and get away with it. He too is struck.

(omg so emotionless, you guys)

Gary goes on some more about how powerful he is and how he needs the right world for his ends when Spock and Kirk somehow take him by surprise and restrain him to the bed (despite the fact that he’s supposed to have super perception and strength, but the plot needs to move after all). They also manage to somehow get him to stand up straight for the transporter despite being unconscious but, again, whatever. 

Everyone beams down and Gary is put in a cell while attempts are made to salvage parts for the engines. Gary attempts some carefully worded manipulation on Kirk, recalling the time he intercepted some poison darts aimed at Kirk and nearly died from it, so why should he fear him now? Kirk calls Gary out on his true intentions and the ego that’s grown along with his powers betrays him when he attempts to launch out beyond the electric barrier. The shock drains his power and for a moment he returns to normal.

As Gary’s eyes return to their familiar brown, he says in a very small, soft, almost frightened voice, “Jim...” and we’re granted a much more vulnerable insight into the depth of his feelings for his friend. Perhaps there was some amount of manipulation to their relationship all along, exacerbated now by the god-like powers, but in this very brief moment we’re allowed to believe that perhaps Gary really did care for Jim in a sincere way as Jim so obviously cares for him. Masterful acting, that.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last. When Gary’s eyes change back he hisses, “I’ll only get stronger. You know that, don’t you?”. Later, Scotty informs Kirk that the salvaged switchboard fits the Enterprise’s bridge and asks if Spock received the phaser rifle he ordered down. Kirk is confused for a moment until Spock shows up with the aforementioned rifle and he’s angered by this. He stomps over to a corner, followed by Spock who explains his reasoning in that Gary keeps getting closer to escaping the force field. 

“Dr. Dehner thinks he isn’t that dangerous, what makes you right and a trained psychiatrist wrong?” Kirk argues.  

“Because she feels, I don’t. All I know is logic. In my opinion we’d be lucky if we could repair this ship and get away in time.” 

Kirk checks on the now completed self-destruct button that Lt. Kelso has rigged up. He shares a long look with Spock before reluctantly ordering the lieutenant to press the button if Mitchell escapes and there’s no other alternative. 

This conversation between them is interesting because they’re essentially both avoiding the truths of their respective situations. Kirk sounds not unlike Dr. Dehner did when she was arguing for Gary’s innocence; desperate, emotional, smart enough to know better but compromised enough to convince herself differently. Of course, her arguments were fueled by romantic affection and Kirk’s could easily just be that of a strong platonic bond but...the fact that there’s a parallel between them is interesting. 

Meanwhile, the audience should be well aware by now that Spock is quite capable of feeling and acts on those feelings and impulses more than he’d like to admit. I think on some level he and Kirk both know this, so arguing that he “doesn’t feel” wouldn’t really be a convincing argument in this case for someone who knows him so well, if it was meant literally. I think what is really being said here is that Spock isn’t so deeply emotionally compromised by Gary, whereas Kirk and Dr. Dehner are (but not both romantically? Hard to believe). Spock can see and own the difficult truth of the situation where Kirk cannot, or, rather, will not. 

Unfortunately this plan doesn’t work out because Gary becomes wise and takes control of some wires to strangle and kill Lt. Kelso. Back at the cell Dr. Dehner continues to argue that he isn’t dangerous and Gary 100% backs her up on this by electrocuting and knocking out Kirk, and then Spock (who of course tries to shoot him with the phaser rifle after he dares to harm the captain). Dr. Dehner finally joins Gary and reveals that she, too, now has tinfoil eyes. SPOOKY.

Later, the not-McCoy doctor comes to tend to the unconscious Kirk and Spock. Kirk wakes first but asks that the doctor not revive Spock until after he’s left to go after Gary- further evidence to the fact that Kirk is well aware Spock feels and acts on something other than logic, particularly where his Captain’s well-being is concerned; either Spock would try to stop him or come with him for protection, but either way Kirk isn’t risking it. 

Elsewhere on the planet Dehner and Gary are meandering around exchanging awkward dialogue, making the artificial plant section of Hobby Lobby appear around them and eating fruit and drinking water because apparently despite having god-like powers they still need the essentials to survive. Kirk does a poor job of hunting them from the shadows; they don’t need god-like extra perception to hear Kirk stumbling around, knocking over rocks and otherwise letting the whole planet know of what he’s doing. Gary tells Dehner to go talk to him so she can see “just how unimportant they are”. 

The conversation that ensues is the kind that really elevates and defines Star Trek where it is in the pop culture subconscious, one that makes it more than just space people in space doing space things, a layer of complexity that I think has been lost in the translation to the frankly horrific ‘rebooted’ series (my opinion, your mileage may vary). Dehner insists that what Gary is doing is right for her and him and other powerful Espers like them, they are where it will take humanity eons to reach in evolution, but Kirk insists this isn’t true. Though Gary may have ‘god-like’ powers, he still has his inner human frailties and demons that his growing ego won’t resist. A true God needs compassion and wisdom to temper those powers. He begs Dehner to think about this like a psychiatrist would- logically, perhaps? Indeed, Kirk is pulling from that logical need Spock has aptly reminded him of. 

Gary finds them again and physically forces Kirk to ‘pray’ to him while assuring him of his inevitable death. Kirk challenges Dehner in asking her if she likes what she’s seeing, “corrupt power corrupting absolutely”. She decidedly does not and finally strikes Gary with her own powers to stop him. He strikes back and weakens her significantly, but she’s done the same to him and this gives Kirk and opportunity to show off his infamous fighting skills, get his shirt ripped open, and straddle his probable former lover in the sand. Not the first time he’ll have borderline erotic fight like this with another man. In the end, he manages to trap and I guess kill Gary in the burial plot made for him. A strategically placed boulder is all that’s needed to stop god-like powers, I’ll have to jot that one down.

(there’s no good reason for this picture other than Shatner was a really hot piece of ass back then and I like to appreciate that from time to time)

The fight has weakened Dehner too much and she dies too, as I clumsily alluded to happening earlier in this write up. 

Kirk returns to the ship and adds Dehner and Gary to the list of official losses and ends their service records with the honorable notation that they gave their lives in performance of their duties. Spock, looking concerned, seems to sense the difficulty in this for Kirk and comes to stand silently beside him- a subtle gesture of support and condolence, and it would seem sufficient at that, but then he goes on to assure Kirk that, “I felt for him too” where concerned Gary’s helplessness to the power. 

Kirk seems a little stunned at the confession, but the smirk that follows says that he isn’t surprised and is furthermore pleased that Spock would openly admit what he already knows so well. “I believe there is some hope for you yet, Mr. Spock,” he subtly teases with a private grin and knowing look. Spock smiles too, but not until he’s looking forward where no one can really see, not even his Captain. 

Certainly there’s a message in this episode about how absolute power needs morality and compassion in equal measure, but there’s also an interesting disparity between Kirk’s two closest ‘friends’. Even before the god-like powers, Gary is very charismatic and knows exactly what to say to make Kirk grin and blush and giggle, whereas Spock is very honest, straightforward, and no nonsense. Gary seems as if he was always emotionally an open book, whereas Spock for many reasons comes across as emotionally unavailable (even if that isn’t really true). 

Assuming that there was perhaps a romantic, sexual history with Gary and Jim, it would be a natural assumption that Gary allowed Kirk ‘close’ to him pretty early on, though I think the genuineness of that relationship is difficult to really call for sure. Certainly there was a strong bond between them that I don’t doubt the honesty of, but I get the distinct impression that Gary probably did a lot in the way of bait and switch, reeling Kirk in and then pushing him back out when it suited him, manipulating him from time to time.

Spock, meanwhile, is the exact opposite. Not very charismatic, tells Jim what he needs to hear rather than what he wants to, insists despite the bond growing between them and the feelings and impulses that he acts on that he can’t feel. Or rather, won’t admit that he does. Perhaps this has created something of a frustrating barrier for Jim, always feeling as if he’s distant from Spock where Gary would let him in so readily. 

However by the end, it becomes clear that despite his insistence to the contrary,  Spock is the more devoted, the more caring, the more dependable ‘friend’, and maybe Kirk has decided he is more than willing to go the extra mile, however long it takes, to help Spock coax down those walls if he so wishes to further their bond...in whatever form that may take. 

Thanks for joining me on this long ass study of Where No Man Has Gone Before. I’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts and feelings on the episode, what I’ve made of it, things I may have missed, etc. HMU! 

Join me next time for a similarly long write-up and subtext evaluation of The Corbomite Manuever.