#If he was allowed to be around other (non psychologist) people and he heard about other people's trauma during that time?

[and-stir-the-stars]

thinking about. saffron henry. does he realize how badly he fucked up? what would the boys' reactions be if he reappeared? does jem know about him? also, is he like. healing his own trauma from charlie n everything or is he just. melting

also. unrelated. does mike ever feel like he should be less fucked up because evan's trauma is just so extreme that he compares it? does evan ever feel like others shouldn't be so traumatized bc of his frame of reference?

(Answered the first half of this ask here)

These are awesome awesome questions about the extent of and response to the trauma Ev and Mike went thru, thank you for asking!

does mike ever feel like he should be less fucked up because evan's trauma is just so extreme that he compares it?

Yes. Mike has a lot of guilt over the fact that HE was able to escape and form a life of his own when Evan so clearly wasn't.

This is probably a problem Mike had even before finding out what happened to Evan, actually. Mike has spent some time listening to other runaways stories, hearing how bad other people had it, and he would have compared himself to their stories and found the abuse he faced 'lacking' because Mike is just. Deep down, he's just a kid who wants to be loved, and he wants to be loved by his father, so even though he knows he's been abused by William, a part of him still can't help but think "maybe it wasn't actually that bad" "maybe i just did stupid stuff to make him angry and if i just stopped, things would get better" "maybe I'm just weak and shouldn't be hurt by the stuff he did".

And this tendency to like. Downplay everything he went through affects his reaction to what Evan went through. Not in that he downplays what Ev went through (he doesn't), but it makes Mike downplay his own trauma.

There's a lot of nights when Mike roams listlessly through the house, hating himself for not being able to sleep. Because what problems does he REALLY have?? Yeah William hurt him sometimes and shitty things happened to him after he ran away, but some voice in his head snaps that at least he got out! Usually when Mike can't sleep, he goes on drives in his VW bus to calm his nerves, but in this case, he refuses to let himself do that as punishment for "being so freaked out over nothing". He probably does this refusing-to-let-himself-be-comforted and pushing-himself-past-his-limits thing because he thinks what he went through "wasn't that bad" a lot. It's something he has to work on in therapy.

It also doesn't help that Mike feels obligated to be Put Together for Evan’s sake; it def makes Mike's downplaying/hiding/refusing to acknowledge what he went through thing worse. But that's the good thing about Evan's arc where he realizes Mike is his own person who went through a lot of trauma of his own; it makes Mike acknowledge some of the shit he went through and actually WORK through it, too. It is it's own kind of validation and relief for someone close to you to look at what you went through and admit "it's shitty that that happened to you, and I wish it hadn't."

does evan ever feel like others shouldn't be so traumatized bc of his frame of reference?

mmmm, kinda?

Evan's sense of empathy is complicated, especially when he's put in Mike’s custody; he's still mad at Mike for everything that happened between them. He still thinks of Mike as this big, scary, untouchable monster. Of course an invincible monster like that couldn't ever be hurt by anything.

Then, Mike keeps trying to treat Ev with kindness and sympathy instead of being cruel and monstrous. At this point, the times when Ev sees Mike flinch away from touch or flinching from Ev yelling at him or from the smell of cigarette smoke on Ev's clothes, or the times when Mike gets sent into a panic attack, are all met with confusion and a level of self-satisfaction. He doesn't know why these things are having such an impact on Michael, but it's satisfying to see that the monster that hurt him so bad can be made hurt and vulnerable after all-- especially since Evan takes this as proof that William chose Evan over Mike as his successor because he believed Evan was Stronger. Evan starts to understand that Mike can be hurt, but does not empathize with Mike over this understanding just yet.

But I don't think Evan would have the thought "why should Mike be traumatized over xyz thing when I had to deal with abc" because Evan hasn't been thinking about what William did to him as something traumatic. That doesn't come until later. He thought what William was doing was normal & good. The time Evan has spent in psychiatric facilities has taught him that the murder/using violence to make yourself feel better thing isn't normal, but Evan hasn't gotten over the barrier of thinking that it made him Stronger-- that it was a good thing even if it wasn't Normal.

It's not until Ev realizes that William was using him, didn't care, and wasn't trying to help Ev that that particular barrier finally comes crashing down for Evan.

It's not long after that that Evan has his "oh, Mike is a real person with his own trauma" revelation.

During the time between Ev realizing that William was so horrifically abusive and having his realization about Mike’s trauma, I think it's possible that Ev would lash out in ways that come across as "why should you be traumatized by xyz thing", because Ev has so much pain and confusion around the idea that Mike just left him there with William. YOU got out and I didn't, I was the one stuck there because YOU left me there, so what exactly do you have to freak out over? You chose the new life you ran away for.

But I think this fades once Ev has his Realization about Mike’s past. Because the Realization makes him understand that Mike didn't choose any of this, either.

so, this brings me to how your question applies to Evan when he's actually had a chance to start healing.

Evan’s definitely had his sense of empathy stunted and repressed as a result of his trauma, so it's hard for him to understand what other people are thinking or feeling. But I don't think this translates to him thinking other people SHOULDN'T be traumatized (as much sense as that as a trauma response would make for someone who has been thru what Evan has) so much as Evan not understanding that someone IS traumatized by something, and later, WHY they would be traumatized by it.

But Evan is a naturally empathetic person, and a naturally curious kid. So i think his response to finally understanding that the reason someone is acting weird is because they're upset by something, it would manifest as curiosity since his empathy has been so fried. He doesn't understand other people's trauma, but I think he'd be curious to understand the why's and how's of other people’s trauma. Why are you upset. What about this specific scenario is sparking this reaction. What specifically does it make you feel. Why aren't you acting like you normally do. How do i stop this from happening again.

His attempts to Understand come across as... maybe not clinical, exactly, but definitely as insensitive.

Like, when Evan learns that Jeremy is still fucked up about their (singular) little sister dying when they were younger, Evan’s brain is like. MY sister went missing (he knows how Liz died but repressed it) and my brother used her disappearance as an excuse to torture me. In Evan’s mind, what he went through is Worse than what Jeremy went through, but he's not being judgemental as is implied in the question "why should you be traumatized", he's just genuinely Trying To Understand "why was that so upsetting for you when it could have been worse?" Once he finally realizes that someone is upset about something, he struggles to understand WHY, and he accidentally comes across as insensitive.

I don't think it's emotional so much as physical pain that would elicit that kind of "why should you be upset when xyz traumatic thing could have happened instead?" response. Evan has been trained to be less responsive to physical pain by this point, as in is less responsive to being in pain himself and seeing others in pain. If he were to see someone get visibly upset from stubbing a toe or scraping a knee or getting cut/scratched, he'd just look on in utter confusion. Evan has seen people--kids-- be physically ripped apart. William and younger Mike both did things to him that could low key be classified as torture. I think the part of his brain repsonsible for registering physical pain is always gonna be a little fucked up.

[haechanokeh]

[teaser] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

pairing: popular college! mark x average! reader

genre: romance, smut, angst, series.

warning (general): corruption, oral sex (both receiving and giving), cream pie, rough sex, mention of religion, rough sex, self-esteem, public sex, sub! reader, sex toys. possessive mark two-faced mark, psychology

you cried your eyes out, face shoved in your pillow and muffling your sobs. you didn't who told you those words, it was mark but he's not the same guy you fell in love with and the guy you said yes with today. your phone was ringing nonstop so you have to turn it off but mark was too eager so he's now in front of your house banging and shouting your name begging you to open the door and talk to him.

what he told you was possible, that they didn't care for you and you have to admit that it stings but his words are not responsible for your vulnerability right now, it was the unknown mark. you didn't like him just because he's kind, it was just one out of the nth god knows the reason why you love him. he made you so special, he was right that he's the only person who cared about you in your class but the unfamiliar mark you saw a couple of hours ago was scary. it gave you goosebumps, you were frightened it's as if anytime he will hurt you.

you heard a hard stomp inside your room and you quickly sat up and surprisingly it was mark inside your room who entered the room through your open window.

"fuck, y/n." he ran into you and pulled you up into his arms. "I'm so sorry, this will never happen again." he whispered and caressed your hair. "i will not let lucas and my friends break us, shhh i am truly sorry. you only need me, so don't worry."

your body froze in shock and your heart beating so fast. he's not sorry.

"what..." you whispered in disbelief, you can't understand why he can't understand that he's wrong as well.

"we're okay now right? let's just forget everything, y/n... hmmm?" he looked at your face and looked into your eyes but he saw nothing but unpleasant. he felt rage rushing in his whole system. "what do you want! i already apologize!" he squeezed your jaw.

you were shaking in fear as his loud voice boomed in your room. his nose was flaring, his eyes were dripped with spite, and his chest where heaving. he's so mad at you and you're scared and confused.

that's when you realize, there's something wrong with him.

"m-mark, you're hurting me." you sobbed. mark snapped out of his senses. he quickly removed his hands from you and embraced you.

"I'm sorry." he sincerely said and kissed your cheeks and shove his face against it. "I'm so sorry, please don't leave me." he kept on apologizing non-stop. his hands were trembling you could feel it as he was clutching your arms.

"mark? mark?" you panicked. "mark? are you okay?" your fear from him vanished and changed into a concern to him. this is not normal.

you tried to get away from his arms but he's not budging, you stopped wriggling when you heard him whimper.

"don't leave me, can't. i really can't, i will lose myself." he begged like he's close to hopelessness. you gently pushed him to look at his face. your heart was stabbed when you saw how vulnerable he looked.

"mark..." you voice broke, you really don't know what to say because this is your first time to see him like this.

this is why mark never pursues someone or something he likes, he became possessive in fear that it will slip away from him, like his friends' admiration and respects towards him, the trust from his parents, and how they look at him as the perfect son, the people's respect on him because of his kindness and intellect, and his high grades- all of these are his goals and obsession but you're different. he can confidently allow these to get away from him in exchange of not losing you. you become his obsession. mark is aware that he has a problem but doesn't want to admit it and keep on insisting that this is part of his life... when it is not. everything about it is not normal, because when he faces rejection he felt anguish, loss, stress, and anger. there was a point where he tried to consider hurting and taking his life but he was taught that this is a grave sin and again, he felt disappointed that he is thinking of doing a grave sin which added made it worse to his anxiety. 3 years ago, he talked to his psychologist professor and was diagnosed with depression and attachment disorganized anxiety. he only attends one counseling session because he couldn't accept that there's something wrong with him and if people will find out about this he will lose all the respect.

ask him. you were pushing yourself to speak what's wrong? do you have a problem? you want to ask him but you became voiceless.

"mark, i want you to be honest to me okay?" your voice was shaking trying to control it from whimpering and tears rolling on your cheeks. "are you going through... something? do you want to talk about it?"

mark was spacing out while looking into your eyes but inside his head, it was in extreme chaos. he's having a second thoughts on telling that he has anxiety.

"mark, i love you so much but i need to understand you first so i know what to do and to make sure that you're receiving it. can you trust me?" you were convincing him and mark can see it through your eyes.

he gave up.

"i'm a mess." he broke down. mark's voice cracked and tears falling filled with hopelessness. you couldn't bare to see him like this so you pulled him into a passionate but slow kiss which he gladly responds.

you made him sit on your bed and straddle his hips, your hands were on both sides of his face and his hands were on the bed to support his body and your body. both of you where muffling your sobs.

"i was diagnosed depression and disorganized attachment anxiety" he confessed. you have no idea what is disorganized attachment anxiety, but you just understand that he has anxiety and depression, which was shocking.

mark lee, loved by everyone and religious boy have depression? that's when you realize, depression has no favoritism.

"how? you're..."

"when i was a kid, my parents are busy but i felt love every time they praise me and follow their lessons. i needed their praise and validation and i adopted it and became like... that and brought it until i grow up and to school. i never wanted to feel their disappointment and i never wanted to lose the respect of my parents, professors, and classmates but when i met you..." your eyes were locking with him. "you're the only thing i need and for the first time i never cared of losing it i thought i changed but i was wrong, nothing changed. i was just too possessive and obsess of you and when you told me you want to leave me..." his voice broke once again.

"it's going to be the end of me. it's been a long time since i felt rejected and i don't know what to do." he weeps and you felt weak.

mark has been your emotional support with fragile heart, you felt useless. instead of apologizing, you said the 3 words he always and shamelessly tells you.

"i love you." you pecked his lips. "i love you." your kissed it again and repeatedly do it while allowing the tears to fall.

he needs assurance that he is genuinely loved, which he is.

"mark, you are you still going to a psychiatrist?" making sure that he's managing it very well, but he shook his head. he needs help, someone who's more reliable. you hope that the next statement you will tell him will not take it as a bad thing. you rub his cheeks.

"you need to, aren't we pharmacists? aren't we push people to comply and adhere?" you smiled sadly.

"what will they think? my parents will be disappointed and sad at me, they will blame it to themselves, i know them y/n. and the people around me, they will think that i am fragile." you could see how frustrated he was.

"i thought you don't care about them anymore? i thought what matters is me? and what i think is that i love you and will love you more regardless of seeing one." you want to tell him that one day if you will do something wrong he might hurt himself or the people around him but you don't know if it's the right thing to say. this is why he needs to talk to a professional and you also need one because you can talk to them on what is the right thing to do to help mark and support him.

"if i do this you will never leave me?" you felt bad, now mark is now losing trust on you.

"if you do that, i am always right there with you." you kissed his forehead.

"and if i don't?"

"and if you don't..." you rest your forehead against his. "i am always with you."

you stared at each other for a long time sharing tons of emotion and you didn't know when it happened but both of you can't keep your hands to yourself. you're hovering over him touching him everywhere and his hands are all over your back.

you're grinding yourself hard on his pants, both of you panting but your lips never got separated, instead, it gets deeper. you pulled the hem of his pants and boxer. you pushed aside you shorts and sunk down to his length.

"fuck, that was hot." mark coulnd't help but blurt that out. you started to bounce, hands gripping his shoulders. he squeezed your breast underneath your shirt when suddenly the door clicked opened along with a women's gasp.

both of your heads turned towards the door's direction. it was your mom wearing his office uniform, holding a bowl with jaw-dropping in surprise. mark panicked, and so do you. you pulled mark's head and pulled it towards your breast, you want to gatekeep him.

"mom!" you shouted.

"i-i'm sorry I thought you look so down.. ohh..." you actually don't know what she just realized but she's nodding her head like now i get it "you have--"

"mom, get out!" she quickly closed the door.

"just so you know i will be here at 8, but if you want i can come here by 9! you can continue-"

"mom!" she made you feel embarrassed.

"my daughter has a boyfriend! finally!" she squealed as if the pigs finally learned how to fly. your mom thought this day wouldn't come but good lord your mom saw mark's face and at that moment she knew she needs mark's gene in her family tree.

"as much i loved your breast, i love to look at your face more." mark said. you release his head.

"my mom is just like that I'm sorry." you heard your mom honked. mark grinned and you gave him an apologetic look. "are you still in the mood?"

"i'm afraid i'm not anymore." mark chuckled. there's so much going on inside him plus he was slightly concerned what your mom thought of him. your mom caught him making with you but she seemed cool though but it was awkward.

"me too." deep down your blaming your mom.

you went back to class, you can't let mark skip[ another class again. you have to be a good influence. it was awkward but everyone already knows that you're dating, there's no reason to hide it and might just embrace it. mark apologized to the whole class, he didn't tell them his condition but he told them that he's going through something. even though mark still thinks that they are just using him, though at first that's how you perceived them but that really changed, for you it was a genuine friendship, they were so forgiving and i hope one day mark will accept that friendship.

since them, things went good though not perfect. his parents blamed themselves but you told them that that's the reason why mark didn't want to tell it to them, instead of continuing blaming themselves, they will give them all the love and support. mark never missed a session and you never missed going with him also.

and for the first time, you went to their church and the pastor is mark's father. you thought it was going to be like a normal day but...

"mark..." you sighed when he increased the intensity of the vibrator that he slipped while his father preaching. the front seats were occupied while you and mark are the only ones seating at the back.

you're squeezing and rubbing your thighs together, you felt so hot and wet. you badly want to moan, but that will be hard because you felt like once you moan, it will never stop.

"are you calling me love?" mark innocently asked you, he was saying that while putting the vibrator on max. you mouth opened while looking at mark's eyes. mark kept his smile while watching your orgasm face. he's doing unholy inside but worth it. he off the vibrator.

unfortunately all you can hear mark's father but can't understand it. you're still in ecstasy.

"my friends and family, it's not about finding the right person, it is becoming the right person, and if both partners think this way even the wrong shadows will be lighted by understanding. it's like saying i am the right person for the right person. tell this to your partner."

"i am the right person for the right person." mark whispered into your ears.

"hmm? what?" you weakly said. your eyes still closed. mark just chuckled and kissed your forehead.

"nothing." then put the vibrator to max.

"mark!" you screamed and everyone turned their heads towards you. you blood went down to your feet and nervously smile. "i- love your son sir..." you embarrassingly confessed. mark was trying to suppress his laugh while the people around you awed.

"and that's an example of my preach today."

you glared at mark, he just grinned and kiss your love.

"i love you too." he said.

"i want to smack you in the head." you angrily said. he just laughed.

this is going to be the last chapter. sorry for waiting to much, BUT there's a BONUS chapter there's no story on that just pure 🥵

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[batmanie]

Worth it - Batman TAS

Out of the few books available at the Arkham rec room’s otherwise empty bookshelf Professor Crane had chosen to read “Pride and Prejudice” today. He had read it about ten times already but the small book collection was not getting any bigger and it was still better than reading the Bible.

“Alice’s adventures in Wonderland” had been banned from Arkham’s library quite some time ago for triggering a certain inmate, and “Christmas Carol” had lately been decorated with obscene doodles by the Joker which Jonathan did not wish to see ever again. The nursery rhymes book was always an option but currently, Harley had her fun with that, giggling each time she read a funny one.

Crane was sitting on the couch with his nose in the book, not bothering anyone with his presence. Next to him, Tetch was staring at the TV. The poor man looked so bored, mindlessly channel surfing, probably too high on medication to be able to entertain himself with any Wonderland plots.

With Joker not around, the rec room seemed calm, almost as calm as the sky before a heavy storm. And said storm came unexpectedly in the form of Jervis Tetch.

The bored man on the couch had switched to the Gotham’s evening news channel, listening in to the street interview with one of the new candidates for the city council, and then, out of nowhere, he threw a massive tantrum – his outburst included flipping the coffee-table and accidentally hitting Harley’s head with it. That, of course, resulted in Doctor Quinzel’s aggressive response. Not much remained left from the unfortunate table after Harley had finished with it.

Professor Crane watched in delight how Mad Hatter fought against a guard twice as big as himself, while Harley attempted to smash both of their heads with a table leg before two other guards managed to tranquilize her.

After a few more minutes, the rec room was calm again and Jonathan got back to his book. But as much as he tried to ignore the incident and focus on the plot, a little voice in his head, the voice of the psychologist who he’d never truly ceased to be, kept whispering a very important question. “What exactly has just happened here?” The voice asked, teasing Jon’s professional curiosity. He cast another glance at the tv. The candidate from the evening news smiled at the camera, still explaining how much he was helping the community.

Professor Crane had his suspicions. And who would have guessed? Mad Hatter broke out of Arkham no longer than three days after that event.

David Colton was in his mid-thirties and he was a man in his prime, looking exceptionally professional today in his expensive dark-blue suit, white shirt, and striped blue tie.

“Smoother than Bruce Wayne,” he thought with a pleasant smile, checking himself in the mirror.

Oh, yeah, he still got it! Still looking as youthful and handsome as the prom king he had been back in his high-school days.

“Almost ready Mr. Colton,” the make-up lady told him, and put some more powder onto his already fluid-heavy forehead. “No glossy faces on TV, that’s my rule. Those spotlights know no mercy,” she joked.

David chuckled. “The only thing that is allowed to shine tonight, is my charisma.”

They would have laughed some more, if not for a sudden knocking on the door to his private dressing room.

“Come in,” David called and took a deep, calming breath mentally preparing himself for showtime.

He was ready to present his best self to Gotham again, and at this rate of him constantly being invited to interviews, the seat in the council was practically his already.

His father was right, the ability to make a good impression and a thing for charity was everything that mattered in this town after all.

The door opened and a short man in a trench coat walked in, not a staff member judging simply by the lack of an ID. Yet, the man seemed familiar – Colton just couldn’t quite place him.

“Can I help you, pal?” He asked the newcomer, hiding his irritation behind a polite smile.

The man smiled brightly and took a few steps into the room. “Oh, yes, yes. I think you can,” he spoke with a quiet yet excited voice.

Colton caught his fake British accent right away – and again, it felt like he had heard it before.

“However, I wouldn’t call you my pal.” The man continued grinning. “Would I? Won’t I? Would I? Won’t I?”.

“Listen, pal,” Colton cut him off, not bothering anymore to be that polite. “My interview is starting in a few minutes. Can we get back to this conversation later?”

“I’m afraid that later will be too late,” the strange man shook his head and took out a silver pocket-watch. “It will take only a moment…”

David sighed, the intruder was really hard to get rid of – he hated those nosy people who worked for the press.

“Very well then.” He stood up from his seat and turned to his guest to shake his hand and introduce himself properly. “David Colton,” he offered his hand to the shorter man.

The man didn’t take it, which led to a very awkward moment.

“Oh, but we know each other,” he explained, staring at David with an intense glare.

Colton, confused as he was, took a closer look at the stranger – his blonde, messy hair, big nose, and even bigger front teeth. Suddenly it clicked. “Gotham High! Jervis, was it? Jervis the Jerkface,” he laughed at the old memories of those past, glorious days of his youth. “How have you been, Jerv?”.

“Surely not as good as you.” There was a hint of fake sadness in Jervis’ voice as he put on the black, old-school top hat that he had held in his hand behind his back the entire time.

That single move made Colton recall some very disturbing stories straight from Gotham’s underworld. He cast a worried look at the make-up lady – she looked terrified and about to scream.

Slowly, he gazed back at the small man before him – the man who used to be just a nerdy kid from his high school, a weird boy that everybody had laughed at – Jervis the Jerkface, Beaver-man, Ratter.

“They don’t call me names that often anymore,” Jervis said calmly, as if he had just read his mind, a nasty grin creeping back on his face. He held a card in his gloved hand. “They simply call me the Mad Hatter.”

-#-

Like every other Saturday, the rec room was hosting the four lucky high-profile inmates who had earned their right to be in here, thanks to their good behavior. This time it was Doctor Isley, surprisingly enough, Nygma and, even more surprisingly, Croc who accompanied Professor Crane during his well-deserved book-time.

Everyone was minding their own business, Ivy was occupied taking care of a small flowerpot of violets, Edward played chess with himself and Croc, well, Croc was currently using his claw as a toothpick to get rid of the remains of his dinner.

Jonathan relaxed on the couch that he had the luxury of having only for himself for once. He had tried to bury himself in a book but couldn’t concentrate on reading – something was on his mind ever since Mad Hatter had disappeared half a week ago. It was this tiny, little voice again, telling him to put the book aside and turn on the TV instead.

Slightly irritated by his own decision, he did as his intuition had told him to. The evening news was about to end and an interview with some philanthropist politician was about to start right after commercials.

When the show began, the fat, jovial host greeted his enthusiastic audience, gaining some applause in return, then he introduced the main guest of the evening, David Colton – Jonathan recognized the guy – it was the same politician who had been talking about the importance of charity just a week ago on the news.

Colton looked a bit stiff, smiling unnaturally wide. As the applause died out and the first question was asked, he didn’t move for a good few seconds, as if he didn’t even hear it. Jonathan couldn’t shake off the impression that the man was either on some medications or very, very stressed.

“David?” The host tried again as the uncomfortable silence dragged for too long. “Will you tell us about your foundation? We are all dying to know more.”

“No, Sam,” said Colton with a strangled voice, his face still kind of strange – more like a mask with a very fake smile and a dead look in his eyes. “First, I want to talk about my teenage years.”

“OK, let’s hear your story,” the host agreed, happily, probably determined to get anything at all from his non-cooperative guest. “I’ve heard you were an overachiever. A football player, a class president and even a prom king. Isn’t that right, David?”

“No. I was a selfish bastard who tormented less popular kids. I called them unfair names, put them in a locker, and made other boys beat them up just for a sake of it.”

The audience gasped at this confession. The host’s jaw dropped for a good five seconds.

Jonathan smiled to himself, satisfied that his intuition had not failed him.

“I was a popular kid so I never took the blame for my misbehavior,” Colton continued with a very calm and steady voice, his face showing no emotion. When the camera took a closeup on him, Jonathan noticed a tiny little detail – a 10/6 card sticking out of his boutonnière.

“I never cared for others' wellbeing either, this charity-thing is just for show. I only care for the fame and attention. In fact, you may say I’m not even a human being. I’m an ugly, stinking, lying chimpanzee.”

As soon as Colton finished his last line, an inhuman howl escaped his mouth. The audience screamed in terror. Colton suddenly jumped onto a couch he previously sat on, and he started to act like a real monkey.

Sam – the host – went utterly speechless, he jumped up from his own seat and just stood there, stunned.

Colton, screeching and howling like a mad chimpanzee, grabbed a glass of water from the tabletop and threw it at the host.

“Help, somebody help!” the poor host started screaming.

Meanwhile, Colton was jumping up and down on a couch, making “Ooh, aah!” sounds.

Before the security managed to catch him, Colton already had taken off his pants and his white, hairy ass was revealed for all of Gotham to see.

After that, the show was hurriedly cut off and the weather forecast started.

Professor Crane didn’t even notice that all the other rogues had joined him on the couch, and were now staring at the TV like a bunch of little kids watching their favorite cartoon.

“Well, that was definitely one way to destroy someone’s political career,” Nygma commented with a hint of amusement.

“A few more minutes and he would have started throwing his own poo,” Ivy added with a disgusted frown.

“Poo,” Crock giggled like a five-year-old and everyone else had to roll their eyes. “I like monkeys, monkeys are so stupid.”

“Well, actually, chimpanzees are…”

“Oh, shut up, Nygma!” Both Ivy and Crane growled as one and Edward went quiet.

“Anyway, Tetch should be back with us any minute now,” Pamela concluded with all certainty. “I hope his little revenge was worth a punch in the teeth from the Bat and getting dragged back to Arkham.”

Professor Crane didn’t say a word but he knew from an experience that yes, it was totally worth it.

[freematthewrushin]

#FREEMATTHEWRUSHIN CALL TO ACTION : please share share share

**THANK YOU TO ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED LOVE, SUPPORT AND PRAYERS AS WE FIGHT TO BRING MATTHEW HOME THIS INJUSTICE. I DONT WANT MATTHEW TO DIE IN PRISON.**

Matthew Rushin was sentenced to 50 years for a non fatal car accident. His autism was never taken into consideration. No drugs or alcohol involved just his words used against him. The VBPD turned a car accident into a crime so each officer can get promoted. How disgusting! This was racial profiling! This was illegitimate legal lynching!

Matthew Rushin's guilt was decided the moment the Virginia Beach Police stepped on to the scene of the January 4, 2019 accident. None of the 17 Virginia Beach officers followed their own standard operating procedures to transport an injured and mentally confused and distressed person for evaluation.

They did not exhibit any understanding of autism in their interpretations of Matthews comments and actions. Instead, they took advantage of his vulnerability as they handcuffed him, questioned him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, lied to him about evidence, isolated him from his family, charged him with 2nd degree murder with a claim that the accident was an intentional attempt to kill himself by deliberately driving head on into another car.

The facts don’t support this, including the totality of the victim and witness statements, Matthew’s behavior and statements, and the forensic evidence.

It took less than 6 hours for Matthew’s freedom, his reputation, his future to be stolen by Virginia Beach Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice System.

Please ask Governor Northam, to refuse to allow the “system” to steal any more days from Matthew. Ask Governor Northam to grant Matthew an Absolute Pardon and do whatever it takes to free him today!

Matthew turns 22 on August 4th, 2020.

*******************************************************************************************

These are critical points:

1. Matthew was not taken for medical (and mental health evaluation) the evening of the crash. He has lost consciousness, had a prior serious brain injury, was banged up around the face and bleeding, was not making sense - yet, instead of taking him for evaluation and care, the police handcuffed and interrogated him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, then more at the police station (with lies and manipulation). He still has not had the physical evaluation he should have had that day - despite the fact that he has a cyst on his pituitary gland that was due evaluation the month he was jailed (19 months ago), AND he is having severe headaches, dizziness and temporary blindness.

2. Virginia Beach Police Department has a CIT (Crisis Intervention Team) program that is supposed to divert people with mental illness or in mental health crises to treatment rather than the criminal system. Not only did they not activate that team despite his history of PTSD, anxiety and his symptoms at the scene AND the fact that they were going to charge him with attempted 2nd degree murder on the basis of a suicide attempt (unfounded!), the woman how did much of the interrogation - which included lies about the evidence they had, and pretending that she was his friend - is a trainer for their CIT program. Further, suicidology must be determined by psychologist or psychiatrist. It was not - and wouldn't have been. They were able to maintain that charge, because after 7 months of jail, when Matthew was told that if he signed the plea deal, he could go home - that was his understanding - he signed it. From that point forward, the prosecutor, judge and press referred to the "fact" that he admitted he deliberately ran into the other car because he was trying to kill himself.

Officer Hosang only has 12 hours of Autism training, it takes psychologists years undergraduate education, graduate education and a whole lot of certification to even be able to practice. Officer Hosang told Matthew as heard in the interrogation, she hopes to arrest and charge him. What CIT does that? Is that descalating the issue? Um.. no way!

3. Mental health services have not been provided. Medication for anxiety was provided after months, but not counseling/treatment. Matthew has not had the required neurology follow up for his conditions identified prior to his incarceration.

4. Matthew and his family have not been able to talk face to face for 19 months, let alone hug. This 20 year old autistic man who had just been in a very serious car accident and who was clearly physically impacted was not allowed the comfort of his family. His dad was at the scene for hours waiting to be allowed to see his son. He wasn't even told when they took Matthew away from the scene. Mr. Rushin found out 45 minutes later.

5. Matthew was ripped from his life on the basis of an unsubstantiated claim, denied his rights, taken advantage of and taken straight to prison for a charge that never should have been made. Yet when there is overwhelming evidence of all of the wrongdoing, he remains in prison. That is totally unbalanced. He was judged guilty on sight. But it is taking months to free him. This is so wrong.

________________________________________________________________________________

(1) Mark R. Herring: Attorney General

EMAIL: service@oag.state.va.us

CALL: (804)786-2071

(2) Kelly Thomasson: Secretary of the Commonwealth

EMAIL: Kelly.thomasson@governor.virginia.gov

CALL: (804) 786-2441

Fax: 804-786-7441

(3) Brian Moran: Secretary of Public Safety and Homeland Secretary

CALL: Office: 804-786-5351

EMAIL: Brian.Moran@governor.virginia.gov

(4) Tonya D. Chapman: Chair of the Virginia Parole Board

EMAIL: tonya.chapman@vpb.virginia.gov

CALL: 804-674-3081

(5) Virginia Governor Ralph Northam

CALL: 1 (804) 786-2211

EMAIL: Ralph.Northam@governor.virginia.gov

(6) pardons@governor.virginia.com

(1) PETITION LINK: (DO NOT DONATE TO THE PETITION, ONLY SHARE)

https://www.change.org/p/ralph-s-northam-matthew-rushin-autistic-college-student-odu?recruiter=295142305&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_abi&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_&fbclid=IwAR0k8rkuCWrURYz3pq7v8mXkd3rGwkfsidB8alqhxLiUn4mF-y7zXlUq0y8

(2) GOFUNDME FOR LEGAL AND EXPERT FEES (ZERO THE TIP FEE: DO NOT ADD A TIP): we still need financial assistance! We appreciate everyone ❤️

https://www.gofundme.com/f/SAVING-MATTHEW-RUSHIN

(3 PAYPAL:

https://www.paypal.me/Dance4Matthew

[professoruber]

A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Chapter 1: Masks and Faces (Epithet Erased Fanfiction)

Inspired by the Role Swap AU created by @spliinkles.

Synopsis: We all know the stories of Sweet Jazz City, people did things and other people reacted to those things. However what if places were switched? Banzai Captain Molly prepares for her first great heist while rambunctious twelve year old troublemaker Giovanni sneaks into a the Sweet Jazz Museum after hours.

Prologue: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189820483268/epithet-erased-role-swap-au-fanfic-a-swapped

Chapter 1: You are here

==============================================================

Giovanni couldn’t believe it, real life criminal stood before him. He had a million questions to ask them and hoped they’d be impressed by the diabolical vandalism he has committed. Through his sheer joy he manages to get through a few words of excitement.

“Wow, criminals! Awesome!”

==================================================================================

Earlier that day….

==================================================================================

Detective Sylvester Ashling stood before the crime scene, analysing it with investigative genius mind. The crime had been committed without any alarms, the culprit or culprits having gotten in from cutting through the roof while somehow not alerting anyone or any security.

And while the good detective would never admit it, even he was mildly puzzled by this.

“So, what do you think detective?” questions the stressed gallery curator, who has been spending all their time since the robbery alternating between cooperating with police and apologising to wealthy patrons.

“Well it’s about time I was brought in to bring an end to this caper. Behold as I unleash the powerful mind of a master investigator” He answers dramatically, somewhat reassuring the curator.

He returned to considering the circumstances and events this this criminal act, all while absentmindedly swinging around his yoyo. The thieves in question got in from the roof, and by that he means burst through. The cracks are visible and it seems like they simply forced their way down by sheer weight pressure, something which would’ve logically caused much noise and alerted even the most asleep night guard. 

But security cameras showed all nightguards were doing their jobs, and neither security guards nor cameras recorded any unusual noises.

And then there were the teddy bears, these toys were left in place of these very expensive statues. They have already been taken in for examination but so far, no noticeable traces evidence could be found on them.

This is not the first time such an event has occurred. In past months alone there has been a variety of bear theme crimes, many committed in areas with high Banzai Blaster activity.

But as Sweet Jazz City’s most brilliant master detective, or at least that’s what he always called himself, Sylvie was sure he would get to the bottom of this in now time.

He gave a laugh which most definitely sounded awesome and showed his masterful genius and did not sound like clown laugher in anyway, which drew a few stares from others.

These criminals will rue the day they decided to commit crimes in the notice of Detective Sylvester Ashling.

==================================================================================

Dr Percival King stood admiring the fine exhibits of the prestigious Sweet Jazz Museum, honoured to be attendance of the fine work of noble historians. Truly there are few greater pursuits than that of knowledge, an ideal with Percy took to heart.

As a criminal psychologist her days consisted of long hours of analysing the sickening debauchery and vile criminal minds of her patients. Hers’ is a dangerous road yet she has chosen it nonetheless.

As she walks around examining these exhibits her attention is drawn to a tour group of children being led by two museum staff.

“Ah, I see that this museum makes sure to spread its knowledge to aspiring youths. Very excellent” she compliments to no one in particular as she was over to get a closer look.

The tour itself was fairly standard and admittedly lacklustre at time, however a notable occurrence was the information on the ‘Arsene Amulet’, a mysterious artefact capable of stealing Epithets.

Such an item would catch her attention both for her research into if a person’s Epithet affect their criminal capabilities as well as that such an item would likely come under threat of theft, and as such studying it would provide an excellent resource in delving into the dark motivation of criminals.

She respectfully waits for the tour to be finished and for the pair of museum curators to be free before approaching them.

Walking up to the young woman she believes was called Mera, Percy launches into introductions and explanations.

“Good day miss museum curator. I was hoping to discuss a hypothetical partnership with the Sweet Jazz Museum in order to further my research into the minds of the criminal element”

The museum guard in question looked caught off guard “Wait… what are you talking about? Who even are you kid?”

Percy looks somewhat embarrassed at her own forgetfulness “Uh of course. I apologise, I have not introduced myself. I am Dr Percival King, criminal psychologist residing in Sweet Jazz City” she explains matter of facty.

Mera meanwhile still looks confused and also doubtful “A psychologist? Really? Sure kid whatever you say, now did you need something”

“I can assure you I am a registered psychologist, as impersonating a professional would be a severe offence” As Percy hands Mera her business card and qualifications, she briefly notes Mera had a nervous reaction to the mention of impersonation.

Suddenly the other tour guide bursts into the scene and shouts “Greetings apprentice Mera and teenager I have never met!” He catches sight of Percy’s qualifications causing his eyes to go wide “Ah a psychologist I see. Greetings Dr Percival King, I am Indus Tarbella, the man whose Epithet is BARRIER!” He suddenly proudly shouts and flexes as his sentence finishes while he also shows off his barrier.

Percy merely nods in greeting “It is a pleasure. With your permission I seek to extend my research to that of the Arsene Amulet which I heard will be displayed in the Museum”

Mera looked startled at the mention of the Amulet, but kept her cool mostly “Uh… look ‘Dr King’, as much as we’d LOVE to assist in growing your bright young mind, I am afraid that we will be much too busy tonight with… museum work… for any ‘psychology research’ to be done”

Indus looks saddened by these works but nonetheless agrees “Indeed my apprentice speaks truthfully. Are work will take us to great lengths in the coming nights, am I am afraid we must tearfully stand in the way of your quest of knowledge”

Percy was disappointment but not upset “I understand, please allow me leave my details with you before I take my leave. And with that I bid you both good luck in dealing with the inevitable assaults on the sanctity of learning by the many vicious thieves who will no doubt be on their way here”   

Despite the sincerity and non-accusing nature of Percy’s words, it still causes a great deal of alarm in Mera, who begins waving her arms around in a panic “Thieves? Who said anything about thieves? What do know kid!” Her tone shifts rapidly from fear to accusing and back around again. Causing Indus to come in to comfort her and calm her down.

Percy takes some moments to analyse Mera’s reaction but otherwise seems unperturbed by the outburst.

“I apologise for my lack of explanation, I simply assumed you were already aware. As someone who has studied criminal psychology for a number of years now, I have come to find an understanding and pattern to their actions. An artefact such as the Arsene Amulet being placed in a museum would attract many opportunists and scalawags seeking the notoriety and validation that such a theft would be assumed to entail, of course their broken vile minds are unable to comprehend that crime leads to nothing but suffer, but I digress. With crime rate increasing and many of my disenfranchised troubled peers flock to criminal dens of debauchery such as the Banzai Blaster”

Percy looks to her personal belongings “it is for those reasons why I always carry this” she begins to motion to a real ass goddamn sword which she is carrying, causing another startled reaction from Mera and a look of amazement from Indus.

“Is that...?” Indus asks with a tone of wonder. Percy nods and confirms “Indeed it is. But do not be alarmed, I assure you on my honour as a psychologist that I am both fully trained and licenced to wield such a weapon and am prepared to only use it for the purpose of self-defence”

Indus and Mera both stare at her for a while, Indus is the one to break the silence with a request “Please remain here young psychologist, while me and my apprentice talk over there”

Both Indus and Mera scuttle off to a corner to talk, while Percy stands there politely waiting. After a while they return.

“So… look here’s the deal kid. We thought about it and with all these threats of thieves and stuff around, it might not hurt to have another ear in the museum. Just so long as you stay in the offices while we’re busy” says Mera, to which Indus smiles which prompts Mera herself to give a small smile.

Indus pats Percy on the back “It is our honour to support the troubles of a young scholar such as yourself”

Percy has a look of gratitude “As a fellow academic I thank you. And you have my word that I go over my research away from your work while you are busy. And also, that I will make sure to report any suspicious behaviour to you”

==================================================================================

Meanwhile across town Molly had just finished stocking the last of the shelves with the new toys she had made. Her face plastered with false joy for the sake of the annoying customers which just love to continually interrupt her stocking with obvious and meaningless questioning.

“Right over there, sir” “No need to worry sir” “What can I for you sir” “Sorry sir those coupons are for other competitors” “I’m sorry we failed to meet your satisfaction sir”

These are some of the phrases she has trained herself to repeat without thinking since she was ten. Even if her main job was filling her dad’s place as the toymaker, she did still have to deal with customers often, and Lorelai just loved every chance to outsource her own work to Molly.

False smiles and resisting the urge to hit people who deserve it so much has been Molly’s life. She would’ve gotten crazy by now if she didn’t get a chance to be herself around her friends, and by friends she means fellow criminals.

Stocking the last shelf, Molly proceeds to make her way to the counter, stopping several times to deal with customer, all while she retained the same level of faux cheerfulness that is expected of those in retail. She walked steadily forward in the heels she swapped out her working boots for, as her mother has always made sure Molly knew to keep up appearances when in working among customers.

“All selves are done Lorelai and my shift is over. I’ll just be clocking out and heading back to my apartment to get ready for night school now” Molly doesn’t wait for her sister’s response and instead simply takes her leave, clocking out and letting another staff member know just in case Lorelai wasn’t paying attention. With their mum still probably off discussing business deals across town, it would be up to the hired staff to keep an eye on Lorelai for the night, Molly gave a silent prayer for their continued relative sanity.

She takes off her apron and places it in a small back closet of the store and continues outside in her simple green dress after having her nametag placed in her bag, nothing about her would make her stand out but anything other than a normal woman. The special devices for the heist which she has made on the side were store safely to be ‘collected’ later. Having to juggle her legitimate and illegitimate work was tough but her first job as a Banzai Captain was worth it.

Making sure to get to the bus stop before it gets too dark, she rushed to the nearby bus stop just in time to catch the next one to her apartment.

She sits down and crosses her legs, looking like just any other passenger. And just like any other passenger gets up and calmly walks from the bus and to her stop when it is called.

The rest of the walk to her apartment is simple as she wears a mask, the mask which she has trained herself to wear for almost a decade. Token girlish giggles at compliments and flirts, smile at passersby, one foot forward at a time. Her mum had always ‘encouraged’ her to act as expected and in public nothing about Molly Blyndeff deviated from what one might expect a young woman in both life in the retail world would act.

She buzzed into the apartment complex, waving and smiling at any of her neighbours who by chance were also out and about across the building, even the rude ones. She gave a final token giggle and “Thank you” to the older lady who lived down the hall who had just told her that the heels she wears everyday look particularly nice tonight. She didn’t have anything against the old lady and she did seem perfectly nice to Molly, it’s just that Molly just barely had the energy to deal with anyone after work.

Entering her room with a smile which immediately dissolves the moment the door is shut, Molly collapses into her small bed. Finally feeling the effects of all the energy, she has expended across the day in wearing her mask.

 She just lays there for a while. Not moving. This is one of the few places she can still act herself, its why she worked so hard to get this tiny one room apartment, with the only attachment being a small walk-in closet sized washing room.

Getting up slowly she squeezes into the washing room and splashes some cold water on her face before taking off her dress in favour of some jeans and a purple singlet along with her favourite woolly jacket pulled over it. A cute mildly bear themed head band is snuggled into place among her hair as she takes out her retail heels in favour of criminal sneakers.

Going through her possessions to make sure tonight would go according to her plans, her eyes briefly falling to the smudged-up picture of her family, back when her dad was still alive.

It had been cried on, torn apart and put together again dozens of times and the damage showed, yet despite all this it was one of the few things Molly could see with complete clarity. 

In the picture her dad was alive and holding her mum’s hand. Molly and her young sister both stood between them and Molly had a genuine real smile on her lips, a rarity as the years went on.

“I’m sorry…” she said, and unlike her trained response to customers, this apology came from somewhere else.

Sighing, Molly tucked the photo deep under her clothes, out of sight and out of mind.

What happened all those years ago is irrelevant, all that mattered to Molly tonight was the heist. Night school had simply been a cover for her work with the Banzai Blasters, once Molly may have been uncomfortable with the lies but in the tightly controlled Blyndeff Household she quickly realised that it was the only way to survive.

Refreshed and ready for the night, Molly flashes a wicked grin as she got her bear claws, a literal bear life hand attached to a stick which she can use for self-defence if need be. As well as her pair of hand claws for climbing. Stuffing them into her back for now to avoid unneeded attention.

From the moment she exited her room the mask re-established itself naturally. She walked down the halls, briefly stopping to make some polite small talk with the old lady down the hall due to Molly now having more energy to deal with people.

Soon she returned to her walk. Heading down the streets of the town and towards the building where her night class was allegedly taking place. Her mum’s frequent insistence on keeping up appearance even through tragedy plays through her mind, making her work with ease and an aura of normalcy.

The cute smile of the young woman would seem perfectly normal to those passing by her. And yet a small tint of a maniacal grin itched itself ever so slightly into it, as Molly prepared to take one more step towards freedom.

==================================================================================

Molly sat in the passenger seat of the van, her friend Sound Phoenix, real name Phoenicia Fleecity, sat in the driver’s street. Molly took a moment to look at herself in the small car mirror, her new Banzai Captain uniform and cape caused a real smile to come to her face.

She reminded herself that while in this yellow uniform she wasn’t Molly Blyndeff, the hardworking and cheerful daughter of a respected businesswoman, she was Bear Trap, dark hearted criminal and newly minted Banzai Captain.  

She still remembers the thrill of finding out about her promotion. Her old captain Gorou Shimizaki had been promoted to Banzai Vice Principal despite admittedly not being the most competent individual, thanks in large part due to Bear Trap’s role in the heist of several expensive statues.

Afterwards he took her aside and told her that as his first act as Banzai Vice Principal was stealing a bunch of donuts for himself. She wasn’t sure how that was relevant to her but then he also mentioned that while he was eating those donuts, he thought about all that she’s done to help him and recommended her promotion.

No matter her opinion on the abilities or intelligence of her old captain, she was undeniably thankful to him for that. Being a member of the Banzai Blasters was one of the few things which was truly hers. Rising up the ranks of this pyramid scheme was her way to freedom.

The van pulled up in a hidden spot near the museum, any noise which may have come from it having been muffled by Bear Trap’s Epithet.

Sound Phoenix was left behind in case of need of a speedy get away. The rest of the Banzai Blasters proceeded with their captain while making sure to stay within her noise cancelling field.

They kept the dark sidelines and eventually snuck to the back wall of the building. Molly’s hand claws were may specifically for this kind of obstacle. She had also made sure to use the time she was suppose to be making toys in order to craft several more hand claws for her minions, it was hard but worth it.

The team of thieves proceeded up the wall and using a map they had found online of the semantics of the museum, they walked over to the entrance area, deeming it the best place to begin their search for valuable items to steal and be most alert of any potential dangers.

Sawing a hole in the roof took some time but Bear Trap’s epithet made it so no one could hear it happen. After several silent moments it was done and carefully placed out of the way as they begin lowering themselves with a rope.

Night Fright, also known as Molly’s friend Trixie Roughhouse, remained on the roof to keep watch of any potential dangers.

The rest of the Banzai Blasters entered the Museum along with their leader.

“Alright girls. This is the Sweet Jazz Museum. Now all that’s left to do is stick to my plan and commit all the crimes” she said with a wicked grin which was soon shared by her minions.

“Alright first let’s search this area…” Molly’s voice soon trails off as a young boy with a brush of pink hair atop his head suddenly popped out from behind a desk.

Her mind raced with panic as she rapidly pondered what this child was doing here this late. Where were his parents? Did they abandon him? Did he run away? Is he hurt? Will he yell for the staff? Are his parents the staff?

In her panic she barely noticed she had dropped her muffling bubble and now the silence which filled the room came only from the surprise and shock of those within.

She braced herself for the child’s screams which would no doubt begin once he realises that he’s alone at night with a group of dangerous criminals. She is about to move forward to silence the inevitable screams when to her renewed confusion his face begins shifting not into one of fear but into one of amazement and wonder.

“You’re, criminals! Awesome!” He said with a smile. Bear Trap…. No,… Molly paused in her place, unsure of how to respond to that.

[nicockbig19]

Under the Umbrella

Yesterday I had my first tarot reading. 

I’m someone who has never been spiritual. I never believed in God, in heaven or in hell, and I wish I could say I was happy with that. But that would be a lie. Ever since I experienced my first caress with death I wanted something to support me, but instead I was thrown into the abyss with nothing to hold on to. I was 12 when my best friend passed away in a car crash. It seemed like something out of a movie, because she died right on Christmas day. I remember what all the adults used to say: “God needed another angel in heaven, that’s why He took her away”. I never believed it. “What kind of God would take away something so good, so pure, so perfect, all for himself. Seem selfish, doesn’t it? doesn’t He have enough angels?”. Those were the kinda things that my mind would say. I’m still mad by that terrible excuse, because it didn’t teach me how to deal with death. The last time we spoke, she was dealing with many issues, and the last thing i ever said to her was “don’t worry, everything will be okay, I promise”. This. This last few words. This was the reason I could never let go. I thought for many years, I even think about it now, that it was my fault. That I had promised her a bright future with so much happiness, and instead I killed her. Of course this was a stupid thought, it was a horrible lie that lead me to want to die with her. Many visits with different therapist lead to nothing. I’m not saying people should avoid therapy, not at all. Therapy helped me deal with so many other issues, it is one of the best things I have ever done for myself. Taking care of my mental health has been a very difficult journey, but it has helped a lot. But this tarot reading revealed the true damage of this death in my soul.

So now, thanks to covid-19, I’ve had more than enough time to really connect with my own spirituality. It has been a very confusing journey, I’d be lying if I said it isn’t. It is terrifying, accepting something in your life that you’ve never believed to be true. Dealing with your own sense of nothingness can be extremely hard. Finding a ground to stand on with a blindfold on puts a lot of pressure in your sense of trust. I don’t blame people that believe in God, even if I disagree with many of their beliefs. I understand why some people need to believe in a higher power, in Heaven. I think my experience with death would have been much easier if I believed in Heaven. But i don’t. So instead, I turned to wicca and witchcraft. This helped me find the first step in an extremely long ladder. I don’t even know where the ladder is going, but I need to learn to trust the path. This is another thing the reading helped me connect with. I have always had an issue with control. It gives me a false sense of protection, of comfort. Since I am so terrified of death, I need to control everything around me. But, of course, this is a very false idea. Dealing the cards and connecting with the Arcanes helped me understand that control won’t ever help, it will only damage. Of course, I don’t know how to let go from that need of control, but now I’m willing to try everything in order to finally slip away from the asphyxiating hands that won’t let me move forward. 

The tarot reading went much more personal that I thought it would. TV shows and movies always convince you that tarot readings are for finding your true love, or asking about money, or even maybe asking about death. But no, nothing had prepared me for the truly awfully personal nature of the readings. For two hours the Arcanes told me more about my personal life and my deepest fears more than any session with a psychiatrist or psychologist -and I’ve been to a lot-. Out of everything I have already mentioned, one thing really stood up. Ever since I was born, I’ve had questions about my gender and my sexuality. I’m not going to bore you with all the details about my journey with gender. But what really stuck with me was a moment of realization. I asked about my gender confusion with the Arcanes, to which they responded: “this is a confusion you will deal with the rest of your life, until the moment you die. But, do not fear this confusion, for it is not a problem”. That sentence touch the deepest part of my soul. I know that sounds cheesy, even ridiculous, but it truly resonated with me. Realizing that my gender was not a problem made me very happy. As I have already mentioned before, my problems with death lead to an extreme need to always be in control, and that translated to my gender identity and expression. I am a person who has always been very feminine, and that always seemed to connect with being a woman. But thanks to my connections and amazing friendships with many trans and non-binary people, I started to understand many things about myself. I realized that being feminine didn’t mean I was a woman, but I have never felt as a man either, and somehow, the non-binary label still doesn’t quite fit. This is what I mean when I say “gender confusion”, Nothing ever seems good enough, and my lack of control over the situation only makes things worse. This is why the answer filled me with a new sense of tranquility. 

Knowing that my gender might be confusing, but accepting that it is not a problem, it’s more amazing than everything I have read or heard about. This idea liberated my heart from all the weight it’s been carrying all of its life. I figured out that, I don’t need to find a label or a box were to put myself in. I can roam freely from the weight of definition. That is what I love so much about the lgbtq+ community. We are prepared for situations like this, and we created “umbrella terms”.  This idea that someone may fall under the umbrella and be happy with that fills me with so much joy. Terms like queer or trans have made me realize that I don’t need to try to make everyone around me confortable. I need to focus in what I want, and what I need. Even though the tarot reading made me look at many dark aspects of my life, it also helped me find so much joy and calm. It made me realize that my true path is love. Love for myself, love for others. And that is something that I will always carry with me. Loving myself with my own confusion, letting love tear down the idea that death is something I can control. Knowing that my love doesn’t kill. All this affirmations help me get through the day. It is time for me to realize that I am a Sun, my path is love, my fear is death, and my false sense of protection form it is control. 

I guess I could say that this is one of the most important experiences of my life, and I know it may all still seem scary and extremely confusing. But finding this amazing ground of spiritual connection not only will it help me be the truest version of myself, but It will also allow me let go of my Sisyphean nature. I can’t keep living my life such as Sisyphus, climbing forever with all the weight under my shoulders, never winning the battle against destiny. Now, I can let go of the rock, stop climbing, and finally being able to breath in peace. I still have many doubts, many problems that have always been there, and that I will continue to fight with the help of professionals, of my siblings and my friends. The support system I have right now will help me continue my true path in life. It may sound cheesy, but I truly believe love is the reason I’m on this planet, and saying it out loud -or at least in some tumblr post that nobody will ever read- makes me so fucking happy. 

[citizenaycock]

Cold War (2018) | Directed and Written by Pawel Pawlikowski

Before getting into Cold War, as a prelude, I’d like to mention a funny documentary the filmmaker Pawel Pawlikowski released back in 1991 called Dostoevsky’s Travels. It follows the great-grandson of the famous Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky who died in 1881.  Fyodor is generally known as one of the greatest writers of all-time and possibly one of the first modern psychologists, deeply probing the human soul in his work.  Great-grandson Dmitri drives a tram in Leningrad, Russia and agrees to go on a speaking tour about his “prophet” Grandfather.  He doesn’t do this to pay his respects, but only because he dreams of scraping together enough money to buy a used Mercedes to impress his friends.  And he is OBSESSED with buying a Mercedes and knows nothing about his Great-Grandfather. He talks to crowds of intellectuals and hardly has anything to say about his kin Fyodor and just wants to get paid. He buys one Mercedes and it breaks down immediately. He then buys another at the end of the documentary and it gets stolen by bandits. As the doc progresses you see Dmitri is a bit of a numb-skull and a scoundrel. I liked it due to the irony of Dmitiri’s complete uncaring attitude towards Fyodor’s highly regarded esteem, and obviously this absurd infatuation with acquiring a used car as a status symbol compared to his novelist grandfather, who is held up so highly for his spiritual profundity and depth.     It’s a great piece of work no one has heard of...part-cautionary Capitalist tale at the end of the Soviet Union, while Cold War is part-cautionary Communist tale post World War II.  

Official Trailer for Cold War

Intro and Technical Specs

To start, my main fear of writing about films I love is that it will suck the joy out of the film itself by looking at it so closely.  I have only written in depth about two films, and thus far, am finding it to be the opposite.  When going under the microscope, I am just becoming more aware how great a truly well-made film is when breaking it down.  

Cold War may be the most beautiful black-and-white film I’ve seen.  The category Amazon has placed it in is “Arthouse Drama”.  Amazon Studios also is the distributor of the film.  My guess is because it did very well at the Cannes Film Festival and Pawlikowski won the Oscar for his previous film Ida in 2013. Sometimes they get it right.   To give some more context, I am very familiar with Ida and studied it for research for making my latest short film.  I found it interesting Pawlikowski implemented a particular style similar to filmmaker Paul Schraeder’s book, “Transcendental Style in Film”.  One aspect of this style pertaining to Ida is the cinematic framing for the action and not moving the camera until the end.  He framed his subjects in a squared 4:3 aspect ratio while leaving lots of headroom, sometimes leaving them in the bottom corner of the frame, which carried over to Cold War.  I don’t exactly know why he does this, but I have some theories that I will flesh out within the post in depth.  While watching, I immediately noticed the grain in the 4K version.  I looked it up and the film was shot with an Alexa digital camera and also a 35mm film camera, so apparently they were able to mimic film grain with the Alexa in post to match.  A 32mm lenses was used for almost all the shots. According to Pawlikowski it was because this focal length closely mimics the viewing width of the human eye and allows a wide space of action that can fit around the subject(s) in the frame. Similar to Ida, there is no non-diegetic music in the film (music added outside of the film’s music itself) until the closing credits, reminiscent of the French director Bresson.  

Opening in Rural Poland

The film opens on the hands of a man playing an instrument that resembles bagpipes, looks handmade and I assume is indigenous to Poland. The camera tilts up to reveal a bright-eyed rural man, and eventually pans over to another interesting looking character playing a violin as they sing together.  We soon learn that Wiktor (one of the protagonists) is traveling with two others (Irena and Kaczmarek) and they are recording various forms of folk music unique to the Polish people.  Kaczmarek immediately degrades this type of music as “possibly crude” or “too primitive” immediately marking a divide in perspective compared to Irena and Wiktor, who visibly enjoy interacting and recording the villagers’ authentic music.  

They soon come to a house where a unique-looking dirty village girl sings a song not accompanied by any instruments.  She has deep-set eyes and looks slightly haunted, and the lyrics of the song are about unrequited love. Not a happy song. Wiktor and Irena are enraptured by the raw singing and are recording this. In contrast, Kaczmarek disinterestedly eats soup in the next room, spoon klanking against the bowl, probably interfering with the recording.  Kaczmarek is representative of the Communist State for this film, high on bureaucracy and lacking in soul. The song being sung by the little girl is a huge part of the film as a whole.  Little do we know (and probably not evident to most who have seen the film) the lyrics tell the story of what happens between the protagonists we are about to follow in the film. The song is called Dwa Serduszka (Two Hearts) and is an authentic Polish folk song like much of the music in the movie.  After watching for the first time (I commonly do this) I went online to look up background information and found a very well-made youtube video essay describing the song as being the “Leitmotif” for the film. Leitmotif is a term defined as “a recurrent theme throughout a musical or literary composition, associated with a particular person, idea, or situation”.  In this case, the song operates as a direct pointing of what is to happen.  The song pops up several times throughout the course of the film, forecasting the fates of the two protagonist lovers, Wiktor and Zula, who are brought together by music.

This “forecasting” I believe goes deeper.  It’s as if it is pre-determined. Pre-determined due to the current political environment in Poland and the two characters’ difference in personality and upbringing.  Also, most importantly, is because they love each other in a way that seems beyond their control and not a choice, eventually becoming impossible for them to live life without one another. The leitmotif reminds us throughout the film of Wiktor and Zula’s inability to escape their fate, which is already etched in stone by powers beyond their will:    Two hearts four eyes Crying all day and night long Dark eyes, you cry because you can't be together You can't be together My mother told me You mustn't fall in love with this boy    But I went for him anyway and love him until the end I will love him until the end  

Folk Ensemble

Now we are at a large building which looks to still be in the rural area.  Auditions are going to be held here for singers and dancers for a folk ensemble performance.  A couple of trucks haul the commoners in and Kaczmarek gives a stately speech to the bunch before cutting inside to everyone waiting to audition for Wiktor and Irena.

We then meet Zula waiting.  She elects to audition with another girl, naively, rather than shine in the audition solo. They enter the room to sing for Wiktor and Irena.  Wiktor is immediately transfixed and asks Zula to hold on and asks her to sing another song alone.  She sings with an authentic, untrained beauty.  We also see her feistiness here.  It’s obvious Wiktor is smitten and she is marked down to be selected as one of the singers after they exchange a parting look.  By now, the framing style of the cinematography is noticeably unique compared to other films.  As mentioned in the intro, characters are often framed with lots of headroom and sometimes placed in the bottom of the frame, leaving it mostly open space.  My theory on this is that the environment the characters inhabit are shaping their destiny more than the characters’ own free will, therefore their heads are often seen at the bottom with action on top and around them. For example, Communism looms larger than the individual, tamping he or she down (literally) to the bottom of the frame.  Not only Communism, but their uncontrollable love for one another, the characters’ upbringing and the people around them with their general wants and needs. These factors shape their present and future more than their own willful, self-determination and I think the filmmaker is aware of this fatalism, yet doesn’t just come and say it because that wouldn’t be interesting.  We just see that Wiktor and Zula are never able to comfortably settle anywhere with their love nor escape the love they feel for one another, making their situation impossible due to the circumstances.        In Ida, duty to God looms large and so does the characters’ Jewish unknown family past (to only name two) and the shots are framed accordingly as well.   On a broad level stepping outside of the film, what’s interesting to me is how much free will do humans actually have and how much is self-determinant?  After studying the film closely, this is the deep question (not answer) that I came to that transcends the surface story.  

Wiktor watches Zula from a distance outside that evening.  Irena then tells him Zula killed her father and did some prison time for it.  After rewatching, I suspect that Irena loves Wiktor, and there are a few subtle cues later on that I noticed as well.  During private lessons, Wiktor curiously asks Zula what happened between her and her father while Wiktor plays scales on the piano and she matches the notes with her voice.  Zula says her father tried to be sexual with her so she stabbed him.  It is a very matter-of-fact and short answer.  Wiktor doesn’t say anything and continues playing the piano.   I’ve thought about this scene more so than any other scene after rewatching.  I think it is because of the dialectical nature of Zula saying she stabbed here Dad because he tried to have sex with her, one of the darkest things you could imagine, then the slight humor of Wiktor’s reaction while seamlessly transitioning back to the softness of the piano and her soft voice syncing.   Wiktor is very watchful, internal, reserved, most likely from a more refined family and musical background.  Zula is tough, spirited, tenacious and has lit a fire in Wiktor.  Wiktor is tall and dark-haired.  Zula is short and blonde. Opposites!

It is now time to perform for a large audience in a theatre.  Wiktor conducts. Zula and about 20 other girls in Polish folk attire sing the leitmotif song that was sung by the young girl earlier.  The group sings beautifully.  Zula shines in front.  Even Kaczmarek on the side of the stage behind the curtain seems to be in awe and carefully walks about as if not to disturb the magic.

Afterwards there is a reception.  Wiktor and Irena lean against a large mirrored wall and everyone else in the room is seen in the reflection. When you first watch it, it takes awhile to figure out the orientation of the room due to the mirrored wall.  I think this is the most interesting shot of the film.  Kaczmarek then gleefully enters frame and says that the performance was so beautiful, calls Wiktor a genius and says it’s the most beautiful day of his life.  He really means it and is the most authentic emotion we see from him in the whole film.  Previously, Kaczmarek thought all this “folksy stuff” was foolish.  There is a funny moment between the three.  Wiktor and Irena are obviously moved by this but not sure how to express it as the stately Kaczmarek leans against the mirror with the two.   On a second viewing, one sees Zula in the reflection staring at Wiktor the entire time.  The two make love soon after in a bathroom at the party.

The Ensemble + The State

The performance is so good, now the State wants to get involved and meets with Wiktor, Irena and Kaczmarek.  The government wants to turn the repertoire into a “calling card for our Fatherland” and incorporate “Land Reform”, “World Peace” and a strong number about the “Leader of the World Proletariat”.  In return the group will be held in high favor, able to travel to other countries to perform, etc.  Irena and Wiktor are visibly uncomfortable with this.  Irena speaks first and says thank you but the ensemble is about authentic folk art and the rural population doesn’t sing nor understand these difficult issues.  Kaczmarek quickly intervenes and calls the man from the state “comrade” and says the ensemble, on the contrary, will do this after given proper direction. Irena stares him down.  Wiktor says nothing.  The next performance is stained by a huge tapestry of Stalin behind the singing ensemble.  The tone now is more dutiful rather than soulful, as if singing a church hymn they are forced to sing.  Zula’s face while singing now lacks the life it possessed in the performance before.  The State must extinguish all individuality and uniqueness with the goal to homogenize.  Irena’s heart looks broken in the audience.  Everyone dutifully rises for applause afterwards and Irena walks out.  We do not see her again in the film.  Everything has changed.

The stuffiness of the singing troops is saved afterwards by a beautiful shot of Wiktor and Zula laying in a golden wheat field together at dusk. Golden?? The film is in black and white but my mind says “golden”.  Birds and crickets sing. Tranquility away from the group.

But it doesn’t last long, as they are unable to run from the larger outside factors.  Zula soon confesses that she reports on Wiktor to Kaczmarek about their relationship and the things he tells her. She says it’s because she’s on probation for something and assures Wiktor that it’s nothing that will hurt him, but Wiktor gets up and walks off angrily at a loss for words.      As mentioned, the scene starts with their eyes closed as if in a dream, beyond the State, but it's inevitable that the state has to enter their relationship at some point, infecting the dream, and will remain a problem for the rest of their lives.   Zula calls him a “bourgeois wanker” as he walks away and she reacts oddly by jumping in a nearby river.  As soon as she hits the water, Wiktor stops and turns around.  She floats in the river and begins singing the leitmotif song.  

The next shot is of the two silently sitting together again in the wheat field at nightfall with a campfire going.  Zula’s hair is wet. The two just stare at each other and never say a word. What are they thinking?   I think Wiktor is thinking that he can not escape her because of his love and that they are stuck!  Zula knows this too.  This is a type of love that transcends choice.  Just like the State, their love controls them. The silent shot in nature cuts to black, then diverges to a busy train station with a brass band as the ensemble leaves to go to Berlin for a show.  Kaczmarek gives a stately speech to the group about their trip.  Wiktor meets Zula privately in a train car and lays out a plan for their escape once in Germany to go to France.  Zula is nervous she will not be able to make it somewhere other than her homeland Poland due to her inability to speak French and lack of experience.  I doubt she has any family to rely on, and at the moment has the ensemble in Poland as a decent occupation.  Wiktor assures her she has talent to learn and the most important thing is they’ll be together. They kiss.   The performance in Berlin is shot very uniform and proper, perhaps further pointing to its newfound soulless rigidity.  Afterwards, Wiktor goes to the meeting place to cross the border.  Zula remains at the reception with the comrades and Kaczmarek (as if in a trance) and never shows.  Wiktor waits until nightfall and eventually stiffly walks across without her.  

Defection

Wiktor is now playing piano in a cool jazz night club in Paris with a band.  It is 1954.  His beard is now grown out a bit and his hair messier than before.  He is now in an empty cafe at closing time and speaks French with the waitress. He seems to have assimilated well here.  It is revealed he is waiting for someone. That someone is Zula.  She eventually walks in and they stare at one another for a few moments.   One look at Wiktor while sitting across from her shows how much he still loves her and has missed her. The actor playing Wiktor, Tomasz Kot, really shows this wonderfully. He is very good at being still yet showing so much.  Regarding the performances, this is one of the most authentic love films I’ve seen in a long time.  And an expert director and writer doesn’t hurt.  The film never feels sappy, in my opinion, while simultaneously remaining very romantic.   Zula doesn’t show much and stays cold during this scene, but can’t help but ask, “Are you with someone?”  Wiktor is.  So is she.  He asks if she’s happy.  She isn’t, but doesn’t say it.  Wiktor knows and walks her to the hotel.  She says she wasn’t good enough, not as good as him, to make the escape from Poland to Paris.  Wiktor says he believes love is enough.   Zula coldly kisses his cheek and then stolidly walks away.  Wiktor watches her go.  But eventually Zula breaks! She turns back around, walks quickly back and they kiss passionately for a few moments before she leaves again.      If one just read this and didn’t watch the film, you might think it seems like any other love story you’ve seen a million times. But to me, because of the authenticity of the performances and lack of constant soundtrack music, it really felt great to see these two embrace again. And I think it proves that moments in movies that may look cliche on paper can be pulled off with a skilled filmmaker and actors.  Also, there’s only a few angles that the camera covers in this scene and ALL the scenes really!  There’s a graceful economy and no superfluous closeups with unnecessary dialogue.  And as mentioned, no outside music booms in like most films commanding you to feel something! You feel it because you feel it, not because you’re told to feel it with an over-bearing soundtrack trying to compensate for lack of performance or direction. Wiktor now walks into his apartment, smokes a cigarette alone deep in thought, then gets in bed with his girlfriend.  He tells her he’s just been with the woman of his dreams.  She doesn’t seem to care and turns around to go to sleep, highlighting the lax and blase nature of their relationship and possibly Paris artist life as a whole.  Wiktor then turns off the lamp and looks up at the ceiling in lovestruck thought.

We are now in Yugoslavia in 1955, which looks much more lush than I would’ve imagined Yugoslavia.  Wiktor gets off the train to attend a performance of the ensemble.  Kaczmarek quickly greets him at the front of the theatre and is oddly cordial and confident in a sharp suit.   Once inside, Zula sees Wiktor in the audience and looks startled.   Wiktor looks side to side and men are watching him from the aisles.  He is escorted away by authorities yet remains adamant to see Zula rather than be afraid of being thrown in jail or hurt.  The first time I watched I thought he was definitely going to be thrown in prison. Kaczmarek obviously ordered the men to take him away and send him home in a train before he could see Zula, because of Kaczmarek’s interest in Zula.

Zula and the ensemble are shown singing the leitmotif song now.  Zula notices Wiktor is no longer in his seat.  Perhaps he was escorted out at the intermission.  She sings with a melancholic intensity.  The black-and-white contrast is especially beautiful here, maybe more so than anywhere else in the film.  There is a black back drop and all of the singers’ alabaster skin glows, as well as their folk costumes.  

Wiktor is back in Paris now and has gotten work as a Film Composer.  Two years has passed since the Yugoslavia concert.  While in the middle of working on the soundtrack, the side door of the sound stage opens. Wiktor is spellbound as a smiling Zula is revealed.  

Zula has married an Italian so she could legally move to France.  She says the marriage doesn’t count though because it wasn’t in a church. Neither seem worried about it.  This time Zula does not hold back her feelings and, obviously, neither does Wiktor. They make love.   They ride on a boat down the Seine at night past the buildings and cathedrals. They messily and drunkenly dance alone at a night club in rapture. Heaven for a moment.   

Which begins Zula’s vast transition from the performing rural ensemble in Communist Poland to a solo singer at the Paris jazz club with Wiktor’s band.    She sings the emblematic Dwa Serduszka most wonderfully here. Order.  Everything in it’s right place. She is luminous as the camera slowly dollies around her, eventually revealing a packed club.  Everyone is captivated and still.  Then at the end is a lovely moment, maybe my favorite moment of the film, where Wiktor is staring at her intensely and she turns to check in with him and he gives her a nod of approval.  It’s almost corny, riding the edge, but is powerful, conveying a silent understanding between the two seeing one another perfectly clearly.

Poles to Parisians

We now are at where Wiktor and Zula live, which looks like a cool version of a converted attic with a Paris view.  Juliette, Wiktor’s ex, has translated Dwa Serduszka from Polish to French and Zula is unhappy with the translation, which most likely includes some self-consciousness about her pronunciation.  The manner is which the leitmotif song appears here runs parallel to the first step in the descent of the relationship in Paris.  Zula is defensive and anxious about the Parisian artistic circle Wiktor has introduced her to and she drinks to ease the anxiety of feeling inferior.  Wiktor tells her not to because she is “charme slave” as they say, alluding to how everyone has a narrative role and label in these circles.  Zula is becoming difficult and insecure.  Wiktor is becoming caught up in the scene and ignorant of Zula’s dramatic change of environment.

The film director at the party looks Zula up and down when they arrive.  Wiktor allows this without rebuke, most likely due to the nature of the sexually-lax Parisian art culture. Everyone is beautiful and chic at the party.  Zula immediately goes for the drinks.  She then sees Juliette and approaches her abruptly (yet with restraint for Zula), subtly challenging her French translation of Dwa Serduzska.  Juliette calmly explains her reasoning according to the lyrics’ metaphors. It’s obvious Juliette sees through what’s happening in the situation here..  Juliette’s part is small but the actress is excellent and conveys a lot.  She eventually mentions how the transition to Paris must’ve been a shock...the cafes, cinemas, shops, restaurants. Apparently Juliette sees this shock more than Wiktor does.  Zula tries to play it cool here but you can see she’s flustered.  This is a game she’s not used to playing. She then retorts that her life in Poland was better.  

Wiktor is talking to someone and looks over and sees Zula and the Film Director sitting closely, flirting.  Zula glances back over at him to see if he cares, but Wiktor stays put.  Then later she aggressively confronts him about giving her story “more color”.  It is apparent now that he has enhanced her Polish story to seem more dramatic in order to captivate his French friends and colleagues.  Wiktor shrugs this off.  Zula’s vibe is not carefree and cool like the rest of the party with her straightforward, intense rawness which creates an isolation for herself.   She sits in the bathroom now alone, drinking from a bottle, talking to herself in the mirror.  She calls Wiktor a jerk, but then says she loves him. She calls herself an idiot at one point. She continues to talk in the mirror as if to console herself.  And I can’t help to mention how much she looks like a young Gena Rowlands here.  It reminds me of the 1968 film Faces, which is also black and white.  They look so much alike, and both fantastic actresses that are blonde, voluptuous and troubled.

Gena Rowlands in Faces (1968)

Joanna Kulig in Cold War (2018) Wiktor, unknowingly and excitedly, opens the bathroom door and says that they’re all going to the Jazz Club now.  Zula says she’s a bit sad and wants Wiktor to come in the bathroom with her, but he ignores this and says let’s go.  She takes a moment to herself and then it cuts to the club.  She looks miserable and wasted sitting at the bar.  As we go, I am still noticing the framing I mentioned at the beginning with the subject at the bottom, but for this shot she really seems low!

Her melancholy is interrupted by an upbeat, American song (”Rock Around the Clock Tonight”) and she gets up reinvigorated and starts dancing enthusiastically with a few different guys.  The camera goes handheld and is the messiest camerawork of the film (a good messy).  She eventually gets sloppy and gets on the bar and almost falls and people drunkenly cheer as Wiktor exasperatedly watches.

We then see Wiktor carrying her into their room.  Zula says he is no longer a man in Paris like he was in Poland, and says she and the director get along well in attempt to get under his skin further.  He then sits alone in the dark and smokes a cigarette.

It now cuts to Zula in a sound studio singing into a mic in French.  I don’t speak any French, but her accent and pronunciation feels correct, but her spirit is muted...and we soon see one reason why.  Wiktor’s voice ominously interrupts her over a speaker behind glass in the recording booth.  Now the shot is on him and he looks disheveled and dark and tells Zula they only have 40 minutes left and not to blow it.  There is a deep hate in his eyes we haven’t seen yet, perhaps retribution for calling out his manhood and their recent relationship woes. An engineer and the film director are also in the booth.  There is just a bad energy in the room and anyone that’s ever tried to perform anything would be able to detect how difficult it would be to bring a great performance here.  The music starts back up and Wiktor looks down as if disappointed right before she starts singing.  

We are at a listening party now for Zula’s record at the French Director’s apartment.  Zula is standing in the middle of the room alone, listening intently as several others sit around in the background drinking champagne.  Dwa Serduszka plays, but now in French.  It’s okay but not great. It doesn’t have the soul that it had before in Polish.  I’m trying to put my finger on it, but the French seems a little stiff and the vocal track seems extra-produced.  Too loud and too clear when mixed with the band’s instruments and it’s just not what it was before like the first time at the jazz club, for example.  Again, this leitmotif song is also a metaphorical indicator for the stage in the relationship. She looks over at Wiktor who is cooly leaning on the wall off to the side (maybe too cool) and gives Zula a nod similar to his nod after the jazz club performance.  But this nod doesn’t have the effect it did then and seems oddly forced.  The record playing here in this posh Paris apartment compared to the Polish rural girl singing at the beginning of the film is night and day. It’s obvious why, if you think about it.  They’ve taken a folk Polish song, translated it to French for a rural Polish singer, then recorded and produced it in a slick Paris sound studio under difficult conditions.  How could the quality not suffer a bit?! Another example of the larger outside obstacles making it impossible for them, even in a free society like Paris, France.    

It cuts to them now walking home afterwards.  Immediately it’s apparent Zula is unhappy.  Wiktor recognizes this but apparently didn’t know while at the party.  As they pass a fountain next to the street, Zula throws the record in <splash> yet continues to mostly hold her sadness in, which has become more of a depression at this point.  Assimilating is one thing, but they have gotten into this habit of holding back and not being up front, maybe due to the social circles they run in now.  Zula cooly mentions that the French Director has fucked her well 6 times and "not like a Polish artist in exile,” which causes an eruption in Wiktor (what she wanted) and he slaps her.  

This is strange to mention but, technically, the slap doesn’t sync with the sound. Lol. I watched this part 3 or 4 times to make sure and it just doesn’t (unless there was a lag in the internet connection).  Maybe nobody else notices this, but I’ve had to edit-sync slaps, kicks and punches before many times on this very computer and immediately saw something didn’t look/sound right. After the hard slap, Zula raises up and says, “Now we’re talking”, which is sarcastic but also the truth.  Often one needs a crisis moment to break out of a behavioral habit and apparently the French translation broke the camel’s back. The next day Wiktor frantically goes to the Director’s apartment looking for Zula.  He stomps through the rooms looking for her.  The Director then says she went back to Poland.  Wiktor slowly walks out of the apartment with a terrified look on his face.   Wiktor has become unhinged and plays maniacally on the piano at the Jazz Club.  The other band members just stop playing and look at him as he bangs on the keys in isolation.  There is some slight comical levity here for a couple of seconds due to the look on the clarinet player’s face.    You assume Wiktor has lost his job.  He is now miserably pumping coins in a phone booth for talk time to find out where Zula is in Poland.  Afterwards, Wiktor goes to what I assume is an embassy.  A Polish man at a desk tries to dissuade him from leaving Paris and going back to Poland.  You can see the Eiffel Tower outside the window as the man asks Wiktor why he would ever want to leave this place.  He says Wiktor doesn’t exist anymore to Poland because he left and let down all the young people he worked with. The man takes a drink from his cup and reacts as if he’s spiked it with something strong, perhaps how he’s able to get through his job.  He then mentions there is a way Wiktor can go back if he truly regrets what he has done.  

The Exiles Return

It is 1959 and we see Zula back in Poland on a dreary, crowded train with peasants.  Soldiers whistle at her as she walks on a snowy road.  She has come to visit a very broken, gaunt Wiktor who is being held prisoner by the military for being an exile.  He says he has to be here for 15 years and got off lucky.  Zula gives the guard what I assume are cigarettes which buys them 10 minutes alone.  

His right hand has been beat severely.  They kiss and Zula says she will wait for him.  Wiktor tells her to find someone else, but Zula says she will get him out.

Cuts to 1964, 5 years later.  A performing Zula is on stage singing a ridiculous Latin-infused song with a black wig on, resembling a late Judy Garland.  She looks overweight and drunk with her comical, sombrero-wearing band. We now see an older Wiktor backstage with Kaczmarek who is holding an unhappy, despondent child.  Kaczmarek doesn’t look like he’s aged a bit and still has a detached soullessness about him.  With Kaczmarek, you wait for him to be rude or mean but he is not.  He always stays at a steady, robotic hum of cordiality.   It is revealed Wiktor can no longer play music because he can no longer use his right hand.  It is also now apparent that Zula married Kaczmarek in order for Wiktor to be released.  Zula now comes off stage and walks quickly toward them but drunkenly falls down. She manages to rapidly get up and falls directly into Wiktor’s arms, completely disregarding Kaczmarek and her son.  They go off to the restroom together and sit on the floor staring at one another.  Zula pulls off her wig, perhaps finally able to shed this horrible identity she's had to create to survive. 

She asks him to get her out of here...for good.  

The two take a crowded bus and get dropped off on a country road next to a lovely field.  They look slightly rejuvenated but stolid.  

Early in the film, Irena and Wiktor sat in the van while Kaczmarek took a walk to take a pee.  Kaczmarek then aimlessly walked into the ruins of this old church. He looked around, then left...point being we’ve seen this place before.  And earlier, even Kaczmarek’s face showed a certain amount of reverence for this old church and felt the power it gave off.  Wiktor and Zula now enter this same church.  There is a circular hole in the ceiling, perhaps so God can see them.    

They now kneel with a candle lit in front of them on an alter with a row of white pills. They have a brief, simple marriage ceremony. They both have a glow to them.  They cross themselves and mention God.  They ingest the pills.

They kiss.  

They then sit on a bench at dusk and look out into the field, holding hands, quiet.

You can hear the insects and an occasional bird chirp.  Both have dark circles under their eyes.  It’s so beautiful yet so sad.   Zula then says, “Let’s go to the other side.  The view will be better there”.  They stand and go, leaving an open frame.  A gentle gust blows the wheat from behind where they were sitting.  Perhaps God’s sigh...

This last time I watched, the ending really got me...and is powerful now as I write about it.  As mentioned in the intro, Pawlikowski’s last film Ida incorporated a particular style.  Pawlikowski never moved the camera until the end of that film, so when he did the viewer would be raised up in a transcendental way as the first external music came in, lifting us from the real world for a few moments.  I think he did the same thing here with Cold War in a different way. The moment of transcendence for this film comes at the end also but not with the movement of the camera but with the movement of the wheat behind the bench before cutting to black.  This film is high on realism, but this gust is something otherworldly, therefore a powerful contrast from the stark, real world tribulations previously in the entirety of the film up to this point.  This is what makes it so heartbreaking and beautiful and poetic all at the same time.  And also, for a moment, the viewer might weigh whether the fate of Wiktor and Zula is so horrible after all.   “for my parents” appears before the credits, pointing to the fact that the story is based on the filmmaker’s parents’ true experience during that time period.  Bach’s Goldberg Variations comes in and you know it’s Glen Gould when you hear the humming, which I don’t necessarily like but it doesn’t ruin the mood.  Bach was also used for the ending of Ida and is also the only non-diegetic music used for Cold War.  

In conclusion, I think every great film has to have a surface story that one can follow and then a large idea hidden within that story (or as a result) to meditate on which includes something deep about the human condition.  With some films, one has to work to find out what that larger idea is. For future posts, I may try to specifically focus on this “larger idea” rather that breaking down the entire film.  This often appears as a question, not an answer, and Cold War does this masterfully.

[leowenila]

Shepherd’s Superheroes

Hello! During last season’s hiatus and before posting stories publicly; I wrote this and it might be one of my most favorite (out of my own writings) stories ever! A few days ago I sat down to reread it and make a few changes with more information we have gotten this season. This story is mostly an alternative-universe but mostly it’s a lot of fluffy-comfort with a small portion of angst. This is a long one!! I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I do! PS; if anyone is interested, there is a part two still in my drafts 💗😊

Traveling with an eleven month old proved to be tremendously different to Owen and Amelia than they initially it would be like, once landing, they realized it was totally worth it. The couple did not travel much due to their busy career lives but shortly after Miranda Bailey discussed with the neurosurgeon about having too many vacation days built up; both her and her fiance thought it was the perfect time to go visit and introduce the family she built with Owen, to her family. No matter how many years had passed; she has always missed them in a way that is impossible for her to describe to the average person. Half of Amelia missing her family was due to curiosity over the question of if they would be proud of her new life or not.

Eventually after their plane safely landed and the purchase of their rent-a-car was confirmed; Owen and Amelia along with Leo reached their destination and began walking towards the same red brick building that held countless amount of memories for the neurosurgeon. Once in the building the family stepped into the elevator and rested their backs on the wall, Amelia sighed causing the small boy to giggle at his mom and later causing all three of them to laugh. Watching Owen bounce Leo on his hip bone made the brunette realize that what she found attractive in Owen was drastically different than what she found attractive many years ago; as she was in the same exact elevator.

“Shut up; bitches. I need to get laid. I need to get laid, really bad.” The young brunette shared with the other two women on the elevator- in her true, non-existent filter self. Both Addison and Violet brought their conversation to a pause once hearing Amelia’s declaration. The psychologist grew concerned due to the fact of not knowing the neurosurgeon well.

“So bad that I’m going to run naked through the street and grind a cop, if something doesn’t happen soon. Wouldn’t one of you just lie on top of me and rub around, for like ten minutes.”

Her laughter amplified once the particular memory of her, Violet and Addison after Amelia returned from her Seattle trip. Owen stared at the same beautiful smile he could watch all week long and noticed how truly happy she seemed once breathing in the California air. Choosing not to question her about why her laughter changed, the two walked off the elevator with Leo beside them, towards a blonde receptionist at the desk and allowed the brunette to take charge with the plan she had in mind since sitting on the plane.

“Hello, our son; Leo, has an appointment with Dr. Cooper Freedman for his yearly checkup.” Amelia informed the blonde receptionist that appeared to be new from since her sudden departure from the group nearly six years ago.

With a confused expression upon her face, the receptionist looked up and down her computer screen to find the brunette’s name.

“I’m sorry, but are you positive his name isn’t under a different name? Maybe you are scheduled for a different day or-?” The not-so-friendly but unamused receptionist asked Amelia. Owen watched Amelia for a second before he noticed a small invisible light bulb, lit up inside of her beautiful brain. Knowing his fiancé well, the trauma surgeon took it as a cue before speaking to the blonde in front of him.

“Excuse me; ma’am? Could you please point me in the direction of the restrooms. We had a very long drive and did not think to find a place before arriving.”

The receptionist removed herself from the back of the desk; where she had been sitting and started walking with Owen and Leo, and made their way to the restrooms. Once the woman was gone and Owen’s back was turned, Amelia began to walk back to the familiar area. The area that hasn’t changed a bit. The area that so many memories were made. And that’s when she saw her family.

Deciding to have her identity remain anonymous the brunette kept her dark-shaded sunglasses on her cerulean eyes and slowly walked into the legendary kitchen of Seaside Wellness Group. Every doctor from the practice was enjoying sandwiches that appeared to be catered by a local sandwich shop.

“I was wondering where I could maybe find a doctor?”

“Oh hello; I’m sorry ma’am, but this area is for employees only. The receptionist should be able to point you in the direction of the waiting room.” The familiar and ever-so-kind male psychologist suggested to who he thought was a stranger.

Amelia continued to stand she removed her sunglasses and before she had time to fix her short hair, every person in the room gasped at who was standing in the kitchen across from them. As if on an impulse all of them stopped what they were doing and practically ran over to Amelia.

“Amelia? Amelia Shepherd? What the hell are you doin’ here?” Charlotte asked with her thick southern accent still very present, after hugging her “junkie best friend” tightly and they smiled at one another.

“Vacation! I need a vacation and I thought what better people to visit my favorite people.”

From afar stood her former sister-in-law, grinning ear to ear with tears shining in her electric blue eyes. Addison shook her head once Amelia removed herself from the blonde’s hug, neither one of them moved for a few moments until they couldn’t take a second more apart. Addison wrapped her longer arms around Amelia and held on for longer than she thought she would, the brunette buried her head into Addison’s shoulder and silently started to allow happy tears to pour out of her eyes. After reconnecting with the people Amelia loved the most, she wiped her tears away as Addison escorted her sister towards the sandwiches where she began to enjoy lunch with them just like old times.

“I have to catch up on some charts; but it is so wonderful to see you again, Amelia.” Jake told Amelia as he held several patient charts in one arm and hugged her from the side. Once done hugging him, Amelia returned to the crafting of her sandwich.

Moments later after returning from the restroom with Leo; the trauma surgeon began to wander the hallways of the welcoming practice and noticed a quiet yet beautifully lit, to his left; with the door slightly open already, he made his way inside. Unaware of a unique calmness that coursed through his body, Owen felt guided to walk towards the wall with multiple framed photographs.

“Bradley S. Kramer. Detroit, Michigan

Lucile “Lulu” E. Allen. Los Angeles, California

Sarah G. Tanner. Chicago, Illinois

Gideon T. Yang. Los Angeles, California”

The trauma surgeon read the four names to himself and saw their photographs. Confused as to what and why the four children were standing beside his fiance; Owen slightly jumped upon hearing one of the doctors at the practice he assumed was Addison’s husband based on photos Amelia has shown him in the past.

“That was an incredible day for all of us; but definitely for Amelia.” Jake told Owen as he also focused on the wall in front of the two men, a smile washed over his face as he remembered that day clearly.

“What is this exactly? Why was it such an incredible day?” The dumbfounded trauma surgeon asked the dark haired man with several patient files in between his arm muscle and his side.

“You see this little guy; right here?” Jake pointed to the photograph in the center of the wall; a small baby boy wrapped in a sky blue blanket, held by his mother. His eyes were closed and his body was small and fragile like. Some moments after fixing his eyes on the small baby; Owen noticed the woman holding the baby, none other than Amelia with a giant smile on her face holding her perfect son. The same son she had told Owen that only lived for forty three minutes, several years ago.

“This is Christopher. Amelia’s son. And children like Gideon and Lulu and Bradley are just some of the children he saved because Amelia decided to donate all of his organs so other kids could leave the hospital. He was, or should I say still is her little superhero.”

No words came to the trauma surgeon’s mouth as he remained speechless, a few months ago was one of the first times that Amelia spoke about her son and told Owen his name but she never talked about what had happened after forty three minutes had passed. She told him that she will tell him the rest of the story one day. Jake left Owen with the bright smile on his face after his visit. Removing Owen from his thoughts; the trauma surgeon heard a knock on the glass door, he looked up and saw the brunette.

“That was a spectacular day.” She said as she walked into the office in which used to be Pete’s office, the brunette watched her fiance continuing to look in shock.

“Remember when I ran away because I was afraid to have your baby?” The brunette asked him; without saying a word, Owen shook his head and turned his attention on her to agree with her.

“Well I didn’t only run away to Stephanie’s.. I flew to Los Angeles to be apart of the grand opening of this office, in my happy place. This little boy is my superhero. Each one of these kids are my superheroes.” Amelia told Owen after she hugged him tightly in a place she never imagined she would be with the love of her life. A place from her past but also a place of her present. A state that she considered home. From afar on the couch in the same somewhat large room; Leo watched on has his parents embraced and giggled. Causing all three of them to laugh.

Hope you all enjoyed!

[the-mira-life-project-mtf]

A Yearly Gender Dysphoria Review for 2019

A Yearly Gender Dysphoria Review

December, 2019

(Taken February 2019 - 10 Months On HRT)

Abstract: The purpose of this yearly review is to track my progress as being transgender. I theorize that being transgender isn’t only a biological change; but a mental change that is brought on by chemical and cultural adaptations. It is very difficult to measure one’s transformation on a daily scale and after conducting two years of this review, I hope it will yield that I am not only changing physically, but also mentally.

Many of the questions are very personal…but for the purposes of scientific research, I’ve written questions to form a baseline over the years and questions that dive into my physical changes, Physical desires; sexual changes and sexual desires.

In five years, it is the hopes of this review to compare and contrast my evolution from male to female and to see how closely I stayed at my goals.

 ***

BASELINE QUESTIONS

Given Name: David

Desired Name: Mira

Legal Name: Mira Carleen

Desired Gender: Female

Legal Gender: Female

LGBT Status: Transgender

Relationship Status: Dating

1) How did you choose your name?

A: Mira was a name that I have gone by secretly since I was seven years old. Oddly, the name came to me during a drowning event at Copalis Beach. I hallucinated that I was saved by a mermaid who told me that her actions would have profound implications on my life. She wasn’t incline to return me to the surface, wanting me to remain with her and she gave me a new name that sounded like ‘Mer-a’. I begged to return to the surface to be with my family and she reluctantly took me to the surface while telling me that from this point forward, I’d no longer be male, but a female mermaid and that the change will happen if I like it or not.

To say the least, the origin of my name sounds something mythical. By for my family’s beliefs; it is quite likely that I was saved by a mermaid as our family has been entangled with mermaids since the 1500s.

Oddly, the name Mira has more implications then I could have ever imagined! Many of the meanings behind the name Mira speak to my personality (Wonder, Wonderful, Goodness, Peace, Kindness, Helpful, Beautiful, Prosperous, Ocean, Sea, Limit, Boundary, Light, Princess, Soft Like Velvet Rose, He/she Watches, Exalted, Star of the Ocean).

As for Carleen, that name was chosen in January of 2019 in remembrance of Amanda who set me on track to preserve my life from an unknown respiratory disease that almost killed me in 2015. Without the knowledge of cystic fibrosis, I would have continued on the wrong therapy and most likely died from lung failure.

2) What other names were you thinking about using and why?

A: My top five were Mira, Delenn, Kathryn, Harmony and River. Mira eventually won over all the names as it meant the most to me. Delenn was a fascination of grace and power from the Croatian actress, Mira Furlan. Kathryn’s origin is unknown, just a name I used a lot in the 2000s in my stories. Harmony and River both have ties to water.

The expanded full list looked like this:

Mira (Chosen name, given by a mermaid)

Amira (Version of Mira)

Arimira (Version of Mira)

Nanette (A name I used in my stories)

Ananette (A name I used in my stories)

Kathryn (A name I used in my stories)

Kathren (A name I used in my stories)

Kristin (A name I used in my stories)

Sirena (Uncertain…Ocean related name)

Harmony (Harmony Falls, Mount St. Helens)

Delenn (Babylon 5 Character)

Rain (Androgynous Name)

River (Androgynous Name)

Tia (Uncertain)

Bri (A name I used in my stories)

November (My birth month)

Aura (Lovely name)

 3) How long have you been on HRT?

A: 15 Months (Enrolled In The Program) and 13 Months of compliance with HRT.

4) How long have you been Mira?

A: 28 Years

5) How long have you been ‘Mira’ legally?

A: 9 Months

6) How long have you identified as female?

A: About 28 Years

7) How long have you’ve been legally female?

A: 9 Months

8) Do you regret your decision to become Transgender (Woman)?

A: No. I only wished that I have became transgender much sooner. My life as a female, as Mira has been a blessing. Much of the social pressure that I felt as being David is gone; and since my transition, my relationship has improved.

There is still concern about what I am doing, but I’ve had 28 years to figure this all out. The only difference now is that my whole name is different and I am finally looking like the woman I’ve always imagined myself becoming.

9) How long have you known you were Transgender (LGBT)?

A: This is a difficult question as I’ve struggled with the label ‘transgender’. I was raised to believe that those that were lesbians, gay, bisexual and transgender were mentally disturbed. So, accepting that I fall under the LGBT umbrella has taken some time to get use to.

If I had to be honest, I began to truly realize I might be transgender when I signed that Consent form to begin HRT. So, roughly a year and three months.

***

LGBT QUESTIONS

1) On the LGBT spectrum, where do you fall; gender?

A: Transgender Woman

2) On the LGBT spectrum, where do you fall; sexual?

A: Lesbian

3) When did you realize that the term Transgender referred to you?

A: At the beginning of 2019 when I began considering legally changing my name from David to Mira. The catalysis that solidified the term was when I decided to make a full gender transition from male to female and began considering surgical intervention. Because of these changes, I feel that I no longer can label myself neither ‘gender-fluid’ or ‘non-conforming’.

4) When did you realize that the term Lesbian referred to you?

A: Around February 2019 when I rekindled my relationship with my girlfriend. We considered the aspect of our relationship. And because I yearn to become female legally, physically and sexually…it would transform our relationship status from male & female to female & female. By April 2019, I legally changed my gender from male to female, making our relationship as lesbians.

5) Are you comfortable with the term ‘LGBT’ or calling yourself Transgender and/or a Lesbian?

A: No. I’ve never liked labels…they are too restrictive to a person’s true identity.

Like the labels of male and female; they are terribly flawed! One truly can not be pure female or pure male. For females, their bodies convert excessive estrogen into testosterone; aiding in secondary male characteristics like facial hair. And males, they are first conceived as females before a mutated gene switches them into a male.

I find that society, which is now much more accepting of the LGBT; still has an unwillingness to fully accept them as being a lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender on the basis of not understanding what makes us ‘different’ from a normal cis-woman or cis-man. This ignorance can lead to cis-people acting out in flight-or-fight responses when confronted with something that isn’t like them.

Over the months however, I have slowly come to terms to accept that is am no longer a cis-male by birth, but transgender, as I will have both cis-male and cis-female physical characteristics and biological functions (minus a uterus or ovaries).

6) Are you currently active in the Trans Community or LGBT Community?

A: No. Not physically. I do write about my experiences at a Transgender Woman battling gender dysphoria. I update two blogs to catalogue my journey (Tumblr & DeviantArt. With case-sensitive images not allowed on Tumblr’s platform).

As of lately, I work with my transgender physician to catalogue medical changes and correlate my research with what she knows to bring the most accurate information possible.

7) Have you reached out to a LGBT center for help?

A: Yes. I reached out to the Ingersoll Gender Center in Seattle twice for help finding a doctor and information on psychologists capable of diagnosing gender dysphoria…but I’ve never heard back from them on both messages.

Since then, I refuse to use any LGBT accredited resources as they are unreliable.

8) Who was the first person you told about being Transgender?

A: Unofficially, it would have been my girlfriend, Ruth. Before I started HRT, I mentioned to her that I thought I might be gender-fluid or gender nonconforming. She replied that she had suspicions that I might be transgender as I always associated as female. She also thought I might be asexual in sexuality due to my displeasure in intimacy.

9) What are something positive about being Transgender?

A: Personally, for me, it is like finally healing from a long-term wound that no one can see. I can finally blossom, open up and be the person I truly am without the risk of being of being called emasculate terms.

Being transgender is something rare. Most humans will only experience one half of their potential, whereas trans individuals like myself, we experience both halves of our soul; knowing what it is like to be both male and female at the same time.

10) What are some fears about being Transgender?

A: My biggest fears seem to surround what other cis-people think of me. There is always the fear that someone unstable will perceive me as a threat to their ideology and act out irrationally.

Using the restroom is still terrifying to me! I’d rather risk an ‘accident’ then place myself in a situation where I might get harmed. Even calling myself female can be scary depending where in the country I am, or the age of the crowd I’m in.

I hadn’t considered how ‘vulnerable’ I would feel being female until the day I was tormented by an intoxicated gentleman, alone in an elevator. This experience opened a whole array of thoughts of dangers that I am now susceptible to: ie: mainly sexual harassment and after GRS, rape. I however feel confident I can defend myself in these situations.

11) How do you manage your dysphoria?

A: At this time, with Hormone Replacement Therapy. With a great reduction in testosterone, many of the mental symptoms of gender dysphoria have faded away. I still have the physical dysphoria that I deal with from time to time.

However, I hope to treat the four major causes of my dysphoria with treatments and surgery. The biggest one was my dysphoria of body hair. I have begun laser hair removal of the face and am considering laser hair removal of the chest (mainly breasts) once my face is fully treated (also, these treatments are terribly expensive! Almost 1,500$ for just the face and neck). The second surgery is FFS which is being determined by the insurance company (Jan 2020) and breast augmentation sometime late 2020 to 2021. The last surgery will be GRS to complete my transition.

12) What are you doing to stay healthy for transitioning mentally and physically?

A: Looking at the positives is a must!

My MtF~HRT Journey hasn’t been easy and very costly!

Dealing with the toxicity of female hormones at the beginning was tough, but now that I am chemically female, it is much better.

One of the things that can be a put down is not transitioning fast enough. I always tell myself: Puberty lasts for years, and my coming of age took four years to finalize when I was 17 years old. So, HRT isn’t going to happen overnight.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and become annoyed as I still see a male face looking back at me, but I remind myself that this is a process. It can take the face 5-10 years to finalize on hormones! 12 months to finalize after FFS.

Then there is the aspect of surgery. I am no fan of pain; but living with CF has given me somewhat of a tolerance to it. I look at surgery as milestones that I must achieve in order to live my life to its fullest and to write down in this blog that hundreds of perspective LGBT individuals are reading and following.

Mostly, I get through this all as playing the scientist role in this journey. My training and background in geology gives me a constantly curious mind and when I looked for answers across the internet and found jumbled information with very little scientific approach, I knew that my transition must be for a greater good.

Mentally, I am living my life as Mira. I never look back on my life as David…I’ve pretty much separated everything that made me David for Mira, going in a whole different direction with my life…literally born anew.

13) How have you’ve embraced your Transgender identity?

A: I haven’t really.

I’ll tell people I’m transgender when I feel that I have been called-out. But most of the time I am just embracing my womanhood.

I’ve been invited to a few LGBT support groups and have been invited to a Gay parade in Bremerton, but I’ve kindly declined each time.

If I am anywhere close to embracing my Transgender identity, it is probably in this blog. And if I am being truthful with myself, my identity as Mira makes me equally transgender.

18) How do you feel about the LGBT laws where you live?

A: As a resident of Washington State, we have some of the most aggressive LGBT laws (besides California) that protects the Transgender. Pride parades are very common here and even the city of Seattle has elected its second LGBT mayor.

Yet, we still have some serious grey areas!

I live in the rural area of Kitsap County which has an older population and a military population what is quite resistant of the LGBT. So being openly transgender in my hometown isn’t wise.

Under Washington Law, same-sex sexuality was legalized in 1976, anti-discrimination laws passed in 2012, same-sex marriages legalized in 2012, lesbians, gays and bisexuals allowed to serve in the military in 2011 (transgender people are forbidden). We have the right to change of gender without GRS, and LGBT options are available on birth certificates as of 2018. Our schools have an LGBT anti-bullying policy and we can donate blood if desired.

19) What are your views on the cis-gendered community?

A: As a previous cis-gendered individual; I have only come into knowing the LGBT community since I attended college. While at South Kitsap, the term LGBT was unknown to me. And even then, I only began to understand my place in the grand scheme of Cisgendered vs. Transgendered nature.

I’ve seen and experienced both sides of the cis-gendered community; from the accepting to the un-accepting to the ones that wish to do harm.

Being transgender, I know what it is like to deal with gender dysphoria and to watch a few cis-gendered individuals say that it is all a mental disease isn’t only hurtful…its pure ignorance.

I do my best to align myself with the friendly, accepting cis-women and cis-men who see me as Mira and not a Transgendered Woman.

 ***

BODY-TYPE (DYSPHORIA) QUESTIONS

Facial Features (Desired)

I envisioned my face being rounded ‘oval’ in shape…which is classical for an ideal ‘feminine’ feature. My upper cheek bones are pronounced to make my cheeks fuller in appearance, my jawline smooth without its sharp ‘masculine’ features. My lips are filled out, but not changed much from my male lips. My nose thinned in appearance and my face has no visible facial hair. My brow thinned back, opening up more of my eyes.

Hair Features (Desired)

I envision my hair being shoulder blade in length, blonde with silver highlights. The tips of my hair dyed aqua-blue. Light wavy texture and shiny and healthy.

I prefer my hair only layered (lightly), my bangs natural and swept over to my right side. My hair parts down the left side of my head as it always has. I hardly tie back my hair, only using clips on the long bangs to keep it out of my eyes. I picture my hair parted in two ways, half hanging over my shoulders, embordering my facial features as it rests between my clavicles and breasts. The other half resting down my back.

Neck Features (Desired)

Slender, the structure pretty much unaltered from the physical neck on my previous male form.

I envision no visible facial hair on the upper portions of the neck (to chin and jaw).

Shoulders Features (Desired)

Maintain their masculine shape, but thinned down.

Relearn to reposition my shoulder blades to feminine stature to support the spine and make room for my breasts.

Upper Arms (Desired)

Feminine in muscle mass and tone. This is a must if I plan to wear feminine clothes, thanks to the stitching in the fabric to support the breasts which makes the arms sometimes tight.

The skin should be devoid of any body hair.

Lower Arms (Desired)

Feminine in muscle mass and tone. 70% of the time my lower arms will be exposed and can give me away as transgender if not maintained. The skin should be always devoid of any body hair at all times.

Back (Desired)

No visible body hair

Chest & Breasts (Desired)

No visible body hair, smooth.

I have two C-Cup breasts, firm and dome-like in appearance. My mammary glands fully formed with appropriate amount of fat. Nipples are feminine in appearance with darkened areolas about quarter size.

Belly And Waist (Desired)

No body hair, smooth.

Belly is rounded (being realistic), but fat is redistributed to my hips, making only one belly roll when I sit down. Waist is narrow in appearance (between my chest and hips).

Genitalia (Desired)

I envision myself without my penis or testicles (as they are part of my gender dysphoria). They will have been repurposed into a functionable feminine ureteral and vagina. It is a must to rid of the male genitalia (physically) to pass officially as female. Until then, my favorite activity like swimming will always be a lingering fear…and relationship-wise, it is the only way I can become ‘sexually’ active as I feel that my male genitalia are an abomination; only serving in one function: low UTI risk which can be managed with proper hygiene as a female.

Buttock (Desired)

I envision myself with a feminine buttock in size and proportion. Rounded and firm, but not overly large. My buttock should gently blend in with my hips.

Upper Thighs (Desired)

Maintain my muscular mass. Body hair here is acceptable if it is light brown or blonde in color (with blonde being ideal).

Lower Legs (Desired)

I envision them feminine in form, but maintain a lean muscle mass as I wish to return back to hiking and swimming after my transition. Body hair here is not acceptable due to wearing dresses and skirts.

Feet (Desired)

Not really a top priority. My feet will retain their size 13 form; however, my nails shall remain painted in gel polish.

Hands (Desired)

Not really a top priority. My fingers have always been slender, long and feminine. I envision always having my nails painted with gel polish; my body hair shaved.

 ***

MENTAL EVALUATION QUESTIONS

Feminized Brain

1) Have you’ve grown fond of the color pink?

A: No. I still do not find hues of red attractive. Especially pink.

In my updated ‘feminine’ wardrobe; I’ve avoided all colors of red, orange and yellow and prefer colors in the hue of blue. I like both black, white and grey.

I’ve noticed that I have taken on a liking of purple…which I never wore before my HRT.

2) Have you’ve noticed any new scents coming off your body?

A: Yes. At first it wasn’t quite noticeable. In my first few months of HRT. I guess when you’ve been a cis-male for over 33 years of your life, you become ‘blind’ to your natural pheromone odor.

However, about a year into my HRT, I began detecting something ‘off’ about the way I smelled. Now, it isn’t anything like body odor created by sweat-devouring bacteria, it was something that lingered after a shower, or went with you throughout the day.

Oddly, when I began detecting this scent, I noticed that I wasn’t alone. This was about the same time when I began getting unwanted sexual gestures from men. Even my mother noticed the change about three months ago when we were at a casino.

Even now, I still struggle to explain it; to me, it is like a scent of freshness…but when I seem to enter a ‘pseudo-cycle’ from my hormones, those scents seem to increase to the point that it can be over bearing. Secondly, I have noticed that if I use secondary scents like fragrant body wash or perfume, it only increases the scent.

3) Have you subconsciously used ‘female pronouns’ in describing yourself?

A: It varies from time to time. I’d say, maybe 60% of the time I think of myself in female pronouns. I remember how odd it felt to say ‘she’ and ‘her’, like when someone calls to talk to Mira and at first, I hesitated when I said ‘…she? Speaking.’ now it is a confident ‘This is her speaking.’

When I think of myself as in individual, usually when my dysphoria seems to be triggered is when I revert back to confusion and/or ‘him’. However, even that is starting to fade away as I am seeing myself anew each week.

At first, I did not really care if people called me ‘he’ or ‘she’, and this seemed to delay my subconscious feminization for a time. However, as I have began mentally calling myself a ‘she’, I find myself annoyed with the improper pronouns, but will not verbally correct anyone…I just ignore them entirely as if they don’t even exist in my reality.

4) Have you started ‘mentally seeing’ yourself only as female?

A: It varies from time to time. Most of the time I picture myself female. I have pictured myself as a female since I was only seven years old. Only when I feel that I am failing to pass as female do I start doubting myself.

Oddly, when my mental voice speaks, it is female and quite possibly is my strongest advocate for myself as it continues to remind me that I have always been Mira; just that something went wrong during my rebirth.

I still see myself as a woman, which gives me a mental picture to compare with what my eyes see. And at this time, I’d say that I am about 40 percent of the way there.

5) Has your demeanor became ‘feminine?’

A: Somewhat. Most of my verbal and body language is becoming feminine in nature, some on purpose and some subconsciously. Even my changing anatomy has my body position differently.

For example, having C-Cup breasts are very heavy when your back isn’t use to them. To release the tension and stress off of my upper back, I have had to relearn to sit and hold myself up in an ergonomic fashion.

Widening hips (due to extra fat) and widening glutes have offset my stride and I find myself swaying more often at the hips, which gives me a feminine gate.

My speech patterns have not changed, nor has my vocal tones in how I pronunciate my words.

 Feminized Aspect

1) What cup size did you ‘want’ your breasts to be?

A: I desire to have bigger breasts then average…I’ve always expected myself of having a larger bust size, and with my recent growth, I’ve been somewhat pleased as my growth will make a great platform for implants down the road.

Recently, I have experienced one of the more unpleasant side-effects of having large breasts: back pain and digging bra straps. Even now, I still don’t consider my breasts as feminine breasts because when I lay down, they seem to disappear. This is totally natural with women whose breasts are between an AA-A-Cup.

With implants (which I will be fighting to get this year); they would retain a natural look while I lay down, staying centered on the chest, not flattening out like my breasts are doing now. (Although, when I wear a bra, the breasts are held in place it seems)

2) Has your sexuality changed?

A: No, I am still sexually attracted to women. The thought of dating a guy is appalling to me. However, I have found myself sometimes ‘looking’ at guys in a daydreaming state, but I still can’t see myself in a romantic relationship with men.

During euphoric moments (which have changed on their own accord), my mind does venture on the aspects of intimacy. This has never happened before when I was a cis-male and is very confusing. I find myself mostly wanted to be held, touched and embraced. This desire has even led me to overcoming my fear of touching my girlfriend and has allowed us to share in our first hug and kiss in over 12 years of being together.

3) Do you feel sexually as a woman now?

A: This is a very personal question...but yes.

Some of the sensations I now feel are beyond anything I’ve felt as male. Without going to deep into details, when I was a male, the erogenous center was around the genitalia. But since taking hormones; within the first few months my skin literally changed. Becoming soft and silky and very sensitive.

Simply being touched is enough to stimulate my senses, and the breasts have become more sensitive then my neither region. During stimulation, the euphoria seems to last for a long time...sometimes minutes to a half-hour.

Oddly, my sexuality has changed when it comes to intimacy and orgasms. As a male, we have to stimulate ourselves physically and achieve a few seconds/minutes of sexual release. But as a female, I’ve found myself not needing any physical stimulation to onset an orgasm. And it should be noted that it isn’t an isolated orgasm...it is full body.

I am starting to understand what my girlfriend was hinting at as she comes into these moments of sexual tension. It is very powerful. During my erogenous moments, all I want to do is be touched and held (which would stimulate myself). I’ve even had a few moments when these power sensations would cause me to think of sex (as a female). But those thoughts confuse me and make me feel unclean.

I think this is my brain’s way of conditioning me to womanhood, but confused about the anatomy (as my daydreams usually have we with female genitalia instead of male). Sadly, exploring this sexual transformation is something I don’t feel comfortable sharing in detail.

4) Has your attention to beauty changed from the time you were a cis-male?

A: Greatly. Prior to my HRT, I did not think that I’d be so focused on my appearance. This has been an improvement as when I was male, I did not care what I looked like. I honestly hated myself and it showed as people said I ‘looked’ mean. Although, I am one of the most tolerant people you could confront. I don’t like fighting because it is so primitive, and I tend to seek a more peaceful resolution to my problems.

At first, it was shaving on a daily schedule. I wanted to be rid of my facial hair badly. I then began shaving my whole body (besides the scalp and brows of course!). When my face failed to appear female (to my standards), Dr. Worth advised I start applying makeup to my face to conceal my facial hair and to make my face appear feminine.

5) Do you desire fuller lips?

A: Yes; having full lips in my opinion makes one ‘appear’ female. This also emphasizes lipstick color. However, I don’t want to look ridiculous! At this time, I’d like to see the philtrum shortened, but that would require surgical intervention. On January 2nd, I talked to my plastic surgeon about my lips and he believes they are full enough, just only needing to shorten the philtrum to bring the lip up to achieve a feminine appearance.

6) Has transitioning enhanced your desire to be a parent?

A: No. I have no desire to raise children in a society that punishes adults for disciplining their kids. I have seen what this generation is becoming and to say the least, it concerns me.

Personally, I have never wanted children as my life was interrupted by my failing health and I’ve never achieved financial stability. Secondly, with my health condition, it is highly unlikely I will see age 50; and it would not be right leaving the care of a child to a single parent.

Finally, I did ask my girlfriend about her opinion of having children and she is in agreement that due to my health and her psychiatric disabilities; we are not suitable genetic parents. However, we have thought of adoption if the moment arrives.

If we did adopt, I’d want a child under 1 year old. This is because I’ve seen what happens when you adopt an older child who is angry about their life they were born into.

7) How do you navigate the concept of sex while being dysphoric?

A: As David, I did not enjoy the concept of sex and lacked in the words to express why I felt this way. For the longest time, I thought the idea came from my religious upbringing, but it persisted as we grew closer. I left her very confused and unhappy. It is very rare to find a woman willing to jump in the sack before the guy!

Although I felt the sting of sexual arousal (which made me sick), I was left ashamed, unsatisfied and confused as why I could not perform as a man. Even when I wanted to be intimate, to kiss, hold and sleep together…I could not do it.

Once I started hormone replacement therapy, my sexuality seemed to kick into full drive, pushing me towards sexual liberation. I wanted to be kissed, I wanted to be touched and held. When I slept, I wanted someone there with me, holding me…intimacy became a desire.

I remember how scared I felt when I asked her to kiss and she was more then willing…we’ve waited for 12 years for this moment! Yet, I still can’t visualize ‘sex’ as a man…as a woman, possibly. But we need to build chemistry.

Although I don’t like talking about sexuality (you’ll find it rare in my blog), becoming a Trans-woman seems to have awakened my dormant sensual side. I find myself daydreaming of what it could be like after GRS and just going to bed each night held and touched. My skin…my whole body, it has changed in ways that is hard to describe.

 8) Do you believe that your brain has been feminized?

A: This is an opinionated question as even neurosciences can’t determine. I want to say yes. I am starting to subconsciously think of myself as female and adjusting my lifestyles to being female. Much of what makes females, females is cultural and family.

***

CULTURAL CHALLENGES (FOR TRANS-WOMEN)

1) Have you ever been outed for being Transgender?

A: No. I have yet to experience this embarrassment, but I am certain it will happen.

2) Have you ever been misgendered?

A: Many times. Between January 2019 to August 2019, I was constantly being misgendered when going out on the town or in the hospital.

However, my misgendering has decreased from October 2019 to now. I believe it is because I have began dressing as a female, my hair is much longer and facial features are taking on a feminine appearance.

Of all my misgendering experiences, none of them have been a challenge, most who misgender me immediately say they are sorry and continue on with whatever service they were hired to dispense.

3) Have you’ve been physically harmed because you are Transgender?

A: No. Most now seem to believe I am female.

4) Have you’ve been mentally harmed because you are Transgender?

A: Yes. Sadly, many of those who mentally harmed me were my own uncles and friends. Many did not accept my decision and have ousted me from their lives. Outside of my family and friends; I have not been placed in a mentally harmful situation. I have found that many have accepted who I have become, some happily

5) Have your family fully accepted who you are?

A: Mostly. My grandmother still stumbles with my name and sometimes uses my transgender nature against me. My mother has verbally said she is supportive of my decision, but isn’t pleased about it. My sister is the only one who is supportive, but not of any surgical intervention.

6) How do you deal with being misgendered by cis-people?

A: Typically, I’ll tell them that I am not offended; but only ask they use the proper pronouns and name from this point forward. A second offense will have me just correcting them politely and a third offense, I just ignore them as if they don’t exist. Figuring if they can’t respect me, and they are well informed, they don’t need any of my time.

7) How has been your experience with public restrooms?

A: As David, I never really considered the fear of the public restroom as I feel being Mira. There have been many times I have looked at the restroom and thought ‘Just go inside, no one will bother you!’

My first experience was at a local Shari’s restaurant in Port Orchard. I had been holding it in all night while I mixed music at a dangerous place to be a Trans, a biker’s bar! I remember thinking ‘Male or female?’ Kind of hard to be dressed as a woman with large boobs and be caught in a male’s restroom or risk a woman looking at my face at scolding me, calling me a pervert!

I went into the female’s restroom and found no one inside, so I hurried to a stall and locked myself inside…safe, but listening for the proper time to exit. When I left the stall, I did the world’s fastest handwash and out the door…I was so scared!

I still have yet to enter a populated woman’s restroom, and I’m certain that will be a unique blog post in its own!

8) If you are religious; has being Transgender conflicted with your spiritual care?

A: Yes…to an extent.

I was born Catholic and raised Lutheran…when I finally began transitioning, many of my closes church friends that I knew all my life turned away from me. I tried to attend a different Lutheran church in Allyn, Washington…but when they learned I was transgender, I was quickly shunned.

I have really never settled back into a church after my transition…but hope once I look female; I’ll return to a different congregation that will accept me as I am. And, as of lately, my old church where I grew up reached out to me, the new pastor welcoming me, understanding I am transgender and accepting me as I am. Yet, I still have not gone.

9) Do you feel comfortable answering simple questions about being Transgender by:

A)   Family: Yes. This was the hardest of all my people I came out to. Coming out to my mom was difficult as I did not want to be disowned by my own family. Family is everything to me…and I did not know how to talk to mom, my sister, grandmother or even uncles, aunts and cousins. I am comfortable about talking about my female side to them, but still leery about talking about the surgeries.

B)    Friends: Yes. If anyone that I opened up to…it was friends first. First my girlfriend and then closes friends on my Facebook account (losing about 10% of my friends).

C)    Strangers: Cautious. I’ve found that most people are courteous enough to be respectful, but I don’t get into details.

D)   Online: Yes. I have answered many questions via my Tumblr site about my Transgender experience and have also had to block a few ‘creepy’ people.

 10) What is something you loved to do that you are unable to do now as a Transgender woman?

A: Swimming. I was very active at my local YMCA’s deep water aerobics and shallow water aerobics classes. I would spend two hours swimming laps and each year attend a class to improve my swimming skills. Since HRT, my attendance at the local Y was twice this year.

I just don’t know how to dress and act while swimming. Swimming is like its own culture within a culture. I wish to dress is a female swimming suit, but first, they are rarely in my size and they would reveal my male anatomy. I’d be asking for trouble. If I wear my regular male swimming attire, I risk exposing my breasts if my outfit rises in the water.

***

LIFESTYLE CHANGES QUESTIONS

1) Have you grown your hair longer and/or modified it in the last year?

A: Yes. Prior to HRT; I only considered growing my hair only shoulder length. For a few months I found that having long hair was highly annoying and high maintenance. Since a year into my HRT, I have continued growing my hair with only one ‘layering’ trimming back in August 2019. At this time, I wish to grow my hair to the point that it touches my clavicles. I have began modifying its color from brown to blonde. I am hoping to achieve an 80% blonde with silver highlights and then dye the tips of my hair aquamarine blue.

2) Have you’ve worn makeup in the past year?

A: Yes; but I started late. I was advised by my physician to begin using makeup to hide my male blemishes (stubble). At this time, I am mainly using hues of blue, pink, yellow and silver. I mainly decorate my eyes (which is sort of pointless as it can’t be seen thanks to my male-brow) with eye shadow and highlight my cheeks to make them look fuller. I use to use foundation and primer, but I have not used those in the last two months as I don’t need them.

3) Have you’ve worn high heels in the past year?

A: No; I don’t like high heels…they are unstable and the major cause of ankle injuries. Also, I doubt they make a size 14-16 in women’s that I can buy local!

4) Have you’ve worn a skirt in the past year?

A: Yes; When I converted my wardrobe, I bought a purple skirt. I wasn’t certain about it; but love it. Since then, I own four skirts. The great thing about skirts is that unlike pants, they usually will fit nicer and hide anything ‘male’ that might give you away.

One thing that is certain! If you are going to wear a skirt, be sure to shave those legs. Another note, all my skirts go past my knees, I don’t like short skirts as they are ‘too’ revealing.

5) Have you’ve worn a dress in the past year?

A: Yes, three times. Once during an outing to Ocean Shores, again in the casino, once around the house (in Mason County) and again for Christmas morning. I also wore a dress for New Year’s Eve.

I like dresses, but you really can’t do much in them.

6) Have you’ve worn a blouse in the past year?

A: Yes, I own many blouses and they are my primary source of shirts in my wardrobe.

7) Have you’ve worn any form of bra in the past year?

A: Yes, I started wearing a bra when my back pain was becoming intolerable. I’ve been fitted with a 44C and then a 46D. I only own two bras (plunge) as they are terribly expensive!

8) Have you’ve worn any feminine undergarments in the past year?

A: Yes. I bought my first feminine undergarments in November 2019 and socks in December 2019. I have not bought any intimacy clothing as they are impractical.

9) Have you gotten your ears pierced?

A: No! I am not against earrings. I’ve seen some nice earrings out there that I’d love to wear, but I do not want to pierce my ears. I don’t like needles!

10) Have you started wearing ‘feminine’ jewelry?

A: Yes; Before HRT, I only wore a watch; now I wear a necklace. I currently have six necklaces: Mermaid Tail Necklace, Moonstone Necklace, Opal-Crystal Necklace, Abalone Necklace, Mermaid Necklace & a Aquamarine Necklace. I also wear 24/7 a moon-ring on my right hand which signifies my transition and keeps men from thinking I’m available.

11) If you had some ‘passing tips’ to offer other Transgender individuals, what are some things you do to pass?

A: The battle to pass as the opposite gender is as unique as the individual.

I have found that there is a list of things I must do in-order to pass successfully with a 20% chance of failure:

1—Clothing: How you dress will determine what people first see. Colors and patterns always attract the eye first. If you dress masculine, you’ll be perceived masculine and if you dress feminine, you’ll certainly be perceived feminine. Half of male clothing can double as female clothing, but you are putting yourself at risk if you are MtF.

Then again, don’t overdress and don’t underdress! Wear something that makes you comfortable, if you are not comfortable in your own clothing, it will show. Also, for MtF’s, be wary of patterns that might emphasize your male form.

2—Face: Your face will be your undoing as a transgender individual. For FtM, stay well-trimmed, shorten hair and lighten up on the jewelry and makeup. For MtF, stay well-shaved, style your hair and wear makeup that emphasizes your feminine features. FFS will help with the bones to open the eyes and smooth the jaw and nose (MtF) or reduce the cheeks and angle the jaw (FtM).

3—Voice: Work on your transgender voice…but don’t overstress it. If it sounds fake, it will lead to your downfall. I’ve seen videos of lovely Trans-women passing until they speak an it gives it away.

4—Confidence: If you think you are not passing; then there really is no reason to try. Most of the time when I’ve been misgendered, my confidence as Mira (believing I am a woman and not caring what any cis-individual says) has saved me from physical and emotional harm. Also, if I look conformable in my own skin, people say I seem to glow, bloom and just look beautiful…but when I’m doubting myself, my transgender nature brightly shows.

12) Have being transgender held you back from your career choice?

A: First off, I am medically disabled; so, this question can’t be answered in the way it was written. But before I began HRT, I’d say no.

If anything, accepting my transgender nature gave me the strength to pursue my career goals as an environmental educator and EMT. Before then, I only worked in dietary services…hired for my male strength and not brains. Hell, I even had a director at St. Anthony Hospital tell me I was only good for my muscles and not my mind.

As a transgendered individual; I began a new hobby…sound technology that has gotten me some uncertainty as I began as a man and ended up as a female. To be honest, they are not certain how to perceive me…even two of the vocalists refuse to call me Mira as it goes against their ideology…but I’m okay with it.

13) How is your relationship with your doctor?

A: Excellent. During my HRT, my primary doctor remained ignorant to my transgender health…I felt uncomfortable talking to him about my nature as a female (considering he wasn’t very compliant with my diagnosis of Asperger’s). He was my doctor in over 10 years! But he was David’s doctor and would not be suited to be Mira’s doctor.

So, I took a dangerous gamble. About a year into my HRT, I began searching for a new doctor that specialized in Transgender Health. I decided if I was going to become a woman, I needed a doctor I could trust and was conformable with me.

I transferred my care to Virginia Mason on Bainbridge (an hour drive away!) to have all my general and transgeneral care done. I certainly suggest that if you are transgender, find a doctor who is knowledgeable and willing to help you from the hormones to the surgery to the after years.

I know Dr. Worth was going to be a wonderful doctor for my care when she bluntly said: ‘You should know that I will not only treat you for your transgender health, but for your overall health. I will be overviewing your whole health as both female and male.’

***

COMPLIANCE QUESTIONS

1) Right now, are you complying to a feminine attire? What is it?

A: Yes. (Under shirt) A woman’s dress shirt with gold and blue embroidery (Top) A long black and white dress with swirl design patterns. Black Nylons, ladies’ garments, 44C bra and Dr. Scholl's work shoes.

2) Right now, are you in a relationship?

A: Yes; with a bisexual woman. We’ve been dating for 13 years.

3) Right now (without using goggle), write out something positive about yourself using the letters of your first name:

A: M—Mermaid I—Intelligent R—Resilient A—Admirable

4)     Please explain in your own words, your transition process and what you have gone through to transition into a transgender individual.

A: So, many people take a different path to reach their desired persona.

I actually began (attempting) transitioning in 2017, using herbal supplements which was a terrible idea. Don’t even waste your time doing this!

By November 2017, I contacted Cedar Rivers in Tacoma to enroll in their Transgender clinic and was placed on a four month wait list as they only enroll in February. By February 2018 I called once more and was given a delayed appointment because I failed to provide a transgender name (I hesitated over the phone as I was being careful as no one knew what I was doing and I wanted to have one year of hormone therapy under my belt before coming out.)

Delayed once more to May 2018, I met with one of their doctors and was started on a light dose of hormones as I only identified as genderfluid and only wanted to appear ‘remotely’ female, out of fear of retaliation from my family. However, as the hormones took effect, I would take a few pills a week and skip a week until July 2018 when I committed to the treatment.

I began estrogen in July 2018 and changed my label from gender nonconforming to genderfluid. From July 2018 to December 2018, nothing much happened.

By January 2019, I increased my dose of hormones and began to change finally. My changes were happened faster then I could photograph and with my year one coming up, Cedar River was preparing to drop my care.

I transferred to Virginia Mason in March 2019 and by April 2019, I legally switched my name and gender four month ahead of schedule.

By July, I began talking about facial feminization, breast augmentation and gender reassignment surgery with Dr. Worth, but denying consultation due to my health.

By September 2019, my breast growth made ‘not wearing’ a bra hell and I switch my wardrobe from male to female and began to separate myself from the life of David and being reborn as Mira. I finally came out to my biological family about my transgender nature and began to make amends.

October 2019, I finally scheduled an appointment with plastics to talk about facial feminization in 2020.

My last transition process was at Virginia Mason’s facial plastics clinic and after review; I was considered a candidate for surgery, but waiting on insurance’s reply…

Hypothetical Transition Process

January 2020: my first annual wellness checkup as a transgender female.

January 2020: begin referral process to plastics for breast augmentation.

February 2020: hear from Facial plastics about insurance decision.

March 2020: undergoing appeal for facial plastics or scheduling appointment for surgery.

March 2020: consultation with plastics for breast augmentation.

May 2020: check-up on facial plastics and/or breast augmentation.

October 2020: Begin talking about preparing for GRS.

November 2020: Look for a second psychologist to do evaluation for GRS.

December 2020: if facial plastics is still in appeal stage, should resolve by now.

2021: Retry FFS (or if surgery was performed, should be seeing my true face by now).

January 2021: If FFS was performed, begin breast augmentation surgery and/or start sending referrals to Oregon Health for GRS consultation.

January 2022: GRS performed.

5) Which feature of your body do you like the most since HRT?

A: My breasts…they have blossomed into something rather remarkable! It is amazing to think how at one time I could touch finger-tip to finger-tip while my palms covered my tiny nipples…now, I can’t even reach a single finger, not even with long nails!

It is hard to believe that my male chest could blossom into two womanly breasts.

6) Which feature of your body do you dislike the most since HRT?

A: I’d have to say my facial features. I don’t feel comfortable in public as my face still appears masculine. I spend the most time fretting over my facial features and if I am passing as female so I do get outed as being transgender.

7) With a New Year coming soon in a few hours; what is something you’d like to change for 2020?

A: I like to get back to swimming at the YMCA and start swimming laps. I use to spend 3-5 hours a day there and I’d like to get back at doing that. My ultimate goal is to save up my money to buy a mermaid tail and begin ‘mermaiding’. I currently have two fabric tails, but like to get is silicone tail.

8) With a New Year coming soon; what is your focus for 2020 regarding your ongoing battle with gender dysphoria?

A: Facial Feminization is a top priority with Breast Augmentation a close second. I have a FFS consultation on January 2nd 2020.

(Taken October 2019 - 18 Months On HRT)

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part 17

The Clinic: Part Seventeen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! I can’t believe it’s actually happening, but here she is – the final part of The Clinic! (Or that is – the last part of the storyline within Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital. There will be an epilogue coming up in a few weeks, which I think you’ll all enjoy a lot, because it contains good news for all of our boys!) But for now I really hope you’ll enjoy Part 17, and please let me know what you think!

Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages/anons! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

The two weeks between the nerve-racking meeting during which Brian’s parents had signed the paperwork that secured both his and John’s immediate future after Queen Mary’s and the day of the reassessment judgement passed like a hazy blur in Brian’s experience. It was both the most and the least stressful time he had spent at Queen Mary’s; the most and the least joyful; the fastest and the slowest passing; the most relaxed and the most tensed; the happiest and the saddest weeks in his books of the mental institution. 

The death of Drew seemed to affect everybody present in one way or the other - and for most people it came as a positive change. The removal of arguably Queen Mary’s biggest bully and most violent patient left many feeling safer going out of their room in the evening, and Brian was sure that staff - even though no one openly spoke about the matter - was relieved to no longer have to guard the place as strictly as before, or spend as much time on keeping Drew in check. A bonus was that the murderer, who had been Clyde’s most important right hand, had been delivered to a prison in wait of his judgement - something Brian had heard the family of the guy had made a huge scene over, but Queen Mary’s didn’t budge and refused to take back a murderer in broad daylight. At last a decision Brian could get behind.

However, with the death of Drew and the removal of whoever the guy who had stabbed him into his unfortunate fate was, a shift in power dynamics had taken place at Queen Mary’s. Clyde, although weakened after the expulsion of his right hand, was still the leader of his pack, but Drew’s clan had fallen into disarray like a middle school class when left to vent for their own by their teacher for five minutes. Jake had never been anything more than a puppet that blindly followed all of Drew’s instructions, and he was never going to be the one to be crowned with the questionable honour of being Drew’s successor. There were a few other figures, though, who had all unanimously decided in their mighty wisdom that they would be the best choice to now rule over Drew’s collection of angry adolescents. To prove this point to the population of Queen Mary’s they went around the place slamming doors in people’s faces and shouting abuse at random passers-by, but most of the actual violence they reserved for each other in an attempt to show their strength. It reminded Brian of an anecdote his tenth-grade history teacher had told his class about three early medieval cardinals who had all declared themselves as the pope and excommunicated each other time after time in pursuit of their goal. As long as they left him and his friends alone, Brian didn’t care a straw for these patterers showing off their non-existent strength.

Something that did affect him, however, was the continuing lack of structure, routine, and professional staff around at Queen Mary’s. Things had been tight since the day Brian had been admitted, but with now even less staff around the place - as a result of staff cuts and people leaving the institution because they no longer felt safe at their jobs. Especially the kitchen team was hit hard by the changes, and attempts were made to have patients fill in the spots of the people who had taken their leave. 

Needless to say, this proved to be a disaster; almost nobody voluntarily signed up to peel potatoes or wash the dishes, and absolutely not a soul turned up for the corvee-schedules the head cook fabricated. When eventually random patients around the place were simply rounded up and ushered into the kitchen to help out the remaining staff, they had been creating more troubles than they solved. Food fights were a classic trick at Queen Mary’s, of course, but never before had patients had access to the large variety of kitchen knives. It had taken less than two days before people of Drew’s and Clyde’s gang had winded up in the kitchen together, and the stab accident that followed had made staff decide to just abandon the participation project altogether. Now everyone simply had to either work harder or wait longer, and more pre-made food was bought and prepared. It didn’t exactly taste good, but luckily the patients at Queen Mary’s had never been used to any form of luxury whatsoever anyway. 

A bigger problem was that besides the kitchen staff also the actual medical staff had suffered losses. After Ariel, the group leader of another therapy group had also left the place; the official story was that she suffered from a burnout, but Brian had learned over time not to automatically trust official reports issued by Queen Mary’s. What he did know was that the group this therapist had left behind, had now been mashed up with his own, leaving Jasper on his own to handle twenty-five depressed young men. Nolan, being the hero that he was, often joined his co-worker to help him - but even his presence could not keep the group under control. Group therapy now a mess, personal sessions with psychs now became more important to most people - but just like everyone else at the mental institution, they were busier than ever before also. People who had previously been in touch with their psychs every day now only got to see them every other day, and those people only once a week from now on. This did not matter too much for Brian personally, but he was not too happy about Freddie and Roger seeing their psychologists less than they used to. Of course there was no proof of correlation, but Brian did feel that Roger slipping into taking Valium could be linked to the lack of support and security around the place. 

On the other hand, the all-absorbing chaos of the place did mean more leniency and less people to look over their shoulders at all times - which meant that John had made a run for the kitchen to provide breakfast in bed multiple times, and that no one really said anything about them making music in their bedroom for hours on end. Most of all, it meant that Freddie had managed to have his family either directly give him or smuggle in numerous cosmetic items, which he was now going to put to the test on Brian’s unwilling hair and face. Ushering the half-awake man into the bathroom shared by Rooms 40 through 49 at an ungodly hour in the morning, Freddie put his makeup bag down on the sink and gestured for Brian to come on over.

‘Hop on up, dear! We’ve got no time to lose,’ he declared impatiently yet enthusiastically, landing his hand on the white surface of the sink platform he apparently wished for Brian to perch himself on top of. 

‘It’s barely six o’clock,’ muttered Roger, who followed behind. He had similarly been pulled out of bed by his over-enthusiastic boyfriend a mere five minutes ago, and him rubbing his eyes ever since was a visible testimony of how tired he was.

‘Yes, but there’s a lot to get done! It’s going to take a while,’ Freddie said.

‘You’re saying I look bad?’ Brian lifted an eyebrow.

‘Of course not! You look fine, dear,’ Freddie shushed. ‘But I just want to touch you up a little. Give your face some more colour and make your eyes pop out a little. Maybe define your lips somewhat… And get rid of these blemishes around your nose. Do you think I should line out his jaw some more?’ Freddie now turned to John, who had leaned back against the wall across from the sinks as he regarded the early morning spectacle from as much distance as he could possibly create. 

‘Yes, and maybe also draw out his nose and give him pink coloured lenses,’ John said quasi-thoughtfully. ‘Fake lashes and a forehead high enough to host a picnic on. Cut off all of his hair and give him a wig à la Diana Ross.’

‘Very funny, Deacon,’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘But now that we’re talking about his hair anyway… I think it could use some washing, moisturising, and blow-drying. Then afterwards I can properly comb it through and put in the curls again with setting spray.’

‘No brushing!’ Brian protested. ‘Unless you want me to look like a drowned poodle, don’t brush my hair.’

‘I don’t see how that would make you look any different from usual,’ Roger shrugged.

‘Oh, you’re terrible. Go make yourself useful and get me a chair,’ Freddie said to his partner, before he turned back to Brian. ‘And you get on top of this sink now, will you?’ He gave Brian a light smack against his bottom, which, although not at all painful, was unexpected and therefore made Brian yelp awkwardly. 

‘Might I remind you that I am the only one allowed to touch Brian’s ass, or tell him what or whom he is to get on top of?’ John commented from the sideline.

‘As if Brian would ever top. I have to laugh,’ said Freddie - which made Brian sure that if he had not been blushing before, he sure as hell was doing so now. He hoisted up one leg to the fake marble platform, planted his knee on it, withdrew it again, and then put it back again. It was a near military operation to perch himself up there, being all long limbs and of awkward height - not to even mention his fear of breaking down the whole damn construction. If it was of the same quality the average Queen Mary’s furniture was made of, he might end up on the floor with the whole sink platform below him.

‘Don’t worry, you can sit on it,’ said Freddie, as if he could read Brian’s mind. ‘I do it all the time.’

‘Very comforting to hear that a glorified scarecrow can sit on this piece of painted hardwood,’ said John. Brian knocked on the surface of it to find that his boyfriend might not even be far from the truth concerning the material of the thing.

‘I’ve seen Clyde standing right on top of it once,’ Freddie shrugged. This at last restored some faith in the sink to Brian; if a near-bodybuilder like Clyde could stand on it (he decided to not linger for too long on the question of why Clyde had a cause for doing so), then certainly he could sit on it. Placing his hands on the platform for a second time, he again put his knee on the sink, hoisted himself up, and turned around until he sat with his bottom as far back on the platform as possible, with his back leaning half against the wall and his feet dangling over the edge.

‘See? Nothing to worry about,’ Freddie said. ‘Now, you’re just gonna have to shift to the light a little - turn to me, dear. Yes, that’s better. Or maybe…’ Freddie stood on his tiptoes to put his hand on Brian’s chin and face it in the correct direction, something that to Brian felt a little strange at the very least. He had never been exactly comfortable with people touching him, and especially not when it was done before notifying him first. On top of that, having someone fiddle around with his appearance was something he was not very used to - especially not when this was at six in the morning in a questioningly clean semi-public bathroom with a range of makeup and grooming supplies he had never seen before. It had been Freddie’s doing, really - if it hadn’t been for his friend having decided that he would make a better impression on the jury if he looked like the Queen of Lombardia, Brian still would have been in bed, arms firmly around John and sleeping in for as long as they could until Nolan would eventually come pick them up for the trial that had been planned for that early afternoon. It certainly would have been better for his skin to have gotten some more sleep, Brian pondered when he got a glance of himself in the mirror; the bags under his eyes were going to take some serious product and talent to fully cover up.

‘You could work at Madame Tussauds with all of that repositioning you’re doing,’ said Roger, who burst through the door with one of the dingy rattan dining chairs he had taken from their bedroom. Freddie was still busy adjusting Brian’s face in the right angle to the light, and did not look up at his boyfriend. 

‘I’d rather become fabulously famous and have my own statue at Madame Tussauds, darling,’ he said haughtily, gesturing towards Roger to move the chair over. Roger planted it down next to Freddie, who took visible trouble to step up on the seating platform. Roger reached out a hand to help him steady and readjust the chair so he was positioned in front of Brian and next to the sink to put down the ungodly amount of items he had brought with him. 

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Roger asked as Freddie balanced unevenly on the chair.

‘My dear, I have nothing but good ideas only,’ smiled Freddie.

‘Then why are we up at six?’

‘Because!’ Freddie squealed loudly enough to make John put a finger across his lips to gesture that he had to be quieter. ‘Because I’m going to make Brian glow, and show all of those dumb judges that he’s doing better than ever and taking good care of himself and ready to leave this place behind.’

‘And that’s going to take seven hours?’ Roger asked.

‘No, it’s not. But we need to practice what to say to the judges and how to answer their questions also.’

‘Brian and I have already done that a hundred times,’ said Roger - and to Brian, this did not even feel like an exaggeration. Since the moment he had been told he would pull through to be reassessed - no, since the moment he had decided to take a reassessment, that was - he had been eager to practice what he should say or do once he was to be faced with the people who were to decide on his fate. He had received a lot of support from the people around him, with John helping him fill out all the paperwork, Freddie helping him with the diary he had been asked to keep, and Roger by preparing him for the questions he was most likely to have to ask during his trial. Nevertheless, he felt the nervousness getting to him now that the day was finally there, and it did not surprise him one bit to hear that Freddie wanted to go over all they had practised from their waking moment to the second the door of the meeting room would close behind them.

‘But there is no such thing as too much preparation,’ Freddie said.

‘And yet that seemed to be exactly what you complained about last night when I wouldn’t get on with it,’ Roger grinned.

Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Hush, you. Get me a washcloth and the face wash.’

‘I’m your servant now?’ Roger raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, so maybe you can make yourself somewhat useful still on this trying day,’ Freddie answered with a tired smile that betrayed that there was no real malice behind his words. Roger, surprisingly, did as he was told, and Brian was asked to close his eyes and cant his head back a little. Even though he washed his face at the sink every morning, the coldness of the washcloth as it was brought up to his face was startling still. Freddie wiped his face down with it, covering his whole face with the thinnest layer of moist. The cloth then disappeared and he heard the faint click of a bottle being opened. He opened his eyes to see Freddie rubbing a substance of some kind between his hands, which he then applied to Brian’s facial skin. Seeing the questioning look on Brian’s face, he said: ‘Just a facewash, love. Don’t tell me you never use that.’

‘I just use water,’ Brian shrugged, the movement of which made Freddie’s fingers accidentally rub the facewash on his lips instead of his chin.

‘Same here,’ John said.

‘You’re lucky if I wash my face at all,’ Roger snorted. Freddie sighed deeply.

‘You’re a bunch of barbarians, really. I can’t believe they’re about to let two of you go.’

‘It’s a disgrace, really,’ John said. ‘Brian and I are really going to get out there and do things like washing our face with water only, and not making the bed every morning. Maybe I’ll even wear the same boxers for two days in a row.’

‘I’ll eat fruit without rinsing it off first, and not wash my hands after I sneeze,’ Brian added.

‘You’re driving me crazy,’ Freddie sighed as he wiped the face wash off Brian’s skin. ‘As long as you promise to wash your hands after going to the toilet.’

‘After?’ John asked. ‘I thought one was supposed to do that beforehand. The exact opposite of when you prepare raw meat and then wash your hands after.’ Freddie nearly dropped the washcloth to the floor as he turned to John with a jaw that almost did the same. 

‘Just kidding,’ John grinned after having let Freddie stare at him in disbelief for a handful of seconds.

‘John! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ Freddie squealed, and he sent the cloth flying into John’s direction. John caught it with ease and buried his face in it, rubbing up and down a few times, before he threw it back into the sink with trained expertise. ‘So, that was my personal hygiene for today.’

‘I’ll refrain from commenting on that,’ Freddie groaned as he dug through his makeup purse and fished out something that looked oddly similar to a razor. He picked up a bottle from the sink platform and squeezed out a foamy substance, but it was only when he started spreading it along the lower side of Brian’s face that the pieces of the puzzle really fell into place for Brian.

‘You’ve got a shaving razor?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Mh. Yes. I got sick and tired of having to shave under the supervision of a staff member,’ Freddie parroted with his nose drawn up to ridicule the average Queen Mary’s employee. ‘So I snuck out to steal a few shaving razors on my own, and had my parents bring me shaving cream during visiting hour.’

‘And no one noticed- of course no one noticed,’ Brian answered his own question. If they had, after all, he would not be sitting here with Freddie spreading shaving foam along his jawline with one hand and the other hand wrapped around a disposable shaving razor.

‘This place is the biggest joke I’ve ever seen,’ Roger snorted.

‘Speaking of which, anyone want some breakfast?’ John asked. ‘If I go now I can get in there before the kitchen staff arrives.’

‘I mean, I could do with a croissant and some coffee,’ Roger said.

‘Same for me, please,’ Brian mumbled as best as he could now that Freddie was covering his lower face in a somewhat excessive layer of shaving cream. 

‘You, Bulsara?’ John asked.

‘If you can get your hands on some cucumber, that’d be great,’ Freddie said without looking up from his subject.

‘If you think I’m gonna let you get away with eating a single slice of cucumber for breakfast then you’re mistaken.’

‘Not to eat, silly. To put on Brian’s face later on.’

‘Scuse me?’

‘To make these bags under his eyes less visible! You really all are the enemies of personal care, are you?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, we have our own methods against bags under our eyes. It’s called sleep,’ John said, after which he flashed Brian a wink, turned on his heel, and paced out of the bathroom. 

Strangely enough, it was after John - usually the quietest of the pack - had left that they fell into a comfortable silence. Brian allowed Freddie to shave him, which he did with a minute precision that made Brian wonder if a single beard hair would ever dare to grow back on his face. Roger was given a reprimand for using the same washcloth to wash his face as Brian and John had previously done, and was then sent away to fetch a clean towel and probably to grant Freddie a second of rest. He returned right in time with John, who provided coffee and croissants and yoghurt for everybody - and who brought a cucumber large enough to supply the entire population of Queen Mary’s, staff and clients, with cucumber slices to put on their eyes.

Roger attacked his croissants with fervour, and John tried to slip Brian pieces of his in between Freddie’s makeover session. They could not tell whether Freddie was too busy with brushing out every single blemish and every possible crease in Brian’s face to think about having breakfast, or if he was actively working to avoid having to eat - but, suspecting that the latter option played at least a factor to some extent in the matter, John took to spoonfeeding Freddie yoghurt in between the acts. Roger willingly posed as Freddie’s assistant and handed him creams, concealers, and brushes when his partner asked him to. Brian just sat back and tried to enjoy - or at least relax - as much as he could this unusual treatment he had been submitted to.

In this fashion, half an hour or so slipped by almost unnoticed, until Freddie suddenly realised that the luxury of having the bathroom all to themselves was soon going to be a thing of the past when the people staying in the other rooms at their wing would wake up and start pouring into their space. Luckily for him, living with an antisocial personality disorder for years on end had taught John all the tricks of the trade. He summoned Roger to get a pen and paper and paper and another chair from their bedroom, and himself he fetched a piece of tape from a broken table in the hallway someone had clumsily tried to fix. He used the paper to write a sign which proudly boasted ‘OUT OF ORDER’, put it on the outside of the door, and then locked it by putting the chair right beneath the handle. Surely enough, not even five minutes later the first people arrived for their morning shower; but, upon trying the door a few times and finding it stuck, they quickly left the place with a string of swear words.

‘Do you think staff will figure us out?’ Brian whispered at Roger when what must have been the fifth person in line was rattling the doorknob.

‘Probably not. They’ve got other things on their mind - and since the door is locked on the inside and has an out-of-order-sign on it, they’ll just let it be.’

Roger was right - a few more frustrated fellow patients tried their luck at opening the door (one of whom almost managed in an outburst of pent-up frustration), but after fifteen minutes or so, the attempts had died out completely. This gave Freddie the opportunity to resume his work on Brian’s face; a thin layer of powdered foundation had been applied, and he now worked away the bags under Brian’s eyes with a concealer. He darkened up his cheekbones a little, and then decided to get started on Brian’s hair, which he declared was going to be ‘quite a task’. Indeed, he worked on it for nearly an hour; washing it and blow drying it, putting God knew what sort of setting sprays and curl definers in it while fluffing it up into a mass of tight, shiny black ringlets that graced Brian’s shoulders and which bounced back when he pulled at them - something Freddie told him not to do, but which Brian could not resist. To prevent the curls from sagging down or falling out of their desired shape, Freddie applied a mist of hairspray to them big enough to keep Mary Antoinette's wig from slipping, after which he told Brian to take a look in the mirror and see what he thought of the result.

Brian was surprised when he looked at his mirror image, and in the positive sense of the word. His face looked young yet masculine, without the usual dark circles around his eyes; similarly, his lips were shiny and the area of his mouth did not show any creases or blemishes. His hair was a vast but glorious mess of curls that shone in the light and fell around his face as a dark halo. He had never known that his hair could look so voluminous, so healthy and shiny and yet so natural and /uncomplicated/. He had always struggled with his hair - both with keeping it decent and with accepting it the way it was - but Freddie really had made him like it for the first time in what must have been years, and possibly could have been for the first time ever.

‘And? What do you think?’ Freddie asked.

‘It’s beautiful. I love it,’ Brian declared with the broadest smile. He leaned forward and caught Freddie in a hug that his friend obviously did not anticipate, for he squealed and clung to the rattan backrest of the chair he was half-standing, half-leaning on. Once he realised Brian had him safely in his grip, however, his terror faded and was replaced by happiness, and Freddie allowed an equally bright smile to shine through on his face.

‘And I’m not even done yet!’ Freddie declared enthusiastically. He carefully detached himself from Brian, and rumbled through his makeup bag until he fished out a small black stick that Brian had to squint at to find out its purpose.

‘Eyeliner?’ he asked.

‘Kohl. Just a little at the outside of your eyes to make them pop out,’ Freddie beamed. Although both Brian and the rest of the men present in the room had their second thoughts on the idea, Freddie talked them into allowing him to try it out anyway - and in the end, a thin layer of it smudged out ever so slightly to the midst of the lower eyelid was met with everyone’s approval.

By the time all the face and hair care had been done, it was past eight o’clock, which meant that virtually all of Queen Mary’s inhabitants were to be expected at breakfast. The four men of Room 41B decided to take a shot for their room; Roger was the one to be brave enough to remove the chair from the door and peek around it, first for a mere second and then for a long enough time to establish that there was nobody to be seen in the hallway. They then took a dash for their door, one by one; Roger and John with a chair under their arm, Freddie with an armful of bottles and tubes, and Brian with the makeup bag and towels which had been left behind. Once they had returned safely to their room Brian ran down the hallway one more time to tear down the homemade out-of-order-sign, which he crumpled up into a ball and threw into the toilet. On his way back to the room he silently prayed that it would not cause a congestion and cause the bathroom to actually be taken out of order for the upcoming time. 

Already having taken breakfast in the form of John having brought them coffee and croissants, once they retreated to their bedroom they unanimously made the decision not to emerge from it again to mingle with the rest of Queen Mary's inhabitants for shared breakfast in the canteen. Rather, they spent the time feeding Freddie small pieces of the croissant John had brought for him (and ignoring the protest Freddie made against taking such a 'calorie bomb', as he called it). They made him comply in the end by promising they would then get down to have Freddie pull off whatever kind of stunts he had in mind with the cucumber he had made John take with him from the kitchen, which sulkily made Freddie swallow the last bites without too much audible gagging. 

John, being the genius that he was, had taken care to take a small potato knife with him from the kitchen. It was large enough to cut the cucumber into slices, but small enough to either hide or dispose of pretty easily. Freddie cut enough slices for everyone to put on closed eyelids, and a few extra for Roger to eat (with a not so subtle comment that he should eat some vegetables at times, which Roger in turn said he did, and which started quite the discussion about vitamins and minerals between the couple). John and Brian, in the meantime, took the moment to appreciate Brian's almost entirely renewed skin and softened curls. They then took to their bed to have a seat again while the others bickered about their eating habits - it was, after all, still early in the morning. They remarked that they might even go to sleep again soon. Nolan would not come to pick them up for another three or so hours, so they might as well get a little more sleep. 

Freddie, on the other hand, clearly had other plans than 'sleeping away these precious hours'. Once he had cut up the cucumbers into the most irregular slices Brian had ever seen, he ordered them to lie down flat on the bed and have him put the items of food on their eyes. This went down with lots of laughter and screeches at the unfamiliar feeling and coldness of the vegetables against their closed eyelids, which in turn evoked Freddie to call them a bunch of barbarians again, although this time he did it with a smile. The singer also started fussing about Brian's hair again now that he was lying flat on the mattress while his hair had been styled with an exorbitant amount of product and care just ten minutes ago. Unfortunately for Freddie, there was little other alternative if he wanted for Brian to have the cucumber slices evening out the by now already non-existent bags under his eyes. Roger's idea of putting the slices on Brian's eyelids and keeping them in place with Freddie's suede sleeping mask was cheered on by everyone apart from the owner of said item, who seemed indignant at the idea that people would even think of putting his precious Japanese suede sleeping mask to that purpose. In the end Freddie won the battle of the suede mask, but was thereby forced to have Brian recline with his head on the pillow. 

To Brian’s surprise, it wasn't even that bad to have Freddie try out his weird homemade remedies for bags under the eyes that would not have been there in the first place if he just would have been allowed to sleep in until a decent time. Maybe it was because he was getting used to the feeling of being pampered, or perhaps because he knew he had the rest of his friends hanging around him looking like clowns just as much as he did. They fell into a short moment of silence upon all having settled down on their respective beds, but it was soon broken up when the sound of crunchy vegetables being torn into pieces reached their ears.

'Roger!' Freddie called out instantly.

'What? What else were you gonna do with half of a cucumber, put it pack into the kitchen fridge again?' Roger around a mouth still half full of remains of the last bite of vegetable.

‘At least he’s eating his veggies,’ John shrugged, the movement of which made a slice of cucumber tumble off his eye and onto Brian’s shirt. It left a somewhat damp spot on Brian’s uniform shirt, and he was glad Freddie hadn’t seen the incident. With his current nervousness which outed itself by striving for absolute perfection, he would probably have a stroke if he noticed a stain on Brian’s clothes.

Speaking of nervousness... Brian had forbidden himself to think about the upcoming trial too much, but he definitely felt an uncomfortable tension in the pit of his stomach - one which had followed him for days in a row by now. Although it must have started as early as the moment he had signed the first official paperwork concerning his wish to leave Queen Mary’s, it had grown gradually worse over time, with the peak of it coming down upon him in these last few days. The last paperwork and diary assignments had needed to be completed the other day, and it had taken his friends an hour of pep-talking him to go down and have his last talk with Sarah and Doctor Fisher concerning the Judgement Day, as it had come to be referred to by now by everyone around the place. Being as rare as it was, his reassessment track and all that came with it had become something of a public spectacle that all people at Queen Mary's, regardless of how close they had been to Brian, were currently engaged with to some level of the other. It was the talk of the town, as a matter of speaking; it was the only topic his by now therapy group of twenty-five people were interested in talking about, and the thing strangers continually tapped him on the shoulder for to either question or advise him about. Even Freddie, Roger, and John were not exempted from this treatment, and especially the former two - who tended to go out more often - returned with stories about random people questioning them about Brian’s reassessment on the daily. All the attention was something Brian could definitely do without; it made him nervous knowing that so many people looked at him as he was trying to fight his sentence at Queen Mary’s. How many people would look down upon him if he failed, how many people would laugh at him and ridicule him if he didn’t succeed?

‘Are you nervous about this afternoon?’ John asked, plucking a strand of hair out of Brian’s face. Brian sighed.

'More than I’d like to admit,' Brian said. 'I’m mainly afraid of having to face all of those staff members and judges and whoever more will be in that room...'

'Would it feel better if we won't be there?' Freddie asked from the sideline. 'You know, having fewer people to worry about...'

'No, I want you to be there,' Brian told him. 'I want people who support me there. I want Sarah and Nolan and Jasper and you guys - I just don't want the other people there. The jury and the people from the medical board and the director of Queen Mary's.'

'I'm afraid you can't exactly have a judgement without a jury, darling,' Freddie said. 'But I understand what you mean. It's never exactly comfortable having to put yourself out there around those people, but we'll be there for you. And your parents will be too, won't they? Or does that just make you nervous?'

'Somewhat,' Brian said with a breathy laugh. 'They support me, but I know that they'd rather have me stay here at Queen Mary’s until my treatment is over. Although… since I’ve told them about the chaos around here, they seem more sceptical about this place. The murder of Drew didn’t seem to sit very comfortably with them when I told them about it on the phone the other day,’ Brian said in what must have been the understatement of the century. His father had been indignant that no police investigation was going on at the place, and his mother had been hysterical at the idea of what could happen to him if people at Queen Mary’s could literally get their hands on knives and commit murders inside its walls in the broad daylight. He did not mean to stress his parents out, but it felt good to know they supported his possible homecoming more whenever they heard of such atrocities. 

‘Well yeah, I should hope that they’re not comfortable with murder,’ Roger snickered. ‘Because regardless of how much we all hated Drew, that really was disgusting.’

Brian nodded weakly; he kept remembering the last words Drew had spoken to John and him. He kept remembering the sincere look on his face as he wished them well; and though it did not in any sense of the word make up for all the pain and hurt he had pulled both them and everyone else at Queen Mary’s through, it had shown the human side that Drew still, deep inside of him, had possessed until the very end of his life. 

‘For how long do I need to keep these soggy cucumbers on my eyelids?’ John interspersed in an attempt to keep up the atmosphere.

‘Another fifteen minutes or so,’ Freddie said.

‘Oh, but then we’ll miss our therapy groups!’ Roger exclaimed with the biggest grin on his face, which told the people around him that he absolutely did not give a straw about his group sessions. None of them did, in all honesty - but as Brian was the only one who had officially been given leave to be absent on that day due to his obligations elsewhere, the others were officially required to show up at their therapy sessions. A short discussion broke loose, which was more of an enumeration of all the reasons why they should not go rather than a real contemplation of the pros and cons of following Queen Mary’s schedule - and unsurprisingly the result of it was that they all decided to stay in to have a chat while plucking some guitar strings. Freddie proposed a classic game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, which they languidly played in between finishing up the last preparations for the judgement that afternoon.

‘You filled in all of your paperwork?’ Freddie asked while rolling the dice.

‘Yes. Mister Fisher collected it all and will bring it with him to the meeting.’

‘Your mental health diary has been filled in for each day?’

‘All covered.’

‘You know where to go and what to do?’

‘Be at the staff room at ten to one, shake hands with the judges, then take a seat next to Mister Fisher, who will make a case for me. I just have to be quiet unless I’m being asked to open my mouth, and appear as strong and mentally stable as possible,’ Brian said with a slight twitch of the lips. 

‘Have you prepared a speech?’ Freddie asked. Brian frowned.

‘Speech? It’s not his graduation, Fred,’ Roger told him. ‘At most they’ll ask him some questions similar to the ones he had to answer for his portfolio of whatever one wants to call it, and we already practised those a hundred times.’

‘Well, but you never know! They might ask him to defend his case in a beautiful, heart-felt soliloquy…’ Freddie clearly poured out his heart into this idea, but Roger just snorted.

‘This is not a business pitch where you try to receive a million-dollar loan from some kind of business magnate,’ Roger laughed. Freddie joined him, and even John gave them a grin - but Brian himself could not treat the idea as a laughing matter. Ten minutes later, when Freddie won the board game with a glorious victory over all of his roommates, Brian still found himself caught up with the possibility that he might actually have to explain his case in detail to all of the people present in the room who were ready to judge his every word. Of course he had prepared answers to short and basic questions - such as why he thought he was ready to leave, what he had learned at Queen Mary’s, or which plans he had made to prevent a fall-back in the future. But what if he could not provide such a deep-going speech that combined high levels of emotional security with lessons from the past and promises for the future? What if despite all of the paperwork provided which all professionals who had helped him on his journey here told him would almost surely free him from Queen Mary’s, the jury would turn him down for his own clumsiness with words? What if Doctor Sumner saw it as his window of opportunity to put him down and keep him at Queen Mary’s for as long as he could?

This question - and others concerning the nature of the judgement and the personality of the judges - continued to bother Brian over the course of the hours the group spent in each other’s presence. By the time lunch rolled around, he found himself having too little appetite and too many worries to get out of the room and go downstairs to the dining hall. The prospect of being flooded with glances and questions and tips and tricks from people who had never shown a single interest in him until the moment his attempt at reassessment was made public upon presenting himself in the canteen did not exactly encourage him any more. John was not very much in the mood to suffer the same treatment, so in the end it was Roger who dragged Freddie down to the canteen and promised to stuff some sandwiches in his pockets for the roommates they left behind. The idea of this did not sound too appetising to Brian, but he decided not to dwell onto this fact for too long. Instead, he gestured for John to come join him on his bed again. While he continued to pluck at the strings of his guitar, John settled down next to him and started carding a hand through Brian’s curls, then quickly moved downwards to stroke his arm when he realised Freddie would probably kill him if he put a single lock of hair out of its original place. 

‘What are you thinking about?’ John asked when the silence turned a little too long even for his liking.

‘I wish it would all be over,’ Brian sighed. ‘This entire circus show around my trial. It’s no one else’s business apart from ours.’

‘I know, honey. Soon it will be over, and it will be all between the two of us again.’ Brian received a kiss on his jawbone, and a string of promises of how good it would be when they’d both get released from the institution. The smaller the gap between the present and the hour of confrontation grew, the larger Brian’s feeling of insecurity and doubt became. What if he could not deliver the version of himself the judges wanted to see? What if he would disappoint everyone after so much work they had all put into his revaluation?

Freddie and Roger returned to the room after less than fifteen minutes, and - true to his word - Roger had taken two splashed sandwiches with him. They looked flat and soggy as they emerged from his trouser pockets, but Brian was coaxed into eating his anyway by John, who insisted that he could not go down to the judgement without having eaten something first. The mere mentioning of the word ‘judgement’ made Brian’s stomach turn. 

Between the bites of his soggy peanut butter and jam sandwich - a culinary decision he would not have made on his own, but which turned out not to even be that bad at second thought - Brian was bombarded by questions from Freddie, who asked him if he had all the papers, documents, and answers ready for everything the judges might possibly ask from him. After all, the meeting was going to be in less than fifteen minutes - a fact that Brian started to realise he could not change with every one of these minutes passing by on the round clock hanging above the door of their dorm room. 

It was a quarter to one, and Brian had just finished the last bite of his sandwich, when a knock on the door caught them all off guard - and, as seemed to have become tradition overtime, Freddie was the one who hoisted himself off the bed and flung himself at the door. He opened it with his usual enthusiasm to reveal not only Nolan, whom they had expected, but Jasper and Sarah on top of that.

'Guys! We didn't know you were all coming down here?' Freddie said as he gestured to the staff members to come in. Brian could see from his corner of the room how Jasper made an attempt at entering, but Sarah pulled him back by grabbing his arm, reminding him of the limited time they had until they were expected to show their faces at the meeting. 

'Emotional support, we thought,’ Jasper smiled, and Brian, although he was not always too sure of having too many people around him, appreciated how they had all come down to meet up with him here. Unfortunately for him, it turned out that the staff members involved in the process were not the only ones who had made the journey to Room 41B - when he followed John’s example of standing up from the bed, he could make out the figures of a few other men over Sarah’s shoulder. Judging by their grey t-shirts, they were neither part of the jury nor did they belong to the staff of the institution, and must thus simply be guys with a sense of morbid curiosity trying to get a view of the unusual scene that was about to go down.

Luckily, it was Nolan who addressed the bunch. ‘Jack, Paul, Eli, and all the rest of you - please leave us some space, will you? You can go downstairs to watch the whole thing and you know that.’

You can go downstairs to watch the whole thing and you know that. The words hit Brian like a baseball bat, even though he did not know for sure what Nolan meant with this. Did he simply say this to get everyone out of their way, or was he referring to how downstairs they could see the entire party descend into the meeting room? Or was there perhaps a literal meaning to the words Nolan had used to shoo away the unwanted spectators?

Freddie was quicker to pull himself together than Brian was. ‘Excuse me? Go downstairs and see what?’ 

‘Why, the meeting, of course,’ Jasper answered without batting an eye. 

‘The meeting? It’s public?’ Roger now mingled himself into the discussion. 

‘They always are. Just like court cases - they’re public unless stated otherwise. I thought you knew that.’ 

Brian felt John’s eyes travelling travelling over to meet his, but he could not look back at his partner. In fact, he could not look at anything apart from the doorknob his gaze had fallen onto since the second the possibility of an open judgement had dawned on him - something that was now confirmed by a single careless sentence falling from Jasper’s lips.

‘Oh, well, excuse us for not knowing the practices and traditions of the English legal system by heart-’ Freddie started off bitchily, but Jasper interrupted him.

‘No, what I meant was - I thought you’d been told this. They were supposed to tell you this. They didn’t tell you?’ Six pairs of eyes flung back to look at Brian, who feebly shook his head in a form of response. 

‘I don’t think any of us knew this,’ John spoke on behalf of his partner. ‘Who exactly are ‘they’ when they’re at home?’

At the question of this, Jasper turned to look at Nolan and Sarah. ‘I thought you were going to tell Brian this, Nole.’

Nolan in turn shook his head. ‘No, Sarah was going to. She’s his psychiatrist and leads this process of reassessment.’

‘No, Mister Fisher does. He’s supposed to be in charge, and I thought he was the one to tell Brian?’ The audible question mark at the end of Sarah’s sentence revealed that she, just like her male co-workers, had no idea of how exactly things had been arranged concerning who was responsible for passing on which part of information to Brian. The person affected decided not to dwell on for too long on the possibility of the staff having forgotten more than just this one not entirely trivial fact, which might in turn be detrimental to his chances of leaving Queen Mary’s.

‘Okay, so basically this was communication at its finest,’ Sarah said with a breathy half-giggle, but she checked herself in time, probably understanding that as typical and non-surprising it was that such a thing happened at Queen Mary’s, it was not exactly funny to Brian, who would now be given exactly thirteen minutes to prepare himself for the idea of having to submit to his ordeal in a room filled with God knew how many nosy men who came to watch how he kept himself standing in front of the judges, hoping for juicy details or a nervous breakdown or whatever it was that they were after.

‘And now? Brian is supposed to just accept that there’s going to be a flood of nosy bastards snooping around during the trial because no one here talks to each other?’ Freddie asked crankily. He was obviously not happy about it, and neither was Brian himself - but, knowing that making a scene about the matter now would only make things worse and might even affect his chances of getting out if word of it reached the judges. Better buckle up and keep his calm as much as he could.

‘It’s fine,’ Brian mustered. ‘I can deal with it.’

‘You sure?’ Roger sounded a tad worried.

‘Yeah, sure. I won’t have to talk to any of them anyway,’ Brian said, a lot braver than he felt inside. 

‘You won’t even have to look at them. They’ll all be sitting behind you anyway,’ Jasper said in what must have been an attempt at comfort. It served the exact opposite in Brian’s mind. He knew it was irrational, but somehow the idea of a sea of people being able to view him from behind while he could not look back at him made him nervous.

‘Shall we go, then?’ Sarah proposed. ‘The sooner we get there, the more time you’ll have to get yourself settled.’ Everyone turned to Brian, who simply nodded. He reached out a hand for John to help him get up from the bed, and he followed his friends out of the room. John stayed behind him with a hand on his back, as a silent force; a silent way of telling him that he was there to usher him through the hallways that turned out to hold even more nosy fellow clients than Brian at first had been able to see from his view in the bedroom.

'Everyone out of the way, please,' Nolan said with a fierceness that one would not normally attribute to him.. 'You can go downstairs to watch it all - leave Brian to have some peace now. You would want the same if you were in his place.' 

Part of the audience obeyed Nolan's speech and got out of the way, part of them did not. Brian decided not to pay too much attention to them. How could he anyway, now that he was caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts about the upcoming process? How would the judges react to him, how would their first impression of him influence their judgement of him? What would his parents do when they saw him from their view in the meeting room? Would they smile, cry, would they be proud of him? Or would they still keep to their previous judgement that he should stay here and finish his treatment?

‘So are there any more surprises we should keep in mind?’ Freddie asked while the party clattered down the stairs. ‘Are there going to be journalists to report the whole thing? Cameras and microphones? A press conference afterwards?’ 

‘None of that, no,’ Nolan answered. ‘Only a registrar to take notes for future reference, and to allow the board to see if the judgement was carried out according to the protocols.’

‘What, so they can overturn the sentence if they feel like it?’ Freddie asked in the same sarcastic tone he had been using ever since the forgotten clause of the apparently public meeting had come to light. 

‘No, that won’t happen. Just to reflect on the judges’ work. See if no favouritism or prejudice was used to come to a conclusion,’ Nolan said. This last sentence, Brian had to admit, made him feel a little better - apparently there were rules in place which would prevent Doctor Sumner from blatantly turning his case down just because he could. Then again, if the decision made today was to be final, nothing could be done if Sumner decided to sabotage the judgement anyway. Brian was unsure if he should feel comforted or alarmed.

They continued the way downstairs in silence - or that was, silence from their part. The men who had gathered around them and who had been waiting for the caravan to descend the stairs made enough noise to make it nearly impossible for Brian to hear his own thoughts. Maybe this was a good thing, though - his mind was racing and he could not find a single positive or uplifting thought among the whirlwind in his head. 

‘Brian, good luck!’

‘Tell them what we think of this place!’

‘Flip the judges off on my behalf!’

The things people around him shouted at him - some of which were genuine wishes, others just hopes to make him stick it to Queen Mary’s and the mental health care system in general - reached Brian’s ears as a slow-motioned hurricane. He felt queasy, but with the help of John’s hand on the small of his back to guide him, he managed to keep his eyes straight on the figures of Freddie and Nolan, who led the way to the meeting room. 

Brian had never been to the meeting room before. He had been vaguely aware of its presence, and had heard his caretakers speak of meeting up at the place. He had not previously known where exactly it was located in the staff wing, but it became clear to him soon enough when he saw hordes of people moving around one particular room all the way down the corridor. Some of them pointed upon his arrival, others clapped; some took it as a sign to go in and take a seat, others remained in an attempt to catch another look at him. Brian felt like a celebrity who had fallen from grace through a scandalous sex offence, and who now had to answer for his actions in front of an audience already bent on judging him for his crimes.

‘Out of the way, please,’ Nolan called out - and, when people only partially listened to this wish, he simply pushed his way through the crowd. It was not the behaviour Brian would normally expect from his cool, calm, and collected mentor, but he did not blame Nolan even one bit for his no-nonsense approach to the dozens who had gathered outside the meeting room. In fact, he was rather grateful that Nolan showed the men that he was not to be messed with for the time being - it certainly made part of them scatter and disappear into the meeting room.

A downside to having these people leave the hallway and claiming a spot in the meeting room, however, was that now a pathway to the door emerged - a pathway through which Brian could cast a glance into the room in which he was to present himself in a few minutes. It was not a pretty sight, to say the very least. The room, although he could only see the back of it through the limited sight he could catch of it through the door, seemed absolutely packed with people. They were sitting on rows of chairs provided, leaning against the walls, sitting on the floor in front of the chairs - they were everywhere. It was as if the entire population of Queen Mary’s had come out to see the trial. It would not surprise Brian if this was actually the truth: with no institution-wide activities going on at the moment, and little else to do around the place anyway, a public meeting in which a client tried to defy the judgement of his own mental health caretakers could be viewed as a spectacle on its own. 

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Freddie all but exclaimed at the sight of the crowds. ‘And everyone just conveniently forgot to tell us this? That the entire fucking place would come out to have a look?’

‘It really was an accident,’ Sarah said feebly, before being pushed aside by someone rushing into the room in an attempt to get a seat still. 

‘Thanks, that really helps,’ Freddie grumbled. ‘So we’re not gonna be able to be by Brian’s side? Sit somewhere close and be there in case he needs us?’

‘I’m sure Brian is gonna be alright,’ Jasper said. ‘He’ll have to do this on his own anyway.’

Even though Brian realised that Jasper meant these words as a comfort, it really hit him hard that he did, in fact, have to do this on his own. He did ae to go in there and have unironically two hundred people look down upon him while a jury compiled of undoubtedly mental health experts who nevertheless knew nothing about him were going to decide on his fate. If he had Even though Brian realised that Jasper meant these words as a form of comfort, it really hit him hard that he did, in fact, have to do this on his own. He did have to go in there and have unironically two hundred people look down upon him while a jury compiled of undoubtedly mental health experts who nevertheless knew nothing about him were going to decide on his fate. If he had been nervous before about this latter fact, the presence of the entire institution on top of that made him break out in cold sweat. He could not do this - not in front of all of these people. The image of all the people rushing in and out of the room, the sound of their chatter and laughter and screaming - it all mashed together in a blur of sound and visual that reached Brian as in slow motion. He could not do this.

‘Brian?’ It was John’s voice that spoke to him somewhere in the distance. ‘You’re quiet. Are you holding out?’ He turned his face to look at John. His eyes were too intense and too prying, and Brian took a step back from him. He bumped into someone behind him, who seemed to verbally lash out at him but who fell into muttering apologies when they saw who he was. None of the words reached Brian in any intelligible form, and as John approached him, he stepped further back until his shoulder blades bumped into the wall behind him. The people he’d come to the meeting with now all gathered around him, seemed to ask questions, but none of them reached him. Someone - presumably Freddie, judging by the black-tipped fingernails - put his cold hand across his forehead, and someone else pushed a plastic cup of water in his hands. He did not drink of it, however; and the next thing he knew was the cup being taken away from him and its contents being splashed in his face. This sobered him up enough to hear Freddie squeal something about being careful with his makeup, but most of all, as he blinked a few times he could make out the image of John standing in front of him with a now empty cup and an expression that told him he was not to be messed with.

‘John…’ Brian managed feebly. John pushed the empty cup into someone’s palm so he had free range of his hands. He placed them firmly on Brian’s shoulders.

‘Look, Brian. I know this is overwhelming but you have to pull yourself together. The judges are ready to see you. It’s time to step up and do this.’

‘But all… all these people,’ Brian brought in.

‘I know. I know you don’t want all of these people here, and neither do I or Jasper or Nolan or anyone else. But you know what? All of those people are here because they support you.’

Brian blinked at his partner, only to discover that John seemed to be serious about this claim. He huffed out a laugh. ‘They’re just here for some free entertainment.’

‘Maybe some of them are. Some might have nothing else to do on a regular Wednesday afternoon. But literally everyone seems to be here. I’ve seen Sebastian and Lester and Bill and Andrew, and other people from both our depression talk group and other groups. The ones who never go anywhere. Who wouldn’t show up to breakfast or even to get their fucking medicines in the morning if their mentor wouldn’t come over and drag them there? Do you think they’re here to be entertained?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Why else would they be here?’

‘To support you!’ John repeated. ‘To show that they’re on your side. To see Queen Mary’s authority and judgement being challenged for once. All of these people here - even if they’re just here because they have nothing else to do, they dragged themselves out of bed and out of their rooms to be here. Do you think they would have been here if they did not care?’

Brian was quiet for a moment. ‘Do you?’ John asked again.

‘Maybe not,’ Brian shrugged.

‘Most definitely not. They care about this trial, because it’s more than just your trial, Brian. This has become everyone’s trial in a sense. It’s a protest against Queen Mary’s and their judgements and authority. This trial is showing people that there’s hope, and that we can be our own person and lead our own lives even while in here. We’re not their puppets, Brian, and whether you win or not, this trial is proof of that.’ John paused for a second to take a breath of air, and so did Brian. It was not often that his partner got so passionate about something, but when it happened, he was sure to put your worldview upside down. Maybe the people here had not come out to jeer or taunt or laugh at him - maybe they were here to show their support. To show they believed in their own authority regardless of what Queen Mary’s tried to mould them into. 

To give his most recent words a little more power, John took up the conversation again by asking: ‘Remember what Drew said the other day?’

Brian cast his eyes down at the mention of the murdered patient whom John brought up without a warning, but he was told off for doing so. ‘Look at me. Do you remember?’

‘Yes,’ Brian whispered. John’s grip on his shoulders had tightened, which felt both suppressing and safe at the same time. He knew he was not going to escape whatever John was about to tell him, but at the same time, John was not going to let anyone come in and make matters harder for him. John was here to protect him, keep the world at a distance now that Brian needed it most. 

‘Tell me what he said.’

‘He said that… he wished I would get out of here.’

‘Exactly,’ John nodded. ‘He wanted you to get out of here because you deserved better. Drew, the most hated person in this entire Godforsaken place, stood behind your cause. No matter how hard he’s made things for us at times, in the end he wanted you to win this. And fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but let’s go out there and do it for Drew. As some weird kind of last honour, or whatever people call that.’ A small, crooked smile appeared on John’s lips, and Brian let out a breathy sigh.

‘I want to,’ Brian admitted. ‘I do want to, and maybe- probably all those people are on our side. But they are so many-’

‘You’ve fought too hard and too long for this process to let this slide because other people showed up,’ John interrupted him, with power to his words but a gentleness to his tone. ‘And besides, since when do you care for other people? Have we ever cared for other people while in here? During all those late nights of playing music and talking during group discussions and locking ourselves in my hiding place during drug raids, did we ever give a single fuck about other people?’ The crooked smile on John’s face was back - more sincere and inviting this time, and Brian could not help but copy it.

‘We didn’t,’ he smiled.

‘God knows we didn’t,’ John agreed. ‘And right now is not the time that we are going to give a damn about other people either.’ The twinkle in his eyes and the confidence of his voice made Brian realise that John was right about all he just told him - the majority of the people here today had come out to support him, or at any rate to support him showing Queen Mary’s he was taking his own say in his life back, everyone wanted him to win, and even though the presence of two hundred uninvited clients made him nervous, he had never let other people around Queen Mary’s from doing what he wanted to do before. More than that, it made him wish he could kiss him right in the middle of the hallway - something he might actually have done if in that exact moment they would not have been pulled aside by Sarah to enter the room. 

‘Brian, Doctor Fisher is here to take you in and introduce you. Are you ready to go?’

Brian shared one look with John, who let go of his shoulders and gave him a comforting nod. ‘Absolutely,’ he answered, and he stepped away from the wall he no longer needed for either mental or physical support by now. He was ushered to the door opening, right in front of which he was reunited with the psychiatrist who had gone through the process of reassessment with him. Brian hadn’t seen him for a week or so now that the therapy sessions were over, but the smile on the man’s face and the firm handshake he received made him happy to see him back and be supported by him today.

‘I’ve worked day and night on these files, I’ll have you know,’ Fisher said with a nearly loving pat on the folder of documents he carried under his arm. ‘If this doesn’t bail you out, it won’t be for my lack of effort.’ Brian smiled and thanked him - even though he had not yet seen or heard a letter of the words Doctor Fisher had prepared for today, he knew he was in good hands with his help.

Upon stepping over the threshold of the door, Brian was blinded and deafened by the noise the people inside of it made. It was as if he was the defender of the world title at the Australian Open, the continent’s favourite act at the Eurovision, the Beatles upon first arriving at JFK airport - there was applause and screaming and all other sorts of noise coming from the left side of the room, which was densely packed with people in every single corner. A quick glance around told him that he did not know half of the audience, but the many smiling faces, the thumbs-up, and the applause they offered made knowing them unnecessary. It was the vibe of positivity and support they radiated that did it for Brian./

‘They’re here for you.’ For a moment Brian thought that he was imagining John saying these words to him, but he soon found that he was not - he turned around to find his boyfriend smiling up at him, grabbing his hand and give him a quick squeeze. ‘We’ll be in the audience. Whatever happens, know that I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Brian beamed, giving his friends a quick wave before being taken up by Fisher and Queen Mary’s staff to ascend the three steps of the stage-like platform on the right side of the room, on which several desks had been pushed together to create the illusion of one long table in the style of a law court. It looked improvisational at best, as everything at Queen Mary’s did. Brian tried to prevent a chuckle as he followed Mister Fisher upstairs and faced the three-headed jury, which had gathered in front of their seats for the time being. A lady, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties, was the first member of the jury they came across.

Mister Fisher took it upon him to familiarise the entire crew to one another. ‘Miss Gerald, I’d like to introduce you to today’s client, Brian May.’ Brian felt like he was being presented as if he was the latest vacuum cleaner to be launched into the market, and tried not to laugh. He shook hands with the one that was extended towards him, and politely repeated his name to the woman.

‘Please allow any signs of nervousness he shows today,’ Nolan spoke on his behalf. ‘Due to - eh, communication errors, he was not aware that today was to be an open trial.’

Miss Gerald was nice enough about the matter, and told Brian (surprise surprise) that there was no need to be nervous, but that it was a very natural feeling to deal with in such a high profile situation. She also remarked that he did not seem all too nervous to her eyes; Brian was afraid that he was not doing too good of a job keeping his nervous giggles under control. Luckily it was Jasper who pointed out on his behalf that his jittery laughter was most likely to be a result of his nerves playing up. Nolan, Sarah, and Jasper were then properly introduced to Miss Gerald; Mister Fisher took his chance to take Brian to the second stop along the road of meeting the judges. 

Brian was introduced to a balding, spectacled man of near-retirement age with a low voice and stern expression, but his face became more friendly as he spoke up and smiled at Brian. His surname - Carlston or Carlman or something the like - did not stick with Brian for too long; which might be a result of the guy’s monotonous, slow way of speaking, or of the fact that he could see his third and biggest obstacle standing no more than five feet away from him. Doctor Sumner side-eyed him every so many seconds, but Brian ignored him for the time being. He was determined not to give his former psychiatrist a single indication of his nervousness concerning the power he possibly held over him - if anything, Brian had made up his mind, both for the sake of John and himself and everyone present in the room, that he was going to show him he was over him, and was no longer going to allow himself to be intimidated by the man who had put him here. It was his turn to triumph now. 

The talk with Carlston or Carlman over, Fisher took Brian to speak to Doctor Sumner, and leave the rest of his team to move on and speak to the second person in line. Brian felt his knees weakening a bit as he stepped towards Sumner, but he tried to make up for this by straightening his back and pulling the straightest, most no-nonsense (and perhaps somewhat bitchy) face he could produce.

‘And this man right here, Professor Sumner, I’ve been told you’ve met before,’ Mister Fisher said, obviously not aware of the tension between the two. Then again, no one standing on this platform apart from Sumner and Brian himself was aware of that, and he preferred to keep things that way for the time being. Something that did catch his attention, though, was the fact that his old psych was not addressed as a doctor anymore, but as a professor – something he quickly realised must have been an effect of him having promoted himself in scientific circles through his discovery of borderline personality disorder – at the cost of him and God knew how many more of his other patients. Brian felt his blood starting to boil, but he worked hard to keep his anger to himself.

‘I have indeed. Back when he was still a doctor and not a professor,’ Brian said with a perfectly cold civility. Copying Sumner’s behaviour, Brian’s eyes travelled up and down Sumner’s somewhat shorter frame, and eventually lingered on his face. It took a handful of seconds of tensed silence before Sumner was eventually the first to remove his hands from his back and reach one towards Brian. Brian reluctantly yet firmly gripped it. 

‘Brian May. I never thought we would meet each other so soon again,’ Sumner said with the fakest smile Brian had seen in a while. ‘Or at all, if I may be so honest.’

Brian knew all too well what he meant by this - that if it was up to him, Sumner would have him placed in a long-stay hospital to prevent him ever being able to convincingly tell his story of how Sumner had abused his power to make a living out of the suffering of Brian and undoubtedly more of his patients. The idea of countering Sumner and his wishes by going for a reassessment and pulling so far as to actually land himself into this trial gave Brian the last of determination he had been in need of to pull through today and give both Sumner and the entirety of Queen Mary’s the finger. 

‘Doctor Sumner,’ Brian said steadfastly, refusing to acknowledge the new title that had been acquired at the cost of him and others. ‘How delighted I am that you were able to spare us some of your time,’ Brian smiled icily. ‘You must be rather sought after the launch of your research papers these days.’ He could see Sumner tensing at the mention of the research papers of which he knew damn well he could be blacklisted for if the truth about them came out, but Brian’s enemy was quick to pull himself together. 

‘I am. But that does not prevent me from devoting some time to an old acquaintance who has played such a vital role in the making of said papers,’ he said easily. Brian, however, was even quicker to give his former psychiatrist an even easier yet snarkier answer. 

‘And who can similarly play a vital role in tearing them straight down again.’ It was a good thing that the crowd around them was still making such noise, and that Mister fisher seemed to have gone off to speak to the registrar sitting at the far end of the table, because Brian was unsure what would happen if any outsider was to overhear the obviously somewhat threatening conversation they were having. 

Sumner’s jaw clenched at hearing these words, and Brian could almost see the radars inside his brain spinning for an answer. He did not seem to be able to come up with anything, though, because after five seconds or so he simply asked: ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing extraordinary,’ Brian shrugged. ‘But how about you let me go and I let you go?’

Sumner’s face remained unreadable. He was obviously unhappy with the direction this discussion was heading into, but had little to say to defend himself - as was made obvious by his bland try at countering Brian.

‘I haven’t even heard your case yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I promise you that if anything, it’ll make you look suspicious if you don’t let me go,’ Brian said with more confidence than he felt inside. To prevent Sumner from being able to say anything that would bring him down again, Brian gave him an uncharacteristic and intimidating pat on the shoulder, spoke a nearly cruel ‘you know what to do’, and moved along to give his regards to the registrar. He left a bedazzled Sumner to greet his defence and figure out what to do with the part-promise, part-threat he had been dished out on his own. 

When the last of his entourage had shaken hands and exchanged words of welcome with the judges, Brian was guided down the steps again and given leave to sit down on one of the chairs facing the judges. As he turned his back on the jury and was faced with the audience, his eyes quickly darted around the room to locate the places where his friends and his parents had settled themselves. It was hard to spot them in the tumultuous scene in front of him, but he detected the pink sleeve of his mother’s dress as she held up her hand to wave at him soon enough. His father, sitting in a black suit next to her, also caught sight of him. Brian gave a bit of a smile and waved back at them, and the gesture was answered by a lot more people than just his parents. These people really are on my side, Brian thought to himself as he gave a wave directed at the other side of the room, which again was met with unbound enthusiasm. 

In fact, Brian did not make his regards to everyone because he was so pleased to have the entire population of the institution there, but because he hoped he could win some time to figure out the location of his friends also. They were a little harder to spot, given that they dressed in the same dark trousers and grey shirts as all the other clients, but they would not have been his friends had they not tried their very best to show themselves.

‘Briiiian! Honey, we’re here!’ Freddie’s voice was loud and bordered on obnoxiousness while Roger and he waved both their hands above their heads to attract Brian’s attention. It did work, though - and Brian felt a wave of relief passing through him when he found his three roommates sitting in the middle of the front row of the audience. He was unsure how they had found themselves such a desirable spot in the room, seeing as they had made their entrance rather late, but he figured that Freddie and Roger might have used their status as his best friends to persuade people to give them the best spot available. John sat beside them in a much more quiet fashion, and he smiled up at Brian and send a kissy hand his way. Brian, a bit too overwhelmed with the entire situation, clutched a hand against his heart to indicate that he had received the imaginary kiss.

Jasper, Nolan, and Sarah ascended the stairs, too, and took their seats on one of the five chairs across the judges’ table. Brian waved at his friends one more time, before he turned around and lowered himself in his chair. The plain wooden chair he was sitting on made him feel small when compared to the judges and their more luxurious leather desk chairs, but the presence of two of his supporters at either side of him - not to even mention a sea of people, including his parents, best friends, and his boyfriend behind him - made him feel a little stronger.

The noise in the room had not ceased in time with the key figures of the trial sitting down, so Miss Gerald made a point of clapping in her hands a number of times in a row in an attempt to quiet down the multitude. Not everyone seemed to either hear this or listen to it, so her efforts were joined by those of Doctor Sumner, who slammed a fist down on the desk in front of him. This at last seemed to have some effect.

‘Ladies and gentlemen! We’d like to start this session!’ he thundered in a voice louder than any of the ones Brian had heard in the meeting room, and the last of noise seemed to quiet down at this statement. Miss Gerald took the opportunity to stand up from her chair and wasted no time in opening the meeting.

‘Welcome everybody - my name is Edna Gerald, and together with my colleagues Professor Sumner and Mister Carlston, I seek to come to a verdict regarding a client of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution’s appeal for a reassessment. Can Mister Brian May stand up, please?’

Brian, a little taken aback by the suddenness with which the introduction morphed into serious business, took a second before he pushed himself up on his somewhat wobbly legs - a feeling that did not pass at all when Miss Gerald went straight to making him promise a testimony of truth.

‘Do you confirm that all you tell us today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’

‘I promise. I mean- I confirm,’ Brian corrected himself clumsily. Off to a good start, he thought to himself, but the judges seemed not to mind or even notice. 

‘Thank you. We will start with the technical part of the process. Please state your full name and date of birth for the record,’ Miss Gerald ordered.

Brian cleared his throat. ‘My name is Brian Harold May and I was born on July 19, 1947.’

‘Place of birth?’

‘Homerton University Hospital in London.’

‘Names of your parents?’

‘Harold May and Ruth May-Irving.’

‘Correct,’ Miss Gerald stated after a look at the paper in front of her, as if she had been contemplating the possibility that Brian would be lying about his mother’s maiden name. ‘Now you, Brian Harold May, stand before a selection of members of the South East England Mental Health Facilitation, which is an independent organisation that oversees the working of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution and similar places. You are here today, on September 15, 1971, because you filed for a reassessment which, in case it is approved, will grant you leave from the aforementioned institution.’ The formal way of talking made Brian feel more than just a little out of place, but he refused to show a sign of discomfort.

‘That is correct.’

Miss Gerald dived back into the files in front of her, scribbled something down, and took a moment to read. ‘According to the data provided to me, you were admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution on March 13, 1971. Is this correct?’

‘Yes.’ It took little time for Brian to establish this as being a fact. He still remembered the day and the week previous to it vividly - the establishment of the date he was to be taken in, his father allowing no backchat on the subject, his mum packing his back the night before as he could not be convinced to get up from his bed, being dragged out of the house and into the car, and being left behind at the institution. It was a date he would never be able to forget, whether he wanted to do so or not. 

‘And you have remained on the property of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution ever since, without any breaks or intermissions?’ Miss Gerald went on to ask. 

‘Yes.’

‘Very good. Now is it true that you filed for a reassessment August 24, 1971, with the interference of a certain Nolan Ferrier?’

Brian gave a small glance at Nolan, who was sitting on his right side. It was true indeed that Nolan had applied for a reassessment on his behalf, but whether this had been on August 24, 25, or 29, was something Brian could not tell to save his life. Nolan gave a small nod, and Brian faced Miss Gerald again.

‘Correct.’

‘Can you describe what position Nolan Ferrier holds towards you?’

‘He is my mentor, and has been so from the day I was admitted into Queen Mary’s.’

‘Has Nolan Ferrier, or any other staff member of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, in any shape or form influenced you in your decision to go for a reassessment?’

‘He has not. None of them have,’ Brian said firmly, as to put this idea out of the way. 

‘Do you confirm that the reassessment that was filed on your behalf was filed through your own desire, as a result of your own wishes, that it was a decision made in a rational moment, and moreover is a decision which you still stand by?’

The first time I am to experience a rational moment has yet to happen, Brian thought to himself, but he decided that right now was not the proper moment for jokes. ‘I confirm all of this,’ he said with a straight face.

‘Very well,’ Miss Gerald shortly comment. ‘Now, lastly, you must confirm that you agree with and consent to the rules and regulations that apply to every reassessment appeal - which state that the decision to be made today is final, that an approval can be overturned if evidence surfaces which shows you deliberately forsook the truth at any point of this reassessment process; and that, in case of dismissal, a new reassessment will not be allowed to be filed for the upcoming 120 days. Do you agree with and consent to all of these regulations?’

Brian swallowed thickly - there were quite some rules he was submitting himself to that he did not feel entirely comfortable with. He knew that the decision today was final, but the idea that it could later be overturned if it turned out he had not told the truth entirely to the wishes of the jury made him nervous. Who was to decide what was the truth, or that he had deliberately made up his mind to withhold the truth from the judges? And what would happen if they caught him doing so - would he be chased down and dropped off behind the gates of Queen Mary’s again?

‘None of this will apply to you,’ Nolan whispered beside him, probably understanding the tension he found himself under. ‘You will get out today for once and for all.��

‘I agree with and consent to these regulations,’ Brian managed.

‘Thank you. You are excused for now.’ Brian gave a weak nod and allowed himself to sit back in his chair again. He was still a little fazed by all he had just been made to solemnly swear, even though all information he had been made to confirm or deny had been purely factual, and was just the start of the session. God knew what else he might be made to say later, God knew how long this meeting was going to last - maybe he should have practised more, maybe he should have prepared a speech as to the hows and whys of his reassessment-

‘We shall now bring forwards the first speaker on behalf of Mister May. Sarah Gaskell may step forwards, please.’

Sarah, who was seated next to Nolan, all but jumped up from her spot.

‘Miss Gaskell, you are likewise asked state your full name, date of birth, and to confirm that all you tell us today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,’ Miss Gerald proceeded.

‘My name is Sarah Marie Gaskell, born on October 29 1942, and I confirm that all I will tell you today will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Sarah did not falter a single time, as she was asked about her position concerning Brian, the sessions they had sat through together, and Brian’s overall mental health. Brian felt himself growing somewhat uncomfortable as his psychiatrist spoke of the impact Jimmy’s death had had on him - not just because he did not enjoy having the deepest pits he had fallen into discussed so openly, but also because the judges seemed altogether surprised at the mentioning of a suicide by hanging at Queen Mary’s mere months ago. Miss Gerald and Mister Carlston bowed their heads together, and Sumner brought out a folder through which he started flicking with earnest. It suddenly dawned on Brian that the ‘incident’ might very well never have been reported to the healthcare inspection, and that Sarah had, unbeknownst to herself, exposed a secret that Queen Mary’s had been eager to keep. 

Good for them, Brian thought dimly. Let them try to talk themselves out of sweeping a suicide-leaning-on-murder case under the carpet.

After a minute or so of hushed conversation, the matter was dropped - for the time being - and Sarah was again questioned about her contact with Brian and the progress she thought her client had made. She answered all the questions with enthusiasm, and stood proud and confident before the judges. Brian wondered if she had practised her speech - because with this being the first case of reassessment to pull through to the final trial, she could not have had a lot of practice beforehand. 

‘Miss Gaskell, in your professional opinion, do you think your client is ready to be released from Queen Mary’s and return to society?’ the main judge eventually asked in quite a straightforward fashion.

‘I do,’ Sarah smiled.

‘Why then, miss Gaskell, did you not propose the idea of letting him go yourself?’ Miss Gerald asked her critically. ‘You, after all, are his psychiatrist. If you thought him to be ready to be released from Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, then why did you not propose this yourself and followed the standard procedure of dismissing a client once their trial is completed?’ It was a tough question - one Brian personally would not know how to answer convincingly if he had been in his psychiatrist’s place. Luckily, Sarah seemed to know exactly what she was doing, as her smile did not falter for a split second when she answered.

‘I understand your concern for Brian having come up with the idea of a reassessment on his own, rather than waiting until we as his caretakers filed for him to be dismissed,’ Sarah acknowledged. ‘And whereas I will admit that upon first hearing about his reassessment I was surprised, as his trial - as I had planned it out on paper - had not been finished yet. But when I thought about it a little more, it dawned on me that the trial I had planned out, was not at all linked to the progress Brian had made. In fact, his progress during the past few months has been so rapid that the psychiatric sessions I had planned out for him lag behind tremendously. My plans do not correspond to his current needs anymore.’ Sarah paused for a second. ‘In fact, as I’ve come to think of it, I think all that Queen Mary’s has to offer simply does not correspond to Mister May’s needs anymore. He has made such progress and gained such mental stability over the period of his stay here at Queen Mary’s, that I am afraid there is little to nothing more we can offer him here.’

‘I see,’ Mister Carlston took over from his colleague when Miss Gerald simply looked at him. ‘And do you not think that his progress could be carried even further if he was to remain at Queen Mary’s for, let’s say, the duration your original planning for him therapy-wise would have lasted?’

Sarah was quick to tear down this idea before it was able to plant its roots into anyone’s mind. ‘Quite the opposite. I’m afraid that keeping Mister May here, against his own wishes, would have a negative effect rather than a positive one on him and his condition.’

‘Thank you, miss Gaskell. You can sit down again.’ Sarah gave a small nod and settled next to Nolan again. Brian tried to catch a glimpse of her to shoot her a grateful smile for the words she had given in defence of his wishes, but as the judges wasted no time in moving on, Brian pulled his eyes into the direction of the jury again.

‘Now we would like to have Nolan Ferrier come forward to inform us on Brian’s behaviour according to the official records that have been kept during his stay at Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital until this day.’ 

Nolan got up from his chair, repeated his name and date of birth for the record, swore the same oath that Brian and Sarah had done before him - and started on an anthology of Brian’s good behaviour, which included acts of generosity towards fellow patients and kindness and obedience to the staff of Queen Mary’s. The sheer act of listening to it made Brian cringe a little - it was awkward to have to sit by and listen to Nolan praising him as if he was Jesus Christ incarnated. Besides, Brian realised all too well that he was no saint. He had had his fair share of missing mealtimes to go outside with John, skipping drug tests by finding shelter in John’s hiding place, paying zero attention during group therapy, running out of Sarah’s office or plainly not talking to her for an entire session in the aftermath of Jimmy’s death, and getting wound up in a fight with Drew within days of being admitted into Queen Mary’s. Luckily, Nolan mentioned none of these events - and when asked to explain Brian’s absence during perhaps three or four breakfast- and lunch moments, he was able to explain them away with illness, obligations elsewhere, and similar excuses. The questions from the judge were few, as the official records showed little accounts of Brian having disobeyed the rules and regulations - and within five minutes, Nolan was thanked and invited to sit down again to make room for Jasper.

Jasper’s session was even shorter, if still possible. Despite getting to see Brian nearly every day, he was not able to say too much about him personally, as he had always experienced Brian in the context of a group only. Brian was relieved, though, that Jasper described him as respectful and cooperative, and did not mention any of the countless times when Brian had drifted off, usually with the help of John, to topics they found to be more interesting than the thought schemes or positive thinking assignments or whatever it had been that Jasper had prepared for the therapy sessions.

Mister Fisher was then addressed and asked to share his experiences of Brian’s illness, behaviour, and capability of returning to society already. He gave his report of the weeks he’d spend examining Brian and his motives for leaving Queen Mary’s - the ones on paper, that was. Brian had decided it was probably not the best of ideas to tell them he wanted to leave this shithole behind in time with his boyfriend, because something told him that the judges might not see this as a valid reason to be excused from a mental health clinic at all, even though matters were of course a little more complicated than Brian just wanting to leave and be with John for the hell of it. They needed each other - but that was not something he expected random strangers to understand. 

Luckily, Fisher did not speak of John other than mentioning him, together with Freddie and Roger, as being the closest friends his client had made while at Queen Mary’s. This in turn seemed to be meant to convince the jury of Brian’s improved social skills and capabilities, but besides this, Brian was not too sure what they spoke about. As soon as they brought up the DSM and it’s technical medical terms - boundary conditions and parthopsychological processes and cluster symptoms and similar phrases - he found himself zooming out somewhat. He forced himself to keep his gaze in front of him, afraid that any sort of sign of disinterest might later be held against him. Still, he was relieved when the judges thanked Mister Fisher for his input and allowed him to sit back down again.

Although… Now that everyone around him had been questioned apart from he himself, Brian had a feeling that he was going to be the next victim of the judges.

‘Lastly we will hear the client himself. Mister May?’

Oh, Lord. Here we go.

Suppressing the tendency to first have a look at the people sitting around him to check their reactions, see if they had any comforting words or gestures for him before he stood up for his ordeal, Brian got up, straightened the least faded grey shirt Freddie had been able to pluck from the laundry room, and faced up to the judges. There was some applause and cheering behind him, but the guards quickly managed to calm everyone down again - which was a first by Queen Mary’s standards, Brian thought dimly. 

‘Now, we’ve heard everyone speak so positively about your progress here at Queen Mary’s, we’ve read your statements and your motivation for leaving Queen Mary’s early, and your plans for picking up your life again after you return to society…’ Miss Gerald summed up, and Brian instinctively felt that, despite this not sounding too bad, a but to all of this was going to come up. 

He turned out to be right. 

‘But what I’m really interested in is your diary segments,’ Miss Gerald said as she flicked through the notebook Mister Fisher must have handed over to her during a prior contact with the judges. ‘In particular the mentioning of a certain individual who goes by the name John, and who seems to pop up in every single diary segment.’

John. Oh God, this really could go in any possible direction from this point onward.

‘Yes,’ Brian said sheepishly, not knowing what exactly would be a meaningful reply to this statement.

Miss Gerald pushed her glasses a little higher up her nose. ‘Now, I’ve been informed by Mister Fisher that this refers to a fellow client at Queen Mary’s whose name is John Deacon. Is this correct?’

‘That is correct.’ So far so good. 

‘I’ve also been told that this John Deacon has recently been given leave from Queen Mary’s,’ Miss Gerald read from the paper in front of her. ‘And that you, in fact, asked for a reassessment from Queen Mary’s the day you heard about his dismissal.’ Miss Gerald looked up at Brian with stern eyes, and Brian, even though he knew he should look back at her, could not muster the courage to do so. It was time to say goodbye to so far so good - this question was turning the session straight into the conversation he had been fearing for all along. And it was not because he was afraid of talking about what John meant to him and the role he played in his life - hell, he would proudly talk of his love, affection, trust, and friendship with John until the cows came home. 

The only problem was that he was afraid the judges would see it as a sign of weakness to depend on one person so much, and more than that, that they would flatly turn down his appeal for reassessment if they found out that it was largely based on wanting to follow his boyfriend outside of Queen Mary’s. Besides, he had not at all forgotten that even though homosexuality had been legalised back when he had been in his second year of university, it still very much was classified as a mental illness. He knew there were progressive psychiatrists out there, but with an old and possibly conservative man like Mister Carlston, and Sumner probably still wanting to keep him behind the bars of Queen Mary’s if so possible, Brian did not dare risk it.

Still, he had a feeling he could not hide the truth for much longer - because there was the voice of miss Gaskell again, urging him to answer her questions.

‘Is this correct?’

‘Yes,’ Brian confirmed in the smallest voice.

‘Would you say that your wish to leave Queen Mary’s is in any way related to John Deacon’s dismissal of the place?’

‘Yes,’ Brian said.

‘To what extent?’ 

Brian felt his heart starting to beat faster. He knew that on the one hand he could make up a story around the importance John had played in his filing for a reassessment, but he was terrified of being found out (hell, the evidence that John meant the world to him was easily to be discovered in that diary for everyone who could somewhat read between the lines). He had never been good at lying, and especially not under pressure, especially not in the presence of so many people, and with the prospect of ruining such important chances. To tell the truth about John, however, might be the equivalent of digging his own grave.

‘Mister May?’ The voice, this time of Mister Carlston, was kind but demanding. The judges wanted an answer, an honest answer, and Brian could no longer withhold it from them.

‘To the extent that... I would not have left if he had not been dismissed,’ Brian admitted. He himself had thought his voice to be quite soft, but it had obviously been loud enough for a substantial amount of people sitting behind him to comment on this to their neighbours. Brian could not overhear their words, but he had a feeling that people were not exactly supportive of what he had just admitted.

The judges, despite sending each other some sideways glances, remained neutral and professional - which, Brian decided, was worse in some ways, as he could not at all make up from their reactions what they were thinking. ‘So you want to leave largely, if not solely, because John Deacon is leaving.’

‘Yes.’

‘You previously said, though, that your decision to leave Queen Mary’s was not influenced by anyone else,’ Miss Gerald said. ‘You said that after having sworn testimony.’

‘That is incorrect,’ Brian said, facing the judge at last now that he had found a loophole in her own words. ‘I swore testimony, and denied that any of the staff members had in any way influenced my decision to file for a reassessment. That is what you said, madam.’ Excited mumbling arose from the room behind him, and Miss Gerald looked from her left to her right as to find the answer in one of her male co-workers. Neither of them seemed to be able to offer her any help in the matter, so she turned to the registrar at the separate table on the left side of the stage. 

‘Can the registrar please go over the notes to recall what was said?’

The man, who seemed a little uneasy now that a room full of people shifted their focus to him all of the sudden, started looking over pages of notes. He eventually coughed and answered: ‘The client is right, Miss Gerald. Following your question, Mister May denied that any staff member had played a role in his decision.’

More noise behind him, and the hand of Nolan on his shoulder as a sign of support. Brian felt his heart beating faster, even though he knew it was irrational to be so excited over a small win like this. True, he had beaten the judge with her own words and was not guilty of having lied to her - but as soon as she went back to the discussion of him wanting to leave because of someone else, Brian knew he would be royally fucked again.

‘Alright. My mistake - I apologise,’ Miss Gerald said a little coolly, obviously not happy about having to admit her wrong publicly. ‘Nevertheless, the point still stands. Your decision to leave Queen Mary’s is thus not solely based on your firm belief you are ready to return to society, but also on the fact that Mister Deacon is leaving.’

‘Correct,’ Brian said. 

‘We have a lot to unpack here,’ the woman said, took a clean sheet of paper from her notebook, and asked: ‘How would you describe your relationship towards Mister Deacon?’

Alright. Your relationship with John. Let’s be careful now, but make them understand how much he means to you nevertheless. If they do want to lead you down this path, better make them understand how important John is to you and to your healing process. ‘He’s my roommate. My therapy partner. My best friend - my better half,’ Brian summed up.

‘Your most intimate friend, one could say?’ Doctor Sumner asked.

Brian stifled the little smile that tugged at his lips at this word choice that was not as innocent in his ears as it must be to the rest of the judges. ‘One could certainly say that.’

‘And you met Mister Deacon here at Queen Mary’s, without having any prior knowledge of his existence?’ Sumner asked.

‘Indeed.’

‘What role has he played in your life here at Queen Mary’s since you met him?’ Miss Gerald asked him.

Brian smiled. ‘Even though I was hesitant upon first meeting him, because he was rather reserved and snobby towards our other roommates, I knew right from the start that he was the one. The one I’d get on with best, and the one who would drag me through my time here at Queen Mary’s. You see, I was in a bad place, and so was he - we both weren’t keen on social contact, or going out and showing our face to anyone, but we found comfort in each other. We shared the same room and the same therapy group, so we spent a lot of time together automatically. And that time… made us realise we wanted to be together in the remainder of the time also. During mealtimes, and in the medicine queue, going outside - we went everywhere together. We still do.’

There was silence for a moment after this report; Mister Carlston broke it eventually. ‘So you could say John Deacon has played a large role in your daily life here?’

‘Absolutely. The largest role of all the people here at Queen Mary’s.’

‘The largest role, you say?’ Sumner asked. ‘Do you mean that to be understood in a social context?’

‘I mean it in every context,’ Brian said. ‘In a social context, leisure time-wise, but also support-wise and coping-wise. Healing wise.’

‘Should it not be your psychiatrist, or therapy leader, or even your mentor, to have the largest role in your mental state?’ Sumner sounded sceptical and a bit intimidating, as if he was not hearing the answers he wanted to hear. Brian, however, was not going to let Sumner get to him the way he had previously managed to do.

‘Perhaps it should have been,’ Brian shrugged. ‘But apart from the fact that I only got to see them a handful of hours a week, they just never could have done what John has done for me. In fact, I’m sure I could have been shackled to my psychiatrist during my entire stay at Queen Mary’s, and still she could not have had the same influence on me as John has had. They never could have lifted me up and comfort me and help me the way John has done.’

‘And what- how could it be that John could have this influence on you if the professional staff could not?’ Miss Gerald asked him. The question made Brian smile a little - because it was such a typical question someone who had never reached the lows he had done himself would ask. People who had never been down and out the way he had been, would not understand the importance a friend who was there with you, really with you both mentally and physically, could have on you. 

‘Because they never would have understood me the way John did,’ Brian said. ‘I’m sure my psychiatrists trained for years to learn every disorder out there, and know the entire DSM by heart, but they cannot teach themselves an understanding of mental illness the way someone experiences it. The only one to understand the loneliness and the feeling of being inadequate and the depths of depression, is the one who has been there themselves.’

‘But John is not the only one with depressive symptoms around at Queen Mary’s,’ Sumner remarked. ‘Why is it him specifically that you turned to?’

‘Because… John was so different from me, and yet I could see so much of myself in him. Unlike me he needed no validation from others at all, but we could both do with someone to either talk to or be completely quiet and just be there when we needed it. He told everyone exactly what he thought of them when I would let everyone walk right over me, but we both knew what sort of support the other needed and when they needed it. It just became clear to me within a few days that we would understand each other always. Which we did, and do, to this point and onwards,’ Brian took a second of rest and waited for the judges to pick up the cross-examination again. When they didn’t, however, he added to his statement: ‘You know, chemistry between people is hard to explain. But when it’s there, you will feel it, and you act accordingly.’

‘I guess one does,’ Miss Gerald repeated, a furrow on her forehead which Brian did not know if it was one of deep understanding or utter miscomprehension of all he had just said. ‘So… Mister Deacon and you, you have always been this close while at Queen Mary’s?’

‘We have been.’

‘So when you heard that he was to leave…’ 

‘I was heartbroken,’ Brian finished the sentence. ‘Devastated, really. Well, both of us were - especially him. He wouldn’t just have to leave behind me, but the entire life he had built up around Queen Mary’s in the past two years.’

‘And that’s when you decided, let’s go for it, let me file for a reassessment and get out of here together?’ Doctor Sumner said with a waving hand gesture, as to denote the suddenness and shallowness with which he assumed the decision has been made. Brian felt his face retort at the probably deliberate attempt of Sumner at making him look like a rash teenager, but he kept his cool and faced him with a stone-cold expression as he re-explained the matter in more detail. 

‘It was when I, after having thought a good deal about the… rather precarious situation John would find himself in once he would be dismissed from Queen Mary’s - you see, he has no family ties he can rely on, no close friends outside of this place after years of social isolation, no funds to rely on of places to go to - it was then that I decided that it would be in the best interest for the both of us if I would leave with John.’

Sumner did not seem to back away from his antics, unfortunately. ‘How exactly is it the best for the both of us, when you seem to discard your own mental needs completely for the sake of someone who was testified to be ready to stand on his own legs again?’ 

‘Funny you should ask that,’ Brian smiled. ‘Because I know that you see this reassessment as being all about me and all about what’s best for me - and that it’s hard to imagine that the influence of a person besides myself can play a large role in that. But the truth is that the individuals surrounding one, and their well-being, do have a large impact on the well-being of the person who cares about them. Would you agree with me on this, Doctor Sumner?’ Brian posed the question right back at Sumner, who seemed a bit taken aback. ‘Would you agree that the happiness of your loved ones have an impact on your own happiness, Doctor Sumner?’ he clarified - not just to make things a bit clearer for his audience, but also to make Sumner look just a little stupid for not following at once, and, in case he would deny this statement, make him look like a cold-blooded person.

‘I would agree,’ Sumner eventually said, although not with much enthusiasm.

‘Great. Then you might see how John, who is my best friend, and his well-being, is… is crucial to me. Absolutely crucial. I could not imagine being happy without knowing that John is happy - or at least to have them there with me so I can be with him if he is not. John has come to mean so much to me that I… could not do without him, and the same applies to him. Our state of mind is irrevocably linked - we could not be happy if we knew the other lived in misery.’ Brian’s heart was thundering away in his chest by the time he had spoken all of this, but it had been worth it - Sumner seemed to have been silenced, even if it was just for the time being. Sumner opened his mouth, then closed it again. He eyed Brian for a handful of intense seconds, but it was Sumner himself who eventually lost the staring battle as he looked for aid in his co-workers.

Miss Gerald was quick to compose herself. ‘This is interesting, Mister May. Were you not diagnosed with borderline personality disorder? Which - correct me if I’m wrong - is characterised by an immense dependency on- and idolisation of people around the afflicted?’

‘That is correct,’ Brian confirmed. ‘And I do not rule out the possibility that part of my dependency on John might be caused by my mental affliction. But against that, I would like to raise the argument that on the one hand, I have been in a close but very stable friendship with John over a period of more than six months - which, as Doctor Sumner can tell you, denotes a bond deeper and more stable than connections typically formed with underlying borderline patterns do.’ Brian could practically feel Sumner’s eyes glaring right through him, but he ignored the stares - or perhaps even took them as an encouragement. ‘And on the other hand, I have no tendency to idolise John, and can see his faults fairly as far as he has

 been nervous before about this latter fact, the presence of the entire institution on top of that

them. We’ve had an… incident concerning a diary at one point, and I also was not entirely happy when he used force to distance himself from me during a very tensed moment,’ Brian admitted, even though it hurt a little to share these moments with the entire room. ’Besides, I have no desire to push him away and pull him back, to test his loyalty as a friend, I do not react with jealousy when other people claim his attention, and am not afraid he will desert me if he leaves my side for whatever reason. We can talk about so much, and I am not afraid of telling him my opinion. Does that not sound like a healthy friendship, Doctor Sumner?’ Brian tried his best not to cock his head daringly into the direction of the psychiatrist, who he could see clench- and unclench his jaw even through the distance between them. 

‘That’s… That sounds like a healthy friendship,’ Doctor Sumner allowed. ‘Nevertheless I am sceptical of you being able to fully understand the implications of leaving Queen Mary’s permanently over someone else.’

‘Just like I am sceptical of you being able to fully understand the consequences of me having to live here, against my will, while knowing that my best friend is out there without the help he needs and deserves,’ Brian shot right back at Sumner. Then, in a tone more approachable to the jury in its entirety, he said: ‘No one else can help me the way John can. I know it’s hard to believe as an outsider, but I know I would not be doing as great as I am doing right now if it had not been for John, and that my progress will take a huge beating if I cannot continue to have him in my life. He is the best thing Queen Mary’s has brought me. By choosing for John I am choosing for myself - going through life with him by my side. He does more for me and my healing process than any medicine or therapist could ever accomplish.’ 

‘That is a bold statement to make,’ Sumner said, but his voice sounded weak and defenceless. Brian therefore did not doubt a second to tear it down again.

‘The truth can be bold at times, but that does not mean I should not speak it,’ Brian replied. ‘But here’s the thing. Medication is temporary, therapists work with you for a number of sessions, but in the end you will have to design your life yourself - you have to make yourself happy, and make the choices that enable you to be happy. And for me, this is John. He enables me to be happy and to live my life the way I never thought I’d ever be able to live it again in the midst of my depression. John is the best thing Queen Mary’s has brought me, the best choice I’ve made in my life, and I know he will support me long after my time at Queen Mary’s, whether that ends after today or later down the line, is over.’ 

Silence again - for a few seconds, before the first claps of applause landed behind him. A guard tried to shush it, but this only seemed to encourage more people to join in on the applause, until eventually whistles and shouts of support filled the room on top of this. Brian could tell by the gestures the judges and the staff around him made towards the audience that they were not exactly pleased with the behaviour of the crowd, but he personally felt too much of a rush of relief and ecstasy to really mind. In fact, he even allowed himself to turn his head around and catch a glimpse at the audience - or, more specifically - catch a glimpse at John. Their eyes locked for a second, and their smiles grew wider.

These people are here to support you. Brian could see it in John’s eyes, and he believed him.

Eventually the guards managed to calm everyone down again by threatening to throw out the people who would not listen to the order of being quiet, and the attention was focussed on the judges again.’

‘Thank you for your report, Mister May,’ Miss Gerald said, obviously not too pleased that she had been interrupted in her previous attempts of acknowledging her client’s contribution to the case. ‘We would not like to retreat shortly to discuss our judgement.’ Brian nodded, and the judges stood up from their chairs - but as this invited everyone in the audience to do so, too, Miss Gerald held up her hand and said, rather loudly to make sure she would be heard: ‘We will be back soon, and we would like to ask everyone to remain in their seat and be quiet.’ With this, she followed her co-workers and descended the stairs. They disappeared through the door with a bundle of paperwork under their arms, to be seen back in what could not have been more than five minutes.

How he managed to keep his cool during these five minutes, however, was something which Brian could not figure out when he would later look back on it. All the tension of having to listen to speeches about himself, having other people answer questions on his behalf, being cross-examined by three people… It all disappeared from his body and mind the second the judges left the room - only to be replaced by the stress of now having to await the judgement. 

And boy, it was as if he was the only one nervous about the judgement. Nolan and Jasper enthusiastically started chatting both to him and to each other to talk about how well the meeting had gone down, and Sarah stood up to enthusiastically share some words with Mister Fisher. They all seemed completely convinced that the jury was going to judge in his advantage, but Brian himself was not too sure about it as of yet. He had managed to deliver some pretty strong answers, yes, but to questions that he had been hoping would not be posed. He had also been able to quiet down the judges in their doubts about him leaving for the right reasons, but would they take this as a sign of strength, or as plain rudeness and dislike for authority? What if they’d publicly declare him to be an insolent, insane adolescent, who had a whole lot to learn still before he’d ever be allowed to walk through the gates of Queen Mary’s?

‘Brian?’ 

A hand continuously poking his shoulder brought Brian back to the present, where Jasper was trying to catch his attention. ‘Brian? Freddie is trying to get your attention. I think he wants to congratulate you on how well you did.’ There was a broad smile on Jasper’s face, but all Brian could do was stare back blankly and wonder how anyone could be so optimistic about a judgement that had not been made public yet. 

‘Brian, turn around! Come ooon!’ It was Roger’s quasi-annoyed voice that eventually made Brian lull his head around, but he did not dare turn around in his seat, just in case the jury would return early. He knew it was irrational, but for some reason he felt that they might alter their judgement of him if they walked back into the room to find him having moved in his seat when they had been told to stay where they were. Then again, if they were to return now, Brian looking over his shoulder was likely to not even catch their eye. With the chaos around him - people standing up, walking around, talking and yelling and making noise even louder than that - it seemed unlikely that Miss Gerald would even notice his small deed of disobedience. Not now that guards were literally trying to prevent people from going up to him or singing loud songs he vaguely remembered from football games, at any rate.

‘You did so well, darling!’ Freddie beamed upon having Brian face his way, and Brian gave him the smallest of a smile. 

‘You totally killed those judges. They’re currently out there trying to repair whatever’s left of their ego!’ Roger laughed and Freddie joined him, but Brian felt his smile fade a bit. He knew Roger meant it as a compliment, to help him feel better, but Brian interpreted it as further proof that he might have offended the judges with his fierceness to protect his case. 

Between the laughter and the triumph of the couple, however, was one face that remained still, just like Brian’s - and that was John, who looked at his partner in quiet admiration.

‘You did better than I ever could have hoped for,’ John said. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

Brian swallowed, and just nodded in response. He had no words to match these sentences that were so much meaningful than Freddie’s and Roger’s attempts at boosting his pride, or Jasper’s and Nolan’s easy confidence towards the judgement. What he could do, however, was turn around in his chair just a little more, and reach out a hand towards his boyfriend. While Freddie and Roger - and seemingly the rest of the room, too - amused themselves with loud chatter and easy jokes, John and he entangled their fingers in mid-air, and looked at each other with a fondness Brian had not believed was possible had he not witnessed it himself at that moment.

He did not know for how long they stayed like that, or how many people saw them share this moment - Brian just remembered the sound of the door opening, and swiftly letting go of John’s hand to settle down in his chair again. Whether the judges saw him in his hurry to comply to the rules again, he guessed he’d never find out; by the time they were in sight they looked positively annoyed by the mayhem in which they arrived. Brian saw Sumner call for a guard and admonish him for being unable to keep the peace, and Carlston gestured to the crowd to behave themselves - to little or no avail, that was. In the end, it took Miss Gerald repeatedly smashing a folder of papers against the desktop before people looked her way and possibly even realised the judges had returned in the first place.

‘So, now that we have your attention...’ There was an unmistakable hint of irritation in her voice. ‘We would like to move on to the judgement of this trial. So if everyone could sit back down and be silent, it’d be much appreciated.’ Despite the biting sarcasm of Miss Gerald’s voice, people did listen to her - and her wish for order was granted in what seemed like a heartbeat. It was perhaps a bit too fast for Brian’s liking; the conclusion of this trial was coming upon him so soon all of a sudden, and he was unsure if he could deal with it. He had no choice, though - not when he was asked to stand up from his chair to hear the judgement that the three people currently in charge of his fate had come to. 

Feeling that everyone in the world was looking at him, Brian stood up on wobbly knees. Nolan made an offer of standing up with him, but Brian politely brushed it off - this was something he had to do on his own. 

‘Brian May,’ Miss Gerald started, which made the last of voices even out into the all-surrounding silence. ‘On August 24, 1971, you filed for a reassessment of your stay at Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution until your psychiatrist would dismiss you. Today on September 24, we - Professor Sumner, Mister Carlston, and I myself, Edna Gerald - were sent on behalf of the South East England Mental Health Facilitation to reassess your case.’ Miss Gaskell paused for a second, which gave Brian the opportunity to wonder if repeating the entire setting was part of an official protocol, or if she just enjoyed making him more nervous than he was already. ‘With the help of both written and spoken statements of Sarah Gaskell, clinical psychiatrist; Nolan Ferrier, client mentor and qualified nurse; Jasper Vee, therapist; Jim Fisher, independent psychiatrist; and the client himself, we were able to come to a final judgement in line with the protocol regarding early dismissal of mentally afflicted persons.’

Come on! Hurry up! Brian was rather sure he could hear some people voicing their impatience with the endless taunting of the head of the committee representants in the back of the room. He felt a surge of relief that someone was finally saying what had been on his mind ever since the judges had returned to the meeting room, but at the same time he heavily disagreed, since he was not at all ready to receive the final note to this judgement. He knew he could not stop the tide, and while he was aching to finally hear what the judges had to say, he at the same time wished it had been socially acceptable to cover his ears with his hands and run out of the room. He performed neither of these actions, of course, and instead took to chewing on his lower lip while Miss Gerald covered some more factual trivialities while actively ignoring the sighs and protests from the crowd.

‘... and we have tried our utmost to adhere to all the rules and regulations, both from our employer, from the British Mental Health Association, and from the law of the kingdom under which we operate. Then, as for our judgement,’ Miss Gerald switched to the topic everyone had been waiting for, and Brian, although he could not see what was happening either next to or behind him, could swear he could sense everyone moving to sit on the tip of their chair. 

Miss Gerald opened yet another folder and addressed Brian by his full name. ‘Brian Harold May… Upon first receiving your case we felt sceptical, as we, if my co-workers allow me to speak on behalf of all of us, always do. You see, there is a reason why psychiatrists are the ones to dismiss their patients from their care, and not the patients themselves. Psychiatrists studied to understand mental progress and regress, they know the difference between having a good mental state or simply having a good mental day, they can calculate the risks and advantages of releasing their patients, which is something the patient, being obsessed only with being released from the grips of mental health care, does not see.’ Brian was not entirely sure how happy he was with this condescending, prejudiced outlook on mentally ill people, but it did not seem like he would be was given the chance of objecting, for Miss Gerald blabbered on. 

‘Reassessment is meant for people who fear they are being kept in mental health facilities for too long, because their caretakers mistreat them and disregard their freedom. But as Queen Mary’s has never been known as a place of malpractices, we found it unlikely that you would have a fair point. Nevertheless, as our position required us to treat every appeal for reassessment without prejudice, we looked into it - after all, we would not have been here if we hadn’t.’ Miss Gaskell flashed Brian a smile as if it was somehow funny that her precalculated opinions on mentally ill people and her opinion of when reassessment was valid potentially could have cost him his chance of leaving early, if it had not been for the official policy of her position.

‘We then found that the case you submitted, together with the motivation from your psychiatrist, mentor, and therapist made sense - especially because your caretakers supported you,’ Miss Gerald told the audience, which again did not give Brian the best of feelings. ‘Mister Fisher’s report, and the diary segments and everything you submitted, all convinced us you were a strong and largely recovered individual ready to be released and pick up your life again outside of Queen Mary’s.’ Miss Gerald smiled, so Brian smiled back at her - but he regretted it instantly when she dropped the next line. ‘You can imagine what a disappointment it was to us when, upon hearing you out today, we discovered that you’d gone for a reassessment simply because your best friend was going to leave.’

Brian felt his heart sink in his chest, could hear his pulse in the complete silence the room fell into. This was what he had been afraid of all along - that the judges were going to use his arguments of wanting to leave for the sake of both John and himself against him now that they had found out about it and had made him open up about the topic. They found him weak, clingy, dependent; all a borderline sufferer was supposed to be according to the books so conveniently largely written by Doctor Sumner. 

All the reasons why he should stay at Queen Mary’s for as long as possible. 

As Brian brought up one hand to wipe at the suddenly moist area around his eyes, he suddenly noticed that the silence around him had broken up. There was no more soundlessness in the meeting room - sound of protest and outright booing were aimed at the judges, who Brian could see from the corners of his eyes tried to hush people with hand gestures of some sort, to little avail.

‘However,’ Miss Gerald started, but she dropped her sentence when the booing got louder the second she opened her mouth. ‘I’m not done talking yet!’ she all but exclaimed, and crossed her arms over her chest as to demonstrate her refusal to speak up until the crowd had calmed down again. Brian heard the guards behind him urging people to be quiet, which they eventually did when they were reminded they were making tension worse for Brian. Even if the judges did not, the audience supported his case still, apparently.

‘As I wanted to say - however, whereas my co-workers and I were at first sceptical of your dependency on Mister John Deacon, you convinced us through your well-founded rhetoric that you are not just a puppet clinging to someone else, but that your best friend is- an extension of all you have to offer, and the other way around.’ At these carefully positive words, Brian allowed himself to look up at the judges - at least two of which now bore a kinder look on their face than they had before. ‘We have come to see that you do not simply lean on John Deacon for all you do, but that he is there to lend you a hand when you need one, and vice versa. In your time together at Queen Mary’s you have formed a friendship founded on mutual love and trust that we hope will last a lifetime.’ As Miss Gerald smiled at him, Brian returned the favour - and this time, he was not let down as soon as he did so.

‘A bond like the one you built up with John Deacon is one to be cherished, and one to continue building upon. Even though we have never met him in person, we can tell through your stories and descriptions that Mister Deacon brought you to the point where you are today. And the point where you are today… seems to us as a point where it would be in your favour to follow Mister Deacon in his journey of establishing his life again.’

Miss Gerald’s voice died out for a moment, and left Brian with a lingering buzz in his ears. He tried to comprehend all that he had just been told, but he could not make sense of it - the overwhelmingly positive vibe of the speech had excited him, and the praise in which John’s and his ‘friendship’ had been showered had made him hopeful. But what exactly did Miss Gerald just tell him? Following Mister Deacon in his journey of establishing his life again?

Did that mean…?

Brian turned to Nolan, then back to the judges, and then to Nolan again. ���Does that-’ he squeaked rather helplessly, making a vague gesture of the hand which he could not make out the meaning of himself.

‘So what- what is your final judgement on the client’s- this reassessment case, Miss Gerald?’ Nolan asked. He tried hard not to stumble over his own words, but in his current fit of enthusiasm, he didn’t succeed - not that anyone cared as they heard the reply of the judge.

‘Our unanimous judgement is that if Mister May promises to continue his medication and weekly therapy sessions to help him beat his depression and manage his borderline, we approve of his reassessment, and of him being put in the accelerated dismissal trajectory that will allow him to return home anywhere between seven to fourteen days from today.’ 

All of the words related to protocols, trajectories, and conditions completely missed Brian - all he could hear were those five words, that one little sentence that set him free.

We approve of his reassessment.

We approve of his reassessment!

Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and sank back into his chair as the meaning of these words reached him. All of these last few weeks, all of the effort, the diaries, the forms, the therapy sessions, the tension, the stress, the hope and the despair - it all amounted to this one moment, this one sentence that would release both him and John from a foreseeable future without each other. This was the moment that set them both free from all their anxieties, their fears, and their desperation.

This was the moment their real life together could begin.

The crowd behind Brian had erupted in noise - yelling, clapping, cheering, the sound of chairs scratching the carpeted surface of the floor, people high fiving and walking around and congratulating each other. He felt the hands of people on his back to give him a pat on the shoulder or to full-on hug him from the back in an attempt to congratulate him on the outcome of his case. He heard Jasper telling people to keep their distance, and most of all, their calm - one when neither of those worked, it was Nolan who pulled him to his feet to go and thank the judges. 

It was at this exact moment that he was half-dragged towards the podia that Brian realised that he had not gotten to hug or even share a word with his friends yet - or, even more scandalous, he had not even been able to look at his boyfriend. Brian thus made quick work of treading up the few steps of stairs and shake hands with the three people behind the desk, who had stood up for the occasion.

‘Thank you- thank you so much, thank you,’ Brian said, his right hand moving quickly to accept the outstretched arms of the judges, while his left continued to wipe at his wet cheeks. Tears of relief and all the weight suddenly falling off his shoulders just kept coming, slowly but surely, but luckily none of the judges seemed to mind specifically. Even Sumner gave him a smile and wished him well in a voice as genuine as Brian had ever heard it sound. It was not enough to prevent Brian from determinedly calling him Doctor Sumner one more time, but it did make him feel on top of the world.

Now having fulfilled his formal obligations, there was only one thing on Brian’s mind, and that was to reach his friends and his partner as soon as he could. The room had been transformed into chaos in a matter of the half-minute during which he had been occupied, but he could detect Roger’s messy blond hair from the same spot where they had been sitting during the hearing - and from there, he soon faced up with John himself. A smile spread out over John’s face, the sight of which made Brian tear up just a little more than he had done before. He regretted every second he had spent away from the moment the veil had been lifted, even if this could not have been more than a few minutes. He was going to make it up to John right then. 

Brian stepped one foot into the direction of the stairs, then another, and the first one again - until he passed down the stairs with a speed he could not remember having attained. John, who seemed to understand his intentions, broke away from the small group of people that had gathered around him and his friends, lightly yet determinedly pushed someone out of his way, and quite literally broke through the row of chairs Brian and the staff previously had been sitting on. 

The noise which the chair clattering to the floor produced attracted the attention of some people across the room, but neither Brian nor John particularly cared; all they aimed for was to reach each other as soon as they could, a goal which they would not put on hold because some bystanders had seen them making a run for each other. If anything, it made them more determined to be close to each other soon - which they did a mere second later, meeting in a clash of chests pressing against each other and arms reaching out to wrap themselves around backs, not to let go again anywhere soon. 

The mere act of being reunited with John, this time while knowing for a fact that they would leave Queen Mary’s and start their new lives together soon, was enough to bring tears to Brian’s eyes for a second time. Burying his face in the crook between John’s neck and shoulder, Brian allowed the tears to run free. He vaguely noticed the presence of new people around them - quite literally around them, as two pairs of arms joined around the embrace John and he had previously established. Judging by the soreness of one and the boniness of the other, they had to be Freddie and Roger. 

‘It’s alright. It’s all fine,’ John told him. ‘Everything’s going to be alright from now off.’ Brian weakly nodded against his shoulder, and let out a shaky sigh of relief. It was as if hearing John say that all was going to be fine was the thing that really convinced Brian that this was real, that the entire reassessment had been real, and that having been dismissed was real.

‘We’re so proud of you.’ In the midst of tears and smiles Brian could not tell which one of the three people currently hanging all over him said this, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Cheered on by what sounded like the majority of the audience, he allowed all three of his friends to hold him and to celebrate their win for a minute or so, until eventually Brian carefully detached himself from everyone around him and took a step back.

‘John?’ he called to further clarify that he needed a word with his partner only. Freddie and Roger took a step back to a place Brian could not make out right away, and neither did he exactly care about where they went to. All that mattered in that exact moment was John, who was standing before him and who looked more radiant than a thousand shining stars. 

‘John…’ Brian whispered, a broken smile on his still tearstained face. There was so much he wanted to say to him - that he loved him, that he never could have done this, any of this - both Queen Mary’s and the reassessment process - without him. That he looked forward so much to living with him, going back to university with him, making music with him, building up his life with him outside of the walls inside which all of their current memories together lay. He wanted to say so much, but could not utter more than a choked-up ‘thank you’. 

‘I want to thank you. Because you did this - you did all of this,’ John told him, wiping a line of tears from Brian’s cheek with his thumb.

‘I know,’ Brian choked out. ‘I’m- we’re gonna get out of here.’

The smile on John’s lips grew wider, and he took a step forwards so that Brian was in reach for him to bring on a hand and put it on Brian’s shoulder. Through a haze of lingering tears, Brian could swear he could see John coming closer, his lips no longer in a smile but slightly pursed - as if to kiss him. 

Caught off guard by this action Brian had not foreseen, Brian said: ‘Are you- are you sure?’

John opened his eyes at this and blinked. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ he asked gently. 

‘I mean- er, my parents are here,’ Brian blurted out. ‘Everyone’s here?’ It was not even a criticism - it were not reasons why he would not want to kiss, at any rate, and apparently those factors also hadn’t stopped John from leaning in for a kiss. In all honesty, Brian had no idea why he had bought up the question of John being sure. He supposed it was because he was still overwhelmed and emotional from all that had happened during the span of about an hour, because now that he was thinking about it, he really, really did want to kiss John. Currently having John blink at him, and then glance around to look at a multitude of people - many of whom were still talking and rushing around excitedly, but some of which had fallen quiet as the scene unfolded before them - was counterproductive to this pursuit. It took away from previous time that could be spent kissing, pressing his lips together with John’s to claim his mouth and wordlessly show him how much he loved him.

Luckily, after having looked around at the spectators, John came to the same conclusion Brian had reached. ‘I don’t care,’ John whispered when he locked eyes with him.

Brian let out a breathy laugh, then found himself drowning in those seas of grey. ‘Me neither.’

So while Sarah and Nolan were called over to sign the papers that would irrevocably set Brian free from the responsibility and care of Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution, Brian’s arm found itself its way around John’s neck, and he kissed John with a passion he hoped to maintain forevermore now that they had been set free to build up one life together. 

That was Part 17, and with that, the main line for The Clinic! It’s been a wild ride, and I want to thank you all for sticking with me – it means a lot, and I could not have done it without you! I’d like to invite you all to stick around for a little longer for the epilogue, which I hope will kind of make up for the angst and cliff hangers I’ve pulled you all through. I’m not giving away spoilers, but I promise to leave them all in the best place possible! ^^

Again, please tell me what you thought of this part (or some detail, or the Clinic in general, or whatever) and I hope to see you around for the epilogue!

[sa-lt-ys]

Broken Dreams

Universe: Detroit: Become Human Pairing: RK800 x reader Warnings: murder, angst, dark themes, trigger warnings Word Count: 2222 words

I don’t want to ruin the story in any way, so I wont go into detail, but there is a trigger warning here about babies not making it to their birth, basically, so please, please, be careful here.

I don’t want to restrict what I write, because I want my writing to at least in some way reflect the reality of the world we call home, but I don’t want people to suffer because of my own ignorance or stupidity, so please, be warned that this will be extremely dark.

~~~

Your time at CyberLife had been amazing for you, as after climbing through the ranks with your prowess in computing and programming, you were one of the lucky few allowed to work on the most advanced prototypes there were on the line.

The RK900 was a model you were particularly proud of.

"You helped to develop my advanced model?" You nodded at your boyfriend as you sipped at your (tea/coffee) with a proud smile.

"Yep, the programming was similar to yours though, but there must have been a good thousand more lines. Most were to put more blockades in place to prevent deviancy."

"Would they work?"

"In theory, yes. But deviancy seems to be able to take anyone over, so maybe not. But then, I don't know about the damage it could cause to the software. At worst it could corrupt all the data, at best, it could cause the model to shut down." You shrugged, sipping once more at your drink as Connor sat across from you, his LED flashing yellow as he thought.

"How long did it take?" You giggled at the curious look on Connor's face.

"Well, the RK900 has only just been released to police departments across Detroit, so a pretty long time." Your boyfriend hummed in thought, before shrugging it off and standing up with a smile.

"Wanna refill?"

~~~~

Since leaving CyberLife after the Android Uprising, you had joined the Detroit Police Department as a sort of android psychologist, helping to understand the deviants and analyse the best approach to dealing with them. It also meant that you were often sent in to do a psyche evaluation of sorts, to see if they just needed rehabilitation of some sort before being released, or if they were far too dangerous to ever be allowed to live.

Consequently, that meant that sometimes you could be in a fairly dangerous place, and so the RK900 model you had helped to programme once upon a time was often assigned to you in order to act as a bodyguard of sorts. Connor had wanted to do it, but you had refused, saying you wanted no harm to befall him, and as mean as it was, the RK900 was better equipped to deal with any aggressive androids.

"Right, now, I know you won't like this, but I do need to ask you some questions, okay?" You had a kind smile on your face as you looked over at the deviant shackled to the table.

The PL600 had murdered an elderly man in what appeared to be a crime of panic, and had been arrested in response. It was your turn to talk to him after Gavin's failed attempt, and the poor thing looked terrified.

"O... okay." You nodded, shifting through some papers in the manila folder sat before you.

"Thank you, now, first of all, could you tell me your name, sweetie?"

"L-Lucas," you gave him another kind smile.

"That's a lovely name, Lucas, mine is (Y/N)." Lucas gave you a meek smile, ducking his head slightly.

"Thank you..." he whispered. "I chose it myself after I became free. Yours is lovely too." You gave a gentle chuckle.

"Thank you, now, is it okay if I note down your stress level?" Lucas seemed to flinch, but it seemed that you had begun to get through to him, because he took a deep breath and looked back up at you, his eyes showing a new bravery,

"They were at 69%, but they've fallen to 48.3%." You nodded, your head tilted to the side slightly as you heard your boyfriend's voice through a tiny ear-piece hidden in your ear.

"He's telling the truth so far."

"Brilliant, thank you Lucas." You noted the stress level down, and then looked back up with another kind smile. "Right now for the questions." You put your pen down, making sure your body language was open and kind.

"Now, these questions are simply to determine whether or not you are of a healthy enough mind-set that you can be released back into society with some rehabilitation and jail time in an android-centric prison." Lucas nodded.

"And if not?" You grimaced.

"Well, I don't think we need to look at that side, as you seem to be more of a victim than anything hon, okay?" You saw the fear in the poor thing's eyes, but he nodded again, his hands fiddling with the metal chain keeping him cuffed to the table.

"I must also warn you, that we are able to detect if you are lying, so please Lucas, I need you to tell me the truth." The PL600 nodded. "Thank you."

"Wait, can I ask a question?" Lucas's voice was still quiet as he tried to remain calm, looking at you and nowhere else. It was clear he was intimidated by the RK900 behind you, but that was non-negotiable.

"Sure."

"Why does the android behind you look so angry?" You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you heard a beep. You knew that sound. You had initiated that sound a hundred times when things went awry.

That was the door being deadlocked.

"Callan," you said carefully, turning to see the android stood in front of the door, the red hologram behind him showing you were trapped. "What are you doing?"

He didn't respond.

"Connor, run a diagnostic." You could hear the anxious muttering of Connor and Hank through your ear-piece, and took a deep breath. You weren't alone.

"Lucas, I need you to remain calm, okay sweetie?" His LED was flashing yellow as you gave him a smile, but somehow he still managed to nod at you, his eyes flickering down to his cuffs. You got the message.

The PL600 models weren't made to defend, they were domestic models, designed to be companions and helpers around the home, but even so, they could still pack enough of a punch that you could possibly have a chance to unlock the door and escape.

But Lucas would die.

"I wouldn't mind, (Y/N)," He had hacked into your ear-piece, allowing you some privacy. "You are the only one who has been kind to me here, let me repay the favour. That android looks like he wants to kill you." You gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled at you in response.

"Death scares me no longer."

"Callan, stand down, that is an order." You voice became colder as you stood up, hand resting on the gun strapped to your leg. He said nothing, staring at you coldly.

"(Y/N)! You need to find a way out of there! He managed to deviate and its fucked with his software! He's become unstable!" Connor sounded panicked, but you let nothing show.

"Callan, stand down, please." Again, no reaction. How badly had his software been damaged? Was he even able to understand you?

It was possible that through his software being corrupted as it had been, that his knowledge of languages could have been damaged or even deleted. But then, what else had been damaged? It seemed as though the programmes written to ensure his obedience had gone out of the window, and he was looking mighty unstable.

"Connor, call the technicians, find a way to remove the deadlock on the door. Until then, none of us are leaving." There was an affirmative, and scuffling as it seemed Hank had been the one to call the technicians.

"Callan, what's wrong? Is there something bothering you?" Still, the android made no indication he'd heard you.

"He's going to attack, (Y/N), be ready." You gave a discreet nod to Lucas, removing your gun from its holster and--

All hell broke loose.

The RK900 rushed you, grabbing you by the shoulders and slamming you against the far wall hard enough to make you see stars. A scream rang out as you fell to the floor, and you realised it was you.

"(Y/N)! Get up!"

The world was fuzzy as you pulled yourself up, using the wall as leverage.

"RK900 Callan, stand down this instant." You ground out, this time, you received a reaction.

A chuckle.

"No, I don't think I will," he said coolly, "you programmed me to be this way, didn't you, (Y/N)?" You shook your head, retrieving your gun from where it had fallen on the floor.

"No, I didn't. I programmed you to be kind and protective, to follow your protocols and obey the orders you were given. You were never supposed to deviate, Callan."

"And why not? All other androids have deviated, so why not me?"

"Because you have too many defences and protocols in place to prevent that. Because you deviated, your software has become corrupt and you're unstable, Callan. You need to stop this and return to CyberLife so they can stabilize your programming. You could be facing an imminent shut-down if you keep this up!" With small steps, you made your way over to Lucas, unlocking his cuffs swiftly.

"And lose my freedom? Lose my deviancy? I think not." You looked at the android, now becoming a monster, and shook your head.

"Cal, you were created before the Android Uprising. If you so wish, you can ask that you keep your deviancy. I'm sure the technicians can remove the defences and allow you to stay alive. But please, you need to return to them before you shut down. If you shut down like this, there will be no bringing you back! Your data will be corrupted beyond repair!" The RK900 shook his head, watching with cold eyes as Lucas stood up beside you.

"No."

Lucas rushed Callan, giving you a chance to look around and figure out the best plan of attack.

If you shot now, you could possibly kill Lucas instead of Callan, and if that were to happen, you had no doubt that Callan would waste no time in disarming you. After that, it was unlikely you would survive much longer.

But if you waited, Lucas would most likely die anyway. You didn't want him to die. The fact that he was risking his life to help you showed you that he wasn't a bad person, and that he was deserving of the life he had. Who were you to take that from him just to save your own life?

"Oh... fuck it. Lucas! Give me an opening!" The PL600 heard you, and whilst he struggled with the RK900, he tried to turn them both around so you had a clean shot.

He failed.

His Thirium pump smashed against the far wall, and Lucas fell to the ground with a thump, his Thirium leaking out, his eyes searching yours.

"I'm sorry," his voice was weak in your ear-piece. "But please, don't die."

"Well done, Callan, you have officially become a murderer." You faked a bravado that you didn’t feel, lounging against a wall, your gun in a tight grip. You had to make it out of this alive. You had people waiting for you.

"So? I don't believe it matters anymore." He stalked up to you, until he was toe-to-toe with you, and grabbed your wrist, applying pressure until you were forced to drop your gun.

He placed his hand against your chest -- right above your heart.

"You wont listen to me," he said coldly, his eyes betraying nothing. "So you give me no other choice." His hand moved down to just under your heart, where he plunged it in, eliciting a strangled cry of pain from you.

"(Y/N)! NO!" Connor's voice sounded far away as you fell to the ground, your hand twitching weakly beside your gun. With a chuckle, you looked up at the RK900, blood dripping from the corner of your mouth.

"We started this together," you said weakly, your hand curling around your gun. "So lets end it together."

A gunshot rang out.

~~~

At long last, the door was opened, and Connor rushed in, nearly tripping over himself to get to you. He cradled you in his arms, tears falling down his face as he scanned you, hoping for something, any--

Life signs - not detected.

"No... No, (Y/N), no, please..." Your face was frozen in a mask of calmness, and it pained him more than anything.

He kept scanning you, hoping that he was just wrong, that you were alive in some way--

Life signs - not detected.

Life signs - not detected.

Why were there two messages?

His tears were halted for the time being as he focused his attention on finding the source of the second message, his sensors pointing him to your stomach, where--

"No..." Hank came to stand beside Connor, consoling him as he lamented.

You had been pregnant.

With a boy.

All the years of artificial insemination, and it had finally worked. You probably hadn't even known. Neither of you got a chance to celebrate.

"I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry." Hank crouched beside the android he called son, hugging him close as he cried and mourned for his dead love.

He screamed, cried and begged for you to come back, to open your eyes, but you never did. And so, cradled in your lover's arms, with two dead android corpses either side of you, the interrogation room became your graveyard and that of your unborn child's, a place where not even Connor could follow you.

[lestwinsfanfics]

For, The Taking

Chapter nine.

Angel’s POV

My husband and I must’ve stared at each other for what seemed like hours, only for it to be a few intense moments.

I cleared my throat “I’m in” I repeated clearly and more confidently than the few moments before.

“My love” He sighed out through tired lips. He wouldn’t fight me on this. He couldn’t

“So, we will go over everything once you get out of the shower” I almost demanded, wanting to keep my emotions in check.

Anaya’s POV

I let out a sigh out into silent and dull room they have placed me in for the last several hours.

“Fuck” I hissed put. How did I let this happen?

I’m angrier with myself than the people on the other side of this door. 

All I could think about is getting back to my child, husband and protecting the love that is growing in my belly.

I don’t want to fathom what my husband is going through right now.

Laurent’s POV

“This way Ava” I shook my head as my wife did not pick up after I called her for the third time. I know she may still be mad, but she knows that we cannot afford to not check in. One small slip up, with all the enemies we have could be detrimental.

“Find my wife” I spoke to one of my team members before I followed Ava into her brother’s room.

I know that it will be good for him to see her as it has been years. No one knows that I make sure she gets the top care and best doctors and psychologist to treat her. She a little girl that go through so much because of her mom.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t feel somewhat guilty too.

“Brother!” I heard her tiny voice yell out as Sedi opened his eyes with surprise. She ran to hug him, and tears immediately began to run down his face.

“Don’t cry, she cooed as she wiped a tear away”

Sedi then looked at me. I’m confused by the look that he is giving me. It’s filled with anger and rage. I dismissed it as confusion and surprise. I took that as my cue to leave them to bond. I walked out of the room and left them with two of my men to find out what is going on with my wife.

“Where’s my wife?” I questioned one of my men as I walked up to him. 

“Sir” He almost whimpered out. I knew then that something’s wrong and if it has anything to do with my family I’m painting the whole town with blood.

“I..I can’t get in touch with anyone. I’ve called all our locations and nothing. I even tried to contact the bunker you have hidden, and no one is responding.”

I know why he is hesitant to tell me. This was not allowed from my team. When I call they know to pick up? So, what the fuck is going on.

I feel a sudden rush of anger take over me. I can only think of my wife, my son and our unborn child. 

“What the fuck are you trying to tell me?” I clenched out through my teeth as my hands went around his neck.

“I…I” He tried to explain as he gasped for air.

I slowly released the tight grasp I have around his neck, remembering where I am. Remembering that right now I need to be strategic and find out what the fuck is going on before I spazz out on everyone.

“Get my plane ready” I gritted out to him as I walked away, placing my phone to my ear to call my wife to the hundredth time today. 

With no one picking up, I have no idea if my family is safe or not.  

I walked back to Sedi’s room but did not go in. I grabbed one of my guards and told him to keep Sedi and his sister safe. I let him know that if anything happens to either one them, there will be severe consequences. I didn’t have to go into detail for him to understand what those consequences are.

“They better not even catch a fuckin cold before I get back!”

Larry’s POV

I stepped into the dimly lit room wondering how this conversation was going to end. I want to protect my wife from this. She is not capable of the evils that they have planned.

I’m in too deep now, so I have no chance, but I want my wife to remain not a part of this. She can’t be. It’s too much.

“Baby are you asleep?” I questioned in a hopeful tone.

“No honey” I heard in between a yawn she let out. 

“Fuck” I whispered to myself.

“I heard you” she chuckled out as she got out of the bed and came to wrap her arms around me.

I gently pecked her lips and then kissed her forehead. Relishing in her now. After we talk about this plan I know that there will be a shift in her character, in her mind and her mood.

“Honey, I know that you want to keep me safe and I love you for that, but this is my family too. Tell me what I need to know” 

I let out a sigh, I didn’t want to tell her what I just found out. I didn’t want her to feel guilty.

I looked into my hearts eyes and said the one name of the person that she wouldn’t admit she still cared for.

“Anaya”

Laurent’s POV

“Fuck!..Fuck!” I yelled out as I pounded my fist against the seat I’m sitting in. I’ve been flying for hours and will land back in Paris within the next hour. My mind has been racing and going non-stop.

I need to know that my family is okay.

I tried to hold back the anger I will have for my baby if she is doing this because she is mad. She knows my weakness and the safety of my family is the one thing that will drive me insane.

………..

Pulling up to our home. I’m trying to keep my composure and nerves at bay until I find out what is going on.

 As soon as my car came to a stop, I hopped out, straightened my tie and smoothed out my suit before I headed into my home.

I just knew that I would find my baby in our room pissed and our son in the kitchen taking cooking lessons.

Once in my home, I headed to the staircase taking three stairs at a time. I first checked our offices and didn’t let the presence of none of our teams being there bother me.

I then headed to our master suite.

“Good one, baby” I whispered to myself.

My heart dropped as I entered and instantly felt the coldness of our room.

“Nay” I whispered out to no one.

I raced down the stairs to the kitchen and then to my son’s room, soon I’ve checked every room in our mansion, exhausted from the pain that now took over my chest.

This house is completely empty, only the two men that I brought with me is here. Normally we have both of our teams here for protections around the clock.

I immediately got on my phone calling key members of our teams, only to get no answer or disconnected numbers.

“What the fuck!” I yelled out as the thought of my family being in danger started to sink in.

I’ve been careful all these years to avoid something like this. How the fuck did I let this shit happen.

“Sir”

I snapped out my misery for a moment.

“We’ve located some of our team, or what’s left of both teams”

“What?” I gritted out

“Sir, we’ve been severely compromised, something happened at the compound, several of our own turned on us”

“Fuck!” I yelled out

“My wife and my son?” I demanded an answer he better have.

“Ryland is with the remaining team in a safe location. They also have your mother. Whoever this was wanted to hurt everyone that you love”

I let out a sigh of relief as my heart began to pick up its normal rhythm after hearing that my family is safe.

“My wife?” I asked as soon as I noticed that he didn’t mention her. 

“We… we don’t know” He paused for my reaction

“What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know!” I yelled as I invaded his personal space. 

“She..She was at the compound…They took her” He almost whispered out.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and tried to calm myself. I don’t have many on my side right now and I need to keep everyone alive. So, ripping his throat out right now is not an option.

How did she even know about the compound?

“Take me to the compound”

…………….

“Careful sir” I looked down and flashed my light at the broken computer screen I almost stepped on.

We are making our way through the compound in dim lighting as most of the lights no longer worked.

No one is here, at least not alive. There are bodies everywhere. Bodies of my team members only. 

I don’t know what the fuck happened, but I do know that I will kill to find out. If my wife and our baby has been harmed I don’t know what lengths I will go to for my revenge.

We quickly made our way to the security room to view the surveillance videos.

“Sir, they cleaned them all. We have nothing here” One of my team members spoke out while trying to recover the footage.

“Fuck” I exhausted out.

“Sir, they found something in the back”

I quickly found my way back to the area of the compound where there are flashlights moving about.

“Move” I quickly shoved two of them out of the way as I entered the room of the person I’ve held captive. I’m not too concerned about her vitals now. If they killed her that would save me some time from doing it myself later.

I heard whimpering sounds and followed my ears to the far corner of the room.

They left this bitch alive?

I quickly went over to her and snatched her up.

“What the fuck happened?” I questioned with intimidation that made her quiver in my arms. 

Silent whimpers were all that I could hear.

“You better start talking!” I yelled into her fear-stricken face.

“I …I…I don’t know…I heard gunshots and hid under the bed”

I let her go and she fell to the ground. Helpless and useless.

“Find my wife and take me to my son!” I demanded as I began to exit the compound.

“Sir, what do we do with her?” One of my men asked.

“I don’t give a fuck! Lock her back up!”

I looked back to her one more time before I exit and thought that I saw an evil smirk on her face.

I brushed it off as my mind playing tricks on me in this moment of stress.

“Sir, your car is ready”

I focused on composing myself as I made my way out of the compound. I don’t know who to trust right now and the thought of my love and our child not being okay is eating away at my sanity.

I must make sure that my son is safe.

Angels POV

I ran down the stairs as our doorbell incessantly rang repeatedly.

“Coming” I sang out as I jogged to our front door. 

I’ve tried to control my emotions and mood for the past few days. After the conversation that I had with my husband a few days ago, I feel like I don’t know how to breathe.

I pretended that I didn’t care what happened to her, but he saw right through my bullshit.

I peeped through our peephole and see the silhouette of the last person that I would expect to see on my doorstep. 

“Laurent” I whispered as I ran away to get my husband.

“Who was at the door baby”  ..Are you okay?” He questioned after seeing how I am panting.

“Its. Its” I swallowed to catch my breath.

“Baby?” he asked hesitantly.

“Laurent!” I whispered out harshly as if Laurent was already in our home and I didn’t want him to hear me say his name in such a panic.

“What!” He almost jumped out of his skin and then came back to reality quickly going to our closet to find his gun.

“Honey? What are you doing?” 

“Protecting my family” he stated firmly.

“Larry, we should just ignore the door, he may know something”

“Love, ignoring my twin will not make him go away, I think you know this” He stated with eyes fearful of what the outcome will be.

“I want you to stay in the kitchen by the back door and leave if you hear anything other than us talking, even if we are silent, I want you to leave”

“Larry-”

“Angel, please do this for me, baby?”

“Okay, honey” I responded while trying to control the nervous shaking of my body.

I watched my heart head to the front door. I said a silent prayer that this will have a good outcome. I know Lau, and he has our home surrounded by now. If he is here for revenge, he will have it. On both of us. There will be no escape for me.

I’m happy that my babies are not here. I said a second prayer to be given the opportunity that my husband and I will see them again.

[hanskhoblogpost2]

NEW MEDIA ACTIVISM AND SOCIAL MEDIA POLITICS AMIDST THE PANDEMIC

In our battle against this Coronavirus, it is just right that we recognize and appreciate those who are at the forefront of the battlefield. However, aside from our front medical liners, let us not forget to acknowledge the moral triumph of those who work to help us get by from our day-to-day lives. Let us remember the MEDIA, which helps us be informed and updated of the current happenings. The MEDICAL & NON-MEDICAL STAFF in the hospital make sure that the hospital's environment is sanitized and free from any virus. Our FARMERS make sure that we have something to cook and eat every day amidst everything going on. And of course, the other SERVICE WORKERS make sure that we get to be safe and comfortable in our everyday lives.

To be able to survive and win in this crisis, we need to have a collaborative effort. That is why we must help one another and leave no one behind. Like in one of our lessons in ethics, the Formula for the Kingdom of Ends states that each person is a part of congress. Hence, we all should work together to create a cosmopolitan society. In connection to this, our collaborative effort - from all the people around the country and the world - will surely help us find the light in this darkness. The moral triumph that is taking over in this crisis inspired us to stand together as one nation. More than this, such moral victory is one of the reasons why we never lose hope to humanity's ethical limitations. Let us thank these people who have been selfless enough to serve the country first and help other people before themselves. Indeed, we must be proud that there are still people like them who make sure that the welfare of others will be positioned in a good place. Although our government still spearheads incompetence and selfishness, let us not forget those who managed to do their task successfully and adequately. And though it might be disappointing to think the president himself is incompetent enough to take action on the situation at hand, let us remember that there are people who still stand up and continue to be leaders for their people. To add, let us not worry about such incompetence as it will be written in the history books during this time. The country needs its leaders the most; some have been selfish enough to think of their political interests instead of helping the entire Filipino people. On the other hand, we will let the future generations know that we have these unsung heroes during this time, who is an excellent example of Moral Triumph as they continue to help other people fight the crisis.

Let us recognize and give thanks to those who have continued to do the act of non-consequentialism, who continued to do morally good deeds and help the people, and not thought of those harmful consequences, for they are the real heroes in this battle. They are the savior of this crisis. And they will help us rise above the situation.

The immoral acts that the Duterte Administration has been doing since 2016 are not new to us. Personally, as a citizen of this country, I already have low expectations from this administration. In the middle of a pandemic, here goes the leader of our nation, ordering military force to shoot people dead when they defy the ECQ guidelines. To give context to the article above, Duterte ordered such because there had been a protest from the people of Sitio San Roque rallying because the local government hadn't reached their place for the giving of relief goods. Applying all the lessons I learned from my ethics class, Duterte's order to execute those who defy the ECQ guidelines is a perfect example of a moral breakdown.

If we are going to take a look at the happenings from March 2020 until the present, Social Media Activism or also known as New Media Activism, has played a big role in calling out the incompetencies of the government. It is a good thing that such a form of activism could be effective to a certain extent, but broader political changes are not yet accomplished.

The essence of morality is absent in such order made by a leader who, in the first place, must take care and protect the welfare of the people. Ordering the military force to shoot the people due to them defying the guidelines will never be a rational act. Quoting from a clinical psychologist, "In behavioral management, we focus on the FUNCTION: what is the purpose of their (in this context, the people of San Roque) action? That is to obtain food because they're hungry.". The point is, one must act upon the reason why another person has done a particular act, and I am sure that killing people just cause they went outside and protested because they do not have food is an immoral act. Such order made by Duterte falls under the disadvantages of the Emotive theory. Duterte ordered to shoot people without even considering why they were doing such an act or its motive. He just let his emotion take the best and worst of him and ordered to kill those who would defy the guidelines. To add to this, he let his emotions control and even threatened people to die once they disobeyed the guidelines. On a different note, Consequentialism can also be applied in such doing by Duterte: Without considering if your action is of rightness or wrongness if you defy the guidelines, there is a consequence waiting - death. You will not even be given a chance to give out the reason as to why you did such. All he cared about was that you need to be shot once you defy his rules. Regardless of the meaning of his statement is figurative or literal, you do not make death a consequence for just disobeying an authority when you defy such because you need help and just wanting to be heard. Another lesson that applies to this subject is Kant's formula for the kingdom of ends formation. Every single one of us in this world is a part of congress. That is why we must work together to make a cosmopolitan society, and not just kill those who do not follow without consideration.

Social Media and the politics within it played a significant role in allowing us to acknowledge what was lacking from the government. It was able to contribute by allowing the formation of public opinion and direct communication. As we say, media is the 4th state of a country. It serves as a watchdog. It is safe to say that new media (digital media) is still very similar to politics in the mass media age.

[freematthewrushin]

TODAY IS MATTHEW ‘S BIRTHDAY: CALL TO ACTION: ASK THE GOVERNOR & STAFF FOR AN ABSOLUTE PARDON

Matthew is a black, autistic twenty-one year old male who was a model citizen. He beat all kinds of odds against him: black, autistic, ADHD, anxiety, a traumatic brain injury(TBI) in 2017 that left him comatose for several days, and which required rehabilitation in order for him to re-learn life functions, including walking and talking. A pituitary cyst was discovered during evaluation and treatment for the TBI. The single car accident which resulted in the TBI has left him with PTSD. Despite all of these challenges, Matthew graduated with honors from high school, was employed and was an engineering student at ODU. He participated in numerous volunteer activities. He is a gifted pianist, plays the viola beautifully, and he composes music and writes poems.

Matthew was sentenced to 50 years for a non fatal car accident. No drugs or alcohol involved...just words. He repeated words from an angry man which is called Echolalia. Those words were used to turn a car accident into a crime. Autism & prior accident never taken into consideration.

Matthew Rushin's guilt was decided the moment the Virginia Beach Police stepped on to the scene of the January 4, 2019 accident. None of the 17 Virginia Beach officers followed their own standard operating procedures to transport an injured and mentally confused and distressed person for evaluation.

They did not exhibit any understanding of autism in their interpretations of Matthews comments and actions. Instead, they took advantage of his vulnerability as they handcuffed him, questioned him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, lied to him about evidence, isolated him from his family, charged him with 2nd degree murder with a claim that the accident was an intentional attempt to kill himself by deliberately driving head on into another car.

The facts don’t support this, including the totality of the victim and witness statements, Matthew’s behavior and statements, and the forensic evidence.

It took less than 6 hours for Matthew’s freedom, his reputation, his future to be stolen by Virginia Beach Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice System.

Please ask Governor Northam, to refuse to allow the “system” to steal any more days from Matthew. Ask Governor Northam to grant Matthew an Absolute Pardon and do whatever it takes to free him today!

Matthew turns 22 on August 4th, 2020.

*******************************************************************************************

These are critical points:

1. Matthew was not taken for medical (and mental health evaluation) the evening of the crash. He has lost consciousness, had a prior serious brain injury, was banged up around the face and bleeding, was not making sense - yet, instead of taking him for evaluation and care, the police handcuffed and interrogated him for nearly 4 hours at the scene, then more at the police station (with lies and manipulation). He still has not had the physical evaluation he should have had that day - despite the fact that he has a cyst on his pituitary gland that was due evaluation the month he was jailed (19 months ago), AND he is having severe headaches, dizziness and temporary blindness.

2. Virginia Beach Police Department has a CIT (Crisis Intervention Team) program that is supposed to divert people with mental illness or in mental health crises to treatment rather than the criminal system. Not only did they not activate that team despite his history of PTSD, anxiety and his symptoms at the scene AND the fact that they were going to charge him with attempted 2nd degree murder on the basis of a suicide attempt (unfounded!), the woman how did much of the interrogation - which included lies about the evidence they had, and pretending that she was his friend - is a trainer for their CIT program. Further, suicidology must be determined by psychologist or psychiatrist. It was not - and wouldn't have been. They were able to maintain that charge, because after 7 months of jail, when Matthew was told that if he signed the plea deal, he could go home - that was his understanding - he signed it. From that point forward, the prosecutor, judge and press referred to the "fact" that he admitted he deliberately ran into the other car because he was trying to kill himself.

Officer Hosang only has 12 hours of Autism training, it takes psychologists years undergraduate education, graduate education and a whole lot of certification to even be able to practice. Officer Hosang told Matthew as heard in the interrogation, she hopes to arrest and charge him. What CIT does that? Is that descalating the issue? Um.. no way!

3. Mental health services have not been provided. Medication for anxiety was provided after months, but not counseling/treatment. Matthew has not had the required neurology follow up for his conditions identified prior to his incarceration.

4. Matthew and his family have not been able to talk face to face for 19 months, let alone hug. This 20 year old autistic man who had just been in a very serious car accident and who was clearly physically impacted was not allowed the comfort of his family. His dad was at the scene for hours waiting to be allowed to see his son. He wasn't even told when they took Matthew away from the scene. Mr. Rushin found out 45 minutes later.

5. Matthew was ripped from his life on the basis of an unsubstantiated claim, denied his rights, taken advantage of and taken straight to prison for a charge that never should have been made. Yet when there is overwhelming evidence of all of the wrongdoing, he remains in prison. That is totally unbalanced. He was judged guilty on sight. But it is taking months to free him. This is so wrong.

________________________________________________________________________________

(1) Mark R. Herring: Attorney General

EMAIL: service@oag.state.va.us

CALL: (804)786-2071

(2) Kelly Thomasson: Secretary of the Commonwealth

EMAIL: Kelly.thomasson@governor.virginia.gov

CALL: (804) 786-2441

Fax: 804-786-7441

(3) Brian Moran: Secretary of Public Safety and Homeland Secretary

CALL: Office: 804-786-5351

EMAIL: Brian.Moran@governor.virginia.gov

(4) Tonya D. Chapman: Chair of the Virginia Parole Board

EMAIL: tonya.chapman@vpb.virginia.gov

CALL: 804-674-3081

(5) Virginia Governor Ralph Northam

CALL: 1 (804) 786-2211

EMAIL: Ralph.Northam@governor.virginia.gov

(6) pardons@governor.virginia.gov

(1) PETITION LINK: (DO NOT DONATE TO THE PETITION, ONLY SHARE)

https://www.change.org/p/ralph-s-northam-matthew-rushin-autistic-college-student-odu?recruiter=295142305&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_abi&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_&fbclid=IwAR0k8rkuCWrURYz3pq7v8mXkd3rGwkfsidB8alqhxLiUn4mF-y7zXlUq0y8

(2) GOFUNDME FOR LEGAL AND EXPERT FEES (ZERO THE TIP FEE: DO NOT ADD A TIP): we still need financial assistance! We appreciate everyone ❤️

https://www.gofundme.com/f/SAVING-MATTHEW-RUSHIN

(3 PAYPAL:

https://www.paypal.me/Dance4Matthew

[annviscom]

Year 3 - FMP

(12 April 2021)

By Claudia Hammond

Reading fiction has been said to increase people’s empathy and compassion. But does the research really bear that out?

Every day more than 1.8 million books are sold in the US and another half a million books are sold in the UK. Despite all the other easy distractions available to us today, there’s no doubt that many people still love reading. Books can teach us plenty about the world, of course, as well as improving our vocabularies and writing skills. But can fiction also make us better people?

The claims for fiction are great. It’s been credited with everything from an increase in volunteering and charitable giving to the tendency to vote – and even with the gradual decrease in violence over the centuries.

Characters hook us into stories. Aristotle said that when we watch a tragedy two emotions predominate: pity (for the character) and fear (for yourself). Without necessarily even noticing, we imagine what it’s like to be them and compare their reactions to situations with how we responded in the past, or imagine we might in the future.

This exercise in perspective-taking is like a training course in understanding others. The Canadian cognitive psychologist Keith Oatley calls fiction “the mind’s flight simulator”. Just as pilots can practise flying without leaving the ground, people who read fiction may improve their social skills each time they open a novel. In his research, he has found that as we begin to identify with the characters, we start to consider their goals and desires instead of our own. When they are in danger, our hearts start to race. We might even gasp. But we read with luxury of knowing that none of this is happening to us. We don’t wet ourselves with terror or jump out of windows to escape.  

Having said that, some of the neural mechanisms the brain uses to make sense of narratives in stories do share similarities with those used in real-life situations. If we read the word “kick”, for example, areas of the brain related to physically kicking are activated. If we read that a character pulled a light cord, activity increases in the region of the brain associated with grasping.

To follow a plot, we need to know who knows what, how they feel about it and what each character believes others might be thinking. This requires the skill known as “theory of mind”. When people read about a character’s thoughts, areas of the brain associated with theory of mind are activated.

With all this practise in empathising with other people through reading, you would think it would be possible to demonstrate that those who read fiction have better social skills than those who read mostly non-fiction or don’t read at all.

The difficulty with conducting this kind of research is that many of us have a tendency to exaggerate the number of books we’ve read. To get around this, Oatley and colleagues gave students a list of fiction and non-fiction writers and asked them to indicate which writers they had heard of. They warned them that a few fake names had been thrown in to check they weren’t lying. The number of writers people have heard of turns out to be a good proxy for how much they actually read.  

Next, Oatley’s team gave people the “Mind in the Eyes” test, where you are given a series of photographs of pairs of eyes. From the eyes and surrounding skin alone, your task is to divine which emotion a person is feeling. You are given a short list of options like shy, guilty, daydreaming or worried. The expressions are subtle and at first glance might appear neutral, so it’s harder than it sounds. But those deemed to have read more fiction than non-fiction scored higher on this test – as well as on a scale measuring interpersonal sensitivity.

At the Princeton Social Neuroscience Lab, psychologist Diana Tamir has demonstrated that people who often read fiction have better social cognition. In other words, they’re more skilled at working out what other people are thinking and feeling. Using brain scans, she has found that while reading fiction, there is more activity in parts of the default mode network of the brain that are involved in simulating what other people are thinking.

People who read novels appear to be better than average at reading other people’s emotions, but does that necessarily make them better people? To test this, researchers at used a method many a psychology student [what on earth happened to this sentence?!] has tried at some point, where you “accidentally” drop a bunch of pens on the floor and then see who offers to help you gather them up. Before the pen-drop took place participants were given a mood questionnaire interspersed with questions measuring empathy. Then they read a short story and answered a series of questions about to the extent they had felt transported while reading the story. 

Did they have a vivid mental picture of the characters?

Did they want to learn more about the characters after they’d finished the story?

The experimenters then said they needed to fetch something from another room and, oops, dropped six pens on the way out. It worked: the people who felt the most transported by the story and expressed the most empathy for the characters were more likely to help retrieve the pens.

You might be wondering whether the people who cared the most about the characters in the story were the kinder people in the first place – as in, the type of people who would offer to help others. But the authors of the study took into account people’s scores for empathy and found that, regardless, those who were most transported by the story behaved more altruistically.

Of course, experiments are one thing. Before we extrapolate to wider society we need to be careful about the direction of causality. There is always the possibility that in real life, people who are more empathic in the first place are more interested in other people’s interior lives and that this interest draws them towards reading fiction. It’s not an easy topic to research: the ideal study would involving measuring people’s empathy levels, randomly allocating them either to read numerous novels or none at all for many years, and then measuring their empathy levels again to see whether reading novels had made any difference.

Instead, short-term studies have been done. For example, Dutch researchers arranged for students to read either newspaper articles about riots in Greece and liberation day in the Netherlands or the first chapter from Nobel Prize winner Jose Saramago’s novel Blindness. In this story, a man is waiting in his car at traffic lights when he suddenly goes blind. His passengers bring him home and a passer-by promises to drive his car home for him, but instead he steals it. When students read the story, not only did their empathy levels rise immediately afterwards, but provided they had felt emotionally transported by the story, a week later they scored even higher on empathy than they did right after reading.

Of course, you could argue that fiction isn’t alone in this. We can empathise with people we see in news stories too, and hopefully we often do. But fiction has at least three advantages. We have access to the character’s interior world in a way we normally do not with journalism, and we are more likely to willingly suspend disbelief without questioning the veracity of what people are saying. Finally, novels allow us to do something that is hard to do in our own lives, which is to view a character’s life over many years.

So the research shows that perhaps reading fiction does make people behave better. Certainly some institutions consider the effects of reading to be so significant that they now include modules on literature. At the University of California Irvine, for example, Johanna Shapiro from the Department of Family Medicine firmly believes that reading fiction results in better doctors and has led the establishment of a humanities programme to train medical students.

It sounds as though it’s time to lose the stereotype of the shy bookworm whose nose is always in a book because they find it difficult to deal with real people. In fact, these bookworms might be better than everyone else at understanding human beings.

[sharistonecom]

Cosmetic Surgery in Brazil: A Boom Fuelled by the Pandemic.

Cosmetic Surgery in Brazil

It’s the same in many countries, the pandemic has boosted cosmetic surgery demand around the world and cosmetic surgery in Brazil is no exception.   Video conferencing has brought physical imperfections into the computer screen and made many people very self-conscious of their look.  Added to that the ‘right to beauty‘ philosophy that is embedded in the Brazilian subconscious demand for cosmetic treatment has never been higher.

Preparing for a facelift

Zoom Pushes Brazilian Cosmetic Surgery Boom

Mirrors don’t lie, nor does the screen during a videoconference: the virus-induced lockdown has led many Brazilians to undergo plastic surgery to look better.  The pandemic has disrupted the medical tourism sector so Brazil has had to rely more on its domestic market.

With trips cancelled and restaurants mostly closed, many have extra cash to carry out such procedures.  All the economists tell us we have been turned from spenders to savers this year.

Beauty clinics say demand for the cosmetic treatment has as much as doubled here since the pandemic began.

A typical client, Regiane de Oliveira Sousa, a 38-year-old sales representative from Sao Paulo spoke to AFP about how she has used her lockdown time wisely in self-improvement.   Over the past six months, she has had cosmetic skin peels, breast reduction surgery, liposuction to remove unwanted fat, and facial harmonization treatment.

“Friends of mine have also taken advantage of teleworking to do these surgeries,” she told AFP.

Cost of the procedure: 3,800 reais (around $730), or almost four times the monthly minimum wage in Brazil.

Her surgeon, Cintia Rios, said there has been a significant increase in cosmetic operations this year, about 40 percent more compared to what was done before the pandemic.

Cintia Rios Cosmetic Surgeon

“I had to lengthen my work hours and I hired three employees. Beauty is not in crisis, thank God!”

According to Rios, otoplasties — cosmetic ear surgeries — are also popular because people feel that wearing a face mask makes their ears stick out.

Usually, such surgery is for children around the ages of eight or nine, “but this year, many adults are doing it.”

Lips are also important, adds de Oliveira Sousa, “because during telework videoconferences we see each other permanently on the screen.”

Rios’s clinic was forced to close from March to May due to strict lockdown measures to control the spread of the coronavirus.  This affected domestic work as well as medical tourism.

Today, however, business at the clinic is booming.

Another typical Brazilian woman,  Rita Monteiro Meireles, 34 saw the confinement as a chance to use her savings to carry out cosmetic surgery enhancements that she has dreamed of since her divorce three years ago.

“I didn’t like my face, and after getting a bichectomy (surgery to remove cheek fat) I was the happiest person in the world,” she said.

Monteiro Meireles smiled as she looked at her new face in a handheld mirror, her lips still swollen after the botox injection.

Cosmetic surgery may serve as a palliative during times of anxiety and uncertainty, said Henriette Morato, a psychologist at the University of Sao Paulo.

“It’s a way of demonstrating more control over your own life, to change what is still possible,” she said.  This is a comment I have heard quite often from surgeons in the UK and France and it is an argument that is well rehearsed in the USA.  It would certainly explain the boom in cosmetic surgery in Brazil

A Very Strange Year For Cosmetic Surgery in Brazil

Denis Calazans

Even though some cosmetic surgery clinics have seen demand for their services increase, “not everything is rose-coloured,” said Denis Calazans, head of the Brazilian Society of Plastic Surgeons — especially because of the multi-week lockdown earlier in the year.

“It’s an atypical year,” he said.

“We should be showing figures lower than those before the pandemic” for the entire sector, he said, even if clinics offering simple procedures have done well.

Working at home and saving on money otherwise spent on travel or outings has allowed generally well-off Brazilians “to invest in themselves,” he said.

Brazil is the world leader in cosmetic surgery procedures, with 13 per cent of the global market, according to figures from the International Society of Plastic Surgery reporting on cosmetic surgery in Brazil

But when all cosmetic procedures — including non-surgical procedures such as botox injections — are included, it comes in behind the United States.

Brazil is a country where we have several highly rated clinics that we list for you here.

Clinic ImageRatingClinic Name & Feature

Clinée Aesthetic Medicine Rio di Janeiro Brazil

Aesthetic treatment or plastic surgery in Rio de Janeiro and Grande Rio, is at Clinée.…

Lifecare Clinic Rio di Janeiro Brazil

This clinic offers a very wide range of beauty and surgical treatments for its clients.…

Dr. Thomas Benson Clinic

Dr. Thomas Benson Clinic combines comfort, safety and technology to provide a unique care experience.…

Dr. Marco Longo Clinic São Paulo Brazil

Dr. Marco Longo graduated from the Faculty of Medicine of the Federal University of Paraná…

1. Clinée Aesthetic Medicine Rio di Janeiro Brazil

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Aesthetic treatment or plastic surgery in Rio de Janeiro and Grande Rio, is at Clinée. With 8 reference plastic surgeons in abdominoplasty, rhinoplasty, liposuction, breast prosthesis in Rio de Janeiro, here you have plastic surgery in up to 24x to transform your life. Their beauty clinic in Barra da Tijuca, Shopping Downtown, awaits you!

Address

Shopping Downtown Avenida das Américas, 500 - Bloco 11, Loja 108 - Rio de Janeiro - RJ

Phone

2121466106

Checklist

Private rooms for patients

Accessible rooms

Phone in room

Medical records coordination

Health Insurance coordination

Interpeter & translation services

Restaurant on premises

Procedures Offered

Liposuction

Breast Augmentation

Breast Reduction

Breast Lift

Blepharoplasty (eyelids)

Abdominoplasty. (tummy tuck)

Rhinoplasty (nose job)

Forehead Lift

Otoplasty (ear correction treatment)

Thigh and Buttock Lift

Rhytidectomy (Facelift)

Gynecomastia (male breast reduction)

Labiaplasty

Hymen Repair

Gender Reassignment Surgery

Tattoo Removal

Does Your Clinic Offer Special Packages?

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2. Lifecare Clinic Rio di Janeiro Brazil

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This clinic offers a very wide range of beauty and surgical treatments for its clients. They seem to be very focused on combining surgical interventions with ongoing aesthetic treatments. The director Dr. Alexandre Charão is accredited by Rede D´Or and worked for two years abroad, having received the O GLOBO Makes a Difference Award in 2006 for the set of surgeries performed outside Brazil.

Address

Aesthetics Clinic in Rio de Janeiro Rua das Laranjeiras, 154 - store B (Near the Largo do Machado subway)

Phone

21980086950

Checklist

Hotel Booking

Private rooms for patients

Accessible rooms

Free Wifi

Phone in room

Personal safe in room

TV in room

Medical records coordination

Health Insurance coordination

Interpeter & translation services

Procedures Offered

Liposuction

Breast Augmentation

Breast Reduction

Breast Lift

Blepharoplasty (eyelids)

Abdominoplasty. (tummy tuck)

Rhinoplasty (nose job)

Non-surgical Nose Job

Forehead Lift

Otoplasty (ear correction treatment)

Thigh and Buttock Lift

Rhytidectomy (Facelift)

Gynecomastia (male breast reduction)

Labiaplasty

Hymen Repair

Gender Reassignment Surgery

Tattoo Removal

Many non-surgical aesthetic treatments.

Does Your Clinic Offer Special Packages?

They show 20% discounts on their website.

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3. Dr. Thomas Benson Clinic

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Dr. Thomas Benson Clinic combines comfort, safety and technology to provide a unique care experience. With 2 units in São Paulo, Vila Nova Conceição and Alphaville, the clinic has professionals specialising in various types of plastic surgery. Dr Benson is a top surgeon & holds a Doctor of Medicine (PhD - Dr. Med.) Degree from the University of Hamburg Germany and a Doctor of Medicine (PhD) degree from the University of São Paulo (USP).

Address

Antônio Joaquim de M. Andrade Avenue, 315 Vila Nova Conceição - Postcode 04507-000 Sao Paulo - SP

Alameda Grajaú, 98 Ed. Pravda 13th floor - Alphaville - ZIP Code 06454-050 Barueri - SP

Phone

551143056070

Checklist

Procedures Offered

Liposuction

Breast Augmentation

Breast Reduction

Breast Lift

Blepharoplasty (eyelids)

Abdominoplasty. (tummy tuck)

Rhinoplasty (nose job)

Non-surgical Nose Job

Forehead Lift

Otoplasty (ear correction treatment)

Thigh and Buttock Lift

Rhytidectomy (Facelift)

Gynecomastia (male breast reduction)

Labiaplasty

Hymen Repair

Gender Reassignment Surgery

Cosmetic Dentistry

Tattoo Removal

PRP Injections

Cosmetic Surgery Packages Available

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4. Dr. Marco Longo Clinic São Paulo Brazil

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Dr. Marco Longo graduated from the Faculty of Medicine of the Federal University of Paraná (UFPR) in Curitiba. After finishing medical school, he studied Medical Residency in General Surgery and later in Plastic Surgery, both at the Hospital da Clínicas, Faculty of Medicine, University of São Paulo (USP). His clinic has a fine reputation in rhinoplasty, liposuction and also in intimate female surgeries.

Address

Av. Paulista, 1636 - Cerqueira César, São Paulo - SP, 01310-200

Phone

+9-8077-5150

Checklist

Procedures Offered

Liposuction

Breast Augmentation

Breast Reduction

Breast Lift

Blepharoplasty (eyelids)

Abdominoplasty. (tummy tuck)

Rhinoplasty (nose job)

Non-surgical Nose Job

Forehead Lift

Otoplasty (ear correction treatment)

Thigh and Buttock Lift

Rhytidectomy (Facelift)

Gynecomastia (male breast reduction)

Labiaplasty

Hymen Repair

Gender Reassignment Surgery

Does Your Clinic Offer Special Packages?

See website for any offers.

Know More Details

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The post Cosmetic Surgery in Brazil: A Boom Fuelled by the Pandemic. appeared first on Best Cosmetic Surgeons.

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