#but i think someone said that has more interesting cases than the good doctor so 👀

[senseiwu]

Might pause the good doctor re-bingewatch to check out house since binge seems to have all of it

[theheroheart]

Rogue got delivered a day early.

Gonna put a whole bunch of quotes and observations and things under the cut, very Rogue focused.

SPOILERS, OBVIOUSLY.

Also I will say, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE buy this book, it absolutely deserves it, I adored it. It was wonderful and gave us SO MUCH.

Rogue's former partner is a he, and he's Rogue's boyfriend. His name is Art, which is indeed short for Artificer (reference to D&D). And Art is confirmed dead at this point, and has been for 5 years. Rogue and Art were together for 10 years.

Rogue jumps off a building at some point, knowing Art will save him.

Art was tall with shoulder-length curly hair and wore a sleek purple tunic, rolled up at the sleeves. On top of this was a metallic chest-piece that crackled with electrical energy. On his head he wore a pair of steampunk goggles that complemented his hazel eyes. As he pulled on the net, a long grey scar could be seen on his arm, a memory from a battle lost years before. As the net neared the ship, Rogue smiled up apologetically at Art. But judging by the icy look he got back, well - he couldn't smile his way out of this one.

Rogue doesn't like parties. Partly because he prefers "a good night in". (Though Rogue cannot cook, lmao.) And partly because while "watching the wealthy gorge themselves" he knew "most of the population was living in abject poverty." Rogue says eat the rich.

It was an odd feeling to think that nights like that wouldn't be on the cards for Rogue and hadn't been in fact for a long time. It's strange, the shape time takes when you lose someone. One morning they are next to you, on their pillow, and the next morning you realise they haven't been sleeping there for nearly five years. The five years had gone by slowly and quickly, all at once, Rogue's bounties all blending into one another. It wasn't that Rogue hadn't continued to live, or even to love a little bit. But when you felt you'd lived through the main event of your life, everything else - that extra bit of life you found yourself wandering through - was a bit like an epilogue. Rogue would walk the ship, each night, inspecting every weathered part. A fading heartbeat of a life once lived. He could no longer think about that day. That time. He felt more ghost than man at this point. That was why it was so surprising when Rogue gazed down at the ballroom below and suddenly found himself transfixed. There was a man in the middle of that dancefloor. A gorgeous man. But this wasn't just shallow attraction. There was an energy to the man. An unfiltered joy. Something Rogue instantly knew he wanted to be close to.

There's minor dialogue changes, as there usually are.

'You know, I can help you,' the man went on. 'Trouble, I am good at.' It was then that Rogue emotionally left his body and starting panicking a good 50 feet above the scene playout out below. Was this man handsome? Yes. Was there a bit of chemistry here? Yes. Did the man smell surprisingly nice for someone from 1813? Absolutely.

Instead of going outside, Rogue and the Doctor get punch and actually chat together.

Rogue recognised her as the woman the Doctor had been spinning joyfully across the dancefloor. "You okay?" the Doctor said, concerned. "Yeah. Just, avoiding engagement." She noticed Rogue. "So you found a scandal, then?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her as if to say - you behave! - but she just laughed and rushed off down a corridor. Rogue watched it all play out, intrigued. So his dance partner does know him then. But how well? The Doctor turned back and looked into Rogue's eyes, apparently noticing his puzzled expression. "Don't trouble yourself, love; she won't need me till there's screaming, or smoke, or both. Or Goblins. Right now, I'm all yours." Rogue nodded. Okay, Goblins - interesting - but the Doctor could just be a fan of fairytales.

Rogue imagines conversations with Art sometimes, and in this case, Art is encouraging Rogue to flirt with the Doctor. "The fantastical joy of dead boyfriend imagination theatre."

Usually, the imaginary conversations Rogue had with him were when he was alone in the ship but in moments of crisis sometimes, he would imagine him, a life raft in a sea of social interaction nightmares. "Would you let go, for a second. Flirt back. Ask him about his favourite paintings, the wonders of the universe." Rogue looked at Art. "He's from 1813." Art laughed. "Okay, well ask him about the wonders of lawn bowls then, who cares." Rogue sighed. "It was always so easy with you. Why can't it be easy with anyone else?" Art gave him a knowing smile. "You gotta be willing to let it be easy." He gestured back to the Doctor. "Now, come on, you can't just bat your pretty eyes at him." Rogue looked at Art and batted his eyes. "Oh, I absolutely can." "What are you blinking at?" the Doctor asked, intrigued, and Rogue found himself snapped out of his daydream and back into reality. Rogue apologised. "Sorry. A ghost."

The Doctor continued to sip. "You know, I think it's kiwi. No, they aren't here for another century. So what are the green bits?" Immediately, Rogue let go of his fleeting feelings of enjoyment and replaced them with cold resolve. How could the Doctor know something like that? He talked about the present and future like they were all the same to him. No, Rogue had found his bounty and it was time to get back to work. The manor was too busy, too full of guests. He needed a safer place to capture him. Somewhere he could get him alone. "Why don't we continue this conversation in the garden?" Rogue said, a flicker of mischievousness in his eyes. The Doctor laughed. "Fast mover, let's go."

The dialogue confirms again and again that they are SO FUCKING THIRSTY FOR EACH OTHER THE ENTIRE TIME. Besties, please.

He looked back at Rogue, walking, brooding (of course), and had to remind himself that this was an interrogation, not a date. "I love these old skies. Ripe with constellations being found and named." He gestured above, pointing out his favourite constellations. "The bear, the ram ... the poop-deck." "The romance of the night sky," Rogue replied sardonically as he gave the Doctor an oh really look. That stare of his. The Doctor laughed. "Don't blame me! De Lacaille chose them! Great astronomer, bad with names." Then he smiled cheekily. "But if it's romance you're after? He also named those stars there the pump, the chisel, and Norma." Okay, he was flirting now. Ruby would be furious with him if this silly side quest was what got him killed. "Not what I'm after," replied Rogue, his tone back to matter-of-fact but his face blushing a little.

Rogue made the gun himself!

"Keep moving," Rogue replied languidly. Another day at the office for this guy. The Doctor turned his head back to check on the glowing chamber of the blaster. "Is that a glo-stick?" He knew he had said something good because he got the biggest reaction from Rogue yet, hearing him grunt then look immediately offended. "Glo-stick? I made this!" Rogue bit back. Okay, we have an ego here and apparently an inventor, thought the Doctor. That's- "Cute," he said, which only spurred on Rogue. "It's not cute, it's a disseminator. It's very complicated." "Like its owner." The Doctor grinned. He figured if he was going to get killed, he might as well enjoy himself.

Their ship is named the Yossarian.

You can tell a lot about a person by the ship they fly in, thought the Doctor. It's home away from home. Which explained why he was shaken by what he say. Granted, he had made some assumptions about Rogue, but this dimly lit and cluttered space was not what he had expected. It was an absolute mishmash of tech, half-made projects, tools and strange-looking things in piles or cages. It looked and smelt like a mechanic's workshop. In the corner was a cockpit for flying, pretty much hidden behind a stack of metal toolboxes and a hammock slung in the corner, he assumed for sleeping but perhaps eating as well? Oh, Rogue, he thought. What happened, love?

The mess aside, the make of the ship did not surprise. It was an old asteroid hawk from the 50-56, often sold on the cheap in many star systems. In anyone's ship was a shed, this was the one. He looked across the console, trying to see if there might be anything useful to help him escape or at the very least steer the conversation towards suggesting Rogue should get a broom. [...] On the console was an Ood translation sphere, plugged into the ship's controls. It would allow Rogue to understand the local languages wherever he travelled, but the Doctor's attention was taken more by the can of unfinished Gurgle balanced dangerously on top. It was a dusty can. Left there a long time ago.

The spaceship scene is very similar, just tiny differences. Although it confirmed that the Doctor has played D&D, specifically with the Paternoster gang, and that Strax played a bard with a beautiful singing voice.

The Doctor also thinks about Fourteen, thinking that he likes him and hopes he's living his best life right now.

Different past selves of the Doctor, different genders and ages, all projected on top of his current form. Right now, standing in the middle of the Yossarian, he was revealing his true heart. His power. His strength. His undeniable wonder. The Doctor looked from the scan back at Rogue, right in the eye. "I am not a Chuldur. I am something much older and far more powerful. I am a Lord of Time from the lost and fallen planet of Gallifrey." He took a deep breath. "Now, let me go, Bounty Hunter. We have work to do." Rogue just started in awe, taking in the Doctor, all of them. "You're beautiful," he said.

And then you get a long lovely flashback to Art and Rogue having a romantic dinner. (And I would just like to say that I 100% called the Artificer thing.)

"You are so stubborn!" Art said, lowering his spoon. "I told you not to put more chilli powder in, yet here we are." Rogue laughed. "Look, I tried really hard to make us this terrible meal." "Now, hold the phone, I did not say this was terrible, I just said you deliberately ignored my advice." "Unwanted advice," Rogue replied. As he took another mouthful, a tear started to form in his eye. The stew was too hot, but he was never going to let Art know that. "I can see you crying," Art said. "There's a literal tear, rolling down your face." Rogue looked at him, faux dramatic. "I'm just feeling really emotional about my chair over there, that you still haven't fixed. Art laughed. "Oh it's your chair now, is it?" Rogue smiled and wiped away the tear he had pretended was not there with his sleeve. He continued to look around the ship, at the home he and Art had made together. Art had built everything on the Yossarian and nearly every gadget Rogue used on the missions. The emphasis on 'nearly' was because Rogue had foolishly attempted to build a few of his own. It was a learning curve for him. A steep one. Where Rogue had charm in spades, Art had a talent for turning a kitchen spoon into a deadly laser ray. He could do anything. The name Art had also come from Dungeons & Dragons, a shared pastime and passion between them both. Art was short for Artificer; this was a class in the game known for their invention and incredible ability to see the full potential in objects, and it suited Art to a tee. Rogue could never pin down exactly when the nicknames had started. Like so many things when you've been with someone for a very long time, it had begun as a cute reference, but then the nicknames just became everyday for them until, eventually, the old names just didn't fit any more. They were just Rogue and Art to each other. And that suited them both fine.

"You know, I could go undercover next time," Art said. "Oh yeah," Rogue said playfully. "Last time we tried that, you gave someone our actual contact details." "We got on! An alias shouldn't prevent an actual friendship." Rogue nodded. He got up, went round the console and put his arms around Art, nuzzling into his shoulder. "I guess it's how I met you," he said, and the pair of them laughed. Art smelt like a warm fire. He was taller than Rogue, only by a bit, but it meant he looked up to him slightly, which was a bit of a novelty for Rogue, who was usually the tallest in the room. He took in Art's face: every line, pore, the stubble, the striking, hazel eyes. Art looked back down at Rogue, and it looked as if he was about to say something deeply profound or romantic. "So, is this your apology for dinner?" Rogue leant in closer. "Oh, never," he murmured.

Oh also, Rogue hadn't meant to give the Doctor that name.

"Does 'not a Lord' have a name?" "Rogue." Immediately, Rogue panicked. It wasn't his actual name - Rogue was the name that Art had given him - but it would do fine. For now. [.....] "You ready for this, Rogue?" It was funny hearing someone else call him that, but his name sounded good being said by the Doctor. Rogue liked it. It fitted.

Also Rogue "immediately recalled a quite complicated winter with Houdini". Apparently him and the Doctor has an ex in common.

They explain what happened to the gun.

"Now, trap, please." Rogue handed it over but immediately regretted doing this so willingly. Sure, this man's ship was brilliant. But the trap, that was his. "And your disseminator?" "Only if you handle it carefully," said Rogue, keeping his eyes locked on the Doctor, worried what the plan could be for his precious creation. The Doctor took it calmly. Then he snapped the disseminator in half. "Hey!" Rogue shouted. "Do you want to save everyone or not? Look, watch me." And Rogue did, as the Doctor moved some parts from the disseminator into Rogue's trap, then attached it to the TARDIS, using cables. Rogue found himself fighting not to remember the hours of work that building the disseminator had taken. He had to let this go. "Okay, past me the hyperdyne link," said the Doctor. "Blue wire, under the switch, there." Rogue did as he was told, eager to see exactly what new monstrosity the Doctor had turned his favourite gadget into. The Doctor grabbed the cable and plugged it into the newly upgraded trap. It sizzled slightly. "I can't believe you broke my stuff!" Rogue complained. The Doctor stopped what he was doing and looked at him, dead serious. "Whatever the Chuldur have done, I can't let you kill them. I also can't let them kill others. So, instead, we'll send them to a random, barren dimension. No one to hurt there and no way back." "Random? So I can't trace them," Rogue protested. The Doctor just nodded as the trap continued to whirr behind them. "Don't pout too much. When we're not trying to kill each other, we're a good team."

"You know, you don't have to stay a bounty hunter. You could travel with me. Oh the worlds I could show you, Rogue." "And what if I like what I do?" Rogue got the feeling that when people met the Doctor, they would often uproot everything for him. Why should that always be the case? Rogue had just as much to offer in adventure.

"I'd like that." Rogue felt that swell in his chest, that nervous energy as he took another step towards him. He was very aware that their faces were almost touching. It would only take one of them to lean in a bit closer, and they were already so close, so close that they could almost-- Ping! The console in the TARDIS chimed. "The trap is ready," the Doctor said, and the moment was gone. He moved back to the console as Rogue stood there, recovering. He could hear the Doctor speaking down at the console, but he barely registered what he was saying. He just nodded, lost. What was he getting himself into?

And then I went ahead and typed up the entire chapter 19, because the whole thing is an imaginary letter from Art to Rogue.

Chapter 19 A Letter to Rogue Dear Rogue It feels silly, writing you this letter, but I hope it finds you. So we're clear too, I don't want this as a Please don't mourn for me or some other such nonsense. Honestly, I am quite irritated that it wasn't you that died... Would I say that? I suppose. Whatever helps your imagination. I know you've likely dreamt up and read this letter many times. I fully understand why; I was good chat. However, if only for your negotiation skills, I hope you've made at least one friend since my passing. Imaginary letters from dead boyfriends can't be your only form of communication. Of course, if the person reading this is his only friend then I gleefully warn you: Rogue is stubborn. He says he will clean that particular corner of the ship, but I promise you he won't. I spent ten years asking and I could have put that time into something actually productive. I could have learned at least five more languages in the time I would have saved. So take my advice. Give in to this reality. Admit defeat. It will never happen. A few other things to note: his snoring can and will wake up the most dangerous animals, and for some reason - despite eating pretty much everything - bread with any kind of seeds or olives in is an absolute no. I agree, it's a real failing on his part. Apart from this, however, what you will find is a great man who I loved with every part of my soul. Please give him a hug from me and do not name a child or dog in my memory when you move in together. A cactus is fine, though. And Rogue, if it is you reading this letter, don't let me worry about you. I did enough of that when I was around and oh, the time I wasted. Don't hide. And please don't go fixing up our ship for ever. I was the mechanic anyway. Live. Talk with everyone. Laugh. Dare to ask someone, 'Is this seat taken?' And, most importantly, don't forget to dance. That's the best part. Yours, Art

So anyway, after that heartbreak, it's back to more action.

"Should we be telling humans?" Rogue asked cautiously, leaning in behind him. The Doctor noticed Ruby's curious expression. "Oh! Ruby 2024 and Emily 1813, this is Rogue, he's a bounty hunter and almost incinerated me." "A mistake he said he was letting go of." Rogue held out his hand to Ruby and Emily, who both went for it at the same time and ended up shaking it together.

"But what does it all mean?" Emily gasped. "Are we all going to die?" The Doctor and Ruby exchanged a look: Who is going to take this? To their surprise, Rogue stepped up. "There's a creature from another planet at this party," he said. "Highly dangerous, it can look like anyone it's killed and if it gets you ---" He looked at her, dead serious. "It'll drain your life in a second." Emily's eyes widened and she hurriedly began to fan herself, presumably as an alternative to fainting. "We need to work on your people skills," the Doctor said as Ruby put her arm around Emily, trying to calm her. "Now, let's find our Duchess!" He looked over at Rogue, exhilarated. This was one hell of a first date.

The Doctor could already feel people starting to turn and whisper but his focus wasn't on that. All he was thinking about was Rogue. Rogue's hand on his shoulder, his chest. Rogue's eyes locked with his as the pair of them turned and twirled across the floor.

"We need to have a big fight so I can storm off alone and draw her to us," the Doctor said, spinning Rogue away from him. "Can't I storm off alone?" said Rogue. "I would rather not talk in front of this many people." "Oh, come on, Rogue," said the Doctor. "I'm sure you talk to lots of people. Your bounties for a start." He gave his hand a little squeeze and whispered, "I believe in you." "Doctor, please!" Rogue protested. He was too late. The Doctor pulled away from him and gasped. "How dare you, my Lord!" he shouted. He was incredibly pleased to hear the music stop immediately, the crowd turning to stare. It was so deliciously dramatic. "You would ask me to give up my title, my fortune -" he chewed up every word, really hamming it up - "but what future can you promise me?" Rogue didn't say a word back. He just looked at him pleadingly and stuttered slightly. "Say anything," the Doctor whispered, then raised his voice again. "Tell me what your heart wants, or I shall turn my back on you for ever." By way of illustration, he literally did turn his back on Rogue. He looked at the crowd, hearing nothing but silence behind him. Then a gasp. The Doctor turned and faced Rogue again, who was now down on one knee. He had pulled off a ring from his finger and was holding it up to him. Rogue was proposing. Fast mover indeed. The Doctor knew this was a moment of fun, for the drama. Despite that, he couldn't stop a jolt of panic. "Sorry... I can't," the Doctor said. He raced out of the ballroom, and Rogue chased after him.

The worlds I could show you. That's what the Doctor had said to him in the TARDIS. A phrase that was playing over and over in his head. Rogue looked over and saw the Doctor, waiting for him, hidden behind a hedge. He felt a rush of excitement as he tried to focus. He'd not been asking the Doctor for marriage, but for some simple commitment. A sign he could stay longer than this one adventure. To see those worlds he'd promised. At least for a little while. Now he couldn't stop wondering how much of their connection was real and how much had been for show.

To escape the Chuldur, Rogue and the Doctor dive into the lake, where Rogue finds the body of the real Lord Barton. He almost panics and has to go back up, but the Doctor takes his hand and calms him down, so they can stay hidden long enough.

They get out of the lake soaking wet, and the Doctor makes a comment about "Ruby was right, this is a bit Mr. Darcy."

Then there's a wonderful additional scene, where Rogue is initially refusing to help because it's too dangerous, and he's too scared after having lost Art.

He had expected one Chuldur, that was the contract. Not a family. He'd counted at least five. These were very bad odds. "I'm not being paid enough for this." "Paid or not, people have died." The Doctor had his sonic screwdriver out and he was fiddling with the waterlogged trap while they walked. Rogue thought he was as focused on fixing machines as Art had been. Annoyingly, both of them had the ability to do that and argue at the same time. "We go back there, we'll die," Rogue insisted. "So you'll just walk away?" Rogue stopped.

Rogue had read about family of Chuldur. One that had destroyed every place it visited, leaving no survivors. In the past, he would have dived headlong into this kind of danger without batting an eyelid. He loved the rush of adrenalin and he had that stubborn will to reach his target, whatever it took. Then he had suffered the cost. The Doctor was wrong. He wouldn't just walk away from all this. He'd run. "There's too many. It's not my problem." Rogue quickened his pace away from the manor and towards the Yossarian. This time, the Doctor did not follow him. He had stopped still, determined not to take another step. Rogue reluctantly stopped too and turned back to face him. "If it's not our problem, whose is it?" The Doctor's voice was cold, angry. "Who do you think will help these people if we don't? You're here. You've seen what they're doing. You are choosing not to care." In the dark garden, Rogue stood defiantly across from the Doctor, his breath shallow and fast. He'd hit a nerve. Rogue had had years of practice at not caring and didn't want to change now. The Doctor was calm in comparison, determined and immovable. Rogue knew that if he chose to walk away now, he would be walking away alone.

Rogue agrees to help, but is still scared and trying to convince the Doctor to leave with him, and WEEHH GUYS.

The Doctor was about to clamber through when Rogue reached for his hand. "Are you sure?" Rogue asked, his voice soft. They were facing beings that had destroyed cities, taken countless lives. How could the two of them stop such creatures? And with one shot? He felt a deep ache in his chest; he couldn't lose someone else. Rogue looked pleadingly at the Doctor. If he gave himself enough time and distance, he could learn to forget his troubles and bury his guilt. He could stop himself from caring. Rogue had done it before. He could do it again. He could show the Doctor how. "We could go anywhere," he said. "I'm going in here," replied the Doctor. Not a waver in his voice, not a second of doubt. Rogue looked into the Doctor's eyes and knew that he would never stop caring. Could never stop wanting to help, to fight, to go on. That was who he was. The Doctor let go of Rogue's hand and climbed in through the window, and Rogue did what he knew he would do for ever. Follow him.

Absolutely unhinged content, thanks Kate and Briony. Rogue wanting to leave makes his ultimate sacrifice SO MUCH MORE INTENSE.

When the Doctor finds out about Ruby, he almost lunges himself at the Chuldur, and Rogue has to pull him back so they can remain hidden.

And then, absolutely heartbreakingly, as the Doctor tries to find some other solution for maybe bringing Ruby back:

He was desperate, and Rogue's silence gave him every answer he didn't want. Rogue slowly opened his arms, and the Doctor fell into them and sobbed. "I'm sorry," Rogue said over and over.

The Doctor absolutely hams his speech up, and there's a minor change as Rogue is there to help him set up the triform trap. (Emily, like a fool, just accidentally walks straight into the trap!)

And then we reach the final sacrifice.

Seven… Rogue didn't want to push him, but they were running out of time. "They'll kill us, then everyone here. They'll destroy this world.' Six… Rogue was next to the Doctor now. He could hear him breathing hard. "And you know that, you absolutely know that." All that torment was wrapped so tight around his chest that Rogue could feel his heaviness, his dread. "So, can you do it? Can you lose your friend to save the world?" Five… The Doctor started to cry. "No." "I know." Rogue smiled at the kind, brilliant, amazing man in front of him. Four… Then he stepped forward and wrapped the Doctor in his arms and kissed him. It was a soft, passionate kiss, full of promise. The moment was tender. Romantic. It was theirs. Three… Rogue stepped back and gave the Doctor one last smile, revealing he had taken the trigger device from him. Then he turned quickly and ran full pelt into the trap. Two… It flicked on and off as the Chuldur tried to scramble to the edges. Emily moved a step towards Ruby, grabbing at her as Rogue barrelled in. He knocked Emily to the trap floor, causing Ruby to be thrown free. Only one shoe left behind. One… Rogue looked down at his feet inside the glowing triangle and back up to the Doctor. He was now trapped with the Chuldur, but he was not afraid. Rogue could not have let the Doctor say goodbye to the person he was closest to. He knew that pain too well to let the Doctor hold it, even for a second. And so he'd known the decision he had to make. He couldn't lose anyone else. But he was ready to be the one who was lost. Zero. "Find me," Rogue said as he pressed send. The patch of triangular floor turned jet black, as the Chuldur started to scream and fall. Rogue caught a last glimpse of the Doctor before he dropped down into the darkness of the Transport Gate. As he fell, his mind had one, clear thought. Worth every second.

The rest goes about as it does in the episode. We don't get the Doctor's immediate reaction to the loss. But as Ruby hugs him, "The Doctor leant into it and let himself feel what he had buried for a moment. Not all of it but just enough to carry on with the day."

And then of course he discovers the ring in his pocket and he puts it on. "A little piece of Rogue to go with him."

And you'd think that would be the end, but there is ONE MORE CHAPTER, which I'm just gonna quote in its entirety, because it's insane, you guys.

Chapter 33 The Forgotten Place A howl in the darkness. The wind growled ferociously around a barren and abandoned planet, far out in the forgotten reaches of space. Giant grey rocks covered the surface. As the wind hit them, charcoal-sand blasted up, creating sandstorms wherever it hit. This was the only movement on the surface and, at first glance, it would have seemed the only sign of life. But if you looked more closely, there was a light. From the mouth of a cave, the bright glow of a campfire burned through the grey. Inside, sat a man. Rogue. He was trying to keep warm. Rogue had been there for what felt like months. The cave had been a saviour, sheltering him from the environment but also from the enemies sent here with him. He had lost them, at least for now. As time passed in the cave, any concept of a day had folded in on itself. Rogue kept his mind busy with the simple tasks of staying alive: build the fire, watch the fire, build the fire again. Rinse, repeat. Thankfully, there was some food to be found on this planet - mainly winged dalnats and other small cave-dwelling creatures. But they were not enough. Rogue knew that if the cold didn't get him, starvation would. What this planet didn't know, however, was that Rogue could not be broken so easily. He had made a promise to himself. He had agreed that he wasn't going to be lost any more. Because Rogue had realised he was worth finding. As the fire began to die, Rogue thought of the man he had come here for. The magnificent being who was beyond any comprehension of existence. The one known to most as the Doctor. Of all the timelines they could both have inhabited, Rogue was grateful that their eyes had met on this one. What a great surprise that had been from the universe. Yes, right now, he was lonely, but time wasn't linear, and this was his favourite thing about it. Rogue was sitting in this cave, but he was also walking with the Doctor in the garden, he was laughing with Art in the Yossarian, he was falling from a building, he was running from one memory of his life to another. All at once. Rogue was in the Doctor's arms, spinning around and around, for ever.

So there it is. Absolutely gorgeous book.

There's a bunch of stuff I didn't include, a bunch of extra stuff about the Chuldur. But also the first adventure with Art, and a bunch of extra minor stuff.

So please please do get the book if you can!

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Magnolia - Din Djarin x Reader

Magnolia (Magnolia) - Meaning: Dignity, perseverance

Summary: Din is blackmailed by Peli into going to the doctor for the first time since he took his Creed. The doctor is not what he expected.

Pairing: Din x Reader (3rd person POV)

Word Count: 2386

Warnings: 3rd person POV, Peli being a bit of a bully, no Grogu, probably inaccurate Star Wars medical practices, Din being mysterious, tattooed!Din, needles/hyposprays, brief helmetless!Din but not in front of reader, awkward!Din warming up to someone, slight touch-starved!Din if you squint

Day 16 is the longest so far! This was supposed to be the first chapter of a series featuring Din and a doctor love interest, but I think it works here too. Also, today is my anniversary with my partner, so I'm dedicating this to him! 13 years together, 9 married. Holy shit, where does time go?

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️

“I don’t wanna hear it, Mando!” the older woman exclaimed, “Doc, you here? Sit down, would ya? You’re makin’ me nervous. Doc?” 

A modulated voice said something she couldn’t make out as she made her way out of the exam room to the waiting area. Peli was facing her, hands of her hips, but her attention immediately went to she silver-clad form of a man sitting on a chair in her waiting room. His head was covered with a shiny helmet, his gloved hands resting on his thighs, and even though she couldn’t read his expression on his face she could see the tension in his form. 

“Good, you’re here,” Peli said to her, “My friend Mando here,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the man, “has just informed me that he hasn’t been to a doctor since he was a child, and in his line of work that seems really stupid so I dragged him here, you got time for an exam?” 

“Of course,” she said, “but I feel it needs to be said that I don’t usually perform exams on unwilling patients…over the age of 8, that is.” She smirked. And the Mandalorian’s helmet tilted as if in disbelief. He rose to his feet, his full height and breadth unfolding to take up much more space than she’d initially thought. 

“Fine,” the modulated voice said, ”Let’s get this over with.” 

Peli’s smirk read of something deeper than concern for her beskar-clad friend, but she didn’t have time to parse it for meaning as the Mandalorian made his way toward where she stood in the doorway between the exam room and the waiting room. She stepped aside and held out an arm to usher him into the small room. 

“Thanks, Doc,” Peli said, “Send him back my way when you’re done, I’ve got his ship.” 

“Will do,” she replied, now understanding more about how Peli was able to manhandle such a large, broad person into her clinic.

The bell above the front door jingled as Peli left, leaving her alone with the Mandalorian. She would’ve been more uncomfortable if it weren’t for the numerous sharp instruments within her reach, as well as the hidden blaster strapped under the exam table. 

One couldn’t be too careful on Tatooine. 

The Mandalorian was looking around the small room, possibly assessing for threats until she cleared her throat, getting to work mode. 

“So I think we can just run a few tests and do a quick workup, nothing invasive. That should placate Peli, at least.” 

“Okay,” he said through the modulator, standing stiffly in the middle of the room as she busied herself with grabbing a holopad and passing it over to him.

“Fill this out,” she said quickly, busying herself with grabbing supplies for a blood draw and a retinal scan. 

“Um,” the voice said from behind her and she paused, turning toward her patient, “I, uh, I don’t know my birth date.” 

“That’s okay, just an approximate age is fine.” She went about her business, prepping a few vaccines and a bacta hypospray just in case while his gloved fingers tap-tapped on the holopad. When she was finished, she turned and leaned back against the counter and watched him as he finished. 

It didn’t take a doctor to note the obvious power of the Mandalorian’s body, half-bent over the holopad on the exam table. She scanned his posture, the way he held himself as he tapped with his right hand and noted a few things she wanted to mention. With how well-muscled he had to be under the heavy beskar, she figured he had a physically demanding job, and it was then she remembered Peli mentioning a bounty hunter friend of hers. 

He was silent as he finished and passed her the holopad. Under the ‘Name’ field he’d put simply, ‘Mando’ and she couldn’t help the smile that rose on her face. As a race, Mandalorians were notoriously secretive. 

Scanning the rest of the info sheet, she saw he mentioned back pain and bad knees as places of concern. Other than that, she didn’t see anything glaringly off. 

“Okay, this all looks about right for your estimated age, but I still want to take some blood and update your vaccinations,” she glanced at him from under her lashes and he grunted in what she assumed was assent. “Can you take your, um,” she gestured to the armor adorning his thick arms, not knowing what they were called, “arm pieces off? I’ll need to get in your veins there.” 

The Mandalorian hesitated, going eerily still. If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she heard a sharp intake of breath through the modulator. Tension rose within the room, but she was well-trained so she turned her back to him to offer a little privacy and used the moment to sanitize her hands and pull on a pair of exam gloves, pleasantly satisfied when she heard the clanking of armor being shed and the heavy pieces being carefully placed on the table.

She turned back around and watched him rolling up the sleeves of his flight suit, exposing his  muscular arms up to his biceps and she had to remind herself that she was a professional — salivating over a patient was unethical. With a deep breath she went back into Doctor mode, assessing his arms for easy-to-access veins. 

A hiss sounded from him when she palpated his inner elbow and she looked up at his blank t-shaped visor. 

“Did that hurt?” she asked. 

The helmet shook, “Cold hands.” 

She smiled, “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Kind of ironic isn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Considering it’s hotter than a Mustafarian volcano outside,” she explained, pressing further and finding a juicy vein. “Little pinch,” she said, using the prepped needle to pierce his golden-brown skin. If she wasn’t mistaken, she glimpsed the bottom edge of a tattoo hiding under his rolled-up sleeve. 

When the vial was full, she pulled the needle out and took some of the prepared bacta gel across the small hole in Mando’s skin, then put a small bandage over it. “That can come off in half an hour. Let me get this sample going so I can get your results before you leave, then we can do the retinal scan.” 

She moved toward the far side of the room toward her lab equipment, but a large hand on her wrist stopped her. 

“Retinal scan?” Mando asked, helmet tilted in concern. 

“Yeah, it’s really quick. Just to make sure your brain function is normal, no big deal,” she explained with a shrug. With how still he once again was, she guessed it was not, in fact, not a big deal to him. 

From what little she knew of Mandalorian culture, their armor and weapons were sacred to them but he’d already taken off his arm pieces. Maybe something about the helmet was different? 

“I…my Creed, uh, I can’t remove my helmet,” he said haltingly, removing his hand from her wrist. 

It was her turn to tilt her head in confusion, “What, like ever? How do you shower?” 

“I can take it off, but not in front of other living beings. If I did, I couldn’t put it back on.” 

“Oh,” she breathed. She nibbled on her lower lip as she tried to think of a solution. She didn’t want to let him leave without the scan but at the same time she couldn’t ask him to break his Creed for a fifteen-second scan. 

“Ah! Okay,” she exclaimed as an idea came to her. She grabbed the scanner off of its charger and put it on the exam table in front of him. “I’ll step out, you remove your helmet and run the scan yourself. It’s easy,” she said, sensing his hesitation, “Push this button here and hold the scanner in front of your eyes until it double beeps, about fifteen seconds, then you put your helmet back on and I’ll come back. Think that’ll work?” she asked, looking up at his visor hopefully. 

After a few seconds, he replied “Yeah. That’ll work.” 

Her smile widened and she nodded, “Let me get your blood tests going and then I’ll step out.” 

Din’s POV 

This was the exact reason he hadn’t been to a doctor since taking the Creed. Every Mandalorian covert had their own stash of medical supplies and were trained in first aid, so it never seemed important. He’d been cursing himself for mentioning his back pain to Peli until stepping into the Doctor’s office. 

The fact that she was holding his ship pretty much hostage until he went to the Doctor was only part of what got him here. 

To her credit, the Doctor had been respectful and considerate so far — her solution to his issue with the brain scan was simple, but spoke volumes to her character. Having only known her for a few minutes he could tell she was trustworthy, even though something in her eyes spoke of some hidden truths. 

Not wanting to keep her waiting in the other room for long, he double checked his surroundings before removing his helmet, pushing the button on the scanner that she’d shown him, and waiting for the ‘beep-beep’ to signal it had finished. 

He replaced his helmet and called her back into the room. She swept back in and smiled at him. 

“That didn’t hurt too much, did it?” she asked in a joking tone that made him smirk. She was cheeky, this doctor. 

“Virtually painless,” he said. 

“Good, wouldn’t want to completely scare you off,” she joked again but his breath caught in his throat. She placed the scanner on its charging port and looked at the screen in front of her, assessing the results with a furrow in her brow. 

Din took a moment to finally look at her. He’d already noticed how pretty she was, hair drawn back and up off her neck to combat the heat of the Tatooine suns. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, and every time she’d looked his way he felt like she could see through the beskar he wore. Unknowingly, she’d already locked eyes with him a few times despite his helmet. While she looked over his results, she absentmindedly played with a necklace — some sort of pendant on a long silver chain — he didn’t see any more jewelry. 

“Well, your brain looks normal. No irregularities or past concussions showing up, but I guess that’s what the helmet is for,” she said, glancing his way. He nodded.”You mentioned some back pain, which is normal for your age, but I can take a look and maybe get you some pain supplements.” 

He nodded again and swept his cape aside, gathering it over one shoulder and exposing his jetpack. 

“Well,” she said with a chuckle, “that’ll do it.” She grabbed a different scanner while he took off his jetpack. His entire spine straightened as he felt her fingers ghost along his lower back. 

“May I?” she asked, and he swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Yes.”

She gently lifted the back of his flight shirt, the coldness of her fingers raising goosebumps along his arms. The scanner she held chirped, and she dropped his shirt back into place. 

“Just what I thought,” she said as he pulled the jetpack back on. “Looks like it’s muscular, not spinal, so I’ll throw some anti-inflammatory salve, and if you’d like, some pain supplement. A mild one,” she added.

“Thank you,” he said. 

She crossed to a cabinet, bending down to open it and Din averted his gaze. From inside she extracted a small tin and a glass jar, cursing when she found it empty. 

“Kriffing hell,” she muttered, “Sorry, looks like I’m out of the pain supplement. Outer Rim supply lines suck.” 

“That’s okay,” he offered, but she was insistent. 

“I feel bad now, getting your hopes up like that. I have something stronger but I figured with being a bounty hunter you’d want to keep your wits about you.” 

“I appreciate that. The salve will do fine for now.” 

“I mean, if you ever find yourself in a trading outpost or on Arvala-7, you could get some for yourself. I’ll write down the name.” She busied herself with that for a moment before another mechanical buzzing caught her attention. 

“Ah, your blood results!” Fluttering past, she slipped the piece of flimsi into his gloved hand. He caught a whiff of her scent — night-blooming flowers and citrus, with a tinge of sweat.

She pursed her lips, and Din wanted to reach over and pull the bottom one loose with his thumb. All her touches had awakened something in him that he usually kept locked away. “Hmm…looks like you’re a little low on Potassium and a few different vitamins, but no major illnesses or viruses, which is good. No malignant bacteria hiding in your bloodstream either, no parasites…damn, that beskar keeps everything out, doesn’t it?” 

She glanced his way, but kept on talking, “I’m still going to recommend a few vaccines, and a bit of a diet change. Let me guess, you mostly survive on ration packs?” 

He nodded, “I do.” 

“I’m going to suggest eating some more fruits in general, that’ll help with the vitamin deficiencies and the potassium. Ration packs are pretty nutritious, but with your lifestyle you burn through certain things quicker than others, so it’s best to supplement the packs. Just a few more hypos and you’ll be all set to go back to Peli with a clean bill of health. Any other questions or concerns?” 

Part of him wanted to ask if she was busy later that night, especially when they locked eyes under his helmet. His mouth went dry, and all he could manage was a shake of his head. 

He cleared his throat, “No, no. Thank you, Doctor.” 

“You are very welcome, Mando,” she said, handing him a small bag with papers and the salve inside. 

“Din,” he offered before he could think about it.

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat again, “My name is Din.”

Her smile was radiant and Din felt a flutter in his chest. “Nice to meet you, Din. Whenever you need me, I’m here.” 

He reached out and shook her proffered hand. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that, Doc.”

[pookie-mulder]

August 2024 fic roundup

This was truly the month of the longfic. And to think I only read short fics until @skelavender showed me the error of my ways!

📰🖋️ Paracelsus by prufrockslove

One of the biggest txf fics ever, and I absolutely devoured it. I loved reading it right after Hiraeth and seeing all the little nods to their past lives. This author knows how to spin a yarn, guys. My one complaint is the never-ending miscommunications towards the end, which is never my favorite source of drama/conflict. Just talk to each other, you idiots! (Although they have those moments in canon, as well, I suppose.)

⚾️🏟️ A Moment in the Sun by prufrockslove

I will remember this fic for the rest of my life. It’s the type of fanfic you want to write fanfic about. It makes me wish I knew now to print and bind my own books. The universe is so rich and developed. Definitely in my top 5 of all time!

Here’s a list of things I love about it:

William. My precious, bratty British boy.

The way the plot includes elements of the mytharc but put together in a different way so you don’t know exactly how it’s all gonna come together

Emily!! You know I love a good Emily AU, and this fic certainly counts. I’m a sucker for a found family, and this fic delivers.

Josh Exley my beloved (and Arthur Dales, but the other one)

Dad!Mulder. The man is an absolute DILF. He tries so hard to overcome his shortcomings and be the father his kids need.

Frohike. His job as an eccentric baseball manager suits him surprisingly well, and his characterization is on point.

The little nods to canon, including episode titles and locations.

The insinuation that all of PFL’s AUs take place in the same universe (as Mulder said, “It has to take more than one lifetime to learn to love someone this much.”)

The only thing I’m not zazzed about is the ending. It kind of just…ends? I would’ve loved an epilogue or even a sequel (or a 12-book series).

🏫📸 Dr. Scully’s School for Exceptional Boys by prufrockslove

Oh boy. This fic is a tangled mess of emotions and betrayal and shame and guilt and love and promises and sacrifices and, most of all:

Definitely recommend.

👒👩‍🔬 The Regency Files by @slippinmickeys

I needed something that needed less mental energy after 4 massive PFL fics in a row, and this one delivered! It’s sweet, romantic, elegant, and has just enough of a plot to keep you interested. If you’re a fan of historical AUs (as I am now, I guess), this one’s a must-read!

🛌🍷 The Reunion by @muldersfingers

Absolute trope-y goodness without feeling too cheesy or predictable. My favorite part is how much they laugh and tease each other when they finally make use of that one bed ;)

🐶🥇 underdog takes the title by @wtfmulder

MSR’s first time is sweet, silly, and giggly. Mulder is absolutely pathetic and pitiable, which Scully finds hot (same, girl). It absolutely melted my heart!

👶👨‍🍼 the bitter and the sweet by @xf-cases-solved

What if baby William was a girl? What if they named her after Samantha?

Absolute perfection. This is how season 8 should have ended!

🏔️🌲 The Mountain Man and A Deadly Hunger by aka_Jake

This historical AU takes place in the same time period as Paracelsus, but it’s so vastly different in its setting that it’s unfair to compare them. In this one, Mulder is a Montana mountain man who smuggles arms to the Native Americans, and Scully hopes to become an army doctor in a nearby frontier town. It’s a classic Wild West romance with plenty of drama and conflict. I love how each of the characters feel like themselves, especially Scully, who retains her headstrong independence despite social norms.

🔙🥩 The Mastodon Diaries by aka_Jake

Mulder and Scully travel back in time to the Pleistocene era and must rely on their wits and each other to survive.

This is one of those fics that changes you as a person. I will be thinking about it for a long, long time. It broke my heart a thousand times and then lovingly stitched it back together. There were so many moments that took my breath away.

The portrayal of prehistoric humans is especially incredible — they’re so well-thought out, and their culture is so rich and developed. Even though 12,000 years separates us, we’re not so different from each other in the end. I absolutely fell in love with the native OCs, which is a compliment of the highest order. I already miss them!

Anyway, it’s like this fic was created in a lab specifically for me. It has all my favorite tropes and story elements: wilderness survival, historical AU(ish), soooo much whump and caretaking and hurt/comfort, found families, Dad!Mulder, and a surprising amount of romance. If you haven’t read this one yet, I’m begging you to give it a try!

🇦🇶❄️ On the Verge by aka_Jake

This fic fits into one of my favorite canon holes: How did Mulder and Scully get back from Antarctica? I love reading everyone’s different takes on this missing scene/plotline, and this one is no exception!

[lollystocks]

Therapy for the Dead and Buried, Chapter 3

Chapter two here

Masterpost here

AO3

"Patient 17-X-(A)-2, session three. A lot of progress was made last week, and it seems that allowing the patient to lead the conversation is the key. Any abilities still unconfirmed, though I suspect he has some kind of emotion-altering capabilities. This must be handled with care, for obvious reasons.

“I have practiced self-hypnosis and meditation before today’s session, in the hope that I will be less affected. At present, the only emotion the patient can instill is fear, and he can’t seem to consciously… turn it off. I did notice, however, a slight reduction in intensity when he was distracted by talking about his interests. This is a good sign.

”I’m returning to a traditional cassette tape for this session. My digital recorder’s file was almost unintelligible, again. Must get that looked at…”

--

They talked about wormholes, to start.

They’d been on his mind, obviously. Relativistic physics in this world seemed to be a little behind his own, probably owing to his home dimension’s little… problem. But it was still all way too advanced for him to really get his mind around - tragically, advanced physics required a little more math knowledge than high school pre-calc.

But this world’s understanding seemed to be missing a whole ecto-shaped chunk out of its standard physical model, leaving them behind. It was interesting.

They didn’t talk about that, of course. Just the basics.

“I’m curious, James. Why space? Your interests cover a lot of different fields - astrophysics, aeronautical engineering, relativity, geology. But they all cover this general concept.”

“Not really sure. I just don’t think I ever outgrew ‘wanting to be an astronaut’. I kinda made it my personality as a kid - stars on the ceiling, Apollo 11 posters, rocket plushies, I had three different NASA t-shirts when I was like, thirteen, I wore them on rotation. Part of me wonders why more people aren’t into it - like, the earth is tiny. And on the timescale of the universe, it’s a spec. I don’t think I’m so much interested in space, as like… the whole universe. It feels arrogant to not want to have a sense of what’s out there. Or to put the earth on a pedestal, just ‘cause we’re here.”

Doctor Bright smiled, and her voice was light. “I must say James, you’ve certainly got me more interested. I agree that we can often be wilfully ignorant of the world around us.”

“Yeah. And just, the community’s great too. All the space agencies are just full of nerds doing amazing things, and space-Reddit is insane.” Some things didn’t change across dimensional boundaries. Even as a newbie in this universe, he’d quickly slotted into the online world. “I genuinely like these people.”

“Do you feel you have more of a community online than in real life, James?”

“Well yeah. I have no community in real life, it’s kinda my problem. But the people on discord and the forums don’t have the same issues with me, so I can actually be, you know, social.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Virtual communities can be a fantastic way to socialize across boundaries you may not be able to otherwise - geographic distance, for instance. And in your case, without the need for physical proximity.”

“Yeah! Like, I can feel normal, ‘cause no one who doesn’t know me in real life is gonna call me a ‘school shooter waiting to happen.’ Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, like. Sometimes people are still sensitive to it. Online. There was a whole thing where someone made a separate channel without me and wanted to know why everyone else was okay with such a creep around, but no one could understand what he meant. So like, I think my thing can still work across technology, just. Not as reliably. Thankfully.”

The doctor considered this. “I see. So again, this person couldn’t pinpoint any reason behind their fear, just a ‘vibe’, as you’ve said?”

“Yeah. Sucks. And that’s just with text threads - not like I can even jump on voice channels.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh. Just, um. Can’t afford a mic. That’s all.”

It was a weak excuse, but there was no way he could explain the effect his voice had on digital audio. Once again, he’d slipped.

This whole thing was dangerous anyway - they had become far too comfortable talking about his fear aura like it was real.

"James, have you noticed any variation in the… intensity, of this phenomenon? That perhaps, your own mood may be having an affect on others? Have you ever tried experimenting?"

Danny winced at the word.

This was stupid. Admitting this all was stupid. It felt really good, to say it out loud, but Doctor Bright was so cold and calculating and it probably meant nothing but her perfectly pressed shirt was white and she was a doctor and-

"Look Doc, I know this thing is all in my head, you know it's all in my head, so just like, write me a prescription for an antipsychotic and we can move on."

She closed her notebook, and placed it on the coffee table. "I don't think it's all in your head, James."

Shit.

"Sorry?"

The doctor recrossed her ankles. Black shoes, navy slacks. Clear glasses. It was just a white shirt. Cream, even.

No white suit here.

"I don't believe you're psychotic, James. At least, I have no reason to believe so. On the surface this would read as a classic paranoid delusion, but it's hard to ignore the evidence."

"That everyone is scared of me? ‘Cause people have told you so? You can just chalk it up to my actions Doctor Bright, I won’t take it personally."

"But I can’t, James. You’ve been nothing but polite, articulate, and considerate in our sessions. A little nervous and distrusting, but that’s perfectly understandable. But this effect you’ve described - an instinctual feeling of unease in your presence. I can feel that myself, and I can't ascertain a logical reason for it."

Huh.

"You look perplexed, James. Has no one ever admitted that before?"

"I told you, no. It's um. Not nice, exactly. But refreshing."

"I'm curious, James. This phenomenon, that the people you interact with are overcome with a- a foreign emotion. One without a clear stimulus, other than your mere presence. I’ve asked you this before, but I really want you to think - has it always been discomfort and fear? Or has it ever been something else?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Doctor Bright. That's my thing. Being unnerving." He waggled his fingers. "Fear me.”

"Of course. I just want to explore this further, get some more data points. You clearly have a keen interest in science, James, despite the academic setbacks. Help me understand this on a scientist’s level."

Danny's breath caught, just a little. He knew he was being paranoid. That he was safe here. That he couldn't be taken. He was fine, they couldn't find him here, he was sa-

"You a researcher, Doctor Bright? Obviously you are, you've got a PhD on the wall. Psychology. You work with human subjects much? Non-human subjects?"

"James, as happy as I am to talk about my personal work, this session is to-"

"No, no, this is important, Doctor Bright. Like, who even are you? You're a scientist, but you're a downtown shrink? You just take my whole thing in your stride? Do you ask about anything ‘strange and unusual’ with all your patients? Like I don't want to give off paranoid vibes here but I have good reason to think they are actually out to get me so why should I even trust you? What's your deal? Why are you interested in my whole deal? Who do you even work f-"

With a crack, the light bulb blew. Pieces of shattered glass fell to the coffee table.

A stunned silence followed.

With only the cold, cloudy daylight to illuminate the room, the doctor was backlit against the window, her face in shadow, save for the barest, caustic green glow. Danny could see her fingers pressed against her mouth, as she stared at the ceiling.

Fuck, his ‘angry eyes’. He squeezed them shut.

Danny needed to bolt, he needed to go now, he could go back to school, but his new name was on the file here, he'd need to make new documents, he’d need to-  he'd need to-

There was a squeak of vinyl,, and he heard the doctor rise to her feet, cross the room, and retrieve a gun something from a drawer in her desk. The soft sound of her heels on the carpet then made their way towards the office door. Danny opened his eyes.

"Wait-!"

She flipped the light switch to ‘off’. "Sorry, basic electrical safety, James. This won't take a second."

She walked towards Danny, towards the table, gently picked up the pieces of broken glass, and placed them in the empty box of the new bulb. After a thorough inspection of the surface, she kicked off her heels and stepped lightly onto the coffee table. He saw now that she held a fresh lightbulb in her hand, the base of which she popped between her teeth as she reached up to unscrew the shattered one from within the lampshade. She dropped that into the small box and swiftly fitted the new one.

She hopped down, returned to the light switch, and flicked it on. The new light buzzed to life, and the doctor stepped back into her heels and took a seat, like nothing had happened.

The whole thing couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, but in Danny’s panic, it had stretched on and on.

She smiled, a little awkwardly. "You'd be surprised how many lightbulbs I get through in this room, James. No need to be..." She seemed to change the word in her mouth. "Anxious."

Danny set his jaw. "Right. Bad electrics.”

“Perhaps. Not always though. Tensions in this room can… run high, as you might imagine.”

Danny could scarcely believe what she was implying. “Tensions running high with your… strange and unusual patients?”

"Yes, James. I assure you, that was nothing I haven't seen before. You may also notice my full suite of fire extinguishers."

"For your faulty electrics?"

"James, correct me if I'm wrong, but - that was you, correct? Blowing the lightbulb in a moment of stress?"

Danny sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. It wasn't."

"Of course."

"Say if it were-"

"Okay."

"What would happen? I mean, what's happened to other people who've blown your lightbulbs? You should know I can disappear. You'd never find me."

"I don't doubt that, James. You seem a very capable young man." The doctor went to pick up her notebook, but thought better of it, and sat back. "Are you asking specifically about clients who have blown my lights, or about all my clients with atypical abilities?"

And wasn’t that an interesting phrase. Danny studied her, eyes lidded. "How many people are we talking?"

"Telling you would breach my doctor-patient confidentiality I'm afraid, and be a breach of all my clients’ trust. However, I can tell you I have been working with 'strange and unusual' people since college, many of them in this room. I'm something of a specialist in providing therapy to people with atypical abilities."

"Is that the official term for it?"

"Well, there isn't really an official term, as Atypicals don't officially exist. But yes, that is the frequently used term."

This was. This was a whole lot. This was totally different to what he’d been frantically building in his head. “But they’re all- they’re all what? Allowed to roam free? Just- be out there in the world, with ‘abilities’?”

“Of course. They have the same rights as anyone else.”

"And you think I'm an… ‘atypical?’"

"Yes James, I do."

“Because your light bulb blew.”

“Yes. Amongst other things.”

“And if I were?”

“Then, James, I hope you’d find some value in the knowing. Knowing, for instance, that you aren’t broken or ill, or even creepy. Merely that you have an atypical physiology that presents an usual symptom, or set of symptoms - namely, blowing light bulbs. And something else that I’m still trying to form a hypothesis over.”

“The scary thing?”

“The scary thing, yes. If you’d be happy to, I’d like to continue to work together, so that we can identify what control you have over your abilities, and start to make them work for you, not against you. How does that sound?”

It sounded… like a lot to think about.

The doctor was wrong, obviously. He wasn’t an atypical, (was that a capitalized ‘A’?) whatever those were.

Danny had never heard of anything remotely similar outside of fiction, in his own dimension; and he was pretty sure that if otherwise-normal people were going around with superpowers , which was what Doctor Bright made this whole thing like, then he’d know about it. His parents would be all over it, as would Vlad, the GIW - hell, half the ghosts he fought.

But they weren’t commonly known about here, either, that was for sure.

It would be a convenient answer. He could explain away the most obvious of his (stupid, fucking, glitching-out) powers in a way that blended in nicely with this dimension.

It wasn’t without risk, though. Throwing his lot in too heavily could spell disaster if he were found out - were ‘Atypicals’ identifiable through their blood, or DNA? Would his weird vital signs cast suspicion? What about all his extra powers? What could your typical Atypical even do?

And all this was assuming that he could trust Doctor Bright - that she did work with these Atypicals, with no ulterior motive other than a modest paycheck, and wasn’t a mole for a-whole-nother shadowy governmental organization who wanted to catch people like him and stab them with thousands tiny needles while keeping him barely sedated and strapped down to a-

But. The GIW didn’t exist here. He’d checked. It was why he’d stayed.

He looked back to the doctor, who was eyeing him patiently.

“It sounds like somewhere to start, Doctor Bright.”

--

You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor Joan Bright. If this is to schedule an appointment, please press one to speak to Sarah. Otherwise, please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the tone. 

Message received on, Saturday, at, 10:52 AM.

“Hi Doctor Bright, it’s Caleb. Caleb Michaels. Well. I’m not sure how many other Calebs you treat but… but anyway yeah. So. Basically there’s this guy at school, and I think he may be an Atypical? So um, how does this work, do you take referrals? Like I’m sure there are loads of Atypicals who don't need therapy but no offense to this guy but he definitely does. 

“Like I’d love to try and strike up a conversation and I wanna know if he knows he’s an Atypical but I don’t really know how to do that and also I. Um. I kinda really hate being around him. He makes my ability go fu- kinda haywire and I feel like I’m gonna punch him. I won’t, I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that, but uh. Well. I don’t think I can talk to him. ‘Cause he’s either an Empath and we’re getting in a crazy Empathy-feedback-loop or it’s something else, like with Mark. And I can’t get his number, either.

“Adam’s tried talking to him instead but he always kinda bolts. Plus he still makes Adam all freaked out then that affects me really bad for the whole day and just…

“So um, yeah. His name’s James Jackson. I think he needs your help."

...

“Okay. Bye.”

--

To: Caleb Michaels

Subject: Referred Patient

Good afternoon Caleb.

Unfortunately, I can’t reveal any information that would break my doctor-patient confidentiality.

I can assure you though, that while you show wonderful initiative and care for this fellow student, your concerns are already being met.

We can talk at your next session.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

Chapter 4

[atlafan]

Carnal Attraction - Part One

a/n: sexology professor!harry is here!! Just a reminder, this is the only part being posted on here. The rest will be on Patreon. I can’t wait to know what you all think so far. This is going to be a good one, I think.

Warnings: talk of sexual acts, mentions of sexual misconduct

Words: 4.7K

Tumblr Masterlist I Patreon Masterlist

The world of academia is astounding. People stay in higher education for so many different reasons. Some go off to become medical doctors, others become doctors in specific fields like psychology or literature or philosophy. Some choose to stay in academia because they don’t want to sell their souls to industry work. Mavis always loved school. She was one of those kids that did well no matter what the subject was. She studied hard, wanting to take in more and more information. She was naturally gifted in the art of time management. Everything clicked for her. If something was puzzling, she’d figure it out.

There isn’t much she can’t figure out. Which is why she’s grown increasingly aggravated with her sexology professor. She can’t figure him out. She swears he hates her. He’s short with her, and less personable with her than he is with the other students. She’s never struggled like this with someone before. And he wasn’t even supposed to be the one teaching her courses!

When Mavis tells people she’s in graduate school for a master’s in sexology, they look at her funny. Furrowed eyebrows, puzzled facial expressions, etc. No one can ever piece together why someone would get an advanced degree in a subject like this. That’s because people can’t get their minds out of the gutter. In undergrad, Mavis majored in psychology, and minored in gender and sexuality studies. She eventually wants to produce literature and perform psychoanalysis on sexual behavior and sexual issues. She thought she wanted to be a psychiatrist, but that involves medical school. And as smart as she is, she’s rather squeamish when it comes to blood. So, then she thought maybe being a psychologist, some type of sex therapist would be good, but she honestly has a tough time speaking aloud about the various subjects. And sex therapy isn’t just for helping couples have better sex, a lot of it is helping people with history of sexual abuse recover and find ways to heal. Mavis doesn’t have the stomach for that. She cried too many times reading case studies about it in undergrad.

All that being said, she eventually wants to get her doctorate in psychology with a concentration in sexology, so when she found a graduate program to help get her started on that journey, she went for it. She could write about sexual disorders and the like all day. When she’s writing and researching, she’s quite helpful to others. She enjoys learning about sexual history, those were always her favorite courses. Learning about how trans people in the 1800’s used binders to hide their breasts, learning about how two opposite sex couples would get married, go in on a duplex together, and use the basement to sneak over to sleep with their same sex partner, learning about different gay and lesbian liberation movements, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and so much more was where her interest was. It all just fascinated her, it all astounded her, and a lot of it just made her downright upset. Tears would litter her textbooks as she read about people being beaten senseless until they were left for dead in the streets. She’d cry because all of it was happening not too long ago. She cried because it still happens today.

She’s quite empathetic, and almost too much to a fault. But she can’t help that she cares! She enjoys studying the psychology side of things, how the brain functions of these people work, how the brains of bigots function, if there’s a disparity between the two on scans or octopuses. All Mavis wants to do is hunker down in her own academic sanctuary and research and read and write and publish.

Mavis had been assigned an advisor over the summer, one whom she emailed with frequently to make sure she was taking the correct courses in the correct sequence. Her advisor recommended courses with one specific professor, Professor Amaro. Apparently, her classes were top tier, and she was a favorite amongst the other graduate students. No brainer – sign up for Amaro’s courses.

Except when Mavis showed up for her first day of Human Sexuality, a co-requisite for her Sexual Pleasure Education course, there was a man standing at the podium, hooking his laptop up to the HDMI cable so he could project onto the screen up front. At first, she thought maybe he was a TA just setting up for Professor Amaro. She paid it no mind. She found a seat in the middle front, and got her own things set up. It’s syllabus week, so there won’t be much to go over, but Mavis still likes to take handwritten notes. She pulled her agenda, a notebook, and her copy of the syllabus out, and set them on her desk. The classroom is small, only meant to hold about twenty-five people. Mavis prefers small classrooms. She’s not a fan of lecture halls with stadium-style seating.

“Is anyone sitting here?” A woman’s voice took over Mavis’ attention. The desks are set up for two people to sit at. “If it is, I can sit somewhere else.”

“Oh! No, go right ahead.” Mavis smiled. “I’m Mavis.”

“Thanks.” The woman says with relief as she sits down. “I’m Taraji, I use she/they pronouns.”

“Nice to meet you. I use she/her. Thanks for letting me know yours.”

“Nice to meet you too, and no problem. It’s something new I’m trying out. I don’t…I don’t always feel like a she, you know?”

“Totally get that.”

“Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too much info too soon.”

“No worries.” Mavis waves her off. “We’re going to be talking about some real shit in this class, it’s best to just be open and honest.”

“Agreed.” Taraji takes out her own agenda and notebook. “I hate that we have to take this course in conjunction with the sexual pleasure class. I feel like I’ve taken a million human sexuality courses at this point.”

“I know, it seems a little odd, but I figure there must be more high level stuff to discuss since this is at the grad level. And review isn’t always a bad thing, I like refreshers.”

“Well, aren’t you full of silver linings?” Taraji smiles. “We need more people like that in this world.”

The girls continue to chat while the class fills in. At 10:30, the man at the front closes the door and turns the projector on, revealing his screen. Mavis’ stomach drops when she sees Human Sexuality – Professor Styles – M/W 10:30-12:00 in big bold letters.

“What happened to Professor Amaro?” She whispers to Taraji.

“Beats me.” Taraji shrugs. “Maybe we signed up for the wrong section?”

“That can’t be it, this is the only section being offered.”

The man, Professor Styles, clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. He’s wearing a button up, but it’s not buttoned up all the way. You can see his undershirt. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing quite a few tattoos. Round glasses are on the bridge of his nose, and his hair is pushed back with a couple of curls falling forward on his forehead. He looks young. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Morning, everyone.” His deep voice fills the room as he rounds the podium to stand in front of the desk attached to it. He leans back against it, gripping the edge behind him. “I’m Professor Harry Styles, I prefer to be called professor, so please try to remember that. I’m sure you’re very confused as to why I’m standing here and not Professor Amara.” He pauses to take a sip of water from his Nalgene. “I quite literally found out the other day that I would be taking over her courses. To be transparent with all of you, Professor Amaro is under investigation for sexual misconduct with her patients. As many of you know, a lot of the professors in the psychology department have their own practices outside of academia. Summer is when Professor Amaro picks up new patients. There was someone undercover seeing her for therapy, and she was caught taking advantage. It’s extremely disappointing. So, not only will she be losing her licensure, but she has been let go from the institution as well. We do not condone the abuse of patients. We also do not want someone so unethical being the one to teach our future therapists. How many of you are in here as part of the clinical licensure program?” More than half of the class raises their hands. “Right, I thought so. I usually teach undergraduate courses, but I’m fully prepared to teach at the graduate level just the same. I know many of you have already taken different iterations of Human Sexuality, but this course is integral for you so you can fully get what’s needed out of the Sexual Pleasure Education course. It says 10:30 to noon up here, but I’ll typically only be keeping you for about an hour, if that. Many of you have research and other time consuming things to do, and I want to be cognizant of that. I am also working towards my PhD, I’m about two years into my program and research.” He pauses again, knowing he just word vomited. The class is stunned with the bomb he just dropped about Professor Amaro, and they’re whiplashed going from that to the basic information about the course. “Any questions so far?”

“I have one.” A brave soul in the back raises their hand. “Which undergraduate courses do you teach? Will you need any TA’s since your load just got bigger?”

“Great question, thank you for asking. I will end up needing TA’s, but I have to wait to meet with the department chair to see what our budget is. I teach the undergraduate intro to gender and sexuality studies, and I also teach some of the higher level special topics courses. This semester I’m teaching the history of feminism, which is one of my favorites to teach, and I’m also teaching the film history course that focuses on how sex has been depicted in film since its start to the present.”

“You’re teaching a course about feminism?” Another person asks.

“Yes.” Professor Styles smirks. “It’s one of my main focuses of study. I may not be a woman, but I am a man that believes in equity and equality. Plus, I’m a huge history buff, so I enjoy teaching about how the movement began and how feminism has transformed over the years, both the good and the bad of it.”

Mavis swallows thickly. She’s a history buff too. Maybe she could be a TA for one of his classes. The extra money would be nice, and so would the bit of teaching experience if she were allowed to give a lecture or two.

“Let’s focus on this class. We’ll be going over a number of topics, and at times you may feel the need to giggle because of nerves. We’re going to discuss endorsement, communication, fantasy, masturbation, homosexuality, bisexuality, desensitization and resensitization, female and male sexuality, sexual enrichment, special problems, therapy, and cultural expression. So, this gives us a base for what we’ll be discussing in the co-requisite course. Now, I’m going to do something that I do with my undergrads, I’m going to say a ton of words and phrases that you’ll feel the need to giggle about as we discuss certain topics. This is your only chance to laugh. If you do it throughout the semester, then we’re going to have a problem. If you become a sex therapist, you can’t laugh at your patients. We’ll get into why these words make us feel nervous, and why we feel the need to laugh when we hear them.” He grabs the remote for the projector and clicks it. Everyone gasps and starts laughing when they see many words and phrases appear. “Alright: penis, vagina, pussy, cunt, cock, dick, mutual masturbation, anal, penetration, fingering, eating out, going down, blow job, hand job, sucking someone off, breasts, boobs, nipples, fetish, BDSM, whips, chains, handcuffs, threesomes, orgies, condoms, contraceptives, birth control pills, IUD, sex toys, dildo, vibrator, cock ring, lube, dirty talk, dominant, submissive, daddy, baby talk, douching, porn, clit, clitoris, prostate, prostate orgasm, orgasm, vaginal orgasm, stimulation, fucking, fisting, getting wet, wet, come, precome, squirt, squirting, ejaculation, and sex.”

The entire class is snickering and giggling and laughing, even Mavis. Hearing all of those things back to back and watching the words dance on the screen in an animated fashion is hilarious. What a fun approach to getting people more comfortable with these terms.

“There are many more words and phrases, obviously, but these will be the ones we use more often.” Professor Styles explains, smiling fondly to the class. “If you’d like to be considered for a TA position, please come up to me after you’re dismissed. “Any questions?” No one raises their hand. “Great, then you’re dismissed. Enjoy the nice weather.”

Mavis and Taraji exchange contact info, and agree to meet for coffee tomorrow morning before their sexual pleasure course. A few people go up to Professor Styles to tell him they’d like to be a TA, and he takes down their information. Mavis is the last in line, the last student in the classroom with Professor Styles.

“Name?” He asks, not looking up at her.

“Mavis Ashford.”

“Alright.” He looks up at her now, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you have a preference?”

“I’d love to help out in the feminism course or the film history course. I like the historical side of things when it comes to studying this content.”

“Great, those are usually the ones I have trouble finding help for.”

“Really? I’m surprised.”

“Since a lot of you are here to become licensed therapists or psychologists, not a lot of people are interested in the theoretical aspect of things.”

“Well, I definitely do not want to be a therapist. I want to do research, eventually get my PhD, like you, I suppose. I’m sad about Professor Amaro, I heard so many good things about her.”

“None of us knew about any of it. She hid what she was doing well. She had been doing it for years, supposedly.” He sighs and takes his glasses off, putting them into their case. Mavis catches how green his eyes are, almost like sage. “Did you have any other questions? I need to get across campus to my office so I can take some time to edit the Canvas courses a little more.”

“Oh! No, sorry. Guess I was just curious to know how long you’ve been teaching for. You mentioned you were in your second year of your doctoral program, so-“

“There’s a bio page for me. My listing lives under the Psychology department. I’ll keep you in mind for my special topics courses. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Mavis watches the very flustered, unorganized man leave the room in a rush. His papers were all over the place, and he just shoved all his things in his bag. How chaotic. Maybe if she’s able to become his TA, she could help him with that.

**

Since Monday went so well, including Mavis’ other courses, she’s excited for Tuesday. She meets Taraji for coffee, as planned, and then they head to class. A course about Sexual Pleasure Education at 9AM is wild, but if coffee doesn’t wake the class up, the content of the course sure will. Harry is at the podium, connecting his computer, just as he did yesterday. Mavis and Taraji sit at the same table they did yesterday. The class eventually fills in, and Harry turns the projector on.

“Let’s see, did I scare anyone off since yesterday?” He asks out loud, but it’s more for himself, as he checks off names on his attendance sheet. “Great, you’re all here.” He smiles. “I know you’re probably thinking how I could have possibly memorized all your names already, but I haven’t. I just have your student ID pictures next to your names on my sheet.” He leans back against the table, gripping the edge of it, same as he did yesterday, and scans over the class. “Welcome to Sexual Pleasure Education. In this class, we will discuss strategies for improved sex life, sex aids, sexual approaches, and male and female pleasuring. We will also be stressing the value of various body work techniques for persons intending to work in the field of sex therapy and counseling. Lastly, we will discuss sexological exploration of objects which have been created in response to sexual desire and experience.” He pauses to take a sip of water. “Basically, this is sex ed on crack.”

“Professor Styles?” A girl in the back raises her hand, and he nods for her to continue. “So, are there going to be, like, demonstrations in class?”

“Yes. Most people learn best by doing. And it’s important for you to know what you’re talking about if you end up becoming the type of therapist that has to make recommendations for couples. The conversations we’re going to have in this class are going to feel awkward and taboo. There are going to be days where we look at various sex toys and how to use them, and why people use them.”

“I sort of meant, like, is anything going to be demonstrated on an actual person?” The same girl asks.

“Considering that this isn’t a tantric sex workshop, no.” He smirks. “We’ll look at various anatomical diagrams to go over specific areas where people find pleasure and how best to get them to feel it in those areas.”

“Professor Styles?” A boy in the front raises his hand, and Harry nods for him to continue. “I know this isn’t technically a psychology course, but are we going to get into kinks and why some people have specific ones or like using specific objects?”

“Yes and no. We’ll discuss the psychology behind kinks in our Human Sexuality course. What we do on Mondays and Wednesdays will be more theoretical, and what we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays will be more practical. Great questions so far. Anyone have anything else?”

“Will there be trigger warnings?” Taraji asks. “For both classes?”

“Yes, when we get into some of the heavier topics, there will be trigger warnings. I’m working on updating the syllabus so you’ll all know when to expect those. If the topic is so heavy that you don’t feel as though you can come to class, please let me know so we can have a one-on-one session so we can go over the material. I can meet in-person or on zoom.”

“Thank you.” Taraji smiles softly.

“Are we going to be talking about our own personal sex lives in class?” Another girl asks.

“That depends on how comfortable you feel. We may share anecdotes, and we may not. If you become a therapist, remember that what might work for you, might not work for others. However, your patients will ask you about your personal experience with some of the things you recommend to them. I’m not saying you need to shove a butt plug up your ass in order to have a frame of reference, but sometimes it helps for your patient to know you’re a real person. Just don’t cross any hard boundaries. We all know that many patients tend to experience romantic feelings towards their therapists. That can happen twice as much with sex therapy. You need to make it clear right from the start that even though it’s a safe space for them, things will still be professional. No one is to ever take their clothes off during an appointment. That’s what leads to things like what happened with Professor Amaro to happen. Respect will be integral to this course, as well as not kink-shaming. You may find something weird that someone else may love, and vice versa. You don’t have to agree, but please be mindful of how you speak to and about others.” He drums his fingers behind him as he takes another pause. “All of that being said, if we do discuss personal sexual experiences, you need to speak about them educationally. I don’t want to hear things like, ‘this one time I was fucking this dude and he,’ blah blah blah. Okay?”

The class makes a collective noise of agreement that makes Harry very happy.

“I’m hoping to have the courses updated to my liking by next Monday. I should also know by then about TA positions for my undergraduate courses. Do we have any other questions right now?” No one answers. “Excellent. For tomorrow’s Human Sexuality class, I’d like you all to fill out these surveys.” He starts handing out papers row by row. “They’re to give me a pulse check on what you already know a lot about, and the areas you need a bit more information on. It’ll help for Thursday’s lesson in here as well.” Once all of the papers are passed out, Harry goes back to the front of the room. “If no one else has any questions, you’re all free to go.”

Everyone begins packing up their things. Mavis is stuck looking over the survey questions. Her cheeks are beat red, she just knows it.

“You coming?” Taraji asks her.

“Um, yeah.” Mavis blinks and starts packing up her things. “I just have a few questions for Professor Styles. Wanna get lunch later?”

“I’d love to. Text me later.”

Mavis nods to her new friend, and goes to the back of the line of students that have questions for Harry. Just like yesterday, it’s the two of them alone in the room. He doesn’t look at her as he stuffs his papers into his bag.

“Have you ever thought to use an accordion folder for all of that?” She asks him.

“You waited in line just to ask me that?” He looks up at her, taking his glasses off and putting them into their case.

“No.” She laughs sheepishly. “I just had a few questions about this survey.”

“Alright, shoot.” He tells her, crossing his arms over his chest loosely.

“The first question says to list five common sex toys that I know of.”

“Correct.”

“Then the second questions says to explain the function of each of the toys.”

“Also correct.”

“What if you’re not familiar with well-known sex toys? Is it okay to look up the functionality?”

“No, just give your best guess as to why someone would use it.” He looks at her, studies her. He has a question of his own to ask, but it could come off as inappropriate. “I’m going to try to phrase this in the most professional way possible…do you not have much, um, first-hand experience with sex toys?”

Mavis’ eyes widen. All she can do is shake her head no. Harry nods in understanding, not being the least bit judgmental.

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to know more about them, like, I know a lot about the history of them, the…the theoretical side of things, as you mentioned before. But in practice…I guess that’s where I need to learn more.”

“That’s fine, you can just say that on the survey. You can keep it anonymous too. I didn’t leave a space for your names at the top.”

“So, it’s not a big deal if I haven’t personally done some of the things we’re going to discuss.” She says for clarification.

“Perfectly fine. You could be a virgin for all I care. You just need to be able to discuss and write about these things knowledgably and eloquently.”

“Well, I’m not a vi-“ She’s about to scoff, but he raises his hand to halt her from finishing her sentence.

“I don’t need to know the particulars of what you have and haven’t done, Miss Ashford.”

“You just said we need to be able to discuss these things, though.”

“Yes, as a class, when other people are around. Not when you’re in here alone with me. Someone could get the wrong idea about why we’re having this very conversation.” He slings his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t over think it, it’s just a pulse check.”

He leaves her there, sweating. Did he think she was coming on to him? Did he think she was flirting? She wasn’t! She would never do something like that with a professor.

**

The rest of the week goes by smoothly. Mavis makes sure not to ask Harry any questions after class. In the second session of Human Sexuality, they went through all the changes Harry made to the course Canvas page and to the syllabus. They did the same for the second session of Sexual Pleasure Education. Pretty easy stuff that the students are thankful for. The other courses Mavis is taking are research methods and a high-level sociology course. So starting off on the slower side is a major bonus. Harry lets them know that he’ll post a paper on his office door on Friday with who has been selected as TA’s.

Around noon on Friday, after a work out and a hearty breakfast, Mavis makes her way to the building Harry’s office is in. She takes her headphones out as she gets inside, and makes her way upstairs and down a hallway until she gets to the psych department office suite. His door is closed, so the paper is easy to read. Her eyes scan over it, and she’s taken aback when she doesn’t see her name. Four students were chosen: Eric, Alyssa, Mohamed, and Liza. Mavis frowns deeply. How could she not have been chosen? She spoke to Harry directly about helping with his higher level courses. What made these students better choices than her?

She hears the squeak of a sneaker skidding, and turns her head in its direction. There Professor Styles is. He looks rigid, almost like he had stopped short and was about to turn around. He sighs heavily and makes his way down the hall.

“Miss Ashford.” He nods and unlocks his office door. “I would have thought you would have been here first thing this morning.”

“Why didn’t you just email the students that got selected instead of making all of us come down here?”

“Because I didn’t make my decision until very late last night.” He tells her, opening his door and setting his things down on his desk. His office looks like a tornado hit it.

“Still, you could have emailed-“

“Miss Ashford, what is it that you need? I don’t have office hours today and I’m very busy.”

“I want to know why I wasn’t selected. I told you how much I love the history courses, I could have been a major help.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but I didn’t think you were the right fit for what I needed.”

“You came to that conclusion from only a week of knowing me?”

“I know the four students I selected better. I had them in my courses as undergrad students. They already know my teaching style and the learning outcomes of the courses.”

“Again, if you knew-“

“You need to go now.” He tells her, taking a dominant step forward, making her take a step back. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How can I not when you just told me I wasn’t the right fit?” She pouts, and she swears Harry’s eyes flicker down to her mouth, only for a millisecond.

“Mavis, I don’t feel comfortable with us being alone like this. There’s no one else in the office right now, I’m one of the few instructors that actually utilizes their space on Fridays.”

“But if you had office hours, I’d be alone with you.”

“Yes, with the door open, while other people are around.”

“Are you afraid of someone accusing you of doing what Professor Amaro did? I feel like you’re being overly cautious…with me.”

“You ask a lot of questions, and it’s annoying. You’re annoying. That’s why I didn’t select you. I don’t have any desire to be around you more than I’m already obligated to.”

“Are…are you allowed to speak to me like this?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Or maybe not. Who’s to say? It’s your word against mine, right? No one else is here. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? I already told you I felt uncomfortable, now please go before I have to call campus police to escort you out.”

Mavis is stunned, and about ready to cry. Harry rolls his eyes when she doesn’t budge, so he goes into his office and slams the door in her face. What the fuck is his problem?!

**

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 28: Fitz's Capture

Masterlist

June 1905

TW: mind control, captivity, restraints

"And wake." Snap.

Fitz's eyes popped open, as though he'd just closed them for a second -- but that clearly wasn't the case, because he was no longer backstage. Nor was he in his bedroom, on his couch, in someone else's bedroom, on someone else's couch, or in prison, which covered all the places he was likely to wake up unexpectedly.

No, instead he was in a sterile looking room, almost like a doctor or dentist office, perched on top of a table. His arms were restrained behind his back, a pair of handcuffs that he was sure he could easily get himself out of. Lily was standing in front of him, serene and confident.

He'd been a bad judge of character many, many times in his life, but he had a sinking feeling that this would turn out to be one of his more spectacular mistakes. He crushed down the little voice telling him about how he'd been stupid, so stupid, and tried to plaster an unflappable smile on his face.

"Did you have a nice rest? It seemed like you could use it," said Lily.

Fitz's eyebrow twitched with the amount of questions flooding his brain. He hadn't really even believed in mesmerism, and yet somehow she'd put him to sleep and taken him to a location that was clearly not anywhere in the theater. It didn't seem possible, and yet, here he was, trying to remain calm, act like he belonged here and that he knew exactly what he was doing.

"It seems I lost the bet," he said. "Good trick. Mind telling me where we are now?"

"Care to guess?"

He frowned, looking around the room. There wasn't much to go on, just a few chairs and tables. There was an odd post in the center of the room, and the table nearest him had what looked like medical tools on it. He hoped those were just decorative.

"Oh, it's beyond obvious that you've kidnapped me for ransom," he said, picking the most likely option and bluffing his way with the rest. He just needed to keep her talking while he worked his hands free of the cuffs, quietly so she would not hear. "A terrible decision on your part, really. I realize that it's hard to believe, but my family has no appreciation for my talents. They're not going to part with a single dime on my behalf. If anything, they'd pay you to keep me. Not that I expect you to listen to my sage wisdom, but you'd really be better off releasing me before this business gets any uglier."

"Don't worry, I know that your family has left you for dead. I wouldn't have taken you if I thought anyone was going to look."

Now that was actually worrying. "What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked, mostly to stall for time since he didn't think he'd get a real answer from her. 

The door was right there, slightly ajar. Lily was smaller than him and didn't look particularly strong. He could overpower her if needed, especially if he caught her by surprise. And the sooner he got out of here, the better, before he found out firsthand why she didn't want anyone to come looking for him. One of his hands twisted free.

"I mean that I'm not interested in ransom. I'm going to make money from you in a much more surefire way." She grinned, and Fitz was sure he saw fangs there. That couldn't be right -- he had to be imagining things.

Still, she had somehow mesmerized him entirely. And she was very, very pale...

"And how do you intend to make this money?"

"I'll be selling you in an auction. An auction where you're going to be in very high demand. You see, your family's blood is extremely high quality, but it's too risky for us to take anyone whose disappearance might be investigated. That is, until you did the courtesy of divesting yourself of your pesky family. Really, I should thank you."

Fitz's mouth was going dry. "Did you say my blood? You mean my lineage? Because that --"

"No, I mean your literal blood." She was way too close to him now, and when she grinned, her fangs were very sharp and very obvious. How had he not noticed? "Haven't you figured out that I'm a vampire, yet? I thought you might be sharper than that."

"A vampire?" A chill gripped his heart. The evidence -- but no, there was no way. He forced himself to arrogantly laugh in her face. "You do realize I spend most of my time in the company of performers, magicians, occultists, fortunetellers, carnival freaks, and circus acts, don't you? I've rapped on the table during seances. I've been to a dozen rituals to trick rubes. Your vampire act is good, no doubt, but it falls a little short of believable."

She leaned back, and Fitz could see the door again. He slipped his other hand just free of the cuff. "You don't have to believe if you don't want," she said. "What you think hardly matters, especially when I'll be changing your mind. Now let's --"

He took his chance, leaping off the table, pushing her aside and bolting for the door. Fake vampire or no, he wasn't about to let himself be sold at any sort of auction. Thankfully, she clearly wasn't expecting him to slip the cuffs, so his escape should be --

His blood rushed to his ears as he was grabbed and slammed into a wall, with enough force to hurt but not enough to seriously injure him. Lily, the mousey woman a head shorter than him, with arms like fragile twigs, was effortlessly pinning him.

"You get one free attempt," she said. "Mostly because I like you, and you're far too valuable to harm."

Fitz kicked his legs uselessly, his struggles not even seeming to register with her. His panic was growing as he tried to think of an angle behind her apparently supernatural strength and reflexes and came up short. He'd never seen anything like this.

An actual vampire.

Yes, this was one of the worst of his mistakes.

With how effortlessly she'd stopped his dash for the door, escape probably wasn't an option as long as she had him in her sights. That meant his efforts had to go towards survival. Bluff and charm and stall and hope a better opportunity presented itself.

"Can you truly blame me?" he said, hoping his terror wasn't too obvious. Could a vampire smell fear? "I'm a magician. It's my instinct to try and escape. But I've learned my lesson, now."

"Have you?" she said, cocking her head. "You don't strike me as the type of man to learn his lessons easily."

"Perhaps not, but I am the type of man who would rather not be thrown into the wall again."

"That, I can believe," she said, releasing her grip. She walked over to a nearby cupboard, keeping her eye on him all the while. She pulled out a white linen shirt and slacks, tossing them at him. "Now, little magician, be nice and obedient and put these on without a fuss, and your body and mind can remain intact for now. How about it?"

"You want me to change in front of you?" Fitz asked, earning him an impatient glare. "Yes, yes, no fuss, lesson learned. I hope you enjoy what you see." He began unbuttoning his shirt, never breaking eye contact with Lily. He didn't like the sound of "intact for now." Nor did he like the implication that his mind would be harmed. She had him completely over a barrel, and all because he thought he could easily outwit a mesmerist. Stupid, stupid, he'd been so stupid.

He tried in vain to crush down his thoughts by making a great, dramatic show of whipping off his shirt, which gained no reaction whatsoever from Lily. "You know, you were quite good at being part of my magic show," he said as he stripped off the rest of his clothing. "And you have impressive talent as a mesmerist, not to mention your surprising strength. You could make a lot of money in vaudeville."

"I can make a lot of money selling humans."

"Vaudeville's a much easier paycheck, I would think."

"I wouldn't say that. It was awfully easy capturing you, wasn't it?"

Fitz couldn't help but scowl. There had to be some angle here. "Don't you feel a twinge of remorse, doing this? Kidnapping innocent people? Not me, of course, I'm hardly innocent, but surely others..."

"Oh, I do, at times. But my remorse pales compared to the size of my paycheck, not to mention my hunger for blood like yours."

"So that's it, then? Some vampire is going to drain me dry and leave me for dead?"

"Oh, not at all. With how valuable your blood is, it'd be extremely irresponsible to leave you for dead," she said. "No, more likely they'll leave you in a half-lucid state for years while they feed from you whenever the mood strikes them. If you're lucky, you'll get to keep enough of your mind to be a servant."

Stupid. Stupid. He'd been so stupid. "Well, doesn't that sound..." His composure broke, unable to think of a retort. Trapped by vampires, having his mind taken, being forced into servitude -- he always knew his life would lead him to some kind of bad end, but he didn't expect this sort of fate worse than death to be waiting for him. "Doesn't that just sound charming," he finished pathetically. 

The uniform was uncomfortably itchy and ill-made, and he was glad he had no mirror. "Well? Do I look the part of your prisoner?" he said, striking a pose before Lily.

"It'll do. You'll get a more thorough physical examination later," she said. "But it's almost sunrise, so for now I'll get you to your cell. Any funny business and I'll put you back to sleep."

"I think I've had enough charmed sleep for one night," he said, offering no resistance as Lily gripped his wrist and pulled him out of the room. They walked down a sterile corridor and through a set of metal double doors, the guard glaring at him as he passed through. The doors opened to a long row of prison cells, most filled with people in various states of misery. Some curled up, some sat on cots and stared vacantly at the wall, one woman was pacing and muttering to herself.

The reality of it all began to sink in. This wasn't a nightmare, or a trick, or a joke. He was actually a prisoner here, and he had no way out. It was all he could do to keep from fruitlessly struggling against Lily's grasp, knowing it could only make his situation worse.

She led him to an empty cell and motioned him inside, and he took a long look at the doors before reluctantly entering, the door closing behind him with a definitive clang.

"Meals are three times a night. The faucet water is for drinking and bathing. Use the bell if you need the chamber pot cleaned or if there is an emergency. Lights out means quiet. Noise during lights out, abusing the bell, or harming yourself will all be punished."

"What's the punishment?"

"Anything we like, so I wouldn't recommend testing it," she said. "Oh, and you should know that I am planning to keep your mind intact. I have an old friend who I think would appreciate your antics. But if you attempt to escape, that plan will change. Is that clear?"

Perhaps he had indeed learned a lesson, because he didn't doubt that she could do that. He had to do whatever it took to stay alive here. "Crystal clear."

"Good, I'm glad we can understand each other. I can tell we're going to get along well, Phantom Fitz."

"Like a house on fire," he said bitterly.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to stew in your many regrets. See you next evening."

As Lily walked away, Fitz flopped down on the meager cot with the rough mattress. Even his bed in the tiny room he'd rented was better than this. He couldn't help but think of his old family home -- the luxurious bed, the sumptuous food, the gorgeous clothing. He'd run away from it all to pursue his freedom, to live a life away from constant criticism and expectation. He'd been broke, slept in the nastiest of flophouses, gone hungry, begged, bartered, and stole. 

It had all been worth it when he was up on the stage, in his element. It was all going to be worth it when he made it big, when he basked in the applause of adoring crowds and rolled in riches every night. Approval he didn't need to wring out of his parents like blood from a stone, money that wasn't doled out with withering glares.

And now, that dream could all go up in smoke. A servant to a vampire. So much for freedom, fortune, and fame. If he had known...

He was stupid. So stupid.

Part 27 >> Masterlist >> Part 29

Thanks for reading this story of a down on his luck stage magician. Back to Oliver next.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs

[duckandrobin]

Touch Starved

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: Waiting Rooms (Doctors Pick the Worst Chairs)

Taehyung had always wondered why doctors picked the least comfortable chairs. The waiting room outside the HYBE doctor’s exam room had eight chairs with the stiffest fabric and bare, plastic arms at the most awkward height possible. He had asked how long it had been, and when Jin told him only ten minutes since the door closed, he got up and decided standing might be more comfortable. He was trying to do the math in his head, it had been ten minutes since the door closed, the elevator usually took three minutes, the drive from the park was less than ten, so if he assumed that they got her to the car in around five, then she had been unconscious for thirty minutes or so. Taehyung may not have gone to medical school, but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to wake up by now after fainting. Unfortunately, all he could do was wait.

---------- ----------

A few minutes after he’d stood, the door opened and a nurse peeked from behind it. The nurse seemed to be looking for something, and even though Taehyung had stepped forward, she ignored him. She perked up at the sight of something behind him though, and he turned around confused until he saw Namjoon hustling.

“Joon, what’s going on?” He asked.

“The staff were holding onto her things; they’re looking at her phone now, but they gave me her passport.” Namjoon turned to the nurse to hold up a hand to ask for a few minutes, and she gave a small nod before the door closed again. He turned back and paused to look at Taehyung, hesitantly. “Her name is Y/n L/n.”

Taehyung repeated her name, it felt right as he said it, fitting.

“I didn’t see her face when she came in, but we’ve actually met a few times before. I called the doctor to tell him what I know about her, what might help him.”

Taehyung felt his heart starting to race a little, “What do you know?” God, what if she was sick? He felt like he might be sick as Namjoon motioned for him to sit down first, and then took his own seat, the others leaning in to listen as well.

“We’ve met at a few museums, exhibition, galleries. She’s an artist, a good one. I didn’t realize she had moved here already, just that she had exhibition offers and some in the art community here trying to commission pieces. She told me before that she was considering them, that she was leaning towards Seoul over Rome and New York.” Taehyung thought this was all interesting, but he didn’t see the relevance and was about to ask Namjoon to get to the point when he continued. “I’m trying to think of the best way to describe her situation… She’s eccentric, everyone who knows art knows of her, and everyone knows the rumors about how reclusive and sensitive she can be. The basic explanation is that she has OCD.” Namjoon stopped to see if they needed clarification, and they seemed to understand what that meant generally. “Her OCD is bad. She’s completely touch averse, hardly ever even leaves her house and her studio. Some people are unkind about it. There are expectations about how many hands you must shake and how many cheeks you must kiss at events, and she never meets them. There was one time I can remember that a large donor to the MET got drunk and he walked up to her, then slid his arm across her shoulder; she started having a panic attack and her agent quickly ushered her away and then came back to apologize for Y/n’s abrupt departure.”

“I thought she was scared of dogs. If it wasn’t about dogs then…” Taehyung didn’t want the answer, but he had to ask in case he was wrong. “Did I really scare her that badly that she passed out? I didn’t know but I wouldn’t ever touch someone if they didn’t want me to, not on purpose.”

Namjoon shook his head. “I think it’s more complicated than that. I don’t know the whole story, but I know her OCD comes from a fear of getting sick. The rumor is that she almost died from something as a kid, and that even though she barely survived, it damaged her heart in the process. They say she’s just scared of getting something bad again and being too weak to recover this time. I think there’s probably some truth to what I’ve heard, and I know she’s been hospitalized from the flu a few times. When she was considering offers, she asked me about how I felt South Korea handled the pandemic, and she seemed relieved when I told described it and said better than most countries, in my opinion. As for what happened at the park, I think she got scared about the bond and what it meant, and the stress was too much on her heart, so she lost consciousness as her body tried to cope: stress increases your heartrate and raises your blood pressure and if they get too high then some people pass out.”

Yoongi, who they all had forgotten was there since he’d been quiet, finally spoke up. “I hate to be the one to say it, but if this is all true…” He looked at all of them before his eyes landed on Taehyung again, and he grimaced, “how are you two going to survive if she won’t touch you? You might have a month before digestive transmutation, but after that, if you guys can’t figure something out, then you won’t have long past that.”

They all went silent, realizing how dire the situation was, and Taehyung was panicking inside. He’d always wanted a soulmate, however unlikely, and he wanted to be the perfect soulmate, but in her mind there probably was no perfect soulmate. He didn’t want her to be forced to face her fears of touch constantly so they wouldn’t starve, but he didn’t want them to die either. He needed a perfect solution that didn’t exist, but they’d have to start brainstorming, so she needs to be awake to talk with him.

“Is it normal for someone to be unconscious for so long after passing out?” Taehyung left it open for anyone to answer but Namjoon beat the rest.

“Thirty minutes isn’t abnormal per se.” He stood up to face them all. “She woke up a few minutes ago. I’d told the doctor about how it might be a heart thing triggered by stress, or at least that it was my theory and why I thought that. He called me back and asked if I’d come, she woke up and she’s a little bit confused and scared, so he thought a familiar face would be best at first. He wants me to talk with her before you do, explain what’s going on and see how she’s doing before we bring you in.”

“But I’m her soulmate.”

“I know, Tae, I know. He thinks that her trying to talk you first, when there’s so much pressure and so many more feelings between you two, might be overwhelming.” Namjoon gently touched his shoulder. “I promise, as soon as she’s ready, I’ll come out to get you. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.” Namjoon had removed his hand and almost had his hand on the doorknob when Tae spoke up again, quietly. “Tell her I’m sorry and I can’t wait to see her again, please.”

Namjoon nodded before he went inside and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

[swallowerofdharma]

Yashiro’s Cruel God part four

There are probably brilliant analyses out there about the first part of this manga and what I say might as well be just an uninteresting repetition. But we analyze things for ourselves first, to understand them better, to make sense of a story for ourselves, so I’ll give it a try anyway.

Continuing my thoughts on Doumeki and another digression: You’ll be fine. I’m a man and you’re different from your father, right?

If there hasn’t already been a tension within Yashiro between his nihilistic tendencies and his yearning for change, the story wouldn’t be possible. If Don’t Stay Gold is the original one-shot where Yashiro appeared as a background character, when Saezuru begins that some story is repurposed masterfully as a critical starting point for a Yashiro that is now a main character: This setup would become nothing more than a knife that gets thrown right back at me. You can already see this is going to be brilliant writing. When Doumeki was introduced, Yashiro had to be at a point where he was ready to let go of Kageyama, but - at same time - the fact that he had wished for them to be more than friends, that this was something he had remained open to, despite his past and despite his failures, was essential to show a believable story of him falling in love with someone else. What about Doumeki then? I have been asking myself, what are Doumeki’s motivations for being so persistent?

Yashiro is captivated immediately by Doumeki’s eyes, he makes a comment about it and later, in chapter 4, Yoneda captivates the readers too with a beautiful page with no words that isolates Doumeki’s eyes in the rear view mirror of the car, while his gaze is focused on a melancholic Yashiro. The previous sequence, at Kageyama’s clinic, was in large part framed coherently with Doumeki’s point of view as he witnessed for the first time Yashiro interacting with his doctor friend. In chapter 23 Yashiro realizes something unexpected about Doumeki. The English translations of this dialogue varied, I’ll reference here the official translation: The truth is, we’re not similar, at all. From the beginning you were always different. That’s why you look at me like that. With different eyes than his. Yashiro’s expression here is fearful and lost, because he only had those few points of reference, and those he cared for most were his parents who had abandoned him and Kageyama who had rejected him.

After Yashiro was injured on Doumeki’s watch, Nanahara orders him to cut his finger off. Needing medical attention, he goes to Kageyama and tells him about what happened. The doctor’s reaction here is so cold and heartless that if at this point you care for Yashiro at all you can’t help feeling really hurt hearing his words.

The source of Kageyama’s cruelty is his ignorance. He doesn’t know Yashiro well or rather he has built a static image of him and he can’t shake it; he constantly shows how shortsighted he is when it comes to his supposed best friend. And I remember reading people’s thoughts about the symbolism of the contact lens that Yashiro stole, so I think that was sufficiently discussed. I’ll add my two cents to this topic, because I find it interesting the detail of Kageyama being the son of a doctor and becoming one as well, not a very good one he said himself. When his classmate Yashiro told him - in that awkward and nonchalant way of his, another product of the distorted reality that his parents left him with - about the abuse he had endured from his stepfather, Kageyama stops touching him, doesn’t get closer anymore. I think that in his mind, because he had already internalized attitudes that come from medical practice just from his father, in that moment Yashiro stopped being someone he could touch because he became a “case of child abuse”, someone he needed to emotionally distance himself from. I wonder if there are readers doing the same. When Yashiro goes to his father’s wake, Kageyama is happy to see him there, that his classmate cared, but later Yashiro, so unaccustomed to his new delicate feelings, fumbles badly for the right words and any potential connection falls flat. Yashiro didn’t really need confirmation that Kageyama wasn’t straight, he had understood that much, or that the reason he was rejected had to be a different story. Kageyama’s shortcomings now and later are tied to his inability to perceive Yashiro as a full person, capable of yearning, of changing, of suffering from something else rather than the obvious. Yashiro becomes a “mental case” and the good doctor can’t do anything much about it, since it isn’t his specialty. He’ll stay as a friend, but unkind. And when Doumeki discovers that the only person Yashiro is attached to could be so unsympathetic to him, he is angry. Doumeki doesn’t confront Kageyama, for Yashiro’s sake, mostly, for reasons of hierarchy and responsibility, he needs to treat respectfully someone who is on equal standing with his boss. The ones who confront Kageyama are Kuga and Nanahara and it works: when Yashiro brings Ryuuzaki’s girlfriend to the clinic, Kageyama’s perception of him has changed and readjusted.

Doumeki could see glimpses of Yashiro’s yearning, of Yashiro’s love, and he is still determined to see it through now as he was before. He won’t let go or accept lies from Yashiro and about Yashiro. Doumeki isn’t just foolishly in love and enduring everything that comes with it, he wants to know. His motives are layered with the stubbornness that comes with detective work, after what happened between them in chapter 25, he wants to confirm that Yashiro reciprocated his feelings, because he also needs to prove himself that he isn’t a rapist, he isn’t just like his father. He fully committed to it. Only if we acknowledge our selfish reasons, we can really be honest about our feelings, about how we open ourselves to others, how we want them, and all the things we want from them. Yashiro and Doumeki aren’t letting go of their feelings in part because they need a confirmation that they are good enough. And that’s why this story surpasses the romantic premises about love and makes sense from a very down to earth, realistic perspective of how grown men behave, too.

We established that Doumeki is someone who was looking closely at Yashiro since the beginning and won’t stop looking for the truth until he is satisfied. The root causes of his conviction and commitment are various but ultimately go back to his sense of failure regarding Aoi. He aimed to be and became a policeman and failed to see something that was right under his eyes. To be continued…

[ecargmura]

The Apothecary Diaries Episode 8 Review - Early Morning Poison Case

Even when Maomao returns home, she has to treat poisoned patients. Being an apothecary is a lot of work. While she doesn’t solve the case, she does try to figure out what the cause is due to her innate curiosity. The poison case also shows how the pleasure district is like underneath the glam.

I find it interesting how Maomao does cure patients, but she cannot track down the culprit or take action on someone in some scenarios. Like with Lihua’s case, she slapped the lady-in-waiting for doing something stupid like using the banned poisoned makeup powder, but she cannot solve cases like sleepwalking or track down the color-changing fire culprit. Those cases are far beyond her capabilities and status, which makes sense and it’s nice on the writer’s part to not make Maomao solve everything. Like in this case, Maomao treats the poisoned patients, but she cannot confront the culprit because she got hush money from the brothel’s madam and got treated to some fancy snacks usually reserved for customers. Maomao’s job is to treat poison, not solve mysteries.

It does show how dirty the pleasure district can be underneath all of the glam. Problematic customers take courtesans for granted and if they have money, everything can be resolved. Even if the problematic guy was rich, handsome and had women falling for him left and right, killing him means that it’d be a huge problem for the brothel itself due to the power imbalance his family has compared to a place for entertainment.

However, I also like how Maomao does have a bad habit of overthinking. Even if she cannot be too involved in poisoning cases other than doing the treatment process, she still has time to think about what has transpired and what sort of items were used in these situations. Luomen, her father, tells her to not make assumptions, but she still does. It’s a flaw she has, but it’s a good one for someone like her. She figures out that the little girl who sought for the apothecary knew the poisoning wasn’t too life-threatening so she went to the apothecary and not a doctor; she also notices how the little girl got Luomen to come to their brothel, but was considerate enough to walk at his pace as he is crippled. She also figures out that the person who caused the situation was the courtesan who was also poisoned, but not as severely as the male customer. Maomao makes a really good detective in addition to being an apothecary.

Speaking of Luomen, I do like the relationship he has with Maomao. Despite being father and daughter, they are also teacher and student. He goes over the case with her and asks her about certain plants like tobacco leaves and what it can do as a poison and how it can affect someone. Maomao realizes that while tobacco leaves were found in the room, none of them were regurgitated. While she is talented, she still makes slip ups every now and then, and takes her mistakes to heart and makes sure to not make the same one twice in the future. This scene shows that Maomao does take her job seriously and she loves learning above all else.

I have this feeling that Maomao and Luomen aren’t truly father and daughter. I had that feeling last episode but that theory protrudes more this episode. Why I think that is because once Meimei mentioned her going to the Verdigris House’s annex, there’s a scene of her in the corner of the room with a bed-ridden woman. She doesn’t mention this person to Luomen, meaning that Luomen and Maomao aren’t related by blood, most likely. If they were biologically family, she would’ve mentioned that woman’s condition if that was his wife. Given that she said nothing, the bed-ridden woman isn’t his wife; this means that Luomen isn’t married and that Maomao is his adopted daughter. I hope my theory is correct. I do wonder who that bed-ridden woman could be; given how somber the scene is and how serious her eyes looked, I have a feeling that might be Maomao’s mother. If so, I’m surprised that she has a mom and that she’s still alive.

Maomao’s return to the Jade Pavilion was hilarious. Jinshi shows off his jealous side and when he asks about her homecoming and about Lihaku, the context behind Maomao’s words flies over Jinshi’s head. While it’s true that Lihaku did take her out and that she gave him a night of pleasant dreams, it wasn’t sexual on her part, but Jinshi takes it as if they had sex and makes the most hilarious face he has produced by far. Surprised Jinshi face could give Pikachu’s a run for his money. The way Gyokuyou was being a tease and laughing through all of this was hilarious. The reactions from Hongniang and Gaoshun were hilarious to with the former being fed up and the latter tired.

This was a good episode! I did like that the homecoming wasn’t just one episode and that it was a two-parter of sorts. Since she did get two more hairpins, maybe there will be another chance for her to go out again and take Jinshi with her next time so that he’d stop being petulant. Now that Maomao has returned to the rear palace, what sort of cases will she solve now? What are your thoughts on this episode?

[vanmarkus]

Hi I'm back having now watched the episode and oh my god it has been a very very long time since an episode of TV made me this emotional - i don't cry in general but this came very *very* close. Also no one I know is watching it so I hope it's fine that I'm just ranting in your inbox XD

I know you said it was good and emotional and yet it was even more than I expected?!? I think what is striking me so strongly about Brilliant Minds is that you can feel that everyone in the room just /cares/ so much about the characters and the stories they're telling? There's a tenderness underlying all of the character beats we've seen so far, from Oliver to the interns (Dana and her backstory especially comes to mind) and now to John Doe. Having that whole storyline expand over multiple episodes, building up anticipation, finallly meeting him (and oh the dialogues! Playing chess with Dana! Thanking Jacob! Aaaaah). I also really love and appreciate how they've addressed assisted dying, the ethical and emotional quandries that come with it, how your medical team might react to that... So so good. (On another note, I don't know if you're much of a podcast listener, but the very first Invisibilia episode deals with another Locked In syndrom patient - with a happier ending, though - and I couldn't stop thinking about it throughout the episode)

Honestly unsure how they're going to continue/top that in the following episodes, but I'm just so glad I'm along for the ride.

hiii, i'm glad you enjoyed it, i was trying hard not to give away just how mindblowingly good it was agxvgss

as you said, you can just tell that the creators and the writers and the actors and everyone cares a lot for the show, but they are also just there to have fun and it frees them up creatively, i mean i think that much is visible on the show and in the bts stuff they post!

but the show goes out of its way to humanise people with neurological and mental disorders instead of just magically fixing them up and sending them on their way, which is frankly so rare and even rarer to have it this well done. actually, i couldn't really bring up another example at all.

the way they broached the topic and the way they handled it was amazing. i mean... this person was locked in and he had someone who would've cared for him until the end of both their lives, doctors who cared about his wellbeing, his quality of life and him receiving help and love and they all cared enough to respect his wishes and let him die in a peaceful manner anyway, where he was surrounded by people who cared for him, who went out of their way to make it a genuinely good experience (as good as dying can be a good experience, anyway).

clearly my mind is blown, but all that and the way they shown the interactions between Roman and his boyfriend and the interns and Wolf and Carol and just... it was beautiful, painful and skillful storytelling.

it was everything i never knew i needed to see on television.

and i agree, i absolutely love how they just drop some info-nuggets and then let them be, until they expand on them in later episodes, be it the backstory of the interns or Wolf or any of the patients, they don't rush things that don't need to be rushed and get things done quickly to make a point when that serves the narrative better (the latter be more at play in the next episode, but no spoilers).

(also i don't know that podcast, but it does sound interesting for sure!)

in any case, i don't mind that you went long cuz so did i and this episode and this show certainly deserve the attention, so i think it speaks for itself how invested we both are agxvsgs

i'm glad you enjoyed it and thank you for sharing your thoughts with me <333

[ladylynse]

Part 2 of this untitled Doctor Who fic where 10 meets up with Grace Holloway again. Posted for @scaehime, who was interested in more.

-|-

The Doctor jolted awake. He tried to claw the oxygen mask off his face, but a pair of gloved hands held it more firmly in place. “Don’t worry, Mr. Smith,” someone said. “It’s simply a precaution. We—”

But the Doctor wasn’t willing to simply listen. “I’m not signing anything,” he said, albeit with difficulty, and his voice was muffled anyway. “I’m not going to let you do anything. No x-rays, no—”

“Mr. Smith, please remain calm.”

“Calm?” the Doctor repeated, anything but. “Calm? You’re trying to...you…you….” He trailed off. An oxygen mask, he’d thought. But then he’d breathed it, and analyzed it. And it wasn’t just oxygen. At least, not anymore. He had to wonder if he’d even said what he’d meant to say, whether or not it had been heard.

This time he did manage to get the mask off his face. “How long,” he gasped out, “have I been in here?”

“You were brought into emergency three hours ago,” came the steady reply. “You’re stable now. You were in shock. Do you remember what happened?”

“Partially,” the Doctor replied, looking distracted. “Did a Vera Taylor tell you who I was?”

“That’s right. Dr. Taylor has insisted that we treat you as we treated her.” A small laugh. “Like everyone else, in other words. We try to give the best treatment possible. You’re in good hands, Mr. Smith.”

The Doctor thought for a moment, cursing whatever they’d given him. He hated being slow on the uptake. “Did you say,” he finally asked, “that I’ve been here for three hours?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “And, oh, three hours is a long time, isn’t it? Lots of lovely tests you could run.” He sat up abruptly, wincing as his movement partially dislodged an IV from his arm. He pulled it out carefully and turned to assess the nurse who was taking care of him. He scrutinized her for a moment, seeing if he could place her face among his blurred recollections of the time he’d woken up on the operating table, but couldn’t. That was a bit of a relief.

“Mr. Smith, I have to ask you to—”

“Sorry,” he interrupted. He squinted at her nametag. “But, Rachel, I’m fine now. I don’t need oxygen, I don’t need an IV, and I don’t need whatever else you were going to give me.” He glanced down. “Though, I wouldn’t mind my clothes, bloodied or not.” He frowned. “That’ll take a bit of mending. Shame. I hate mending. I can take it to Neo-Sydney, I suppose. They’ve expert tailors there. Then again, the prices, and they don’t fancy taking….” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Still. Better than making do with a costume again.”

“Mr. Smith—”

“Yes, I know, it’s against regulations and all that, but, without them, I can’t show you my ID to—” He stopped, frustrated. “Oh, what’s it matter. I can’t stay. I have more important things to be doing. I shouldn’t even have come in the first place.”

“Mr. Smith, your condition has stabilized for the moment, but I would advise not disregarding the doctor’s recommendations by—”

“Oh, but I wouldn’t be disregarding the Doctor’s recommendations,” the Doctor cut in. “Because I think I know my body a bit better than you, thanks.” He reached for the chart at the foot of the bed.

Rachel smirked at him. “So it’s true. Doctors are the worst patients.”

The Doctor, however, wasn’t paying attention. He flipped from one page to the next and back again, then skipped ahead and frowned. “You’ve scheduled me for an appointment with a cardiac specialist?” he asked slowly.

“Your heartbeat was erratic,” Rachel pointed out. “Even accounting for the shock, the range was worrisome.”

“Speeding up and slowing down,” the Doctor murmured, deciding he’d better not ramble too much in case she decided to have psychiatric check up on him. Twenty-eight beats a minute, then racing to well over a hundred and twenty-eight in an effort to compensate for the fact that his right heart still wasn’t beating. He was lucky he hadn’t slipped into a healing coma. He was liable to find himself locked up in the morgue again if he did.

At the very least, he was lucky they hadn’t cut him open with the intention of putting in a pacemaker or some such nonsense.

“Dr. Taylor was able to pull a few strings,” Rachel informed him, gently pulling the chart away from his hands. “Dr. Holloway will see to you herself.”

“Oh. Right.” The Doctor frowned. He’d managed to walk right into this, hadn’t he? Sure, he’d been debating having a quick conversation with her, and he had landed and set off, but if he was set to meet up with Grace again, this wasn’t what he’d pictured. Him tracking her down, yes, but if he went into the hospital, he wouldn’t have gone in as a patient. At least, not with injuries of this sort. Still, perhaps just bumping into her on the street would’ve been best. But not this. Well, could be worse, he supposed. He wasn’t on the operating table again.

Nearly had been, but wasn’t.

“Clothes?” he prompted, looking up at Rachel again.

“You’ll want someone to bring you a fresh set,” she admitted.

Oh, brilliant. They’d gone and cut them off him, then. He might just be reduced to making off with someone else’s. Again. What would it be now, the third time? There was his third regeneration, and his eighth, and—

“But my coat?” he asked. He didn’t want to lose his coat. He had important things in that coat. Come to that, he had important things in his suit pockets, too. “And, er, you haven’t disposed of my suit yet, have you?”

“Your things are safe, Mr. Smith.” Rachel stood up. “I’ll ask you to wait here while I call Dr. Miller in to speak with you personally.”

“If I going to talk to a doctor,” the Doctor replied, “I would prefer it to be Grace, if that’s possible. Is she free?”

“She didn’t—”

“Brilliant,” the Doctor interrupted. “Thank you. Off you go now, Rachel; time’s a-wasting.” He settled back into bed, waiting for her to leave. She looked startled, but she did as she was told.

The minute she was out the door, the Doctor allowed himself a small moan. Ooh, how humans could stand it with just one heart, he didn’t know. Though, he was lucky they hadn’t tried to give him anything. Probably had something to do with the good Dr. Taylor, that. She’d held up remarkably well, all things considered. She reminded him a bit of Grace. And even a little of Sarah Jane, come to think of it.

But he didn’t have time to think of it. He had to get out of here. They’d taken x-rays. And he wasn’t sure they’d just chalk it up to a double exposure again. He wasn’t even quite sure when he was—something he hated admitting; he had a reputation to uphold, after all—and he didn’t fancy going through anything like 2012 Utah again, to name one of the more recent unpleasant experiences he’d had on Earth. 

Now was not the time to draw attention to himself by trying to start up his right heart.

He slowly made his way down the hallway and a couple flights of stairs, alternately trying doors and dodging into rooms, occupied or otherwise, to avoid anyone who looked overtly official. He wasn’t sure how far he’d get, dressed as he was, but he was willing to give it a shot. And he could always pretend he was lost. It was fair enough, he figured, even if it was, likely as not, going to get him a ticket to psychiatric. Ah, well; he deserved a bit of fun. He hadn’t had as much as he liked lately. The last time he’d gone looking for it, things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.

If hadn’t been for one wise, stubborn human, he would have knowingly destroyed an entire timeline.

Sure, it had reasserted himself, skirting around a few anomalies, but he’d been willing to…. He’d tried to sacrifice.... He’d….

“These are his things?”

“Yes. That’s all we found his pockets. No ID, no money—nothing to support his claims to Dr. Taylor.”

Grace. And someone he didn’t recognize. He’d better get out of here. Quickly. He could nip back and gather his things, then be on his way no worse for the wear. Grace might wonder, but he didn’t recall carrying anything on him now that she would recognize. He’d even had the locks changed; the TARDIS key was different. Though that was more because he couldn’t stand the constant reminder of Gallifrey than anything else. Still. New key, new sonic screwdriver….

New body.

Twice over.

And he had no right to ask. To ask would be to burden her with his problems, because she was the sort of person who would take the burden without being asked and wouldn’t lay it down, no matter what he told her. No matter how much he pleaded with her. And he had no right to do that. She’d built a wonderful life for herself. Moved on, just like she should have. Because she’d recognized—

The Doctor dashed into the nearest room. “Oh, hello,” he greeted cheerfully as a rather frail lady looked up at him. “I seem to have gotten the wrong room. I was looking for a Ms. Jones?” He phrased it as a question, but spent some time looking about the room, wandering deeper into it—and away from the doorway—and making it clear that he didn’t expect an answer. “Terribly sorry,” he added. “I’m the, ah, man from just down the hall. John Smith.” He stuck out his hand, grinning widely.

“Dorothy Mae,” the woman replied finally, taking his hand. “You shouldn’t be up and about, young man. I may not be a doctor, but I’m a mother and a grandmother, and you should be in bed. You’re too pale. Never mind that this is a hospital. I’m here after my hip replacement. You,” she added pointedly, looking him up and down again, “look like you got on the wrong side of a fight.” She didn’t sound particularly approving.

The Doctor tugged on an ear. “Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a bit. “Wasn’t intentional. Just trying to help, me. Nothing serious. They’ll be letting me out as soon as they can process the paperwork, I daresay. Need the beds, I think. But my friend—”

“If they’re going to release you when you look like that,” Dorothy Mae interrupted, “then I will be speaking with my doctor about the sort of care they’re giving here.”

The Doctor began to think that perhaps engaging the woman in conversation had not been his best idea. He pasted a smile on his face. “Oh, well, no, it’s not the care. I’m checking out. Against their recommendations, admittedly. But, really, it’s just a form or two to sign, and—”

“You,” declared the outspoken, if well-intentioned, Dorothy Mae, “ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re liable to get yourself killed if you don’t smarten up.”

She looked like she could have berated him for longer, but the Doctor hastily began extracting himself from the conversation. “Yes, true enough; I will reconsider, I suppose, but I ought to go and tell them that, so I’ll just leave you be, won’t I?” He grinned at her and made his escape.

He bumped into someone and tried to continue on his way, but whoever it was caught his arm. “Mr. Smith,” drawled a man’s voice, “I believe you were assigned to room 403?”

“Dr. Miller, I presume?” the Doctor asked, trying not to look guilty. If he’d waited just one more minute.... “Yes. And may I ask why you are a full two floors from your assigned room?” Over Dr. Miller’s shoulder, the Doctor had watched Grace’s face fall. Perhaps she had thought to connect the dots. He didn’t recall telling her that regeneration worked more than once. Granted, he hadn’t exactly had time to explain anything. Common theme in his life, that.

“Oh, well,” he said slowly. “Fancied a bit of a jaunt, that’s all. Looking to see if I could get a cup of tea, to be honest.” Well, partially honest. He wouldn’t mind a cup of tea now. He needed something to clear his head. “And, I was wondering about my things. Could I have them back? Even the suit? I know an excellent tailor.”

“We can discuss this at a later time, once we have you back in your room.” Dr. Miller steered him towards the lift.

“I’ll join you when he’s settled,” Grace said shakily. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder to get a better look at her. She hadn’t changed, really. So perhaps it wasn’t that long after all. Blimey, it better not be before the millennium. He’d be in a spot then. But surely….

The Doctor accepted his scolding meekly, knowing that if he had any chance of getting out of here, it would be better to throw them off guard. And, sometimes, if you played your cards right, and you acted like you really needed something, they’d give it to you. Like shoes. Shoes would be an excellent thing right now. You can only make it so far without shoes. All right, last time he’d made it over to Grace’s house without shoes, but he’d needed the toe tag on as proof, hadn’t he?

The Doctor did his best to ensure that his conversation with Dr. Miller was short. Grace entered shortly after Dr. Miller had finished his scolding—well, chiding, more like, as if he were a child. But when she came in, holding his coat—and it would take a bit to get those stains out—and a small paper bag, presumably his other things, he almost didn’t want Dr. Miller to leave. He regretted being so apologetic and compliant. He might’ve bought more time if he hadn’t been.

Because, really…. He didn’t want to face her.

He shouldn’t have come.

“John Smith?” she asked softly, depositing his things at the foot of the bed and settling down on the chair by its head. He saw the sleeve of his suit jacket poking out from the bundle that was his coat. Excellent; she’d gotten that, too.

Still, he had to answer her question. He hesitated, and nodded once, sharply and definitively.

“Where are you from?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

“Nottingham,” he answered. “Brilliant place. You ought to visit it sometime.”

“And may I ask why you wanted to speak with me, and why you told Dr. Vera Taylor that I knew you?”

“Oh, well, I just….” The Doctor trailed off. Grace was smart, and lying wasn’t his forte in this regeneration. “It’s been a long while, that’s all. I knew you wouldn’t recognize me.”

She was thinking it. He could tell by the expression on her face. Blinking abruptly, she reached for his chart, scanning it. He watched her shoulders fall. “They want to keep you for monitoring,” she noted. “You’ve a bad heart.”

“It’s just overworked,” the Doctor said bluntly. “Temporary. A victim of circumstances, if you will.”

“X-rays inconclusive?” Grace repeated, looking up from the chart. “You’re due for another round, to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. First round was faulty.”

The Doctor was silent for a moment. “Grace,” he said, slowly, deliberately, “may I have my things?” He held out his hand. “Just the bag for now, if you will.”

“I’d prefer Dr. Holloway at the moment, Mr. Smith.”

“Doctor,” the Doctor corrected.

Grace smiled slightly. “Oh, yes,” she amended. “I do recall Vera mentioning that. Dr. Smith, then.”

“Doctor,” the Doctor repeated, watching her hand falter as she reached for the bag.

She turned back to look at him. “I’m afraid, Dr. Smith, that I do not take to calling anyone simply by their profession. Particularly those from Nottingham.” She passed the paper bag to him.

The Doctor took it and smiled. “Well, it’s a bit more than a profession.” He overturned the bag to see what he could find. They hadn’t found much. Sonic screwdriver, TARDIS key, wallet of currently blank psychic paper—pity, that; might be a bit harder to fool them, if they recognized the covering—and his spectacles. Just some surface things, nothing from too deep in his pockets.

And nothing Grace would recognize.

Though, he had to decide, now, whether or not he was going to go through with it. He’d meant to. But then, he thought maybe it would be best if he didn’t. Because the only reasons he’d meant to have any conversation at all with her were selfish reasons. He wanted to know what she’d seen, and how she’d recognized it—how she’d seen what he, and so many others, couldn’t.

A friend had once told him that if you could choose who lives and who dies, you would be a monster. And he’d agreed whole-heartedly at the time. It wasn’t even that long ago. How could he have forgotten that conversation? How could he have turned his back on that so utterly? How could he have disregarded everything and gone and done it anyhow?

He’d needed to be taken down a few pegs.

It hadn’t taken much.

But it was too much all the same.

One life had had to be ended to keep history on track.

And he hadn’t been the one to realize that.

He’d been the one to ignore it.

And then he’d been shown how important it all was, and how foolish and arrogant he’d been, and how wrong he’d been, to stray from that, even once. He’d seen what he’d become.

A monster.

“Dr. Smith? Are you all right?”

The Doctor blinked. Grace repeated her question, moving closer to check on him.

No. He couldn’t just leave. He’d come here, and the TARDIS had made sure he’d come this far, sneaky as she was. He wanted to run from this, like he’d run from everything else. But he couldn’t keep everything inside him forever, keeping silent. He had to tell some things to someone.

Someone who would listen.

Someone who might help him to understand.

Someone he’d touched but not destroyed.

“I’m always all right,” the Doctor croaked, pulling away from Grace. He reached instead for his coat, digging in the pockets. He had some in here, he was sure of it. He’d gotten them the same time he’d picked up that chocolate egg at Easter, since he hadn’t had any for years and he had had a bit of a liking for them. They wouldn’t be too old; a couple of months, that’s all.

“Dr. Smith, you should just relax. Your heart—”

Right. Dr. Miller had insisted on hooking him up to that again. Bother it all. “Is compensating,” the Doctor cut in. “That’s all. Temporary, like I said.”

“You’re not well.”

No, he wasn’t. But he was on the mend, now—if he could just stop running, just for a moment, long enough to have a conversation.

“Grace—”

“Dr. Holloway.”

“Grace,” the Doctor repeated, very deliberately, as his hand closed upon a small paper bag of candy. He pulled it out of his coat pocket and offered it to her. “Jelly baby?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “I was informed that they’d gone through your pockets.”

The Doctor shrugged. “They didn’t know what they were looking for. Would you like a jelly baby?”

Grace’s expression hardened. “Stop it,” she hissed.

The Doctor was taken aback. “What?” he asked, blinking at her. He hadn’t meant to actually offend her. Yet that was how she was acting.

“Who put you up to this?” she continued angrily. “I’m not having it, you hear? I’ve had enough with people laughing at me. I’m not telling that story anymore.”

Oh.

He hadn’t expected that.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected.

He hadn’t thought about it all too much.

“What year is it?” he asked slowly.

Wrong question, it seemed, with what she thought of him now. “I’ll thank you not to persist in telling tales in an attempt to speak to me again,” she said sharply, rising to her feet. “Good day, Mr. Smith.”

“Doctor,” he corrected again.

She glared at him. “Dr. Smith, then. Good day.”

“I’d missed you, Grace,” he said truthfully. “But I’d still thought that I was doing the right thing by not coming back. After you’d made your choice, I mean.”

It wasn’t enough to catch her attention, and she started out the room, ignoring him.

And, well, now that he’d made the decision to talk to her, he wanted to talk to her.

So he made sure that he did catch her attention. “The Master survived, you know. Getting sucked into the Eye. But she’s closed now. Room’s locked, good and tight. Even I can’t get into it. Don’t think I will, unless circumstances change.”

She turned back at the doorway to look at him. “How long?” she asked, her voice still cold.

“Pardon?”

“How long have you spent listening to my stories, gathering every bit of information from every story I’ve ever told the children in the recovery ward? And why do you insist on patronizing me?”

She was defensive. Hurt.

Because of him.

Because she’d believed in him and had told her story.

He’d still managed to….

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely contrite. “I am so, so sorry, Grace. I didn’t know.”

“Dr. Holloway,” she corrected, but her voice had softened slightly.

And then she was gone.

(Part 3)

[felice-jaganshi]

Alastor X OC

His Pet

Chapter 3/??

The next few days, Zariah seemed rather reclusive. She spent a lot of time in her room and when she wandered the halls of the hotel, she always looked kind of dazed. Though she'd snap right out of it soon as someone said her name. It made Alastor curious what was going on in that head of hers. One day, he stopped her wanderings by poking a finger to her forehead. She stopped moving but still seemed lost in her head.

“My dear, what is going on in that head of yours?” He asked softly, bending over to look in her eyes.

She seemed so far away, but her reply was confident, “the dragon kingdom being at war with the griffin tribes because of a vague prophecy that one of their princes would kill their king…”

He blinked, maintaining his constant smile, but confusion shone in his eye. “The what now?”

She seemed to zone back in, “oh, sorry Al, I was in my head again… too many ideas bouncing around at once.” She looked a little embarrassed. 

He hummed, “Is that all? You seemed so out of it, even angel dust was worried you were on drugs. But you snap out of it too quickly for that to be the case.”

“Oh, no, I just had a really good idea for a novel, and I was so focused on world building, I forgot I was walking around. I should probably go back to my room and write it all down before I forget what I just came up with.” She turned to leave, her tails swishing about, almost touching his face. He smelt a relaxing perfume from them, like almonds and peonies. He decided to follow her.

“Might I follow you, dear? I'm quite curious what Charlie has done for your room.”

“You're not going to help the others prepare for battle?” She asked, looking over her shoulder. 

“Oh no dear, they'll be fine on their own.” He grinned like always, but it felt empty to her.

“Huh… okay.” 

She entered her room, “Shoes off here at the entrance please. The less dirt tracked in the better.” She took off her own shoes and went straight for her desk.

Alastor looked about from the entrance. The bed was a bunk bed, but the top was covered in books, and the bottom had thick curtains covering all the sides to make it a “canopy bed”. There were papers and notebooks scattered all over the floor, opened to different pages with a doctor's level of scribbling all over the pages. He took off his shoes begrudgingly and made his way across the floor. She was sitting in a chair, rocking it back on its back feet as she wrote quickly.

Alastor looked over her shoulder and was having a hard time making out any of the words. “My dear, are you even writing in full sentences?”

“Oh, no. These are just my personal notes. I don't intend for people to read my raw notes, they're just for me. If you want to read the stuff I've actually cleaned up, there's a pile over in the corner of cleaned up stories.” She pointed over to them. “The one in the red notebook I think you'll like best. It's a horror romance, with a wendigo like monster, and werewolves. The wendigo is the love interest.” 

She didn't look up from her pages as she went back to writing.

He was vaguely curious, so he went over and picked it up. He skimmed it a bit. “This is quite unique. You're getting more and more intriguing by the day, darling.” She stopped writing as he called her that, she lost her balance on the chair and fell back with a yelp!

But before her head could hit the ground, the chair was caught and turned back upright, with her still on it. She looked back and saw Alastor's shadow had caught her.

“My my, you should really be more careful. You could have gotten a nasty bruise there.” His smile took on a playful air.

She laughed lightly, “thanks Al. You just surprised me is all. I've never been called ‘darling’ by anyone before.”

“Really? A charming young thing like you?” He asked, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned on the desk.

“young? Hah, and charming?” She shook her head, “I may look cute in this form, but when I was alive… let's just say my soul is more beautiful than my body was. And for the 2020's, I sure wasn't considered charming. You're from what, the 1920's? There's like 100 years between us. And probably about half a continent at least.” She sighed, then held one of her own tails, petting the fur to soothe herself. “Oh, hey, so I noticed the deer ears and antlers, do you have a tail too? Oh, do your antlers get velvet that sheds seasonally?” She smiled at him.

He couldn't help but chuckle, “ah dear, you ask such interesting questions. And I plan to answer none of them!” She pouted and he shuffled his chair over to pet her head again, “Your hair is so soft.” She purred and her other tail flipped into his lap.

“My tails are soft too. They're really soothing to pet when I get anxious. You can pet my tails if you'd like!”

He pulled his hand back from petting her and held them both up, “ah, my dear, I think you may have misunderstood my affections!” He sounded a bit nervous. She looked at him for a moment before blushing and waving her hands frantically!

“Wait! No no, I just meant it as a friendly offer! I know you weren't trying to come onto me, I'm sorry if it came off weird. It's not like my tails are sensitive or anything weird. I was just being friendly.” She then hid her face in her hands, her ears laying flat. 

He sighed, a relieved look crossing his face, “ah, good. Then this was just a misunderstanding. I'm sorry for causing you such distress, Zariah.” He then reached out and pet the tail in his lap, just one stroke… it was the softest thing he'd ever felt! He kept petting it, and Zariah began to calm down and relax. 

“Well, I'm glad that's the case. I'll also take our bond seriously as well.” 

“It's okay, I'm sorry I caused you discomfort. I should have worded that better. Or added further clarification or something. I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable around me. You're my first friend in hell, and I'm taking that bond seriously.” She had a determined look, and he chuckled, it seemed his new pet liked her leash. 

[babyrdie]

Hi I'm back after a while without showing up in your askbox!! I saw this post and was wondering if perhaps you had any idea of Patroclus's feats and abilities in the sources in general? Not just The Iliad, but The Iliad + other sources!

Hi, no problem!

I'm going to list skills in general, not just the most obvious ones (i.e. warrior skills). Also, when I say the translation is "improvised" it's a euphemism for "I ran the Greek text through several different translators, looked up Greek dictionaries online when a word confused me, and looked to see if any academics mentioned it in a way that made the meaning clearer" and, therefore, it's not a 100% faithful translation but more like something that reflects the spirit of the thing. As you may notice, this process takes some time and in the end I can't even be 100% sure about what's being said, so that's why I'm going to ignore the fact that the name Patroclus is mentioned a considerable number of times in Homer scholia. There may be a lot of interesting stuff there, but since there's no point in me going through this time-consuming process every single time the name is mentioned, that's all we'll have for today. And I noticed that the OP of your print mentioned Diomedes, but since you only asked me about Patroclus, I'll focus on Patroclus. And finally, the usual disclaimer that this is just a hobby and I am not an academic of anything, so there may be mistakes!

Healing

Patroclus has knowledge of healing, as Achilles taught him what he learned from Chiron. This doesn’t make him the camp's "doctor", just someone who can be useful if needed. As the text itself mentions, Achilles also knows and, not only that, he was the one who taught Patroclus! And well, no one claims that Achilles is the camp's doctor. STILL I think it's fair to mention it because it's useful and I think it's kind of ridiculous to pretend the scene doesn't exist and I've seen people claim that Patroclus NEVER knew ANYTHING about healing, which is objectively false. There's no way to say that this is a useless skill, right? And what Achilles taught was what he learned from the wise Chiron, so it was certainly a good lesson. While Patroclus isn't really focused on healing, it's a good ability and I think it's unfair to dismiss it entirely.

”[…] And spread the soothing, healing salves across it, the powerful drugs they say you learned from Achilles and Chiron the most humane of Centaurs taught your friend. […]“

The Iliad, XI, 992-994. Translation by Robert Fagles.

I think in the Republic Plato talked about the sons of Asclepius and mentioned that Patroclus was in charge at the time, but I'm not sure if Plato was referring to Patroclus taking over as healer in the absence of the camp doctors (because it's been a while since I read that passage). Anyway, if this ability of Patroclus's was such an important characteristic of the character, I imagine it would be more commonly emphasized. There is also no iconographic context that associates Patroclus with healing that I have seen (I can be mistaken), the only one that shows him in a healing scene is the famous kylix in which Achilles is taking care of him. But well, the healer in this case is Achilles, not Patroclus. So I interpret this as him knowing enough to be useful to be needed, but he's no Machaon or Podalirius. I don't know if I explained it decently, I hope so. In any case, this doesn’t antagonize Patroclus's warlike abilities, since even Machaon fights and Achilles, who is canonically the best of warriors, is even more associated with healing than Patroclus.

Horses

He’s an excellent horseman, even capable of controlling the divine horses Xanthus and Balius. Even Automedon, who is Achilles' charioteer, seems to consider Patroclus to be better at this than he was. In other words, he was better at this than the guy whose main job was to do that.

Diores’ son Automedon shouted back, "Alcimedon! What other Achaean driver could match your skill at curbing this deathless team or spurring on their fury? Only Patroclus. skilled as the gods themselves while the man was still alive— now death and fate have got him in their grip. On with it! Take up the whip and shining reins. I’ll dismount the car and fight on foot.”

The Iliad, 17.544-551. Translation by Robert Fagles.

Furthermore, in The Iliad the horses mourn Patroclus, missing him after he dies and only move after Zeus intervenes. During Patroclus' funeral, Achilles even describes how the horses are sad because Patroclus was so good at taking care of them. Therefore, Patroclus's skill in this context wasn’t a claim of Automedon alone. It isn’t a subjective idea, it’s objective.

Plutarch, while making arguments — not related to the myth, he just uses the myth as an example —, mentions how Achilles' horses were loyal to Patroclus.

[...] Now I here call those honors which the people, Whose right it is, so name; with them I speak: as Empedocles has it; since a wise statesman will not despise true honor and favor, consisting in the good-will and friendly disposition of those who gratefully remember his services; nor will he contemn glory by shunning to please his neighbors, as Democritus would have him.For neither the fawning of dogs nor the affection of horses is to be rejected by huntsmen and jockeys; nay, it is both profitable and pleasant to breed in those animals which are brought up in our houses and live with us, such a disposition towards one's self as Lysimachus's dog showed to his master, and as the poet relates Achilles's horses to have had towards Patroclus. [...]

Moralia, Political Precepts, 820f-821a. Translation by William Watson Goodwin.

Philostratus, who directly disagreed with Homer on some points and directly agreed with him on others (through the account of the ghost of the character Protesilaus, here a cult figure) in a context too complex for me to explain, says that “his horses carried Patroklos safe and sound, just as they did Achilles” and when describing Patroclus mentions that “His nose was straight, and he flared his nostrils as eager horses do” (Heroica, 736). So there is still an association of Patroclus with horses, although not as emphasized as in The Iliad. Also, Philostratus wrote the characters in a way that is very intertwined with their hero cults.

Interestingly, Ptolemy Hephaestion wrote a version of the story in which the reason Patroclus was a good horseman was that the god Poseidon, whose lover he was, taught him.

[...] Homer calls Patroclus the first horseman because he learned from Poseidon, who loved him, the art of riding horses.

Bibliotheca, 190.6. Translation by John Henry Freese.

Sure, when I read this I thought it was funny that Patroclus fucked his friend's great-grandfather (context: Poseidon > Neleus > Nestor > Antilochus), and in fact Ptolemy gives a number of versions not found anywhere else and not really very popular, and I won't lie and say I really like his versions (for example, Oneiros seems like a really pointless addition to me. And the Penthesilea myth is so... anticlimactic?). But when I try to think about what logic Ptolemy used, it's actually kind of... impressive? I mean, Poseidon is the associated with horses and even the creation of horses is credited to him — as a quick example of Poseidon's association with horses: “Earth-shaking Poseidon, he is devoted to you, who rule over horse-races, and his thoughts are pleasing to you. His sweet temperament, when he associates with his drinking companions, surpasses even the bee's intricate honeycomb”, Pythian Ode 6 by Pindar. Hephaestion justifying Patroclus' skill with horses by using the god associated with them, in a way, a way of highlighting that Patroclus is so good at it that he received divine teaching from the god who supposedly knows the most about the subject. So to me, this isn't just about Patroclus fucking Antilochus' great-grandfather (sorry for my immaturity, I still think the idea is funny), it's also about his skill!

Anyway, what I want to say is that Patroclus was certainly a horse girl.

Dogs

This is kind of a bonus, but in The Iliad it’s said that Patroclus had nine dogs in “And the dead lord Patroclus had fed nine dogs at table” (Book 23, lines 198-199). Because of the term used, it is believed that these are Patroclus's actual pet dogs. I’m putting this here to argue for the possibility that Patroclus was simply skilled with animals in general, given the whole horse girl thing and now this.

Cooking

And, of course, he knows how to cook. It's not a war skill, but I still think it's worth mentioning that he was responsible for serving food and wine to Achilles and sometimes Achilles' guests.

He paused. Patroclus obeyed his great friend, who put down a heavy chopping block in the firelight and across it laid a sheep’s chine, a fat goat’s and the long back cut of a full-grown pig, marbled with lard. Automedon held the meats while lordly Achilles carved them into quarters. cut them well into pieces. pierced them with spits and Patroclus raked the hearth, a man like a god making the fire blaze. Once it had burned down and the flames died away, he scattered the coals and stretching the spitted meats across the embers, raised them onto supports and sprinkled clean pure salt. As soon as the roasts were done and spread on platters, Patroclus brought the bread, set it out on the board in ample wicker baskets. Achilles served the meat.

The Iliad, 9.246-260. Translation by Robert Fagles.

Given how casually Achilles asked Patroclus to cook and Patroclus complied, it seems to me that this is a common occurrence. Achilles also helps him naturally, as if it were a domestic routine. Therefore, Patroclus' cooking skills were hardly just basic survival skills, since they were part of his daily duties and he was even responsible for serving guests. This seems even more the case given that Achilles specifically laments not being able to eat Patroclus' food. He even describes Patroclus's cooking style as "quick and expert”.

[...] The memories swept over him ... sighs heaved from his depths as Achilles burst forth, "Ah god, time and again, my doomed, my dearest friend, you would set before us a seasoned meal yourself, here in our tents, in your quick and expert way, when Argive forces rushed to fight the Trojans. stampeding those breakers of horses into rout. But now you lie before me, hacked to pieces here while the heart within me fasts from food and drink  though stores inside are fuIlI'm sick with longing for you! There is no more shattering blow that I could suffer. [...]”

The Iliad, 19.372-382. Translation by Robert Fagles.

This role of Patroclus (in this case, serving Achilles and his guests) is mentioned in other texts, especially those that try to interpret this passage from Homer. Here are some examples, just because I find it intriguing to see sometimes what kind of analyses the ancients were interested in doing.

Concerning That Expression In Homer, ζωϱότεϱον δὲ ϰέϱαιε." NICERATUS, SOSICLES, ANTIPATER, PLUTARCH Some at the table were of opinion that Achilles talked nonsense when he bade Patroclus "mix the wine stronger," subjoining this reason, For now I entertain my dearest friends. But Niceratus a Macedonian, my particular acquaintance, maintained that ζωϱόν did not signify pure but hot wine; as if it were derived from ζωτιϰός and ζέσις (life-giving and boiling), and it were requisite at the coming of his friends to temper a fresh bowl, as every one of us in his offering at the altar pours out fresh wine. But Socicles the poet, remembering a saying of Empedocles, that in the great universal change those things which before were ἄϰϱατα, unmixed, should then be ζωϱά, affirmed that ζωϱόν there signified εὔϰϱατον, well tempered, and that Achilles might with a great deal of reason bid Patroclus provide well-tempered wine for the entertainment of his friends; and it was not absurd (he said) to use ζωϱότεϱον for ζωϱόν, any more than δεξιτεϱόν for δεξιόν, or ϑηλύτεϱον for ϑηλυ, for the comparatives are very properly put for the positives. My friend Antipater said that years were anciently called ὠϱοι, and that the particle ζα in composition signified greatness; and therefore old wine, that had been kept for many years, was called by Achilles ζωϱόν.

Moralia, Quaestiones Convivales, 5.4. Translation by William Watson Goodwin.

Again, Homer tells us what we are to do before we beg to eat, namely, we are to offer as first-fruits some of the food to the gods. At any rate, the men in the company of Odysseus, even when they were in the Cyclops's cave: 'Therefore" (they say) "we lighted a fire and offered sacrifice, and then we took ourselves and ate of the cheeses." And Achilles, although the envoys had come in haste in the mid-watches of the night, none the less "bade Patroclus, his companion, to offer sacrifice to the gods; and he lad first-offerings on the fire." Homer also shows us the feasters at least offering libations: "Young men filled the mixing-bowls to the brim with wine, and then measured it out to all, after they had poured the drink-offering into the cups. Then, when they had made libation. . . ." All of which Plato also retains in his symposium. For after the eating was over, he says that they offered libation and thanksgiving to the god with the customary honors. Similarly also Xenophon. But with Epicurus there is no libation, no preliminary offering to the gods; on the contrary, it is like what Simonides says of the lawless woman: "Oft times she eats up the offerings before they are consecrated."

Deipnosophists, 5.7. Translation by Charles Burton Gulick.

Battle/Body Count

Okay, I was actually going to start with Book 16 of The Iliad, but then I realized… ironically the first commonly caused death of Patroclus was accidental: Clysonymus. And the interesting part is: we don’t know how the hell this happened. People usually assume that Patroclus pushed him or something and I thought that too, but ironically there’s nothing that explicitly states the manner of death as far as I know. In fact, we don't even know what motivated Patroclus' anger... he lost and didn't accept it, Clysonimus cheated, was there some verbal provocation? We don't know. Anyway, maybe Patroclus was a hot-headed child? It’s not every day that you accidentally kill someone over a game after all… that’s not something that would happen commonly in a childish fight. Also, I think it's probably best if I mention that the Heroica excerpt shows Patroclus as a ghost and a cult figure, just to add context. Anyway, I'm going to count Clysonymus as the first kill, but that's not about battle prowess, since it was an accident and he was a child. It's just for the "Body Count" part.

“[...] But one thing more. A last request — grant it, please. Never bury my bones apart from yours, Achilles,  let them lie together... just as we grew up together in your house, after Menoetius brought me there from Opois, and only a boy, but banished for bloody murder the day I killed Amphidarnas' son. I was a fool! — never meant to kill him —  quarreling over a dice game. Then the famous horseman Peleus took me into his halls, he reared me with kindness, appointed me your aide. So now let a single urn, the gold two — handled urn your noble mother gave you, hold our bones — together!"

The Iliad, 23.99-110.Translation by Robert Fagles.

[...] At Opus, in a quarrel over a game of dice, Patroclus killed the boy Clitonymus, son of Amphidamas, and flying with his father he dwelt at the house of Peleus [...]

Library, 3.13.8. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

VINEDR: [...] They also sing of how, while young herdsmen were playing dice around the altar of Achilles, one would have struck the other dead with a shepherd's crook, had not Patroklos scared them away, saying, "One shedding of blood on account of dice is enough for me." But it is possible to find out about these things from the cowherds or anyone living in Ilion. [...]

Heroica, 686. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

In a version given by Strabo of a local tradition of the Locrians, the boy's name is extremely different, as it’s Aeanis.

[...] Now Homer says that Patroclus was from Opus,​ and that after committing an involuntary murder he fled to Peleus, but that his father Menoetius remained in his native land; for thither Achilles says that he promised Menoetius to bring  back Patroclus when Patroclus should return from the expedition. However, Menoetius was not king of the Opuntians, but Aias the Locrian, whose native land, as they say, was Narycus. They call the man who was slain by Patroclus "Aeanes"; and both a sacred precinct, the Aeaneium, and a spring, Aeanis, named after him, are to be seen.

Geography, 4.4.2. Translation by H. L. Jones.

The scholia of The Iliad also comments on this, giving two possible names for the dead boy.

Menoitios’ son Patroklos grew up in Opos in Locris but was exiled for an involuntary mistake. For he killed a child his age, the son of the memorable Amphidamas Kleisonumos, or, as some say, Aianes, because he was angry over dice. He went to Phthia in exile for this crime and got to know Achilles there because of his kindship with Peleus. They cemented a deep friendship with one another before they went on the expedition against Troy. This story is from Hellanicus.

Scholia of Iliad. See here.

There is another possible first death of Patroclus, this being Las. This is because it happened when Patroclus was Helen's suitor, which makes more sense to have happened before his exile given the circumstances of the event. Why would such a exiled child be Helen's suitor? It doesn't make sense. Now someone with high status? It makes sense. Even though he was chronologically too young for Helen, he could have been betrothed until he came of age. This idea of ​​Patroclus killing Las doesn’t seem to be a common version, and seems to be a speculation by Pausanias in my opinion. Despite saying that the local myth that Achilles killed Las is wrong because Achilles was never Helen's suitor and attributing it to Patroclus because he was one of the suitors (see Library 3.10.8 and Fabulae 81 as examples of this), Pausanias never explains how this happened or why. I mean, yeah, Patroclus was a suitor...but what about that? A lot of mythological male characters were. Grown men, even. Why Patroclus and not them? Is it because of his association with Achilles? Like, "hey, you guys thought it was Achilles, but it wasn't him. It was his dearest, duh"?

At a spot called Arainus is the tomb of Las with a statue upon it. The natives say that Las was their founder and was killed by Achilles, and that Achilles put in to their country to ask the hand of Helen of Tyndareus. In point of fact it was Patroclus who killed Las, for it was he who was Helen's suitor. We need not regard it as a proof that Achilles did not ask for Helen because he is not mentioned in the Catalogue of Women as one of her suitors.

Description of Greece, 3.24.10. Translation by W.H.S. Jones.

Honestly, I find the whole idea kind of funny because, chronologically, Achilles at this time was probably less than 10 years old and Patroclus wasn't much older. So this local legend indicates that the founder of the city was killed by a child. Sure, in Achilles' case I guess it could make sense because of the whole thing about him being stronger than the average human, but with Pausanias' assumption that it was Patroclus, an common mortal who was a child or at most a pre-teen, who killed Las... well, I imagine that this legend probably exists because being killed by Achilles would be a woah! way to die (after all, no one can judge you as weak for that since it's Achilles) and no one was really thinking about chronology as is typical of organic myths. As for the version with Patroclus, I think it exists because theoretically Achilles wasn’t Helen's suitor, and he was never even involved in the Oath of Tyndareus in the sources i’ve read. But we can't be absolutely sure if this was just Pausanias' deduction or if it was already a thought that others had and Pausanias repeated. In any case, it was a local tradition that hasn’t been widely spread.

And here you think: okay, now it's TROY! No, now it's the JOURNEY TO TROY! Ships, remember? Before Troy, the Achaeans fought against the Mysians, who were led by Telephus, a son of the famous Heracles. If you know the basics of this myth you already know that Telephus was wounded by Achilles and later had to be healed by him, but an interesting detail that Pindar mentions is that Patroclus “stood alone beside Achilles, when Telephus turned to flight the mighty Danaans”. There is no death caused by Patroclus stated here, but it fits as a battle feat I imagine. At least, in the Greek scholia there was a passage that was something like “to present to the wise man how Patroclus was equipped with courage”/”in order to present to the prudent man how Patroclus was distinguished by courage” in an improvised translation/”so that the wise man would know that Patroclus was brave, standing against Telephus” (see here and here).

[...] Menoetius, whose son went with the Atreidae to the plain of Teuthras, and stood alone beside Achilles, when Telephus turned to flight the mighty Danaans, and attacked their ships beside the sea, to reveal to a man of understanding. From that time forward, the son of Thetis exhorted him in deadly war never to post himself far from his own man-subduing spear.

Olympian Ode 9. Translation by Diane Arnson Svarlien.

This is also mentioned by Philostratus, although he adds Protesilaus as one of the prominent characters in the scene — the text of Heroica emphasizes Protesilaus in general, so this isn’t unexpected.

VINEDR: [...] Protesilaos said that he and Achilles together with Patroklos were arrayed against the Mysians [...]

Heroica, 689. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

And now it's Troy! In Book 16, Patroclus’s named deaths are:

(I’m using Robert Fagles’ translation as references for the localizations in parentheses)

Pyraechmes (337)

Areilycus (362)

Pronous (474)

Thestor (477)

Erylaus (490)

Amphotereus (495)

Erymas (495)

Epaltes (495)

Tlepolemus (496)

Echius (496)

Pyris (496)

Ipheus (497)

Euippus (497)

Polymelus (497)

Thrasymelus (550)

Sarpedon (578-579)

Sthenelaus (684)

Adrestus (812)

Autonous (812)

Echeclus (812)

Perimus (813)

Epistor (813)

Melanippus (813)

Elasus (814)

Mulius (814)

Pylartes (814)

Cebriones (860)

But Patroclus actually killed more people than that in his aristeia — moment when a character proves to be an aristo, that is, the best; basically, generally martial/warlike prominence of the character —, after all we still have these lines:

[…] and Patroclus charged the enemy, fired for the kill. Three times he charged with the headlong speed of Ares, screaming his savage cry, three times he killed nine men.

The Iliad, XVI, 911-913. Translation by Robert Fagles.

He attacked three times and each time killed nine men, resulting in twenty-seven unnamed deaths. This means that in Book 16, Patroclus killed a total of 54 men in a single battle. This is an impressive feat indeed, but I also have to be fair and not omit that Patroclus had Zeus’s divine aid — Diomedes, Achilles, Odysseus, Paris and other characters also had divine aid so nothing rare or that takes away the merit completely, but important to mention. Euphorbus and Hector also killed Patroclus with divine aid (Apollo and Zeus, hi! Many remember Apollo because he literally knocked Patroclus off the walls of Troy and literally stripped him of his armor, but Zeus also masterminded it!). Zeus didn't directly interfere like Aphrodite did with Paris and Apollo did with Hector, but Achilles made a libation to him and asked for two things 1) that Patroclus get glory 2) that Patroclus return safely, and the text says that Zeus accepted the first prayer and rejected the second...so I imagine he had some influence on Patroclus getting glory. And yes! Zeus both gave glory to Patroclus and was partly responsible for his death, but no, this wasn't Zeus being volatile! Suffice it to say, there was a whole context about balance, destiny, necessary things, etc.

Clearly the most notable of these deaths is Sarpedon, a demigod of Zeus. Not only is he the most prominent character of those Patroclus killed, he is generally Patroclus's most remembered feat in other texts. In a fragment attributed to Hesiod, we have a part related to Sarperdon. Although it doesn’t finish what is being said, it’s obviously about Patroclus’ aristeia and the death of Sarpedon:

Oxyrhynchus Papyri 1358 fr. 1 (3rd cent. A.D.): “[…] Very greatly did he excel in war together with man-slaying Hector and brake down the wall, bringing woes upon the Danaans. But so soon as Patroclus had inspired the Argives with hard courage…“

Catalogues of Women, frag 19A. Translation by Evelyn-White, H G.

Pseudo-Apollodorus also mentions Sarpedon prominently, while the others are just “many”.

But when Achilles saw the ship of Protesilaus burning, he sent out Patroclus with the Myrmidons, after arming him with his own arms and giving him the horses. Seeing him the Trojans thought that he was Achilles and turned to flee. And having chased them within the wall, he killed many, amongst them Sarpedon, son of Zeus, and was himself killed by Hector, after being first wounded by Euphorbus.

Library, E.4.6. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Philostratus says that Patroclus never wore Achilles' armor. Yet Patroclus's deeds remain. The difference is that there is no Achilles' armor in the equation.

VINEDR: Not in the way that Homer when he depicted cities, stars, wars, fields, weddings, and songs, but the following is what Protesilaos says about it. The armor of Achilles has never been anything other than what he brought to Troy, neither was Achilles' armor ever destroyed, nor did Patroklos put it on because of Achilles' wrath. He says that Patroklos died in his own armor while distinguishing himself in battle and just grasping the wall, and the armor of Achilles remained inviolable and unassailable.

Heroica, 732. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken. 

Tryphiodorus' poem, which is more like a summary to be honest, also chose this moment as one of the important ones to report:

[...] The Lycians wept for Sarpedon whom his mother, glorying in the bed of Zeus, had sent to Troy; howbeit he fell by the spear of Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and there was shed about him by his sire a mist that wept tears of blood. [...]

The Taking of Ilios. Translation by A.W. Mair.

What is told by Quintus Smyrnaeus occurs AFTER Patroclus's death, and therefore Patroclus isn’t really a character in Posthomerica/The Fall of Troy. However, he’s still mentioned. In one of these mentions, we have the fight against Sarpedon.

[...] So in their midst gave Thetis unto him a chariot and fleet steeds, which theretofore mighty Patroclus from the ranks of Troy drave, when he slew Sarpedon, seed of Zeus [...]

Posthomerica, Book 4. Translation by A.S. Way.

Clement of Alexandria, whose work also has a really specific context, at one point uses the death of Sarpedon by Patroclus as a kind of argument.

You have proof of all this in your mysteries themselves, in the solemn festivals, in fetters, wounds and weeping gods: "Woe, yea, woe be to me! that Sarpedon, dearest of mortals, doomed is to fall by the spear of Patroclus son of Menoetius." [Homer, Iliad 16.433] The will of Zeus has been overcome, and your supreme god, defeated, is lamenting for Sarpedon’s sake.

Exhortation to the Greeks, Book 4.Translation by G.W. Butterworth.

Dictys Cretensis, despite varying considerably from the most common version of the myth (for example, Patroclus doesn’t die on the same day that he kills Sarpedon), still presents Patroclus as being the one who kills Sarpedon.

In another part of the field Patroclus and Sarpedon the Lycian had withdrawn from their men and were trying to protect the flanks of their respective armies. Driving out beyond the battle lines, they challenged each other to fight in single combat. First, they threw their spears, but neither hit the mark. Then, leaping from their chariots and drawing their swords, they came face to face and fought for much of the day, exchanging blows fast and furious, but neither could wound the other. Finally, Patroclus, realizing that he must act with greater boldness, crouched behind the protection of his shield and came to close quarters. With his right hand he dealt Sarpedon a crippling blow along the back sinews of the leg and then, pressing his body against him – Sarpedon was faint and beginning to totter – pushed him over and finished him off as he fell.

Dictys Cretensis, Book 3. Translation by R.M. Frazer.

Hyginus — Fabulae has a lot of Greek myths adapted for a Roman audience, so I'm considering it — seems to be just repeating Homer. The descriptions of Patroclus’ attitudes follow The Iliad and he even says Patroclus killed 54 people, the same number of men he kills in Book 16 (see Fabulae, 106, 112, 114). The thing is: considering that the number is the same as in Book 16 of The Iliad, it seems to me that Hyginus was counting Patroclus' deaths in just one day and not actually the people he killed in the entire ten years of war — that number is still unknown.

There is a VERY unusual version of the myth in which the Trojan prince Paris is killed by both Achilles and Patroclus, and we know this because of Plutarch. This, of course, is an unusual version, since usually both Patroclus and Achilles die before Paris. Furthermore, Paris' death is usually caused by a poisoned arrow from the hero Philoctetes, a gift from Heracles to him, coupled with Paris’ rejected first wife Oenone's refusal to heal Paris after he had unjustly abandoned her in favor of beautiful Helen, which leads to his death. Plutarch finds this version dubious, and attributes it to Ister. I honestly find it surprising even for a variant, not only because for this to happen the myth would have to change drastically, but also because I genuinely cannot understand how the hell it would take two of them to kill Paris. Menelaus is weaker than Achilles and he single-handedly defeated Paris before Aphrodite intervened, after all. Incidentally, Hector is stronger than Menelaus and needed a lot of help to kill Patroclus and was killed by Achilles (who also received help, mind you. Athena, hi). Even Paris only killed Achilles because he had help from Apollo and some versions even mention only Apollo as the killer without mentioning Paris having any role (e.g. Sophocles' Philoctetes and Fabulae). In other words, it really doesn't make sense in my opinion. Anyway, I think it's fair to mention all versions, so here I am.

But a very peculiar and wholly divergent story about Aethra is given by Ister in the thirteenth book of his "Attic History." Some write, he says, that Alexander (Paris) was overcome in battle by Achilles and Patroclus in Thessaly, along the banks of the Spercheius, but that Hector took and plundered the city of Troezen, and carried  p81 away Aethra, who had been left there. This, however, is very doubtful.

Life of Theseus, 34.2. Translation by Bernadotte Perrin.

There are other times when Patroclus's war skills are highlighted in texts, whether these texts are poems, plays, debates, etc.

Plutarch mentions the duality of Patroclus' character at one point in the text, mentioning how he had a calm personality and yet was able to do what he did in his aristeia. For context: the phrase mentioned by Plutarch is a reference to what Patroclus says to Hector before he dies — thus, Book 16 of The Iliad —, claiming that Hector only defeated him with divine help from Apollo and Zeus and that, otherwise, several of him still wouldn't be enough.

[...] So, although Homer described Patroclus in the happinesses of his life as smooth and without envy, yet in death he makes him have something of the bravo, and a soldier's gallant roughness: “Had twenty mortals, each thy match in might, Opposed me fairly, they had sunk in fight." [...]

Moralia, How A Man May Inoffensively Praise Himself Without Being Liable To Envy, 5. Translation by William Watson Goodwin.

In Philostratus' text, Patroclus' warrior skill is emphasized. For example, at one point, the character Vinedr uses Patroclus along with Diomedes and Ajax as examples of good warriors.

VINEDR: [...] As a fighter, he would not have been inferior in any way to Diomedes, Patroklos, or the lesser Ajax.

Heroica, 675. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

When speaking about the importance of Telephus, son of Heracles, in Mysia, Vinedr once again uses Diomedes and Patroclus as references for heroes celebrated alongside the Aiakidai — the descendants of the judge of the dead Aeacus, son of the nymph Aegina and the Olympian Zeus; for example, Achilles, a descendant on the side of Peleus, of whom Aeacus is the father with Endeis being the mother.

VINEDR: [...] Just as the Achaeans celebrated in song the Aiakidai and heroes as renowned as Diomedes and Patroklos, so the Mysians sang the names of Telephos and Haimos, son of Ares. [...]

Heroica, 688. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

Both Patroclus and Big Ajax are described as “excellent fighting machines” by Palamedes. And of course, you may remember Palamedes from the Epic Cycle, but I want to clarify that Philostratus writes Palamades in a positive light as opposed to Odysseus, who he writes in a negative light. So in this case, Palamades is a pretty reliable figure.

VINEDR: [...] When Palamedes sailed back to the encampment and reported the events of the expedition, ascribing everything to Achilles, he said he said, "King, are you ordering me to attack the walls of Troy? I believe the Aiakidai, both the son of Kapaneus and the son of Tydeus, the Locrians, and, of course, Patroklos and Ajax are excellent fighting machines. But if you also need lifeless fighting machines, believe Troy already lies within my control." [...]

Heroica, 714. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean and Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

In the Suda, a Byzantine encyclopedia, there is an explanation of a proverb about the descendants of the nymph Aegina, supposedly in reference to their having been better in the past. Among the said descendants of Aegina who were better in the past, Patroclus is listed. Thus, Patroclus is an example of “excellent youth”.

Translated headword: at first Aegina brought forth excellent youths [...] Translation: A proverb. For at its peak, they say, the Aeginetans changed for the worse from [sc the days] of Achilles, Patroclus, Aias [and] Neoptolemus]. Greek Original: *ta\ prw=t' a)ri/stous pai=das *ai)/gin' e)ktre/fei: paroimi/a. e)n a)kmh=| ga/r, fasi/, metaba/llousin e)pi\ to\ xei=ron oi( *ai)ginh=tai a)po\ *)axille/ws, *patro/klou, *ai)/antos, *neoptole/mou.

Suda, tau.109. Translation by David Whitehead.

Patroclus' association with Aegina occurs in more than one way (Hesiod says that Menoetius was the brother of Peleus, whose grandmother Aegina is. See Catalogues of Women, frag  61. Pindar says that Menoetius is the son of Aegina and Actor. See Olympian Ode, 9.50. A scholia of Pindar says that Menoetius is the son of Actor by Damocratia, daughter of Aegina and Zeus and thus Aeacus’ sister. See here. An improvised translation would be something like: “And Pythenetus (FHG IV, 487) says that, having come together with Zeus, Aegina gave birth to Aeacus and Damocratia, whom Actor was to marry in Thessaly and to bear Menoetius; afterwards, however, he went to Opuntia... for he was a relative of the Locrian.”), and the Suda doesn’t specify which version it’s using when it says this.

In the comedy Frogs, Aristophanes has Aeschylus claim that he composed “many great feats of valor,” and he gives Patroclus and Teucer as examples (see Frogs). Sure, you might think, “Since when did Aeschylus write anything about those two?” but in that case, we should remember that many of Aeschylus’ plays are lost. It’s possible that Aristophanes was referring to real plays. For example, judging by the titles of some of the lost plays, it’s been theorized that he may have written a trilogy centered around the suicide of Ajax, which would likely have included Teucer as a character. And one of the lost trilogies concerned Achilles, including the character Patroclus. Patroclus was already dead, since the first play entitled Myrmidons is about Achilles’ mourning, but it shows that at least Aeschylus didn’t ignore Patroclus. So perhaps it makes sense that Aristophanes chose Patroclus and Teucer, because Aeschylus probably actually wrote about such characters.

The bucolic poet Theocritus uses Patroclus as one of the comparisons to exalt Adonis. It seems random, but it will make more sense if you read the complete text. The characteristic attributed to Patroclus is bravery, which is probably linked to the war scenario.

[...] And blosoms bare all shining fair will raise this shrilling lay; – “O sweet Adonis, none but thee of the children of Gods and men ‘Twixt overworld and underworld doth pass and pass agen; That cannot Agamemnon, nor the Lord o’ the Woeful Spleen, Nor the first of the twice-ten children15 that came of the Trojan queen, Nor Patroclus brave, nor Pyrrhus bold that home from the war did win, Nor none o’ the kith o’ the old Lapith nor of them of Deucalion’s kin – E’en Pelops line lacks fate so fine, and Pelasgian Argos’ pride. Adonis sweet, Adonis dear, be gracious for another year; Thou’rt welcome to thine own alwáy, and welcome we’ll both cry to-day and next Adonis-tide.”

Idyll XV, 134-144. Translation by J.M. Edmonds.

In one of Pindar's odes, he writes about the victorious boxer Hagesidamus and his mentor Ilas, comparing them to Patroclus and Achilles. This comparison has opened up room for possible interpretation, with some people interpreting the passage as indicating that, similar to Hagesidamus and Ilas, Patroclus and Achilles were also capable boxers. However, Pindar could also simply have intended to use Patroclus and Achilles as a model of a relationship to be compared with Hagesidamus and Ilas.

[...] let Hagesidamus, victorious as a boxer at Olympia, offer thanks to Ilas, just as Patroclus did to Achilles. [...]

Olympian Ode 10. Translation by Diane Arnson Svarlien.

The only other time I remember Patroclus and boxing appearing in the same scenario is in relation to his Funeral Games, where boxing was one of the sports. Now, that doesn't mean Patroclus liked boxing, just that it was one of the sports. There was also an archery competition and I don't remember any source associating Patroclus with archery, for example.

Ghost

You see, we know that in The Iliad the ghost of Patroclus appears briefly only to ask Achilles to give him the funeral rites, otherwise he will be unable to enter Hades and, consequently, find rest. This, mind you, is not an ability of Patroclus, just a side effect of being a dead without rites. He isn’t even the only one to do this, as seen in Euripides’ Hecuba with Polydorus. However, this is not the only time a source shows the ghost of Patroclus in action.

In Heroica, Patroclus' ghost is able to manifest at will. This is because of Patroclus' status as a worshipped hero, as these regional cults were characterized by the belief that the hero could manifest himself either at the place of worship or at his tomb, and sometimes both were the same place. Since Philostratus, the writer, was concerned with representing the Homeric heroes as closely as possible to their cult figures, it makes sense that he would write this type of scene. Patroclus manifested his presence to break up a fight, using his own regret for accidentally killing Clysonimus as an argument.

VINEDR: The events in the Pontus, my guest, if you have not yet sailed to it, and all those things that he is said to do on the island there I shall tell you [....] They also sing of how, while young herdsmen were playing dice around the altar of Achilles, one would have struck the other dead with a shepherd's crook, had not Patroklos scared them away, saying, "One shedding of blood on account of dice is enough for me." But it is possible to find out about these things from the cowherds or anyone living in Ilion. Since we inhabit the banks of the Hellespont's outlets, we are in close contact with each other, and, as you see, we have turned the sea into a river. [...]

Heroica, 686. Translation by Jennifer K. Berenson Maclean e Ellen Bradshaw Aitken.

In the cities of the Black Sea/Euxine Pontus there was a cult of Achilles, who was given the name Achilles Pontarches to represent his role, since Pontarches meant something like “he who commands the sea” and Achilles was worshipped as the protector of sailors and provider of water. And what does this have to do with Patroclus, you ask? Well, this cult is associated with the myth in which Achilles is transported to a sacred island called Leuke after death instead of going to the Underworld, first attested in the lost epic Aethiopis. And although this epic doesn’t mention Patroclus going there, later sources, such as Pausanias, list Patroclus as a figure present at Leuke. In the Roman period, Arrian traveled through the region and, visiting places and speaking with locals, described characteristics of the cult. Among the characteristics, he said that Patroclus was also worshiped in the region and that his ghost even communicated with the residents.

[...] Some are in praise of Patroclus, whom those, who are disposed to honour Achilles, treat with equal respect. [...] They even say further, that Achilles has appeared to them not in time of sleep, or a dream, but in a visible form on the mast, or at the extremity of the yards, in the same manner as the Dioscuri have appeared. This distinction however must be made between the appearance of Achilles, and that of the Dioscuri, that the latter appear evidently and clearly to persons, who navigate the sea at large, and when so seen foretell a prosperous voyage; whereas the figure of Achilles is seen only by such as approach this island. Some also say, that Patroclus has appeared to them during their sleep. [...]

Arrian’s Voyage Round the Euxine Sea. Translation by William Falconer.

[insomniac-101]

What do you think of those who think the doctor fell in love with Madame de Pompadour ? I see tons of people take this story for one of the greatest romances of Doctor Who and I just don't understand why ? I mean, the doctor has a casavona personality, partly because he modeled himself after the type of man he thought Rose would like. Most of her flirtations are also all blondes, like Rose. The episode follows when he realizes that one day Rose is going to die and that he loves her, as he agrees to take Mikey, Rose's current boyfriend on board ! The doctor is not in a relationship with Rose at the time, but clearly loves her and having accepted Mikey on board, must have tried to be a minimum of respect. Especially since good... me too if Madame de Pompadour in person had kissed me like that I wouldn't have said no, and probably flirt.. It's literally like meeting one of the celebrities you have a crush on !

Hello! First and foremost, thank you for the question!<3<3 I absolutely love seeing all these perspectives and I feel truly honored that you chose to ask me:)

That being said, the reason why that story interpretation is so popular is partly because the episode's writer, Steven Moffat, stated it was so (in the confidential I believe, though I could be misremembering). Thus with him being the main writer for the episode, people take it for what it is. 

I think it all comes down to personal interpretation/ how much agency one gives to the intention of the writer- so for that very reason, I don't really feel any sort of way towards people who feel otherwise (unless they use it to invalidate the importance of Rose as a character, in which case, I do get annoyed haha) because there is indeed a drastic difference in the way that both RTD and Moffat interpret the character of the Doctor. So I think this episode being so divisive, is kind of a testament to that drastic gap in interpretations that occur (which is an interesting conversation in itself, but i’ll save it for a later post lol).

My take, is much like yours- I don't think the Doctor ever fell for her in return. Funny enough, how charitable I am towards the overall story of this episode, in particular, tends to change depending on my mood but I think I've seen it enough times to come up with an interpretation of my own that I feel flows well with the overarching narrative of the RTD era. (Though I must preface this by saying I have not recently rewatched the episode, so from here on out, I'm going straight off what I remember lol)

What some people see as love, I see more as a tragedy. Yet another unfortunate situation for all those involved because the Doctor is yet again left to face the inevitability of loss– how his duty as the Doctor does not lend him the same leniency that other mortals seem to have with their decisions.

I always felt the Doctor’s motivations for fighting for Reinette’s approval stemmed more from a place of trying to stroke his own ego. With his low self-esteem, he tends to gravitate towards people who challenge the negative perception he has of himself. To have someone so pretty and important fawn over him is flattering, and the fact that she doesn’t know him deeply is even more tempting- as it almost guarantees the last impression she’ll have of him will be positive rather than negative.

But that's just it- he likes the attention, and it serves as a temporary distraction from what he has with Rose, who's currently showing Mickey around. Another person who was partially brought along for a similar reason, to kind of serve as a buffer until he’s inevitably forced to confront what has yet to be addressed between him and Rose.

With the Doctor insisting on saving her, without the context of knowing she will become a major figure in history, she confuses his interest as attraction and acts accordingly. His appeal is the mystery surrounding him- how he's this figure who's heroic and caring, and she grows a fondness for him but never the real him, just the image.

I find it interesting how terrified the Doctor looks when she enters his mind, for that very reason. I think his fear is partially driven by the sudden vulnerability she takes out of him unwillingly, and it’s her lack of reaction at his horror that kind of drives the reading that she doesn’t really see him as a person but a fantasy. Because here he is trying to help her, and she takes the chance to violate a boundary of his without stopping to consider how he might feel about it in return.

For this very reason, I always thought their pull towards one another was more out self-serving reasons rather than a genuine connection- because if one wishes to stake their love on that little interaction they have, there’s never anything after that suggests that they genuinely like one another. Moreso, the fantasy the other seems to satisfy for the other.

So when he sacrifices himself, it's more to quell the guilt of messing with her timeline than love itself. Because with having left an impression on her since childhood, he now has to take responsibility for feeding into the belief that his reason for saving her is a selfless one.

Even if it is unintentional ( according to Moffat’s personal input, at least) some moments in the episode seem to validate this reading (that what Reinette and the Doctor feel for one another is not really love), mainly through the inclusion of Rose and the way she is used in this episode.

When he's on the other side, for example, and they're drinking wine- he never seems as invested in Reinette as he was when she was just another historical figure he was showing off to. He seems sad, and almost regretful of his decision, and you see him longingly stare at the stars, which coincidentally mirrors that of Rose's own scene, where she too blankly stares upwards.

Though it's not stated, the framing of this particular moment does seem to suggest that they are thinking of one another. To me, it cements that the motive to save her was not really one motivated by the prospect of living with Reinette but more, because it was the only real way to remedy the situation. He’s there out of duty, not out of free will.

When she leads him to her room, he seems distracted- not at all invested in what's happening. It's depressing how neither seems entirely content with the situation because even Reinette notices this shift in behavior. It breaks the fantasy, and when she prods and he refuses to admit what is quite obvious, that realization pushes her to show him the gateway that still remains. Because, in a way, it was a test to see if he’d choose her, and evidently, his reaction is brutally honest and nor one she wants if her expression is anything to go by lol.

His lack of interest in living with her is no better exemplified by the way he lights up (a stark contrast from the prior sadness he was seeping in) when he realizes there's a way back, and he goes to the other side, not even considering how Reinette would feel about it. The genuine confusion when he sees her sad- he seems to realize how callous his relief must have been and tries to find a means of remedying it. His offering to take her to see the stars is more like an olive branch of sorts. Something to distract her from the undeniable truth that he will never stay. Because if he had the choice- the person he's chosen to spend his life with is not her, but Rose.

Being stuck, with no means back to Rose, is what heightens his insistence to keep her with him in the episodes that follow. Because being deprived of the one person he loves, even for a moment, seems to make him realize that Rose is simply not someone worth losing and so he stops running. Or rather, where he runs, will always be alongside her and though he never voices his feelings, he shows them in other ways. Ways that only Rose, the person who knows him best and loves even the most flawed facets of his being, understands.

When he reads the letter, I always felt the expression on his face was more likely that of guilt than love. He feels guilty for having wasted so many of her years. Of having had Reinette wait for him to fulfill a promise that could only do so much to make up for what was a delay of the inevitable, her death.

His reason to mourn her is most likely spurred on by the realization that he never really knew her, considering how he spent most of his time with Reinette showing off. It must be sobering, even horrifying, to realize that someone put so much faith in him, only for him to disappoint them. How in the grand scheme of things, their absence doesn't change anything because they were put aside just as easily as they were including. Putting into perspective just how something as simple as the desire to be validated, could often have devastating consequences on those around him. It restricts him further, hardening his resolve that he must deprive himself of his temptations for a human life out of fear and in turn, only further drives his natural cynicism.

I think the major reason why I don't really like looking at this particular trip as a love story is because I feel it lacks a lot of substance. There's not enough evidence to convince me that they were ever in love, especially when competing with the overarching plotline with Rose that stems back to series one. Instead, I find the episode is far more compelling when one views it as a character study- where we see the Doctor stripped of all his more favorable qualities and indulge in something so selfishly human- his ego, only for the episode to end so tragically as a reminder that he's ultimately not human and can't get away with such a simple temptation.

(also I wish to clarify that when I say ego, I don't mean it as a bad thing. I think one of ten's more human qualities is that he often struggles to choose between the selfless and selfish choice, and it is something that is partially responsible for what drives his eventual spiral we see happen later on. His need for validation is human, and it's all the more tragic, given just how removed he is from humanity. It adds to the loneliness of his existence, where he is left to pine over what he can never have even if he so desperately wants it- which if you know me, I love that haha)

Had the story been anything other than a love story, I feel like it would have been more interesting and would have removed the troubling implications behind certain aspects of their romance. My biggest grievance with the episode is partly due to that, how half-baked a lot of the characterization feels (because there are many moments where you can almost see Moffat intentionally or unintentionally challenge Reinette's faulty perception of the doctor, as if shedding the rose-tinted glasses, but he never follows through. Which personally, only goes to fuel my dislike for the episode as a whole because what I love about the RTD era as a whole is that the Doctor is portrayed as imperfect. He's not above being criticized for his actions, yet this episode seems to only go on to glorify him as this saint and I just don't think that fits with what we've seen of this era but I digress), but I also think that’s why I partially enjoy talking about it. The beauty of fiction is that we can make do with certain aspects of a piece of media we like, and mold it to what we see as more fitting to the story. I may disagree with the notion that they were in love, because to me they never were, but I can make sense of them in other ways.

Hopefully that answers your question<3

[kikithegr8]

Rant for my cyber gangsters…

So I had an anonymous person try to tell me I’m racist against Asians and then say something about me not liking Lucas because I’m racist or whatever. I deleted the post because honestly I felt like entertaining it was beneath me but now that I have some time I wish I hadn’t because this seems like an opportunity for a teaching moment…

So first of all these characters aren’t real. If someone doesn’t like a character it’s real weird when people get offended. Imagine if in real life we all had the same type. A lot of y’all would be single because you’re bitter and can’t compete so lucky for you that’s not the case.

If I’m completely honest I’m less likely to choose white characters simply because I’m less likely to relate to white characters culturally. LITG S3 Bill is probably the antithesis of what I’d be interested in, guys like Gary, and Eddie are physically attractive, but I’ve never had a white guy as my end game. That being said if there are white people who are not interested in people of color that’s fine by me but keep it real. Don’t try to insult all characters of color just acknowledge your preference.

As it relates to Lucas I initially thought he was gorgeous and humble and rich and bougie in a good way. I like to get dressed up and go to nice restaurants IRL so I thought we’d be perfect together. He was a sophisticated doctor with a little edge to him. Plus he has a bike and is outdoorsy ish but I think would be down for glamping. I’ve been around people where my personality is too much, and I’ve been around people where I feel like I’m not enough as a person and that is okay, those are not my people. Lucas triggered something that made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Idk if it was when I tried to kiss him after we ate and he rejected me, or that I wanted children and he didn’t, or if it was that I felt pressure to take him back when he returned but something didn’t sit right with me. He was my end game but I took the money. The issues I had with Lucas I don’t associate with him being Asian.

The only complaint I have against Jin is that I told him I messed around in casa, he saw me mess around in casa several times and he just accepted it. If he had a little more self respect about him I’d still be on the fence but that made me lose interest. Of course if I didn’t fool around in the first place we wouldn’t be here so my violation is 10x worse than his. There are people complaining he led Sienna on. He’s 22. He was being nice. Maybe even keeping his options open. I don’t care. As a woman, always check to see if your man keeps that same energy when different people are around. If he switches up, that’s not your man. Sienna is dumb.

I can’t look at someone and tell whether they are Brazilian, Spanish, or Puerto Rican. I can’t look at someone and tell whether they are from Niger, or Morocco, or Zimbabwe. I can’t look at someone and tell whether they are Chinese, Vietnamese, or Japanese. Someone tried to tell me I’m racist against East Asians (probably the same person). Sweetie you are vastly overestimating my geographical capabilities.

Anyway let’s breakdown the definition of racism, shall we?

I don’t bother to check the ancestry for Black or white people, I don’t think Black or white people care honestly. I’m quite sure I’ve used someone with Irish ancestry to represent someone who actually had Scottish ancestry or someone with Nigerian ancestry to represent someone with Ghanaian ancestry. I know I’ve used someone with Mexican ancestry to represent someone with Brazilian ancestry and someone with Filipino ancestry to represent someone with Japanese ancestry. So if I’m treating everyone the same irrespective of race does that meet the definition of racism? I don’t discriminate.

For the anonymous people out in social media who make ridiculous accusations about people’s character, I’m not sure what your goal is. If you are out here trying to hurt feelings, let it be known 1. I’m not out here seeking validation from people who aren’t valid. In other words people who are anonymous bullies. I’m grown grown. Idk what in the after school special is going on but I don’t do bullies. 2. I’m real big on self awareness. There is not much anyone can say to massage or bruise my ego. 3. I have to actually respect you for your opinion to mean anything. Someone actually respectfully reached out and I decided that was enough for me to pull back from doing face claims (the boy I pulled for Jin is fine too, but whatever, noted. I’m just trying to bring joy by sharing pics of cute boys but if it’s causing discomfort then I’m gonna chill on that). 4. The way you interact with people is so much more of a reflection of who you are than who they are. So why you are out here anonymously making crazy accusations what does that say about you? Perhaps your time would be better spent unpacking that.

Keep trying me if you want to, please know I am not moved nor bothered.

Otherwise if someone wants to engage in a conversation or has respectful constructive criticism please respond. I genuinely am interested in your perspective and want to see what you have to say. I know I’m not perfect. I have plenty of room to grow. I love interacting with people from different ethnic, racial, or national backgrounds because I can learn from different perspectives.✌🏽🫶🏽