#freud is mentioned though somewhere else

[fearandhatred]

I'm curious about the Freudian one 👀

for this one i actually posted a chapter on ao3 for about three seconds before i decided to take it down lmaoo. now that i'm reading through it again i feel like it actually has potential so maybe i'll pick it up again in the future. but anyway this was the summary:

Crowley doesn't make it a point to make friends. However, he has a surprisingly symbiotic relationship with this one duck. A long one, too. Granting a being eternal life may or may not be illegal, but Crowley doesn't see the harm in it. Hell hasn't said anything, and as far as he knows, the duck community hasn't either. Esther has her personal issues. So does he, even though they're mostly about a certain man-shaped angel thing. They meet up once in a while to talk about it.

anddd a snippet:

At around 2am, he sobers up and decides to go to the park. Esther is usually asleep at this time, but when he gets there, she's sitting at their usual spot. Crowley goes to sit beside her. He's not shaking but he feels like it, and he can only vaguely sense the grass he's sitting on, the clothes against his skin, Esther's presence to his left. It's like a quiet discorporation. Esther tells him that one of her children has finally passed. Crowley tells her that Aziraphale's gone. Esther tells him that her son was old and they were both past their prime anyway, so it was inevitable. It was time for him to go. Crowley tells her that Aziraphale wasn't supposed to leave him so soon. Crowley apologises for being so distraught when Aziraphale is merely gone and not dead. Esther says grief is not comparable. Crowley feels that surge of anger again, although maybe it's despair this time, or maybe it's nothing. His finger twitches like his hand is about to start trembling, the kind of trembling that starts up and can't be stopped the moment he stops thinking about it, and he's just so over it all. A feeling travels down his arm and, scowling into the grass, he shoots his hand out and sets fire to a bunch of cattails in the pond. Esther gasps. "Crowley. What are you doing? Put that fire out this instant." "There's water right underneath it," he grumbles. "Nothing's going to happen." Esther stomps right up to him and kicks his shin with a webbed foot. "You will put that fire out now, young man," she snaps. "How would you feel if someone set fire to your home?"

another snippet

[minor-solemnity]

To be a Seer pt. 1

In which there is a monster on the loose in Hogwarts, reader is a very confused fledgling Seer, and Tom fits in there somewhere. (Messing with the timeline because I can - Tom opens the Chamber in his sixth year not his fifth.) This is also basically the fic version of:

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @naps-and-lemons​ @riddles-wifey​ @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

As you manoeuvre your way out of the classroom, you catch Riddle’s impassive stare. His expression is clear, carefully blank, save for a small furrow in his brow. He steps aside wordlessly for you, and you pretend you don’t feel his gaze on your back as you exit the room.

“I’m not saying that Blevins has no insightful commentary on the 1923 strikes, I’m just saying I find it suspicious that his sudden reversal on his previous position comes at a time when it undoubtedly would suit his own personal profits,” Lizzie says as you walk towards the eastern wing of the castle. She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder and you duck your head to hide your grin. You’d both read his column in the Prophet this morning and had promptly entered into a heated discussion about the 1923 potions strikes and the holes of Blevins’ longwinded argument that unions should have no place in wizarding society.

“I do find it interesting that he left out that his own personal stakeholder position in the Potters’ potions company,” You agree with a roll of your eyes. “You’d almost think that he has something to hide.”

“Do you think we’re going to end up doing tealeaves again?” Lizzie asks as you enter the Divination classroom together. “Merlin, I hope not. I can’t stand tea without milk.” You simply shrug a shoulder in response and take your usual seat in the corner of the room.

“Such a pointless class,” Lizzie mutters as Levintus swings into the classroom and with a wave of his wand teacups and teapots appear on the small table that you share. “I really wish I’d opted for Arithmancy.”

“You hate numbers,” You remind her and begin to pour. “And it’s not pointless. It’s about as close as the wizarding world gets to psychology.” Of all the classes offered at Hogwarts, Divination is the one you look forward to the most. Not, you suspect, for the same reasons that your cohort have. For them, it’s a chance to chat with their friends without worrying about Professor Levenitus handing out detentions, for you… for you, it's a chance to practise your skill without anyone truly suspecting that you’re Seeing anything. You don’t say any of this to Lizzie, of course, even to you, your abilities are confusing and there is something about the thought of revealing that the fog in the crystal balls clears for you sometimes that scares you.

“Hmmm, I think I’d take Freud over tea leaves.” She’s about to say more but at that point, there’s a shriek from the opposite side of the classroom and you both whip your heads around to see what the commotion is. Loretta Fawley has knocked her and her partner’s teacup over in her haste to get away from the table, she’s flapping her hands around and you can see that they’re red and shiny, as though she’s stuck them in a fire and let them burn. “What the fuck?” Lizzie murmurs, her pale blue eyes are wide with shock.

You wish you could share her surprise, but your gaze is already shifting to the back of the room. As you suspected, Simeon Avery is tucking his wand back into his robes, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. You’d seen it in the smoke three nights prior. Not this particular scenario exactly, but you’d watched as the smoke had curled and shifted in the night sky, splitting itself unnaturally until two figures had formed and the cherry of your cigarette had sparked brightly. You’d known without knowing why or when or how that Loretta would be hurt and now… Now you wish tried to do something about it before.

“Mr Riddle, take Miss Fawley to the hospital wing,” Levintus’ clear voice cuts through the relative hysteria of the class, his eyes are hard and cold and you know that he suspects one of the Slytherins. You also know that he won’t ever be able to prove it. Slytherin’s look after their own, after all, and Loretta is a muggleborn.

From his seat next to Avery, Tom Riddle stands up smoothly, his expression is one of polite concern. You stand before you can convince yourself not to. You hate drawing attention to yourself unless you have to, but you cannot stand the thought of Riddle escorting Loretta alone. He might not have been the one to cast the spell, and he might be a muggleborn but he’d also not done anything to stop Avery. “Please, Professor,” You say, pushing past Riddle to take Loretta by her shoulders, “I’ll escort Miss Fawley. I’m her house Prefect after all; she’s my responsibility.” Levintus raises a questioning eyebrow but Loretta is starting to cry and he shrugs a shoulder a little helplessly, gesturing for you both to leave.

As you manoeuvre your way out of the classroom, you catch Riddle’s impassive stare. His expression is clear, carefully blank, save for a small furrow in his brow. He steps aside wordlessly for you, and you pretend you don’t feel his gaze on your back as you exit the room.

***

You slump further into your seat, resting your head on Lucas’ shoulder as you push peas around your plate. The events from Divination has left you shaken and with little appetite. “You should eat something,” Lucas says with a small smile, his own plate has been emptied twice since you all sat down. “It’s mad what happened though, and you don’t know who hexed her?” Lizzie shakes her head and you shrug a shoulder. You know, of course, but what good would it do in saying anything? Asides from anything else, Riddle had been sitting next to Avery and his standing among the professors is such that it would be your word against his. You’re not going to kid yourself that your prefect badge will do anything to sway the professors to your view. Maybe Dumbledore would believe you seeing as it’s no secret that he doesn’t seem particularly fond of Riddle, but then again, the looks the Transfiguration professor gives you when he thinks your not looking makes you feel like he doesn’t exactly think all that much of you either.

“I just hope it doesn’t happen again,” You murmur, though you know in all likelihood it will. “Loretta is the third muggleborn this year to be on the receiving end of something like that.” Lizzie shoots you a questioning look, her brow crinkles and she prods at her pudding thoughtfully.

“You think it’s got something to do with blood status? It could just as easily be someone’s twisted idea of showing off the new spells they’ve learnt.”

“If they were just showing off, they’d wait until Defence. I don’t know… I just… have a feeling, I suppose.” You don’t mention that this feeling is based in smoke and cracked mirrors, in tea leaves and dowsing rods. Lucas wraps his arm around you and squeezes you tightly and you grin into his shoulder. Your friends are used to your more sombre moods now and they know when to relent and when to push you into talking through the muddled thoughts that run rings around your head. “Subject change?” You ask at last, “I heard that Hillary Messers is going to stage a protest over the lack of Valentine’s Day activities this year.” This statement quickly launches you all into a long conversation of the merits of Valentine’s Day with Lizzie declaring that if a single boy asked her out for it she will curse their future bloodlines. Next to her, a boy in the year below you shifts away and you laugh brightly.

Across the hall, Tom Riddle watches you.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue vi. finale

the day of

Warnings: non/dub con sex (intercourse, oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Things are laid out for the reader.

Note: So this is the last part of the epilogue. I’m not gonna promise a sequel but I will leave the possibility open in the future. Maybe we’ll see our reader again somewhere down the road. But to all those who have read and supported this series, thank you. I appreciate you and I love you. You guys don’t realize how much you mean. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog or like (feel free to leave your thoughts in a reply if you don’t wanna reblog)!

...

On Wednesday, you sat your midterm in the morning and if it wasn’t for your still tender ass, it would’ve been perfect. You walked out confident. You were one of the first to finish and that allotted you a whole hour and a half between the exam and your next class. 

You took out your phone, on airplane mode for the test, and flipped it back into service. Several messages littered your inbox, all from one man. Steve texted last night after your meeting with Bucky but hadn’t shown up to your relief. For once, his business kept him from you. 

You scrolled through the bubbles: ‘good luck, sweetie,’ ‘call me when your done’, etc. His impatience was obvious even though he’d known you wouldn’t see til now. You headed for the cafe below the library and ordered your usual before you hit call.

You sat in the corner as the steam rose from the paper cup and the other end picked up almost immediately. “Uh, hey,” You turned and looked out the window onto campus. The trees were barren and the leaves dried and dying. The city’s first snow was imminent.

“Hey, sweetie,” You could hear him moving around as he spoke. “How was the exam?”

“Good, good,” You bent a leg over the other and sat nervously on the edge of your chair. “I think, at least.”

“Great. You got classes too?” He asked and you rubbed your chin. Should you mention Bucky and the evening appointment. Let him know that you’d been sussed out.

“Till five,” You answered and pushed back your dread. “Mostly review. The rest of my midterms are next week.”

“Well, you got early classes tomorrow?” He prodded. 

“Why do you ask?” You glanced around and blew over the top of your cup.

“Why do you think?” You could hear his smirk. “I’ve got dinner with Kylie tonight. Should be done by eight. I thought maybe you’d wanna meet up after.”

“Oh…” You tapped your fingers on the side of the cup. “I don’t know…” It felt wrong, sneaking in after a visit from his daughter; your friend. “Maybe I should just have a quiet night in.”

“It’s your call but I leave Friday morning. It might be our last chance.” He sounded disappointed despite his nonchalant words.

“Hmm,” You thought and silence buzzed on the line. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” 

“When you leave, is this all...over?” You had to force the last word out. It didn’t want to rise though you knew it needed to.

He laughed softly. It was comforting, not mocking. “Sweetie, we’ll talk about all that tonight. So, how about I pick you up at nine?”

You sat back and swung your leg nervously. “Okay, nine,” You acquiesced. 

“See ya then, sweetie,” He replied smugly. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” Your heart fluttered. You wondered for a moment if Bucky had confronted him too. You braced the table and held your breath.

“Check your mailbox.” He said. “And wear something nice.”

“O-okay,” You stuttered as you exhaled, your chest ready to burst. “I’ll see you at nine.”

The line clicked and you set your phone face down beside your coffee. You sat back and crossed your arms. This was all getting very complicated. And messy.

-

Your classes passed slowly. You scribbled down the notes for your review and tried not to let your mind wander. As you walked across campus and headed for the subway, your phone vibrated. You huffed and pulled it out as you walked blindly by the buildings.

‘You free tonight, girl. Party at 10.’ Kylie’s message blinked at you. You stopped and once more a storm of nerves swept over you. Your finger hovered over the screen as you tried to muster your latest lie. ‘Sorry. Studying tonight. Maybe this weekend.’ Her response was quick; terse. ‘Boo’.

As you stood in the middle of campus, the last few days mounted on your shoulders. What were you doing? You were sneaking around like some character on an HBO serial. You should’ve been on your way home to study and not to wait around for you illicit lover. Or thinking about the night you’d just spent with your professor.

You broke from your shameful trance and rushed past the other students. You didn’t want to wait around for the third train of the hour. You reached the platform just as the train was ready to close its doors. You clung to the bar as it sped along the tunnels and counted the stops. 

You had more than enough time to eat before your little rendezvous. Your building was grim as you walked up to it. You almost forgot to stop at your mailbox as you entered and you found a small black box inside. You took it and the monthly university newsletter and head up to your bachelor.

You shoved a thin crust in the oven and sat on your bed as you streamed to your small television. You waited for the timer to tick down and opened the small black box. You rolled your eyes as you pulled out the folded lace. Sheer white with floral embroidery; it offered little cover, if any. The panties were high-waisted and the bra thinly strapped. Steve had more than just another meet-up in mind.

You texted him as you ate your pizza. ‘Really?’ He replied with a winky emoji and nothing else. You finished your dinner, washed your face and freshened your hair. You wore a simple. long-sleeved dress over the lingerie; a blush coloured sheath you still had the tags on. Your legs would be cold but you didn’t expect to be outside much.

As time wore on, your anxiety piqued. You paced in your wedged boots. Second thoughts and eager expectations mingled into a maelstrom inside of you. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand and you unplugged it as the clock read 9:07. The singular text greeted you. ‘Here.’

You took a breath and grabbed your plain black coat and buttoned it up to your chin. Your purse hung from your elbow as you locked the door behind you and tripped down the stairs two at a time. You nearly fell on your face as you emerged onto the crooked walkway and Steve’s rover loomed along the curb.

You opened the door and slipped inside. “Hey,” You said breathily as you buckled up. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. When you were strapped in he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips to yours. He was eager.

“Hey,” He pulled away and looked out on the street. “You look nice, sweetie.”

You smiled and thanked him quietly as he pulled out. 

“Did you eat?” He asked as he stared at the road.

“Yes, I did, dad,” You said mockingly but your voice cracked and died in a deathly silence. 

He stopped at a sign and looked over at you. You shyly glanced over and he smiled the moment your eyes met. “I’d prefer daddy, but whatever you like, sweetie.” Your cheeks burned as he chuckled and you played nervously with a button on your coat.

“I didn’t mean too…” You muttered.

“It was funny.” He assured you as he turned his attention back to driving. “Cute.”

You nodded and kept quiet, afraid of another slip. Freud would be all too excited to be a passenger on this ride. You tilted your head as he turned away from downtown; away from his hotel.

“Where are we going?” You asked meekly.

“It’s a surprise,” He said coyly. “Are you wearing it?”

“Y-yes.” You crossed your arms and kept track of each turn in your head.

When he stopped, you looked up at the high-rise and blinked in confusion. Your apartment was little more than a closet compared to the penthouses housed in this upscale building. You still had no idea what was going on. 

Steve got out and came around to open your door as you gaped. Your heels wobbled beneath you as you stepped out and he typed on his phone with one hand as he offered you his other. He tucked his phone away and led you up the broad steps of the building and past the tall fountain that crested the lawn.

“Steve...?” Your eyes lit up as you took in the extravagance. Well, compared to your digs.

“I told you, it’s a surprise, sweetie.” He let go of your hand and opened the front door for you. 

He was past you in an instant and rang the buzzer with the touch pad. Only a long buzz sounded in response and he opened the next door. You were fidgety in the elevator. The ascent was silent as you peeked over at Steve several times. Only a knowing smirk in response; devious.

As the doors opened, you stepped out into the single floor penthouse. The dark hardwood floors were pristine and polished and the large living room was bookmarked between a tall brick fireplace and a set of glass shelves decorated with degrees, awards, and a menagerie of ornaments.

You stopped as Steve closed the elevator lock up behind you. You turned back to him and shook your head in confusion. He neared and framed your face with his hands as he leaned in to kiss you. 

“Be good, sweetie.” He kissed you again and stood straight. He smiled over your head and you sensed another.

“Why don’t you take off your coats and settle in?” Bucky asked and his blue eyes flicked towards you. “You want anything from the bar?”

You looked between them. Your heartbeat had doubled and you felt light headed. “What’s going on?”

“We talked,” He said cryptically. “It’s all good, sweetie.”

He unbuttoned your coat for you as you stared at him dumbly. He slipped it down your arms and you snapped out of your trance. You watched him hang your coat next to his and turned back to the room. Bucky was behind the bar with three glasses set out.

“So, what’s it gonna be? Gin, scotch, I’ve got some wine.” He offered.

“I…” Steve nudged you and you edge into the living room. Steve passed you and sat on the chaise, his hand patted the space beside him. “Gin and ice is fine, thank you.”

You sat beside Steve and clasped your hands together. You wondered if alcohol was a wise decision but it would help with your nerves. Your mind began to run wild with possibilities. Whatever they had planned couldn’t just be talking.

Steve’s hand went to your lower back as Bucky neared with the glasses. He handed you one and Steve another, and sat with his own on the other side of you. You were trapped between the two men on the chaise. You gulped down half the drink and crossed your legs.

“Slow down, baby, it’s gonna be a long night,” Bucky grinned and sipped from his own glass. “Did you talk to her?”

“I figured there wasn’t much to say,” Steve shrugged. “You want both of us, don’t you, sweetie?”

Your eyes threatened to pop out of your head as you glanced between them. You drained the last of your gin and bent over to set it on the table. “Uh, yeah, I…” You blinked and focused on the ice, “Well, I mean...I…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow.” Steve assured you. “We just wanna get this all sorted out before I leave. When I’m gone, Bucky will look after you.”

Bucky placed his glass beside yours, the dark alcohol barely touched. His hand went to your thigh and Steve rubbed your back soothingly. You were tempted to drink Bucky’s whiskey for him. Steve took another swig and added a third tumbler to the table. He grabbed your other thigh and both men squeezed as they leaned closer.

“Why don’t you show Bucky your little surprise?” Steve purred.

You tilted your head, confused at first, and Steve’s fingers ran up your back. The lingerie. You nodded and stood, glad to be free of their touch. You looked down at your body and slowly turned to face them. You bent to unzip your scuffed wedges and stepped out of them. Your dress felt thinner as you lifted your eyes to them. Steve nodded for you to go on.

You reached back and tugged down your zipper. As the dress loosened you paused and both men watched eagerly. What were you doing? Six months ago, you were a reticent virgin and now you were in some sordid ritual with these two men. 

The heat of their gaze nipped at your doubts and you pulled the zipper down entirely. You let the sleeves fall down your arms and the swish of the skirts as the dress fell to your feet was your white flag. It was done. There was no turning back.

You dared to look at them. Steve grinned and Bucky’s brows shot up. They both shifted on the chaise and you kept your hands to your sides, nervously waiting for the next move.

“It’s all you,” Steve intoned as he stood. He brushed past you, his hand tickled your thigh and he pinched your ass. You watched as he crossed the room and sat on the couch opposite. He sank into the cushion and draped his arm along the back. “Take your time.”

Bucky’s hand on yours drew you back to him. He pulled you closer until you stood between his knees. You looked down at him as his hands explored your body. He cupped your tits through the sheer fabric, your nipples hardened against his palm. He tickled along your waist and hips and snaked around to squeeze your ass.

“Sit down,” He nodded beside him.

You did as he said without thinking. He turned to you and brought his hand up behind your neck. He kissed you forcefully and pushed his hand between your thighs. You opened your mouth to his as he devoured you and tucked your fingers beneath his belt. He groaned as you clung to the top of his pants.

He pulled your legs apart and dragged his fingers along the crotch of your pants. You moaned and he slid his fingers beneath the fabric. He pushed between your folds and circled your clit. You parted and gasped at the sudden tingle.

He slipped from the chaise and to his knees. He came up between your legs and continued to play with you. He hooked his fingers under the panties and pulled them aside as he replaced his hand with his mouth. You were entranced by the sight of him knelt before you. His dark hair was streaked with silver but thick. You leaned back on your hands as he teased you with his tongue.

Your eyes were drawn to the other side of the room. Steve hadn’t moved. His eyes sparkled as he watched intently. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back as you sank into Bucky. He licked and suckled as his hand crawled along your thigh. He traced around your entrance and shoved two fingers inside. Your legs tensed and your nails dug into the cushion.

He curled his fingers and you moaned louder. His tongue never stopped as he started to move his hand. The last of your insecurity disappeared and you could think of was the whirlwind of nerves spiraling around your core. You latched onto the back of Bucky’s head and pushed him deeper as you beckoned your climax closer. He hummed as his tongue lured you onward until you were shaking and sputtering in unyielding ecstasy.

He didn't stop until you were out of breath and mewling. He lifted his head and let your panties go. "Lay down, baby."

You pulled your legs up and spread out on the chaise as you came down from your high. Bucky stood and undressed as his eyes roved your body. He was thicker than Steve, his stomach not as toned but still in good shape. You realized you'd never seen him naked despite your lurid meetings.

He climbed up with you, again between your legs. He grabbed your legs and pulled them up to rest against his chest. Next he gripped you hips and dragged you down the chaise. His tip pressed against you and slipped between your folds.

He entered you and let out a long breath. You whined as he bottomed out. A flood of relief flowed through you and you reached back to claw the end of the chaise.

As he began to thrust, the chaise groaned and world seemed to quake beneath you. Each time he rocked his hips, he sped up just a little; faster, deeper. Your moans kept time with him and your voice rose in a symphony.

Your eyes rolled back and Bucky held your ankles against his shoulders as he hammered into you. Your back arched and you growled like an animal in heat. Your voice, his, the sound of your flesh together, drove you wild and bloomed in a paralysing orgasm.

Bucky's hand slipped down to your thighs and pushed your legs higher. He pounded into you and grunted louder and louder as he neared his peak. You egged him on as you reached around your hip to touch his thigh. 

He let go of your legs and pinned your hands beside your head as he raised himself on his knees. He fucked you harder as he held you to the plush cushion and you whimpered as another explosion shook your core. 

He sank into you with drawn out thrusts and snarled. He pulled out and released your wrists. His cum shot out along your pelvis and along your pussy. He spread it between your folds with his cock and leaned back on his heels. Satisfied.

"Bring her over here," Steve's voice scared you. You'd forgotten he was there. 

Bucky, panting and sweaty, took your hand and pulled you off the chaise. You followed him blindly, your head in a spin. Steve stood too, as methodical in undressing as Bucky. He smirked as Bucky sat you down and you slumped onto your side.

Bucky backed away as Steve lowered himself onto the couch. He pulled your leg up as he slid between you and the back of the couch. He hooked his thick arm under you and draped your leg over his. He played with your thrumming clit before he lined himself up with your entrance.

He impaled you slowly. He breath whisked across your cheek and he continued to play with your bud as he moved inside you. 

"She was a virgin, you know that?" He said to Bucky as he rocked his hips. "When we met. She's still tight, isn't she?" He nibbled your ear and growled as Bucky's shadow loomed in your peripheral.

"A quick learner," Bucky remarked. 

You barely heard their little aside. You were too bound up in this bliss to care. That voice in the back of your head was smothered by that louder one which had taken over of late. 

Who cared if they were using you, you were using them too. You enjoyed it just as much and why shouldn't you? Sex was sex and you were only human.

You lifted your head as Bucky neared and sat on the other end of the couch. He shifted so that your head was in his lap as Steve continued to fuck you. He turned your head and forced your mouth around his cock. He was still a little soft but quickly stiffened as you began to bob your head.

You found it harder to keep your mouth working as Steve's fingers and cock stoked your core. Bucky held the back of your neck to keep you from pulling away. You hummed around his cock and squeaked as you came in a series of twitches.

Steve turned you onto your stomach as Bucky stayed in your mouth. Steve pinned your legs with his thighs as he pounded into you and the cushions bounced under you. Their grunts were deep and rhythmic. Hypnotic, even.

"Ah, fuck, sweetie, I'm gonna cum," Steve growled. "Shit." 

He slammed into you one last time before he pulled out. He came on your pussy and added to the mess you'd become. Bucky didn't stop, didn't waver as he guided your mouth up and down his length. You pushed yourself up just a little and tended to him fervently.

"Shit," Bucky swore and caressed the top of your head. "I'm gonna cum all over your face, baby. Come on."

He tugged on your hair and you removed your mouth with a pop. You stroked him with your hand and his cum spurted out along your lips and cheeks and dribbled down your chin.

You let go, out of breath, and Steve pulled you up by your arm and let you pant against the couch. You were shaky, numb but oversensitive, your vision hazy and yet vivid. You tasted Bucky's salty cum and your fingers dipped between your legs to feel the slickness there.

"Do you understand, sweetie?" Steve spoke softly as he pushed your hair back and kissed your temple. "When I leave, Bucky will take care of everything you need. Can you be a good girl for him?"

You nodded dully and your eyes lolled over to look at Bucky as he leaned back and sighed. Steve's hand fell, traced the line of your collar bone, cupped your tit, and walked along your stomach to the top of your vee.

"You want another drink, sweetie?" He coaxed. "A little break?"

You blinked and licked your lips, the cool cum was sticky. You placed your hand on Steve's and pushed it between your legs. "I don't need a break."

[richieisabastardman]

Stop It (Tenth Doctor x Reader)

Summary: You had been travelling with The Doctor since his ninth face, and been in love with him just as long. After the loss of Rose, your friend and The Doctor's companion, The Doctor took on Martha Jones as a co-companion. When you see her pining after The Doctor so hopefully, you try to put a stop to it, for the sake of her heart and yours.

Word count: 1984

Warnings: Angst? A bit of unrequited love but that’s fixed real quick. 

Link to Masterlist

“Stop it” you said, staring at the aloof Doctor as he played with his toggles. The Tardis’ toggles that is.

Having returned from your adventures in the Andromeda galaxy, Martha had decided to go rest, the day’s activities proving too much. The Doctor had sent her away with a smile, and she had hovered within the console room for  a moment, perhaps lost and distracted by that smile, before sending a curt smile your way and leaving for the TARDIS’ hallways.

“What?” he asked absentmindedly, raising an eyebrow as he finally looked over at you.

“Stop leading her on”

You had been through this. The heart break of loving such an extraordinary being and finding no love in return. Well not no love, just a different sort of love. A platonic love. A lovely love none the less, but not the type you wished for. You had dealt with that (in an unbelievably unhealthy way but that’s neither here nor there) and you were over it.

You were over him.

But you refused to let Martha go through the heartbreak you had to endure.

“Leading who on?”. He was playing dumb. Not a good look for The Doctor. Though you could tell he knew what you had meant by how he avoided your gaze, fiddling around with the console. You had flown around with him enough to know that he wasn’t really doing anything with it, just distracting himself.

You rolled your eyes at his childishness and deciding to indulge in your own kind. “The TARDIS. Playing around with her bits like that and not even buying her a drink first, shameful really, Doctor”

He grinned at you then, his tongue poking out between his teeth for a moment before his gaze was off of you once again and back on the controls of his beloved TARDIS. “Oh we’ve had many drinks together me and her, don’t you worry”.

The silence hung around the two of you then. You had only felt such a heavy silence with the man twice before. Both of you could hear the words yet unsaid floating between you, taunting and teasing (but The Doctor was always good at that, wasn’t he?)

“I was talking about Martha” you replied finally, leaning your hip against the console lightly and staring at the tall man.

“I know”.

“Then why didn’t you reply properly?”.

“Because it wasn’t a statement worth replying to properly ”.

And there was the nastiness that crept up on him every so often. It would poke its head out from behind him and would try to bite your tongue from your mouth (in a very non-sexy way, to be clear). The Doctor had been alive for so long he surely had enough practice with verbal quips that shut down a conversation in seconds. But the malice in his voice when he engaged in such an act was so rarely heard by his companions that when it did appear it was, to put it plainly, scary.

You were used to it now. You had had your fair share of experience with it. When he lost Rose, it was as if any little thing you did was now subject to scrutiny. He had only calmed after you finally had enough and threatened to leave, to go back home and never see him again. That had hurt him. You had hurt him. And part of you felt proud for it because finally someone stood up to The Doctor in his moment of malice and it was you. But when his eyes had begun to water, you had felt bad again. You had felt evil and unlike yourself and so you had held him. He had rested his face within the junction of your neck and shoulder, lost within your hair. He had held you tightly around your waist, pulling you closer and closer to him. And for a moment all the work you had done to stop loving the man had returned with no complaint from you, no sir. The moment had been far too intimate to be just a moment between friends. But every moment felt like that with The Doctor, didn’t it? The fleeting touches, the hand holding, the hand resting gently on the small of your back, the hugging. All of it so intimate.

Yet, the next day after this moment with The Doctor, it was as if nothing had happened. He had busied himself with the TARDIS and finding somewhere new to jet off to. You had mourned for your hope the day before and then moved on, as it was all you could do.

“She really likes you” you say, parting yourself from the memory in which you had been lost in for a moment.

“I like her too” he replies. You wished he would just look at you.

“Not the way she likes you. She adores you. She thinks the sun shines out of your arse”.

“Oi” he finally turned to you “watch it”.

“You know its true though, don’t you Doctor”.

“How do you know all this then, huh? You got psychic powers or something you haven’t informed me about?”.

Because I’ve been in her place, Doctor. I know how it feels. It hurts. Not in the way poets describe it. It doesn’t feel like your heart being ripped out of your chest. It feels your heart… it was never even there. You forget what having a heart feels like. But you mourn for it. And that’s the pain. I don’t want her to feel like that.

Instead, beyond any judgement of your own and perhaps as an act of fate (or malice sent straight from Hades) you replied, “Because I love you too”.

The moment the words left your mouth your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, as though it wasn’t even you who had revealed such a secret directly to the man it was about. The subconscious had become conscious. Surely there were defence mechanisms to stop this kind of behaviour in its tracks. “Damn you, Freud” you mumbled.

The doctor stared at you, his eyes squeezed together in confusion. “What?” he whispered.

“I was thinking about defence mechanisms” you replied quietly, looking at him. He was finally looking straight back at you. You wished he would stare at the console once again, maybe flick a few switches, anything to get his eyes (wide and soft in their gaze) off you.

“What?” the Doctor replied again, shaking his head. “No not the Freud thing, the thing before it”.

Might as well stick to my guns you thought. “I love you too?” you replied, though it released from your mouth as a question.

“Since when!?” he exasperated.

“Since your last face” you replied. You sounded guilty. Why did you sound guilty? Was it the feeling of the words left unspoken between the two of you? Or was it simply the elephant in the room?  

Rose.

By any other name she would have caused just as much tension.

He had loved Rose in a way you were sure he would never love you.

He hadn’t stopped staring at you, his jaw tight and his eyes, to you, appeared full of pity.

“Stop staring at me” you said, staring right back at him.

“Why didn’t you-“ he started but stopped himself, answering his own question within his mind. He knew why and suddenly he felt guilty too.

He began to move towards you and you froze where you stood, confused by his actions. You raised your eyes to meet his as he hovered above you. He leaned down to place his forehead gently against your own and shut his eyes gently. You did the same.

Here was the intimacy again, you thought, here are the fleeting touches that we will never talk about again.

But you didn’t stop him. How could you, when his hands moved to rest softly upon your jaw and neck, and you could hear him breathing, heavy and deep.

And then you felt his lips upon yours and you froze. He continued to kiss you, and you reciprocated, kissing his soft lips gently, both of your eyes still shut.

You pushed him away gently, opening your eyes to his face, sullen and confused. His eyes shined in the light of the console room, and you hoped dearly the wetness there was a trick of the lights.

“We can’t do this to Martha” you practically whispered.

You watched him clench his jaw, his sad gaze never leaving your own. “This isn’t about her, is it?”.

You felt a fire and heaviness within your chest at his words, accusatory and all-knowing, but it died when you replied “We can’t do this to Rose”.

And that was the kicker wasn’t it? Whilst you had always felt The Doctor would not love you as much as Rose, you had only really felt that way after she was gone. When you had travelled with the two of them, The Doctor surely treated you as romantic interest equals, flirting and teasing. At first you thought that maybe that was just The Doctor, or maybe that was just who his new, tenth version was like. But his actions proved just a little bit too loving, just a little bit too intimate for it to be the case.

The Doctor had loved Rose. The Doctor had loved you. He had just loved you a little more privately.

Sure, Rose was smart enough to probably know there was some tension between the two of you, yet she had never mentioned it. And then when she was gone, all the feelings of schoolgirl excitement in getting attention from The Doctor became guilt. All his touches that once cause a tingling within your skin and stomach now almost made you ill with regret of things that hadn’t even had the chance to happen.

“Rose loved you” he said, ripping you away from your thoughts. Your guilt.

“Not like she loved you” you smiled.

“Does that mean we can’t love each other?” he asked, though you knew it was rhetorical. “Has she claimed me so that I can’t love anyone else? I have to mourn my love for her for the rest of my life?”

You laughed sadly at that.

“If that’s the case, is it not enough for me to mourn my love of her? Why do you have to do it to?” he continued.

You looked up at him then from behind tears you hadn’t realised had began to form within your eyes. He moved towards you again slowly. He traced his hands down your arms lightly and took your hands in his own. His hands were so soft, you noted, something rare for a man. Though he wasn’t a man, was he? You supposed you should remind yourself of that more often.

The face that stared at you now with tired, red-brimmed eyes would someday be the face of another. The hands that held yours would someday change shape and size and softness. The lips that kissed the skin of your hands now would be a slightly different shape and fullness. The man that pulled you towards him lightly and held your waist tightly against him would someday be another man. And then another man. And then another man. And maybe one day a woman.

And somehow you didn’t mind. Somehow, as he leaned down to place his lips upon yours again, firmly but with so much love, you realised you would not mind at all. Because it would still be him.

You broke away from him again but this time much softer, as he still held you within his arms, hands tightly around you. You stared up at him and smiled and he returned with a grin, wide and cheeky as it always was.

“You can’t keep leading her on” you warned once again, and he nodded his head.

“I won’t”.

[catie-withac]

I was trying to think about why I don’t use the word queer so much anymore, and I think it goes back to one experience. At my college’s first Pridefest back in 2017, they had t-shirts where you could proudly display “I am __.” I leaned against a table, fabric marker in hand, and went to write “bisexual,” but then something stopped me. At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure what, I just knew the thought of wearing an overtly bisexual shirt in front of everyone else made me uncomfortable.

Instead, I wrote “queer.” Later that day, I regretted doing it, and couldn’t understand why I felt compelled to in the first place. It was an LGBT-centered event, and I knew several other bi people there. But I also knew many people, possibly more, who identified as pansexual.

None of them had ever told me that pan was more progressive or in any way better than bi. A few of them even said they were basically the same. And yet, looking back now, I can see that it was shame that made me write “queer” instead of “bisexual.” I felt ashamed to be identifying with what seemed to be an outdated or even regressive term. I didn’t want people to think of me like that. I held on to bisexual because I didn’t understand the point of switching labels, but I did so hesitantly.

As time went on, I began to think deeper about the term pansexual and what it really meant, or rather what people said it meant. The definition I heard the most was “attraction regardless of gender,” which never fully made sense to me. How was that different from bisexual? It was often explained to me as “I just don’t see gender,” and that, frankly, is just not true. Whether you want to or not, your mind is gonna jump to conclusions just because of the way we were raised. It’s similar to when people say they’re “colorblind” and don’t see race. It’s just wishful thinking that, ultimately, doesn’t mean anything worthwhile.

Then there’s the pansexual explanation that I’ve even heard friends say: “it’s more about personality, that’s what I’m attracted to.” And you think bisexuals (or anyone else really) don’t care about personality? That we’re just shallow and superficial, only caring about sex? Even if that’s not what the person meant, that’s what it clearly implies. It’s related to the old “hearts not parts” narrative. The sentiment is nice, but not when you act like you’re the only ones who feel that way.

It also reminds me of one of the oldest pansexual definitions: “attraction to everyone, including trans and nonbinary people.” This usually goes hand-in-hand with the misconception that bisexuality only includes cis men and cis women. That’s probably never been true, but we know for sure it hasn’t been since at least 1990. That’s when the Bisexual Manifesto was published, which clearly included attraction to people outside the gender binary. The actual origin of pansexuality (as it relates to an identity, not how Freud defined it) is rooted in a biphobic and transphobic misconception. And yet that’s still being perpetuated today.

This isn’t even the most frustrating or upsetting part to me though. I’ve heard from a lot of pan people, mostly young ones, that they’re just more comfortable identifying as pansexual. It always makes me sad. I wish they would think critically about why a label that they know is the same as bisexual makes them more comfortable. I could tell them what the answer is (internalized biphobia), but it’s the kind of conclusion that has the most meaning when you come to it yourself.

We live in a world where bisexuality has a bad reputation. It’s for cheaters and sluts, a phase for girls and nonexistent for boys. Even if we see it in the media, it’d hardly ever named. It’s treated as a joke, in one episode and never mentioned again. So I understand how someone could stumble upon the word pansexual, free of those hurtful stereotypes, and think “that’s me.” Somewhere in their subconscious, they don’t want to be bisexual, and if they identify as pan, technically they’re not. So that’s what they do.

There are a lot of people who say that the existence and popularity of pansexuality doesn’t hurt anyone, so we should just let people identify how they want. And I get it, we shouldn’t be policing people’s identities. Labels are personal, and everyone has their reasons. I’m not saying that every single pan person needs to change their identifier right this second.

But pansexuality, as well as similar labels like omnisexual and polysexual, contribute to a culture of biphobia. They say that bisexuality isn’t enough, that it’s outdated, even transphobic. They tell bi kids and teens still coming to terms with their identities that there are other “options” which maybe won’t hurt as much, instead of teaching them that they’re perfect the way they are. They tell bisexual people that they should be ashamed, even in their own community, and maybe they should put something else on their t-shirt.

I guess that’s why I don’t say queer as much. I’m trying to say bisexual more.

[johannesviii]

Top 15 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2002

13 to 14 years old. Most of the year was pretty good. Summer was great. But in September I arrived in 2nd (local equivalent of 10th grade), so I was 14 in a class of mostly 15/16 years old students, and I looked so out of place that inevitably, bad shit started to happen very quickly.

Thankfully, it was a damn good year for hits. They say music never sounds better than when you are a teenager, as if that was a bad thing - but maybe they’re right? So yeah, nostalgia is in full force there. This year was so good for music, in fact, that this is a top 15 instead of 10. It was already super difficult to keep only 10 songs before I even looked at the French year-end list, and then I just gave up.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

This list originally had SIX horribly painful cuts so I decided to do some damage control and make it a top 15. There’s still a whole bunch of honorable mentions, though.

Heaven remix (DJ Sammy) - [Insert here rant about Johannes liking overproduced dance garbage full of colors and lights]

Move b█tch (Ludacris) - Just a ton of fun to sing along that chorus.

Whenever Wherever (Shakira) - I claim overplay, but that is still legendary.

How You Remind Me (Nickelback) - Nobody’s gonna disagree if I say they’re a terrible band, but you gotta admit, their first hit was pretty great.

The Middle (Jimmy Eat World) - In a year full of fantastic earworms, some had to stay out of the list.

Can’t Fight the Moonlight (LeAnn Rimes) - Just re-read the previous statement.

Get the Party Started (Pink) - More on that later.

Inch’Allah (MC Solaar) - Not his best song by a mile (obviously; I mean, the guy who wrote a song about making Satan explode into antimatter can’t really top that because nobody can) but still very nice.

Cleanin’ Out My Closet (Eminem) - Yeah, the rethread of The Real Slim Shady is on the list and not this. What can I say, I told you I had bad taste.

Just Like a Pill (Pink) - The last cut from the list. I just really, really liked Pink, can you tell?

This is when I started to listen to the radio A LOT in my room, because my access to the family computer was restricted and radio was basically the only media I still had 100% access to and full control of. Which might explain why I suddenly liked a ton of pop music. Or maybe that year was simply really good. I guess it’s a mix of both.

Also, I still didn’t have a key to the appartment, but I was a lot less supervised when I was outside, and I would sometimes sneak out to go the library or to the disc store.

So... here’s some of the first singles I ever bought, for the record, and also because I think it’s fun to see all of them together.

They’re all on this list, just to clarify.

15 - I’m Gonna Getcha Good (Shania Twain)

US: Not on the list / FR: #67

Well, that was quick. So yeah, I loved this song. The accent meant I couldn’t understand half of the lyrics, but it was still a ton of fun and a delight every time it was on the radio.

14 - Wherever You Will Go (The Calling)

US: #5 / FR: #53

I didn’t love this song that much at the time and only put it on one tape, but it really grew on my over the years. Yeah, it’s your standard 2000s pop-rock song, objectively, but I don’t know. It didn’t have to go that hard with its metaphors. I mean the guy is ready to follow that person into hell and turn back time if necessary. I really don’t know. It shouldn’t work so well but it does for me. Maybe it’s because I’m very literal-minded.

13 - Le Chemin (Kyo ft. Sita)

US: Not on the list / FR: #55

Basically: A Ma Place by Axel Bauer & Zazie from the previous honorable mentions of 2001, except with half the amount of Hetero Drama(tm) and a pop-rock flavour to make it more palatable.

The first hit of a band it would very quickly be super cool to hate in my country (and I do mean very quickly, like a year or so) because everyone (including me, mind you) thought their lyrics were a bit too cringy even for pop-rock songs.

Doesn’t mean I didn’t buy the album and listened the shit out of it for like two years, though. The saddest part is that my favorite single from it by far, Je Cours (”I Run”), isn’t elligible for any list. Dammit.

12 - Murder On The Dancefloor (Sophie Ellis-Bextor)

US: Not on the list / FR: #26

This was a huge hit in Europe and somehow I thought it had reached the US, but apparently it didn’t. That’s a shame.

Also, overplay didn’t manage to kill it for me and that’s impressive.

11 - Complicated (Avril Lavigne)

US: #11 / FR: #83

Loved it, bought the single, loved it even more, and then one of my uncles sent me the album for christmas, and all was nice and good in the world.

For the record, I thought Sk8er Boi was one of the worst songs on the album (my favorite was My World), and I still dislike this particular song to this day, so this is why it’s nowhere to be found here.

10 - Don’t Let Me Get Me (Pink)

US: #36 / FR: Not on the list

You already know that because of the honorable mentions, but yeah, I loved Pink. This was the second album I decided I had to save money for months to acquire instead of just a single and which my parents would probably find acceptable. And this song is the best and it kicks some serious ass, on top of being full of self-loathing and extremely relatable at the time ("everyday I fight a war against the mirror, can't take the person staring back at me"? "I wanna be somebody else"?? Big, big dysphoria mood right there).

No regrets, baby.

9 - Hands Clean (Alanis Morissette)

US: #95 / FR: Not on the list

In just about every list I’ve made so far, there’s one song which makes me think “if I had better taste, this would be much higher”. This is one of these songs. Still love it, still put it on a tape and burned it on a cd. I found the cd in question again yesterday while making this list and it contains, in that exact order: Visage, Evanescence, Kyo, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, Talk Talk, Scatman John, Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Shania Twain, INXS, Freur, Alizée, Linkin Park and this exact song by Alanis Morissette. It’s a great little time-capsule of my debatable tastes.

8 - Die Another Day (Madonna)

US: Not on the list / FR: #86

This has the same kind of weird, disjointed beat as Music, but it sounds much more aggressive and sinister. This dropped right when I started to have real problems at school, so it’s a bit difficult for me to listen to it nowadays without having unpleasant flashbacks at the same time, which is why it’s so low on the list even though I listened to it on a loop back in the day. It might be a subpar James Bond theme, and might have dumb lyrics (god the Sigmund Freud line sdfghjhgfdfg), but on its own? It’s great.

Also I loved the music video. My mother, obviously, hated it, which only made me like it more, because, I mean, obviously it did. That’s how it works when you’re 14.

Speaking of which.

7 - Without Me (Eminem)

US: #21 / FR: #11

By that point, it was becoming pretty clear that I would never be able to buy the music I wanted if my parents disapproved of it, so I had to be sneaky and buy every, uh “debatable” single with a second more acceptable single to hide the first one. The one I bought alongside this one was a cover of Désenchantée, sung by Kate Ryan.

Success.

It is, in fact, less good than The Real Slim Shady, and I could only understand about one third of the lyrics, but still. I listened to it a loooooot. Because I actually had that single and not the other one which it was basically referencing to the point of self-parody. And just like the other one, I obviously don’t endorse all the lyrics, and the beat is great.

6 - All the Things She Said (Tatu)

US: Not on the list / FR: #12

Just like Die Another Day this one is a bit difficult to listen to nowadays for me but it’s a monster of a hit nonetheless. Have to say, though: I listened to Not Gonna Get Us even more, which means THAT one is even more linked to bad memories, to the point of basically being unlistenable because it triggers a literal fight-or-flight response with me. Not kidding in the slightest. Still love it though.

5 - J’ai Demandé à la Lune (Indochine)

US: Not on the list / FR: #4

This is one of my least favorite hit songs from Indochine. It’s still #5 on a list where I had to keep 15 entries instead of 10. This is because almost no other song I really really like from them will ever be elligible for these lists and if I can’t put a single Indochine song somewhere, especially from the Paradize album, I will have to punch a wall, dammit.

So here. Have the one in which the guy asks the moon if his significant other still loves him and where the moon answers “dude it’s not my problem”.

I love them and Paradize is an absolute monster of an album which rightfully made them relevant again, from new wave sensations of the 80s to favorite mainstream band for every young French punk/goth kid ever in the 2000s. This is not a diss, by the way, considering I was very clearly in that core demographic. Especially if you look at the top three I made for that year (and for the next one but let’s not get ahead of ourselves).

4 - A Thousand Miles (Vanessa Carlton)

US: #6 / FR: #51

Yeah yeah, you knew this was coming when you saw that pic of the first singles I bought, and you can start laughing now. I know it’s basically a meme now (and a good one, mind you), but sometimes, songs are remembered for more than one reason, and you have to admit that one is still great on its own. I listened to it SO. MUCH. Especially before everything started to go wrong for me that year, so basically this is the sound of “how things should have been”, and it’s so pleasant and nice to listen to it even today. It’s no longer on my mp3 player, but, no joke, I think it stayed on it from the day I bought my first mp3 player to something like 2017. Is it an indicator of quality or yet another indicator of my debatable taste? Probably both.

In any other year, there would be a clear #1 either towering above the other songs or just slightly ahead of the rest. 2002 was so good I can’t, for the life of me, decide which of these next three songs is the best one, even subjectively, in a “hey I like this one a little bit more” kind of way.

So I’m ranking the top 3 according to the lengths I went to to listen to each of these songs at the time.

Let’s go.

3 - C’est Une Belle Journée (Mylène Farmer)

US: Not on the list / FR: #46

This is what I’d call the Last Great Mylène Farmer Song. Oh she was still making music, pretty great music, in fact, after that. She’s still making decent stuff nowadays, from time to time. But in my opinion, it’s all downhill from there.

Still. This kickstarted my obsession with her at the time, because someone (I still have no idea who that was) was foolish enough to buy me the cd for Christmas. This is also why it’s #3 and not higher; I didn’t have to work at all to listen to it.

So... This is a song about killing yourself, disguised as a bouncy energetic pop tune. And it works horribly well. It’s very vaguely sinister but if you don’t listen to it very closely, it’s nearly impossible to notice what it’s actually about (translation here), and it charted super high and for a super long time without any controversy in its wake.

As I said: all downhill from there, because... how do you even top this?

2 - Lose Yourself (Eminem)

US: #63 / FR: Not on the list

You probably guessed this was coming. I’m not sure what the consensus for the “best Eminem hit song” is nowadays, but that one has to be pretty high on the list. And it’s also kind of a meme because of the spaghetti line, I know, but still, quality, man. The most important thing about it in the context of this list is that it was juuuuust slow enough to allow me to understand most of the important parts with my still-limited English, and I loved the little story it told. I remember trying to put it on a tape for days and waiting for it to pop up on the radio and instantly pressing Record after the first note.

And of course I wanted to see 8 Mile and I couldn’t, but a few months later, the local book/dvd/music store, which had screens broadcasting scenes from new stuff they were selling, had a screen with a few battle rap scenes from 8 Mile on it, and once I noticed I stood in front of the screen for a long time in silent admiration. What can I say, I was an angry little thing, and seeing angry people fighting each other in ways where no-one gets hurt was very satisfying and cathartic.

1 - In the End (Linkin Park)

US: #7 / FR: Not on the list

The music video had hilariously bad cgi even at the time, just to clarify. But yeah, that sound right there had the perfect balance of color, energy, sadness and anger to be the hit of the year for me back then. And I could understand nearly all the lyrics! I. Loved it. The local library had Hybrid Theory and I listened to it so. MUCH (my favorite song on it was actually One Step Closer (singing CAUSE I’M ONE-STEP-CLOSER-TO-THE-EDGE, ANDI’MABOUTTOBREAK felt great) and I thought Crawling was a bit embarrassing). Thank god that library didn’t have fines if you returned your stuff after the due date because I had to wait until I was able to make a copy of it first. The “parents-proof” “”cryptic”” label I wrote on said copy wasn’t particularly cryptic, though, and I’m gonna share it with you right now because that’s kind of funny.

So what do you do when you’re 14, pretty sure you understood the whole song, are finally able to listen to the whole album, burn it on a cd, and listen to it way too often? You write down the lyrics, painstakingly, with a fountain pen, in a small notebook where you try to write down the lyrics of every single song you love & can understand entirely. That’s what you do. Of course.

When I stopped doing that in 2007, there were two notebooks like that. I lost one of them, apparently, but the one I was able to find already had 63 songs in it. I finally had my own internet access later that year and I could find all the lyrics I wanted whenever I wanted, and I stopped doing that once and for all.

But it helped me get a lot better with English, so in the end, it doesn’t even matter.

So yeah, In the End?

Loved it and loved that band. I still do.

Next up: wow, “all edge no point”, uh?

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 10

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for! Well... I hope so...

Yeah, it took me a month to get this chapter on the road, but... I can’t really be blamed. Well, I can, but let’s be fair, I’m in India right now, I have almost no wifi and I’m mostly relying on data (I ran out of data while writing this and now have to wait forty minutes to get data again... oops...), I managed to get The Schmuel Song from The Last Five Years stuck in my head out of boredom, and really I planned to update much earlier but sometimes... chapters get stuck.

I’m sorry I’m updating this late... I hope the fact that this is the longest chapter yet A N D that something y’all have been waiting for is going to happen will make it up!

As always, all the thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries​ for the original idea, to @whatwashernameagain​ for her original story and for being such a sweetheart, and to @winglessnymph​, @asleepybisexual​ and @anony-phangirl​ for all their help, even if it’s just listening to my ideas and giving feedback (you’re all wonderful and I love you so much!)

Tag list (sort of):  @bunny222​, @ab-artist​, @secretlyanxiouspersona​, @your-username-is-unavailable​, @virgilcrofters​, @why-things-go-boom​, @ilovemyspoopydad​, @violetblossem​, @maybe-i-like-the-misery​

(Wanna be tagged? Just lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter is a bit lighter, but keep this in mind.

—————

Saturday, December 21st, 2002

Christmas at the Harris shoebox was never that festive to begin with.

There was always some sort of rush hour-type boost in sales on and off-Broadway, or at least that's how David explained it to Remy when he was younger, so he would only really be home if he only had matinees or if, God forbid, Christmas (either eve or day) fell on a Monday. And Remy was always busy with school, at first with his program in Columbia and then his project at Bronx Science and now…

Well, now was no different. Christmas Eve was going to be on a Tuesday, next Tuesday to be exact, and Remy was too busy reading ahead in his psychology books.

India dropped him off in Manhattan on her way to Johns Hopkins. They got out a day early to go from Boston to Manhattan - Remy didn't have exams that day anyway - and stayed over at Remy's overnight before the second half of the ride. "They", of course, also included India's girlfriend Jenna, who was the one driving. She was a wonderful human being and Remy honestly couldn't believe he never met her before. It felt like they knew each other for ages! (David wasn't happy when two twenty-something year olds crashed on his couch that Sunday night, without warning, but Remy told him they're leaving first thing in the morning. He still wasn't very happy at that, but maybe going with it was the best option here.)

"You know who I ran into on my lunch break today?" Remy raised his head and took off his reading glasses (he was starting to need glasses for more than reading…) to look at his father, who - at eleven forty-five at night - finally got home from tonight's show. "Come on, ask."

"Who did you run into on your lunch break, dad?"

"Do you remember Michelle Tan?"

Of course Remy remembered Michelle Tan. She took chemistry and engineering and always looked down on him as if learning psychology made him less than her. Not to mention that when he showed up to graduation with short hair - his first step towards socially transitioning, really - she kept saying the nastiest things to him about how inappropriate it was.

"What about her?"

"Nothing, she just asked how you're doing." David threw himself on the couch next to Remy, taking off his shoes and opening his shirt in the process. "I said that you're doing alright and that your degree was going okay."

"Oh. Okay."

"...that's all you're going to say? Oh okay?" Remy pulled his shoulders. What else was there to say, really? "Thought you'd be a bit happier that—"

"Dad, Michelle Tan is the one who came to me after graduation and told me that short hair is undignified and that just because I think it makes me more of a boy doesn't mean that I am. Do you really think I'd be that excited about you running into her on your lunch?"

"I didn't know. I had no idea."

"It's okay."

David was working on a new show by Tony Kushner. He promised Remy that he's not going to spoil anything to anyone this time (though let's be honest, he said that about Dancing At Lughnasa in 1991, and Rent in 1996, and…). He stayed out late for the workshop, and barely had any time to care for himself. He never did whenever a new show started.

Remy could forgive him for forgetting stuff.

However, this neglect was absolutely and utterly unacceptable.

"Can you take a day off tomorrow? I mean, it's just the workshop, I doubt Eliza would mind it if you didn't come." David hummed in agreement. "So it's decided. Tell Eliza you're not coming tomorrow. We're gonna, like… do absolutely nothing tomorrow. We'll go somewhere fancy, like that diner on—"

"Since when are pancakes fancy to you, Remy?"

"Since I don't get to eat them anymore because I don't have time and I'm not using boxed mixes, thank you very much!"

"We can go to Hard Rock Cafe."

"Dad, Hard Rock isn't fancy. Sorry to disappoint. I just want to go to Times Square, to be honest…"

And then he turned on the TV and put a recorded episode of South Park. And Remy gave up. He went back to his book, to remember the teacher who made them read Oedipus Rex in English class, to get pissed at Freud who said that all men secretly want to fuck their mothers and called it the Oedipus complex without even knowing (probably) that Oedipus didn't want to fuck his mother but the moment he found that out he stabbed his own eyes out and exiled himself, accompanied by his children, which prompted the start of Oedipus at Colonus and Antigone.

Remy always felt bad for Antigone. But that was a personal issue.

——

"Remy? Remy! Hey, Remy, I'm here, and you're here, and—"

These sort of calls have been going on since about five minutes after David paid for their lunch and he and Remy started making their way to the subway back home. They started right around the… Martin Beck theatre? Yeah, around there. Remy was kind of scared to turn around and look who that is, until his dad told him to, so he did.

Emile was dragging his older sister and her dog behind him and he was getting really close.

"I didn't know you'll be here right now!" Emile's face was flushed, hidden under the hood of his fluffy mustard yellow coat. His glasses were covered in raindrops and all fogged up.

He looked absolutely adorable.

"Sweetie, what are you doing here?" At the hurt face, Remy quickly added "I'm just curious, that's all. Did you bring Mycroft too?"

"Well… no, I didn't. Mycroft stayed home. I can't bring him on holiday vacations. Our neighbors are looking after him, though! They're very nice and they're technically his grandparents! Well, kinda. I got him from a litter their bunnies had. It's a long story. And we were at the Man of La Mancha matinee just now! Julie and I have tickets to The Lion King at seven, and my parents are going to The Full Monty. It's a holiday tradition!"

Well then… hmm…

"Oh, you haven't met my dad yet!" Emile almost started jumping. "You have to—"

Someone tapped on Remy's shoulder. "I thought we're going home, not talking to cute boys on the street?" David asked jokingly.

"Hello, sir! I'm—"

"That's Emile, Dad. He's a friend. I told you about him. And his sister Juliana."

"But she's buying books so we're going to wait for her!" The tiny blond said oh so excitedly. He could never not get excited, it seemed. Remy loved that about him.

"What did you say her name was?" At David's raised eyebrow, Emile started jumping even more.

"Juliana! Yoo-li-a-na. It's Dutch, not English. She's named after our great-grandmother who died in Auschwitz. It's a really sad story, if I do say so myself—"

"Munchkin, we gotta go." The aforementioned woman who just got out of the bookstore grabbed Emile's hand and gave it a short squeeze. Her accent was even harsher than Emile's, but… Remy couldn't complain. He heard her speak before. He met her before. "Remmington, nice to see you again."

"You too, Julie. And Ladybug." At the sound of her name, the dog started wagging her tail quite happily. Remy never got to see her off-duty, but he assumed that this was the closest he'll ever get to.

"Mom and Dad are waiting. You coming or what?"

As the three went away, Emile waving goodbye quite enthusiastically and lending his sister a shoulder to lean on (Remy only recently found out why he did), Remy struggled to find the words to explain to his dad what just happened.

Thankfully, he didn't ask. Instead, David said "so that's your boyfriend, huh?", took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the subway. They still had to get home today.

——

Monday, December 23rd

"So we're staying here until… I think the fifth," Emile rambled on the phone. Sure, it was eleven thirty already, but… free minutes were more important than proper sleep schedules. Not that either of them had any of those. "After that were going to Missouri, my dad is taking me to Glore, you know—"

"I have no idea what Glore is.”

"It's a psychiatric museum. And after that we're going to California! To Disneyland, and then the murder museum."

Emile kept rambling about his plans, and he was so loud, Remy could hear his dad tell him to quiet down a couple of times. He was just so excited, and it was always so endearing…

"So what I'm trying to say is," Emile rambled away. "Would you like to hang out sometime? We could go see a musical! Like, umm… Rent! We can go see Rent! I haven't seen the new cast yet… I heard that Jai Rodriguez is awesome though!"

"I don't know… I can't really afford that—"

"Nonsense! What do you have me for if not for this sort of thing?"

"Remy, either you hang up now and go to sleep so you can deal with your grandparents tomorrow," David grunted from the couch, where he tried to sleep, "or I do it for you."

"Alright, boo, how about the twenty-seventh?"

"Sounds good to me!"

"Okay. Good night, Em."

"Good night!"

Remy didn't tell Emile that he actually saw Rent off-Broadway before. And… didn't exactly like it. Maureen, the only bisexual, was presented as promiscuous and very selfish (though that might've just been her personality, he had no idea, Jonathan Larson died before he could ask him) and Angel, the only character he ever truly identified with - a gay, genderqueer drummer who is HIV+ - is really the only main character to die, leaving the most wonderful and wholesome relationship in the show broken and sad and with a bad ending, while the horribly dysfunctional Roger and Mimi - both also HIV+ - got to have a happy ending.

And really, what type of bullshit was that? Gays have already been so villainized in the media, Remy did not need another one.

But he'd go. Just to be with his best friend. He really wanted to.

"Are you ready for the ride to Jersey?" David asked jokingly. Neither of them was ever truly ready for the six-hour (at best) long ride on the interstate to Red Bank. David's parents were, to say the least, terribly nosy and had no tact. Adding to that the fact that his cousin Gilbert (his aunt and her husband had a terrible taste in names, Remy decided rather early in life) wasn't going to come home for Christmas from his boarding school in Nova Scotia, also known as the only sensible member of the family with whom Remy could actually hold a conversation would not be home for Christmas…

This holiday was going to be a disaster.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

——

Tuesday, December 31st, 2002; 9:54 p.m.

Christmas was horrible. But Emile made it better.

This was how Remy described the holiday on his call to India on the thirty-first.

"What I mean is… you know the feeling when your family is just so bigoted and— yeah, okay, I'm sure you know that feeling." India laughed on the other side of the phone. It made him feel… strangely better. "So, like… my family are horrible, okay. My grandparents are, like, the worst. My grandma can't stop sticking her nose in everyone's business, and like, usually it's fine, it's not that bad, but last week my cousin wasn't home so she had more criticism to give to everyone else so she chose to pick on my sexuality, and like—"

"Pick on your sexuality?"

"She literally said ‘why can't you just be who you were when you were sixteen, you may not carry the family name but you will continue the bloodline'—"

"What twisted mind would say something like that?"

"My grandma, sweetie. This is my grandma."

India actually laughed at that. Remy could hear confused sounds from the other side, which he assumed belonged to that Jackson kid she talked about a couple weeks ago.

"Is she also the type of person who would say that Jenna is a nursing student because she's black and a woman?"

"I wouldn't put it past her to act like Professor McKenna. But anyway. So that's my grandma, and my grandpa is… he's deaf and senile. You can imagine what that's like."

India hummed. "Sounds like a fun holiday."

"Well, after coming back Emile and I went to see Rent. I still hate that musical but it was fun to watch it with him. And my boyfriend only called once like, three days ago. And I mean, rude much?"

"I'll bet. I got to talk to my psychiatrist, and… guess what."

"I'm scared of guessing."

"I'm gonna get my first doses of blockers and estrogen real soon, if everything goes right." Remy tried to avoid the tightness in his chest. "I know, I know… you've been waiting for this too."

"Is it weird that I can't wait to get mine but I'm still scared of when you'll get yours?"

"No, absolutely not. I totally understand. We all have a fear of change, peach. Some of us more than others. But it's going to be such gradual change that you won't even think of it, okay? It's exactly how I explained it to Jackson. Even when I get top surgery, which will probably be the most dramatic change, it's not going to be such a big shock. I promise."

India had to end the call rather quick after that. Apparently some doctor needed to talk to her about some stuff, and he could hear her grit her teeth before saying her goodbyes - the doctor called her "Mr. McGinty" - so it must not have been good.

He had a… sort of date, with Emile, at Times Square later. His sister was going to this bar in Greenwich right after the ball drop, so until then, she said she'd chaperone - as if they needed one. But Nathalie had some rules and stuff so they had to have her around, or else.

Whatever that else would be.

"Dad, I'm going out!" A hum of agreement came from his dad's room. Okay then…

Remy got his bag and his phone, sent a quick text to Chris wishing him a happy new year - he probably wasn't going to see it until Remy pointed it out to him when they got back to Boston - and left.

(He probably should check on his dad, but he was going to be alright. Two and a half years sober now, and he had his cartoons. He was going to be okay.)

——

11:57:11 12 13 14... p.m.

"I'm cold!"

"You're from Minnesota, Emile."

"I don't see your point."

Emile was wrapped in his own yellow coat and Remy's black coat (well, one of his three black coats; this particular one he got on a trip to Disneyland when his dad worked on the national tour of some musical, he already forgot) and was still freezing. How in the…

"Do you want to go to Starbucks and get a hot chocolate?"

"Is Starbucks even open at this hour?"

"There's one on fifteen hundred. It's open twenty-four hours."

"...okay, fine." Remy offered his hand and Emile quickly wrapped his arm around Remy's, allowing him to lead the way.

1500 Broadway wasn't the closest to the ball, but Remy was sure that they could make it there and back.

Maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking, but he was going to be an optimist this time.

11:58:28 29 30 31… p.m.

"We never told Juliana that we're going," Emile muttered through chittering teeth. "My mom is going to be so mad—"

"Emile, babe, calm down. We're almost there."

The huge building was already in their line of sight, and Remy couldn't feel happier. He could totally use a latte right about now, and Emile obviously needed a hot chocolate and a cookie. The poor thing was seconds away from becoming a human icicle.

He didn't want to be responsible for his best friend suffering from hypothermia, after all.

"You see that huge building over there?" Remy couldn't make out if Emile was nodding under all his layers or what.

"What about it?"

"We're gonna go to Starbucks in there, okay?"

"You're an addict, you know that?"

Remy didn't listen. So he liked his Starbucks, so what.

He dragged Emile behind him.

11:59:38 39 40 41… p.m.

The line was moving awfully slow for some reason. Remy had no fucking idea why so many people were at Starbucks so close to the ball drop…

Well, he was being a bit of a hypocrite.

"Can we get something to eat too?" Emile whispered to him, standing on his toes. The black coat from Disneyland was back in Remy's possession. The building was warm enough.

"Sure, why not?"

"Thanks, sweetie!"

Sweetie. Holy shit

"Schmuel would work till half past ten at his tailor shop in Klimovich," Emile sang to himself. Remy remembered that song very well. Norbert Leo Butz had a very… interesting way of singing it.

Then again, he never heard anyone else sing it.

He would ask Emile where he heard that song later.

"Forty-one years had come and gone at his tailor shop in Klimovich—"

"Ten, nine, eight…" oh crap.

Remy grabbed Emile's shoulder, shutting him up momentarily. It took just a couple of moments for either of them to fully realize what was going on before—

They kissed.

If there were fireworks they were blinded by the fluorescent lights and deafened by the loud cheers all around them, but they still kissed.

Kissing his blond was very different from kissing his boyfriend. Not that it felt wrong or anything, just... different. Nothing forced, nothing too overpowering. It was lovely, and sweet, and Emile was as soft as always. Nothing felt wrong there.

Not even the little voice that said that Chris won't like it. He wasn't there. He didn't need to know.

And so, they kissed.

——

Wednesday, January 1st, 2003

00:17 a.m.

"You saw The Last Five Years?" Remy asked, a cup of latte warming his rather freezing hands as he walked Emile back to his hotel (Juliana left them to go to a party in Greenwich Village).

"I didn't go to school for anything but my exams from mid-April. I saw that musical so many times, I kinda lost count."

"Oh, okay. Cool."

[alticizilen]

The Art of Loving - Erich Fromm - Quotations

Here is the longest book review of mine, though it was not the idea. I have started this book almost by chance. Let me tell the story:  I watched the movie of Art of Loving, the story of Michalina Wislocka which is an excellent and really good movie about Dr. Michalina Wislocka who worked for woman sexuality. I am going to learn from the film that she had written a book about it. I searched and searched, but apparently, her book has not been translated into English or I could not find it in the available places. Disappointment. But, wait, there was another book which is called “Art of Loving” but from another author Erich Fromm whose name is familiar to me from somewhere. Then, my office-mate intervened my desperate book search, and she said she read the book of Fromm and it changed her life and perception of love. I decided to buy and read it at that point as I already spend so much time for book researching.  Though it took a long time to take the book into my hands till a very close friend of mine told me that she is waiting to read the same book from the German copy. So, it was the time, and we started, I continued, the book traveled with me to three different countries in three different continents. Well, this is how I started to read the book but what I am thinking about it: 

This is one of the first English written sociology books about love that I enjoy to read. Simply stated I enjoyed his simplifications, Freud criticisms -though that both of them psychoanalyst- and deeply digging the human feelings. I am not a person who can judge or criticize his knowledge simply because I do not know the literature at all. However, I know myself and how it feels to love a person. All in all, I want to state some criticisms humbly. First of all, throughout my reading, I felt like he is in between to be anti-capitalist and tolerant of capitalism. Although he raised solid criticisms over capitalism and the system’s created handicap over the human race, he cannot stop to seek rational foundations for loving and true love. This is the second point, stating and preaching the “true love”… I do not know in which extent such attitude compatible with his “being nothing” arguments in the section of God love. The third point, I found him a bit sexist and Western racist. I am so sorry to state that, but this is how I felt even though I really tried to read the piece with a purified mind of today's’ feminist/queer mind. But still… There were priceless feminist/queer works while he was writing his piece and he cannot miss them. I don’t know, I felt uncomfortable even irritated at some places because of his “man-woman” and “Western – Eastern” usages. He seems to be sensitive on these terms, he also states that he uses the term man for all humankind, though such sensitivity somehow does not feel natural. Especially when he defines motherly and father love, or erotic love, his sexist mind -sorry again- is quite visible. Moreover, his plain ignorance of homosexual love is also disturbing. Regarding western and eastern cultures, one should ask him how he defines those terms and where he draws the distinctive line? He states that Western civilization is lack of some values which Eastern culture has, but then he implies that these differences led the Westerns to create science as if Eastern culture is lack of science. Not enough, Eastern culture consists of China and India, and nothing else? Really? No mention of Islam, no mention of Arabs for example? Anyways, all in all, as I said I enjoyed reading the piece even though I have some criticisms. He asserts valuable arguments in and against to loving attitude of the human race. And, I suggest it to everyone who struggles and overthinks about loving.

ps: The book has been left in New Haven as a gift for the spirit of the city and comemoration for my 4 months experience here. 

Hazal Basarik

It wants to convince the reader that all his attempts for love are bound to fail, unless he tries most actively to develop his total personality, so as to achieve a productive orientation; that satisfaction in individual love cannot be attained without the capacity to love one’s neighbor, without true humility, courage, faith and discipline. In a culture in which these qualities are rare, the attainment of the capacity to love must remain a rare achievement. (Preface)

The experience of separateness arouses anxiety; it is, indeed, the source of all anxiety. Being separate means being cut off, without any capacity to use my human powers. Hence to be separate means to be helpless, unable to grasp the world -things and people- actively; it means that the world can invade me without my ability to react. Thus, separateness is the source of intense anxiety. Beyond that, it arouses shame and the feeling of guilt. This experience of guilt and shame in separateness is expressed in the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. (8)

The awareness of human separation, without reunion by love- is the source of shame. It is at the same time the source of guilt and anxiety. (9)

… since the sexual act without love never bridges the gap between two human beings, except momentarily. (12)

But actually, people want to conform to a much higher degree than they are forced to conform, at least in the Western democracies. 

Most people are nor even aware of their need to conform. They live under the illusion that they follow their own ideas and inclinations, that they are individuals, that they have arrived their opinions as the result of their own thinking – and that it just happens that their ideas are the same as those of the majority. The consensus of all serves as a proof for correctness of “their” ideas. Since there is still a need to feel some individuality, such need is satisfied with regard to minor differences; the initials on the handbag or the sweater, the name plate of the bank teller, the belonging to the Democratic as against the Republican party, to the Elks instead of to the Shriners become the expression of individual differences. The advertising slogan of “it is different” shows up this pathetic need for difference, when in reality there is hardly any left. (13)

In contemporary capitalistic society the meaning of equality has been transformed. By equality one refers to the equality of automatons; of men who have lost their individuality. Equality today means “sameness” rather than “oneness”. (14)

The proposition of Enlightenment philosophy, l’ame n’a pas de sexe, the soul has no sex, has become the general practice. (…) Just as modern mass production requires the standardization of commodities, so the social process requires standardization of man, and this standardization is called “equality.” (…) In addition to conformity as a way to relieve the anxiety springing from separateness, another factor of contemporary life must be considered: the role of the work routine and of the pleasure routine. (15)

A third way of attaining union lies in creative activity, be it that of the artist, or of the artisan. (16)

The passive form of symbiotic union is that of submission, or if we use a clinical term, of masochism. The masochistic person escapes from the unbearable feeling of isolation and separateness by making himself part and parcel of another person who directs him, guides him, protects him; who is his life and his oxygen, as it were. The power of the one to whom one submits is inflated, may he be a person or a god; he is everything, I am nothing, except inasmuch as I am part of him. (…)

The active form of symbiotic fusion is domination or, to use the psychological term corresponding to masochism, sadism. The sadistic person wants to escape from his aloneness and his sense of imprisonment by making another person part and parcel of himself. He inflates and enhances himself by incorporating another person, who worships him. The sadistic person is as dependent on the submissive person as the latter is on the former; neither can live without the other. The difference is only that the sadistic person commands, exploits, hurts, humiliates and the masochistic person is commanded, exploited, hurt, humiliated. This is a considerable difference in a realistic sense; in a deeper emotional sense, the difference is not so great as that which they both have common: fusion without integrity. (18-19)

Love is an activity, not a passive affect; it is a “standing in,” not a “falling for.” (21)

Love is the active concern for the life and the growth of that which we love. (25)

Care and concern imply another aspect of love; that of responsibility. Today responsibility is often meant to denote duty, something imposed upon one from the outside. But responsibility, in its true sense, is an entirely voluntary act; it is my response to the needs, expressed or unexpressed, of another human being. To be “responsible” means to be able and ready to “respond.” (…)

Responsibility could easily deteriorate into domination and possessiveness, were it not for a third component of love, respect. Respect is not fear and awe; it donates, in accordance with the woot of the word (respicere = to look at), the ability to see a person as he is, to be aware of his unique individuality. Respect means the concern that the other person should grow and unfold as he is. (26)

Respect exists only on the basis of freedom: “l’amour est l’enfant de la liberte” as and old French song says; love is the child of freedom, never that of domination. (27)

The idea of this polarization is most strikingly expressed in the myth that originally man and woman were one, that they were cut in half, and from then on each male has been seeking for lost female part of himself in order to unite again with her. (…) 

The polarity between male and female principles exists also within each man and each woman. Just as physiologically man and woman each have hormones of the opposite sex, they are bisexual also in the psychological sense. They carry in themselves the principle of receiving and penetrating, of matter and of spirit. Man -and woman- finds union within himself only in the union of his female and his male polarity. This polarity is the basis for all creativity. (…) the homosexual deviation is a failure to attain this polarized union, and thus the homosexual suffers from the pain of never-resolved separateness; a failure, however which he shares with the average heterosexual who cannot love. (31)

In fact, erotic attraction is by no means only expressed in sexual attraction. There is masculinity and femininity in character as well as in sexual function. The masculine character can be defined as having the qualities of penetration, guidance, activity, discipline and adventurousness; the feminine character by qualities of productive receptiveness, protection, realism, endurance, motherliness. (It must always be kept in mind that in each individual both characteristics are blended, but with the correspondence of those appertaining to “his” or “her” sex. (…)

Very often if the masculine character traits of a man are weakened because emotionally, he has remained a child, he will try to compensate for this lack by exclusive emphasis on his male role in sex. The results is the Don Juan, who needs to prove his male prowess in sex because he is unsure of his masculinity in a characterological sense. (…) If the feminine sexuality is weakened or perverted, it is transformed into masochism, or possessiveness. (34-35)

By loving, he has left the prison cell of aloneness and isolation which was constituted by the state of narcissism and self-centeredness. (…) Infantile love follows the principle: “I love because I am loved.” Mature love follows the principle: “I am loved because I love.” Immature love says: “I love you because I need you.” Mature love says: “I need you because I love you.” (38)

Furthermore, “deserved” love easily leaves a bitter feeling that one is not loved for oneself, that one is loved only because one pleases, that one is, in the last analysis, not loved but used. (39)

One cause for neurotic development can lie in the fact that a boy has a loving, but overindulgent or domineering mother, and a weak and uninterested father. In this case he may remain fixed at an early mother attachment, and develop into a person who is dependent on mother, feels helpless, has the striving characteristic of the receptive person, that is, to receive, to be protected, to be taken care of, and who has a lack of fatherly qualities – discipline, independence, an ability to master life by himself. He may try to find “mothers” in everybody, sometimes in women and sometimes in men in a position of authority and power. If, on the other hand, the mother is cold, unresponsive and domineering, he may either transfer the need for motherly protection to his father, and subsequent father figures – in which case the end result is similar to the former case- or he will develop into a one-sidedly father oriented person, completely given to the principles of law, order and authority, and lacking in the ability to expect or to receive unconditional love. This development is further intensified if the father is authoritarian and at the same time strongly attached to the son. What is characteristic of all these neurotic developments is the fact that one principle, the fatherly or motherly, fails to develop or – and this is the case in the more severe neurotic development – that the roles of mother and father become confused both with regard to persons outside and with regard to persons outside and with regard to these roles within the person. Further examination may show that certain types of neurosis, like obsessional neurosis, develop more on the basis of a one-sided father attachment, while others, like hysteria, alcoholism, inability to assert oneself and to cope with life realistically, and depressions, result from mother-centeredness. (42)

Love is not primarily a relationship to a specific person; it is an attitude, an orientation of character which determines the relatedness of a person to the world as a whole, not toward one “object” of love. If a person loves only one other person and is indifferent to the rest of his fellow men, his love is not love but a symbiotic attachment, or an enlarged egotism. Yet, most people believe that love is constituted by the object, not by the faculty. In fact, they even believe that it is a proof of the intensity of their love when they do not love anybody except the “loved” person. (…) If I truly love one person I love all persons, I love the world, I love life. If I can say to somebody else, “I love you,” I must be able to say, “I love in you everybody, I love through you the world, I love in you also myself.” (43)

Here lies the basic difference to erotic love. In erotic love, two people who were separate become one. In motherly love, two people who were one become separate. The mother must not only tolerate, she must wish and support the child’s separation. (48)

First of all, it is often confused with the explosive experience of “falling: in love, the sudden collapse of the barriers which existed until that moment between two strangers. But, as was pointed out before, this experience of sudden intimacy is by its very nature short-lived. (49)

If the desire for physical union is not stimulated by love, if erotic love is not also brotherly love, it never leads to union in more than an orgiastic, transitory sense. (51)

If love were only a feeling, there would be no basis for the promise to love each forever. A feeling comes and it may go. How can I judge that it will stay forever, when my act does not involve judgement and decision? (52)

Let us first speak of the development from mother centered to father centered religions. According to the great and decisive discoveries of Bachofen and Morgan in the middle of the nineteenth century, and in spite of the rejection their findings have found in most academic circles, there can be little doubt that there was a matriarchal phase of religion preceding the patriarchal one, at least in many cultures. In the matriarchal phase, the highest being is the mother. She is the goddess, she is also the authority in family and society. In order to understand the essence of matriarchal religion, we have only to remember what has been said about the essence of motherly love. Mother’s love is unconditional, it is all-protective, all-enveloping; because it is unconditional, it can also not be controlled or acquired. Its presence gives the loved person a sense of bliss; its absence produces a sense of lostness and utter despair. Since mother loves her children because they are her children, and not because they are “good,” obedient, or fulfill her wishes and commands, mother’s love is based on equality. All men are equal, because they all are children of a mother, because they all are children of Mother Earth. (60-61)

The truly religious person, if he follows the essence of the monotheistic idea, does not pray for anything, does not expect anything from God; he does not love God as a child loves his father or his mother; he has acquired the humility of sensing his limitations, to the degree of knowing that he knows nothing about God. (66)

This logic is based on the law of identity which states that A is A, the law of contradiction (A is not non-A) and the law of the excluded middle (A cannot be A and non-A, neither A nor non-A). Aristotle explains his position very clearly in the following sentence: “It is impossible for the same thing at the same time o belong and not to belong to the same thing and in the same respect; and whatever other distinctions we might add to meet dialectical objections, let them be added. This, then, is the most certain of all principles …” (…)

In opposition to Aristotelian logic is what one might call paradoxical logic, which assumes that A and non-A do not exclude each other as predicates of X. Paradoxical logic was predominant in Chinese and Indian thinking, in the philosophy of Heraclitus, and then again, under the name of dialectics, it became the philosophy of Hegel, and of Marx. The general principle of paradoxical logic has been clearly described by Lao-tse. “Words that are strictly true seem to be paradoxical.” (…)

(Heraclitus) assumes the conflict between opposites is the basis of all existence. “They do not understand,” he says, “that the all-One, conflicting in itself, is identical with itself: conflicting harmony as in the bow and in the lyre.” (67-69)

“We look at it, and we do not hear it, and we name “Equable.” We listen to it, and we do not hear it, and we name it the “Inaudible.” We try to grasp it, and do not get hold of it, and we name it the “Subtle.” With these three qualities, it cannot be made the subject of description; and hence we blend them together and obtain The One.” (…) 

But paradoxical philosophy is neither in India not in China to be confused with a dualistic standpoint. The harmony (unity) consist in the conflicting position from which it is made up. (70)

Inasmuch as God represents the ultimate reality, and inasmuch as the human mind perceives reality in contradictions, no positive statement can be made of God. (…) Man can only know the negation, never the position of ultimate reality. “Meanwhile man can not know what God is, even though he be ever so well aware of what God is not…” (71)

The teachers of paradoxical logic say that man can perceive reality only in contradictions, and can never perceive in thought the ultimate reality-unity, the One itself. This led to the consequence that one did not seek as the ultimate aim to find the answer in thought. Thought can only lead us to the knowledge that it cannot give us the ultimate answer. The world of thought remains caught in the paradox. The only way in which the world can be grasped ultimately lies, not in thought, but in act, in the experience of oneness. Thus paradoxical logic leads to the conclusion that the love of God is neither the knowledge of God in thought, not the thought of one’s love of God, but the experiencing the oneness with God. (72)

Secondly, the paradoxical standpoint led to the emphasis on transforming man, rather than to the development of dogma on the one hand, and science on the other. From the Indian, Chinese and mystical standpoints, the religious task of man is not to think right, but to act right, and/or to become one with the One in the act of concentrated mediation. (73)

The emphasis on thought has also another and historically a very important consequence. The idea that one could find the truth in thought led not only to dogma, but also to science. (…) In the dominant Western religious system, the love of God is essentially the same as the belief in God, in God’s existence, God’s justice, God’s love. The love of God, is essentially a thought experience. (…) In the stage of full maturity he has freed himself from the person of mother and of father as protecting and commanding powers; he has established the motherly and fatherly principles in himself. He has become his own father and mother; he is farher and mother. In the history of the human race we see -and can anticipate- the same development: from the beginning of the love for God as the helpless attachment to a mother Goddess, through the obedient attachment to a father God, to a mature stage where God ceases to be an outside power, where man has incorporated the principles of love and justice into himself, where he has become one with God, and eventually, to a point where he speaks of God only in a poetic, symbolic sense. (73-74)

Love for man, furthermore, while directly embedded in his relations to his family, is in the last analysis determined by the structure of the society in which he lives. (76)

Shoes, useful and needed as they may be, have no economic value (exchange value) if there is no demand for them on the market; human energy and skill are without exchange value if there is no demand for them under existing market conditions. (78)

Our character is geared to exchange and to receive, to barter and to consume; everything, spiritual as well as material objects, becomes an object of exchange and of consumption. (81)

One of the most significant expressions of love, and especially of marriage with this alienated structure, is the idea of the “team.” In any number of articles on happy marriage, the ideal described is that of the smoothly functioning team. This description is not too different from the idea of a smoothly functioning employee; he should be “reasonably independent,” cooperative, tolerant, and at the same time ambitious and aggressive. Thus, the marriage counselor tells us, the husband should “understand” his wife and be helpful. He should comment favorably on her new dress, and on a tasty dish. She, in turn, should understand when he comes home tired and disgruntled, she should listen attentively when he talks about his business troubles, should not be angry but understanding when he forgets her birthday. All this kind of relationship amount to is the well-oiled relationship between two persons who remain strangers all their lives, who never arrive at a “central relationship,” but who treat each other with courtesy and who attempt to make each other feel better. (81)

It fitted the general illusion of the time to assume that using the right techniques is the solution not only to technical problems of industrial production, but of all human problems as well. (82)

Fear of or hatred for the other sex are at the bottom of those difficulties which prevent a person from giving himself completely, from acting spontaneously, from trusting the sexual partner in the immediacy and directness of physical closeness. (83)

In order to prove that capitalism corresponded to the natural seeds of man, one had to show that man was by nature competitive and full of mutual hostility. While economists “proved” this in terms of the insatiable desire for economic gain, and the Darwinists in terms of the biological law of the survival of the fittest, Freud came to the same result by the assumption that man is driven by a limitless desire for the sexual conquest of all women, and that only the pressure of society prevented man from acting on his desires. (84-85)

It is remarkable that Sullivan speaks here of expressed needs, when the least one could say about love is that it implies a reaction to unexpressed needs between two people. (87)

Their aim is to loved, not to love. There is usually a good deal of vanity in this type of man, more or less hidden grandiose ideas. If they have found the right woman, they feel secure, on top of the world, and can display a great deal of affection and charm, and this is the reason why these men are often so deceptive. But when, after a while, the woman does not continue to live up to their phantastic expectations, conflicts and resentment start to develop. If the woman is not always admiring them, if she makes claims for a life of the own, if she wants to be loved and protected herself, and in extreme cases, if she is not willing to condone his love affairs with other women (or even have an admiring interest in them), the man feels deeply hurt and disappointed, and usually rationalizes this feeling with the idea that the woman “does not love him, is selfish, or domineering.” Anything short of the attitude of a loving mother toward a charming child is taken as proof of a lack of love. These men usually confuse their affectionate behavior, their wish to please, with genuine love and thus arrive at the conclusion that they are being treated quite unfairly; they imagine themselves to be the great lovers and complain bitterly about the ingratitude of their love partner. (89)

Mother can give life, and she can take life. She is the one to revive, and the one to destroy; she can do miracles of love – and nobody can hurt more than she. In religious images (such as the Hindu goddess Kali) and in dream symbolism the two opposite aspects of mother can often be found. (90)

Needless to say it is not rare that two persons find each other in a mutual idolatry which, sometimes, in extreme cases, represents the picture of folie a deux. (…) As long as love is a daydream, they can participate; as soon as it comes down to the reality of the relationship between two real people – they are frozen. (…) This tendency coincides with a general attitude characteristic of modern man. He lives in the past or in the future, but not in the present. He remembers sentimentally his childhood and his mother – or he makes happy plans for the future. (93)

Any detailed study would show, however, that the atmosphere of tension and unhappiness within the “unified family” is more harmful to the children than an open break would be – which teaches them at least that man is able to end an intolerable situation by a courageous decision. (95)

Love, experienced thus, is a constant challenge; it is not a resting place, but a moving, growing , working together; even whether there is harmony or conflict, joy or sadness, is secondary to the fundamental fact that two people experience themselves from the essence of their existence, that they are one with each other by being one with themselves, rather than by fleeing from themselves. There is only one proof for the presence of love: the depth of the relationship, and the aliveness and strength in each person concerned; this is the fruit by which love is recognized. (96)

By irrational faith I understand the belief (in a person or an idea) which is based on one’s submission to irrational authority. In contrast, rational faith is a conviction which is rooted in one’s own experience of thought of feeling. Rational faith is not primarily belief in something, but the quality of certainty and firmness which our convictions have. Faith is a character trait pervading the whole personality, rather than a specific belief. (112)

We are aware of the existence of a self, of a core in our personality which is unchangeable, and which persists throughout our life in spite of varying circumstances, and regardless of certain changes in opinions and feelings. It is the core which is the reality behind the word “I.” and on which our conviction of our own identity is based. Unless we have faith in the persistence of our self, our feeling of identity is threatened and we become dependent on other people whose approval then becomes the basis for our feeling of our identity. (114)

Because of the fact that faith and power are mutually exclusive, all religions and political systems which originally are built on rational faith become a=corrupt and eventually lose what strength they have, if they rely on power or ally themselves with it. 

To have faith requires courage, the ability to take a risk, the readiness even to accept pain and disappointment. Whoever insists on safety and security as primary conditions of life cannot have faith; whoever shuts himself off in a system of defense, where distance and possession are his means of security, makes himself a prisoner. (117)

To love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person. Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love. (118)

Fairness meaning not to use fraud and trickery in the exchange of commodities and services, and in the exchange of feelings. “I give you as much as you give me,” in material goods as well as in love, is the prevalent ethical maxim in capitalist society. It may even be said that the development of fairness ethics is the particular ethical contribution of capitalist society.  (119)

But the practice of love must begin with recognizing the difference between fairness and love. (120)

They arrive at the result that to speak of love today means only to participate in the general fraud; they claim that only a martyr or a mad person can love in the world of today, hence that all discussion of love is nothing but preaching. (121)

All activities are subordinated to economic goals, means have become ends; man is an automaton -well fed, well clad, but without any ultimate concern for that which is his peculiar human quality and function. If man is to able to love, he must be put in his supreme place. The economic machine must serve him, rather than he serve it. He must be enabled to share experience, to share work, rather than, at best, share profits. Society must be organized in such a way that man’s social, loving nature is not separated from his social existence, but becomes one with it. (…) to have faith in the possibility of love as a social and not only exceptional-individual phenomenon, is a rational faith based on the insight into the very nature of man. (123)

[notagarroter]

Revisiting TAB through the lens of TFP

Much has been made of the parallels between The Hounds of Baskerville and The Final Problem, but it recently occurred to me to look back to another episode, The Abominable Bride, for parallels and foreshadowing of TFP.

The plot of TFP is built entirely around the idea that Sherlock has repressed traumatic memories from his childhood.  Since the concept of TAB is built entirely on the idea that Sherlock is plumbing the depths of his own memory for insight into his current situation, it makes sense that there would be a connection between the two episodes.  This seems especially likely if we consider that TAB is, in a way, laying the groundwork for S4 – by the time Moftiss were writing TAB, they probably knew at least the broad outline of the story line for S4.

So, what clues did they leave us?

The most straightforward one is Redbeard: 

WATSON: As your friend – as someone who ... worries about you – what made you like this? (Holmes has opened his eyes and looks at his friend almost sympathetically.) HOLMES: Oh, Watson. Nothing made me. (From somewhere to his left, scrabbling claws can be heard together with a sound of a dog whimpering anxiously, or as if it is in pain. Holmes turns his head in the direction of the sound.) HOLMES: I made me. (The scrabbling and whimpering continues. Holmes frowns in confusion.) HOLMES: Redbeard?

and then later:

These are both very brief mentions, but they seem pretty inarguably to be intended as foreshadowing for the role "Redbeard" is going to play in TFP.  Holmes's claim, "I made me", immediately undermined by the reference to Redbeard clearly suggests that there is something important and influential in his childhood he isn't ready to acknowledge.  And Mycroft's notebook strongly hints that he's aware of some kind of dark secret relating to "Redbeard".  TAB gives us the first indication that Redbeard might be more than a beloved dog who had to be put down.  

So far, so obvious.  But what else is there?

Well, for starters, there's that suggestive reference to Freud:

WATSON: Is it such a curious question? HOLMES: From a Viennese alienist, no; from a retired Army surgeon, most certainly.

Given that the majority of the episode takes place in Sherlock's dream, I think it's safe to say that this signals a direct engagement with Freudian notions of the unconscious, of trauma, and of repressed memory. The entire conversation with Watson in the greenhouse takes the form of a psychoanalytic session, and Holmes' line here makes that connection explicit. 

Even beyond that one conversation, the whole episode is preoccupied with the idea of going “deep” into one’s mind.

HOLMES: Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another. WATSON: Oh, you have a case, then, a new one? HOLMES (softly): An old one. Very old. I shall have to go deep. WATSON: Deep? Into what? HOLMES (softly): Myself.

Watching TAB without awareness of S4 and TFP, I understood this passage to be a reference to Moriarty on one hand and Ricoletti on the other.  To solve the Moriarty case, Sherlock has to figure out the old Ricoletti one that he's read about at some point.  That works, but it doesn't really explain why Sherlock seems so intense in this moment, or why he describes this act of memory as going deep into himself. There's no reason for him to have such a personal or emotional reaction to a 100 year old case. 

So, I've come to believe that this too is a bit of foreshadowing about Eurus and Victor.  Here in his drug-dream/mind-palace, Sherlock can acknowledge that there is something he has repressed in his memory.  He doesn't yet know what it is, but he knows something is there. 

TAB then gives us many, many references to the idea of Sherlock "going deeper" within himself, and the possible dangers associated with rooting around in one's memories: 

MORIARTY: Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep.  Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.

Before S4, I was content to view this as MP!Moriarty warning Sherlock about the dangers of a drug overdose. But now it seems pretty clear to me that Moriarty is warning Sherlock about what secrets he might find if he digs too deep into his repressed memories.  Maybe even trying to prepare him.

HOLMES: You may, however, rest assured there are no ghosts in this world. (Watson nods slightly and looks out of the window. Holmes lowers his eyes.) HOLMES (quietly): ... save those we make for ourselves. (He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest.) WATSON (looking round to him): Sorry, what did you say? (Holmes keeps his eyes closed.) WATSON: Ghosts we make for ourselves? What do you mean? (Holmes doesn’t respond. Watson sighs.)

Watson's double reaction to Sherlock's statement serves to underline it and draw the audience's attention to it.  But why?  Within TAB, we never really learn what Sherlock means by the "ghosts we make for ourselves". 

HOLMES: We all have a past, Watson. WATSON: Hmm. HOLMES: Ghosts – they are the shadows that define our every sunny day. 

and later:

HOLMES (furiously): THERE ARE NO GHOSTS!

TAB is definitely playing with the ambiguity between literal ghosts and metaphorical ones.  The whole episode is a "ghost story" in which Holmes gets to prove that ghosts aren't real.  And yet... we also get these repeated and tantalizing references to some kind of ghost that Sherlock *does* believe in. Something is haunting him...  a memory he can't quite get a fix on. Something that played a role in making him the man he is today.  This ghost may not be supernatural, but Sherlock is getting the sense that it might nonetheless be terrifying. 

I think it's also worth considering The Bride's song, which is repeated a number of times throughout the episode:

BRIDE (singing): ♪ Do not forget me ... BRIDE: ♪ Do not forget me ... BRIDE: ♪ Remember the maid ... BRIDE: ♪ The maid of the mill. ♪

What is the point of this song?  Sure, it's spooky and Victorian, which makes it an appropriate choice for a turn of the century ghost story.  But memory isn't actually key to Emilia's complaints against her husband.  He didn't forget her, he mistreated her.  Same with Sir Eustace.  So why does the song place such an emphasis on remembering?  In light of TFP, I'm now seeing this as Sherlock's memory of Eurus just starting to resurface.  Though Sherlock doesn't yet know it consciously, Eurus is the "maid" who has been forgotten (and is furious about this fact). 

This also ties into the "MISS ME" motif, which seems (in HLV and TAB) to be about Moriarty – after all, it's Moriarty we see uttering the phrase.  But over the course of S4, it starts to become clear that there is someone else who wants to be missed – Eurus.  I think TAB is our first indication that "MISS ME" is doing double duty.

MYCROFT HOLMES: Do you miss him? HOLMES: Moriarty is dead. MYCROFT HOLMES: And yet.

Of course Sherlock misses Moriarty, after a fashion – that much is clear from the text of the episode.  But in retrospect, I think Sherlock's also starting to remember that there is someone else he misses—someone who was traumatically taken from him many years ago.  (One could read this as Victor, though I'm slightly more inclined to read it as Eurus.  Could be both.)

Lastly I think we can look at the whole premise of the episode – the "invisible army" of women who have been silenced, ignored, and abused, and are now returning to exact their revenge.  We see within the episode that Sherlock connects this idea explicitly to the way he has treated Molly and Janine, but in light of S4, it also suggests an burgeoning awareness that there is yet another woman Sherlock "wronged".  Arguably, Sherlock's unconscious cooked up this whole mad plot, this "league of furies" because Sherlock's memories of Eurus were starting to resurface. 

Throughout TAB, Sherlock’s unconscious is reminding him of a specific woman he has ignored and forgotten, but who won’t be ignored much longer.

All quotations pulled from ariane devere’s transcripts.

[lykanthropa]

Support Class

Chapter 10: Who is the coward here?

When Medic wakes up in the morning, the cold had penetrated his bones. Presumably, he had been woken up by that, even though he was embedded in thick hay. But the barn has cracks and holes in its wooden walls that let in the cold air. At night it’s unbearable. He looks around for his dove. Archimedes sits on a crossbeam above him and watches over his owner. He had fluffed up and looks like a big plush ball. “Guten Morgen, Archimedes.” Hans' voice draws the attention of his dove and it flutters down to him and settles on his shoulder to rub against his cheek. “I know it's cold. You're not used to that anymore, are you?” “Coo~” “Maybe we should move to a state where it's always warm. Or are we too soft? Years of desert sun probably spoiled us too much. Or what do you mean?” “Coo~” “Hahaha.” “Are you talking with your dove again?” Hans' homeless roommate is just climbing the ladder up to their sleeping place. He hadn't noticed that he was not there at all. “Ah, Ben. Good Morning. Are you always awake so early?” “Of course. I never sleep long during the winter. The risk of freezing is far too great.” “Well, I don't want to take your hay from you.” “You are my guest. So you get the most hay. Besides, you are driving again today. Then I have everything for myself again.” A smile flash over Hans' face. “Tell me, does your dove understand you? Or is that just a matter of habituation? When you live alone, you start to talk to all kinds of things.” “Alone I was only in my childhood. And yes... I think Archimedes understands me. More or less. I definitely understand him.” “Is that so?” “Oh yes.” “How does this work?” “Well, there is no particular trick behind it. I have him for so long. The more time you spend with someone, the better ... the better you understand him...” Hans has to swallow a big lump when he realizes how homesickness spreads in him. Homesick for his family, deep in the desert. In the other world… “Then you are something like a pigeon breeder? So hobby-wise? Heard that these people should have a very intimate relationship with their animals. I wish I had a pet. Then I wouldn't feel so alone.” “Are here no stray animals here?” “In this town? Not at all. As you already know, this city is not very animal-loving. Here live smaller animals, such as birds and squirrels. Maybe cats or goldfish are kept in some houses.” “…... would you like to have a house here?” “As I said, this is my home town. No matter how cold people are here. Not for all the money in the world I would want to live somewhere else.” “I see. Where have you been by the way?” “Just outside to do a few warm up exercises. I do that every morning. Warm me up in the fresh air after a cold night. This is life. You cannot understand that, eh? I didn't mean to mention that, but you've appear very affluent on me since the first moment. But now I know that you are a doctor.” “Well, now that I'm away from my old job, I don't earn any more money and so I'm more or less destitute.” “Such a comedown can happen very quickly.” “It wasn't a comedown. It's just... My past caught up with me. I made only one mistake, and that cost me my old life.” The only mistake I made was that I ignored Friedrich's thoroughness. I should have known he made a copy of Mann Co.'s letter. I would have had to turn his whole office upside down. I maneuvered myself into this situation. It's all my fault. “You seem depressed right now. I'm sorry if I said something wrong.” “It's not your fault. Only mine. I have to rearrange my life. But that's not easy when people treat me that way.” “Don't forget that you have many fellow sufferers. Like me, for example.” “Yes, thanks… Ach, I should go now.” “Do you really want to go now? Wait for the afternoon train.” “No, I want to go now. The sooner the better. You have helped me a lot. Thank you for this.” “The nearest town is one and a half days away. So you don't have to worry about a night place. But if you want to take the morning train, we should go now.” Hans rubs the grit out of his eyes. Without water, it's a bit difficult. “If you want to wash up, use the snow outside.” “………” “Don’t worry, it’s white.” “I'm not afraid of foreign body fluids. It's just ... That just reminded me of someone.” “Coo~” “What did he say?” “Oh, Archimedes just wants to comfort me.” Hans strokes his dove's head. “I don't know what I would do without him, now that I have no one left." “Times can change.” “The same goes for you.” “My life doesn’t have to change. I’m really happy as it is now.” Hans nods. “Let's go. In ten minutes the train arrives.” “Alright. Come on, get into your cage, Archimedes.” He opens the birdcage and the dove flies in. He notices the grin on Ben's face. “I still can't believe it” he says, shaking his head and climb down the ladder. “Throw down your suitcase. I will catch it.” Ben skilful catches it, so Hans has a free hand to hold the cage and climb down the ladder. “Hmm... For having to start a new life, you really have little luggage. The suitcase is not even half as heavy as it looks.” “Heavy… Well, I'm just not a big friend of weighing tons luggage.” “I can understand that.” Hans pulls his jacket closer around the body before he divest Ben the suitcase and they step out of the barn. It's snowing again. The whole sky is gray. Just like yesterday too. It's really time for Hans to move on before Archimedes is getting sick. Hans himself already feels a little sickly. His thoughts want to digress back to his old life. He can only prevent this with great difficulty. The time heals wounds. At some point he will not think about this Team anymore. Maybe every now and then. But then these memories will be nothing more than faded, meaningless images without any meaning. Hans can hardly wait for this time. But he is afraid of dreams. The last two nights were dreamless. But eventually they will come. Them, Hans fears the most.

The streets are dead. Silence lies over the city. The only thing that can be heard are the crunching sounds that Hans and his companion make when they walk across the snow. “Beautiful, isn't it? This silence, this white and the almost invisible fog. Almost like a dream. I love the winter.” “That's why you always get up so early?” “Yes. Then it is as if the city belongs to me alone. But that's only in winter. In spring and summer people are more active. Also in the early morning. I don't feel well in these seasons.” “What about autumn?” “Hmm... autumn is a mix between winter and summer. Warm and cold. This season, I use to adjust myself. What do you like?” “Rain. I like the rain. Therefore, autumn is my favorite season.” Especially with lightning and thunder to expedite certain experiments. But that's all past now... “And then you choose a life in the desert? As far as I know, it rarely rains there.” “There are several reasons for this. Anyway, it was not a wrong decision.” “Well, in life, something changes again and again. And now it's time again to start a new section. Be glad that you get the autumn back. Unless you want to live in a desert again. There are more than enough of them in this country.” “No... no, I think a desert as a place of residence is out of the question for me no more. Well, I guess, I'm already too old for my former job anyway.” “Do you think so? Doctors can still practice their profession in old age. That is, as long as they feel fit. And you still seem to be very fit.” “Haha... Thank you. And um... would you like to be treated by a doctor who doesn't have a license to practice?” “You mean a license to heal? I'm not picky.” “Nice to hear.” “Besides, I think that these people have a certain amount of knowledge about medicine, otherwise they wouldn't decide for that kind of job. License aside.” That's how Hans met Ben. Completely optimistic. And that for a homeless man. It's almost a shame he has to leave this good man behind in this stuffy little town.

When they pass the main square, some townspeople bustle in front of a large building. “What is that?” “This is the house of the mayor.” “Standing every day so many people in front of his house?” “No, not really. Only if there is something to complain about. And I have the unfair feeling that you are the reason.” “My presence got about quickly.” “In a town like this, everything spreads faster than wildfire, which scares people here.” “Do no harm…” “What?” “This is written on the bust of Hippocrates.” “I'm sorry. But I don't understand that much.” “No problem. What I'm trying to say is that I've become a doctor to help people. Of course, you have to make a few sacrifices now and then, but that happens after all for the good of humanity and in the name of science.” Hans sighs sadly. “I miss the good old days of lobotomy. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to do it once. Which of course doesn't mean that I cannot do it anyway, hehe.” “There he is!” “Hmm?!” The cluster of people is suddenly moving toward Hans and Ben. Led by a small, fat man with a walrus moustache and a small cylinder on his bald head. Two meters from Hans, he and his followers come to a halt. Apparently they don't dare get any closer. “Hello, Mr… German?” “…my name is Hans Ludwig Freud.” Hans knows that he has to be patient with these people, but that greeting is already giving him a bad mood. “Okay, Hantz Lutwik Fruit.” “………” “My name is Benjamin Loire. I am the mayor of this small town.” “And what can I do for you?” “I really do not want to be rude, but...” The man in his mid-forties tugs nervously at his sash. “I have to ask you to leave this town.” When the mayor said that, he takes half a step backwards, while trying to look Hans in the eye self-confidently. Hans stays silent. Of course he should tell them that he is on his way to the train station, but he has just come up with a devilish idea. The people here really seem to be afraid of him. Why not take advantage of it? Hans puts down his suitcase and cage on the floor and takes a step towards the townspeople, on his face forms a malicious smile. “Why should I oblige?” It's clear to see how the mayor has to swallow a big lump. “B-because, because err…” “Because what?” Loire winces. The people behind him, too. They seem to say and do everything the mayor says and does. And if he's afraid of someone, then they are also afraid. “Heh! Why should I go? I like it here. I want to settle here.” “But you can not stay here! You are a… German.” “Hmpf! I didn't know you need qualifications for an American town to live in. And I've never seen a sign that says I'm not welcome here.” “Our town is small and is hardly noticed. We never thought that just a German would get lost here. And that you would make common cause with a German I would have thought like never!” The words of the mayor addressed to Ben are sharp. But old Ben remains unimpressed. “You don't care what I do. But as soon as I welcome a stranger, you notice me again?” “He is not just any stranger! He is a-“ “Enough! Bad enough that there doesn't seem to be any hospitality in this town. But treating someone like that from your own ranks is disgusting! I come from a place where everyone treated the other with decency and respect. Well, at least that's how it was most of the time... You don't care that someone born in this city has no home. Did you ever offer shelter to him? Do you donate food to him every now and then? Do you share your clothes with him so that he doesn't have to freeze in the winter?” The people stay silent. “I anticipated as much. I always thought that people, especially in small towns, take care of each other. After all, these are the places where everyone knows everyone. This man…” Hans puts a hand on Ben's shoulder. “He was the only one who welcomed me. He shared his food with me, although it was not much. Despite his position, he always had a smile on his face. And although he keeps telling me that he is as happy with his life as it is, I still know that he, too, has certain desires that he, as a homeless person, cannot afford.” Oh mein Gott… What am I talking about? Is that me? Or am I losing my mind? I want back home! “Be that as it may. Anyway, I'll stay here. And I'm sure we'll all get along very well, hehe.” Hans' devilish grin returns and the people move together closer intimidated. The former mercenary doesn't feel well with it. He would have liked to leave finally. But after this fuss, I cannot just go now. But whatever. Then this is just my new home. It's not that bad either. The repellent behavior of the people is very annoying, but after a few weeks they have become used to me. Maybe I should run for a post as mayor, no, as a god! Then I can shape this town and the people to my will. Muhahahahaha!! But first I need a job and a roof over my head. Hans claps his hands. “So, which house is still empty?” People stare at him with wide eyes. Wondering, Hans turns to Ben. He, too, looks at him with almost as big eyes. “What’s wrong?” “A-OK! But... If you really want to live here and win the trust of people to be voted as mayor, you should keep your diabolical laugh for yourself. Well, nevertheless, you already have my vote.” Ben knocks him friendly on the back. “Wherefrom...? Oh... I probably spoke my thoughts aloud.” “Loud and clear.” How uncomfortable. “Pah! As if a German could carry the office of a mayor! And that in America.” The little mayor suddenly becomes very courageous. “This is my town! And I will not let a megalomaniac madman take control! And you will not get a house here either!” “I have money.” “We do not want your Nazi Gold!” “My… my what?!?” Hans takes another step towards the mayor and his community. Immediately they make two steps backwards. “I said money, not gold. So much is this city not worth it anyway. Apart from that, you are the only Nazis here!” A startled murmur goes through the crowds. The people are genuinely shocked. “You are trying my patience. You should beg me on knee to stay here with you. I have medical knowledge that you can only dream of. You could learn a lot from me. I could turn this dozily town into a medical metropolis. You need to deal it. You are too cut off from the outside world. I know exactly how it is...” Hans looks deeply into the mayor's eyes. Fear and insecurity are reflected in them. And Hans realizes one thing - no matter how great the fear of him is, the hatred for Germans is even greater. Only over his dead body he would let Hans live in this city, much less give up his office. The reencounter with Friedrich was probably inevitable. But couldn't that have lasted a few more years? At least until World War II is no longer so present in the world. 23 years doesn't seem to be long enough.

An engine howls and suddenly a vehicle is driven into the main square. A van. Hans recognizes it immediately. “Sniper…?!” The van drives through the crowd. The people are running and screaming, disperse. Hans' heart beats like a steam-hammer. But not because people were almost caught by the car, but because he hopes that Mundy came here to pick him up and bring him back home. But something is wrong... Mundy drives like a beginner. Suddenly, Archimedes is cooing loudly in his cage. “What the…?” The Van comes slithering in front of Hans to a halt. It's only a few centimeters between him and the vehicle. He stares in disbelief through the windshield, where a yellow eagle-eye pair is facing him. The driver's door flies open and a black dog jumps out, runs up to Hans and grabs his coat with its teeth to pull him into the van. It's one of Friedrich's Dobermann dogs. He doesn't have a good feeling “L-let me go!” The eagle and a macaw also leave the car and grab his suitcase and Archimedes' cage. “Hey!” Hans can't oppose against the forces of the Doberman and he already stands with one leg in the Van. He hardly finds words when he sees all the animals in the driver's cab. The predator bird, the robin, a... squirrel? How did these animals drive the van? Is that even real? Can he trust his eyes? Maybe he is still sleeping? Or is he in a coma? Did the train have an accident? Is he half frozen in the snow? Anyway. Sniper will blame him in all three cases. “You have already mentioned this sniper several times.” Hans grits his teeth. Did he always thought aloud? Anyway, the others in Base never mentioned it. “Um…” Hans turns to Ben. “Sniper… is just a nickname. For the eagle.” “Is this a traveling circus?” “No… They are here to bring me back home.” “Home? Back to the desert?” “Yes.” Hans can only suppress a jubilation with difficulty. He is so happy to see these animals. From today, he will look at them with completely different eyes. The mercenaries must miss him so much that they sent their animals to bring him home! But that's what makes him suspicious. Had not Mundy said that he would come in person and pick him up? Apart from that, he would never allow animals to drive his beloved Van. So maybe they are not here because they want him back, but because something happened! It was clear that there would be trouble with Friedrich… Hans looks at Ben startled. But this time, his thoughts don't seem to have left his mouth. “You lived with animals all these years?” “May I introduce? My family.” “………”Suddenly Ben starts to laugh. “No wonder you behave like a madman. If a person lives among with animals for years, you just has to lose your common sense.” “You think I'm a madman?” Ben puts a hand on Hans' shoulder. “I do. But that's what makes you so likeable. We are not so different. I'm not at my best anymore, too. I'll miss you. But tell me... was that really serious that you wanted to stay here?” “Yes, but I have to say that I was a bit worried that they would hunt me with torches and pitchforks. You know, in Germany I was born in a little old town. They are comparable to small towns like this one. I didn't live on the street, but I was a misfit anyway. And everywhere hung torches and pitchforks on the exterior walls. You have to know, my hometown has an interesting past.” “But it was never used, right?” “It was. Once. Because I had... Oh, never mind. Anyway, people were happy to rid of me. At least I suspect that.” “But this shouldn't be an advice to leave here?” “No no. But on the contrary. If people abhor you so much, you should stay more than ever. But you don't have to do that on the street.” “Hmm?” “Where is my suitcase?” The eagle had dropped the suitcase in the footwell of the passenger seat. Hans gets it out there and opens it. “That's for you, my friend. For your generosity and hospitality.” Hans fetches several thick bundles of money out and presses them into the hand of the speechless Ben. “That's $ 500,000. I know people like you think nothing of that, but I'd like you to accept it. Because that's my way to say thank you.” “………” Ben stares spellbound at the money in his hands. With a big smile, Hans slaps on his shoulder. “Buy a nice house and a pet. Decent clothes and shaving kit. And then run for mayor.” “W-what…?” “Yes, I relinquish this office to you. Me as mayor? Ha! I am glad that this is spared me. But you're a good guy. You could make something out of this town. You know, hospitable. Maybe you'll get tourists or something like that. I'll come visit you in a few years. Then I want to see something, alright? If not, I will demand my money back, understood?” “Err… wow. I… I just don’t know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything. Just let action speak.” The Dobermann pulls on Hans’ jacket. “I have to leave now.” He climbs in the van to the animals, closes the door and leans slightly out of the open window. “Take care, my friend.” “So you return to the place where skin color and origin don't matter? How are these things play a role when it’s about animals?” “Haha! Well, animals are easier to handle than humans. Anyway. That's where I belong. For me as a German the outerworld is no place. Not yet.” “Good luck out there.” “I have to wish you good luck.” Suddenly the Van jumps forward when the Dobermann throws itself on the gas pedal and the small town rushes past Hans. He presses deep into the driver's seat. His eyes move from one animal to another. The dog operates the gas and the eagle the steering wheel. “What is going on here?” Hans feels like a kidnap victim... He looks to the side. The robin sits on Archimedes' cage and cheeps loudly. Archimedes looks at Hans with his black button eyes, asks him to open the cage door. He does it. The dove immediately jumps out and cuddles up to the robin. The macaw jumps towards them and greets Archimedes with a light touch of his beak to his dove's and they begin to chatter. Almost as if they were talking. “…………”

“There they are! There they are!” Robin shouts excitedly and points with his small wing to a small crowd on a large square. “Archimedes and Medic!” Dante accelerates the Van and Compatriot steers it directly into the crowd. “Do you want to run someone over, you crazy bird?” “They'll get out of the way if they want to live on” the bald eagle answers relaxed. The people jump screaming out of the way and run away in panic. Dante jumps on the brakes to prevent worse. Only a few inches, they come to a stand in front of Medic. “See? All went well.” “Stupid poultry…” “Let’s get them!” Compatriot and Dante leave the Van. Aberdeen notes that the snake has disappeared. “Hey, where are you, snake?” “I’m here.” The snake looks out from under the driver's seat. “What are you doing down there?” “I'm hiding.” “Why?” “I had already told you once that people, at the sssight of mine, ssstarting to kick, to beat or jussst run away ssscreaming.” “Yes, but not Medic. You've been hiding in vain all these years for nothing, lad. Our Mercs don't even fear death. So how should they be afraid of you?” “Maybe you are right. But for now I will ssstay down here.” “Whatever you say.” Compatriot carries the cage of Archimedes in the Van, after he had already stowed the suitcase in the footwell of the passenger seat. He drops the cage on the passenger seat. “Archimedes!” Robin squeezes his little head between the thin cage bars. “Robin, you’re here, too!” “Da! I thought I will never see you again. Sorry that I did not say goodbye to you. I was so desperate... You are my best friend.” “It’s okay, little friend.” “Are you going to stay with me forever now?” “I don’t know… Why are you here at all? Did something happen or did you just miss us?” “Yes! Something terrible has happened!” “I will tell her!” “…her?” Robin lays his head on the side. At the same moment, Dante tugs Medic into the Van. He closes the door and the animals hope he starts right now. But they wait in vain. Hans talks to an older, dirty man. “Who are those old geezers?” asks the squirrel. Only then does Archimedes notice the new member. “The handsome man is my owner and the other was our host. And you are?” “I'm your new teammate. I'm faster than the wind, smarter than any creature in the world and more beautiful than a snow-white wedding dove on a bouquet of red roses.” “...which one of you left the window open?” “I didn't sneak in! The feathered knuckleheads here have to make amend something! After all, they almost ran me over and even wanted to eat me!” “Who wanted to eat you? Compatriot or the dog?” “The snake!” “Snake?” At the same moment, the reptile stretches its head out of its hiding place. “Nice to sssee you, Archimedesss.” “You are here, too?” “Isss that a problem?” “Not at all. I’m glad to see you.” “Thank you very much. Sss….” “What amazes me is that this dog is with you.” “Dante is very nice. She came with us to help us.” “What happened?” “We don't have time for that now, Maggot! Stubby tail, step on the gas! The two don't even stop talking!” The Dobermann operates the gas and Compatriot swings back onto the steering wheel and with a loud squeak the Van races off. The Medic is pushed into the seat. He looks quite confused and skeptical as he watches Compatriot and the Dobermann driving. Archimedes feels sorry for him. She would like to tell him what's going on. But even she has no information yet. He looks in her direction as Robin begins to cheep. He had sat down on the cage to ask Hans to open the cage door. Archimedes helps with her gaze and he understands. He opens the door and Archimedes settles next to Robin, whereupon he immediately cuddles up to her. She raises her wing and puts it gently on the robin. Aberdeen sits down next to the cage and he and Archimedes greet each other with a touch of their beaks. “Good to have you back, lad.” “You look as good as always, Aberdeen.” “I like to return the compliment.”

After driving a short distance, Dante stops the Van and turns to Hans. He sits on the seat with legs apart, so that the dog has space in the footwell. You can see that he fears the Dobermann could bite him at any moment in the crotch. “Why have we stopped?” “Sir Hootsalot is injured! Medic has to help him!” “He is here, too? Where?” “Down here!” the snake hisses in alarm. Aberdeen, Archimedes, Robin and Compatriot fly into the footwell of the passenger seat and look under it. The owl lies motionless in the shadow of the seat. The healthy wing is firmly pressed against the body, while the injured wing hangs limp on the ground. “How did he come down there?” “He hasss to feel ssso badly that he hasss hid himssself away.” “But… animals with such injuries only hide themself away to… die...” the robin gasps. “What happened?” “His wing is broken. Do you think Medic can manage that?” “For sure! There's nothing my dad cannot do. Dante, right?” Archimedes turns to the Dobermann. The dog gives a good account of herself to prove the dove that she is peaceful. The last meeting of the two was not so peaceful. Dante is a little ashamed of that. “Yes.” “Do you think you could bring him out without hurting him?” “You want me to do that? Do you trust me?” “Well, everyone else seems to trust you, so you have my trust too.” “Thank you.” The big dog squash herself past Medic's leg, whereupon he squeezes his legs tight, glad, to have the Dobermann no longer between them. Dante puts her head under the seat and takes the tail feathers carefully between the teeth. Slowly she pulls out the big bird under the seat. Sir Hootsalot still doesn't move. Robin is scared. “Is…is he dead?” Now Dante takes the owl by the neck and lifts him up. Carefully, she puts him down on Medic’s lap. Petrified, he stares down at the bird. “What the…? This is Sniper's owl...” Carefully he takes the seemingly injured animal in the hands. Archimedes flutters on the knee of her owner. “Coo~ Coooo~” “What? The wing is broken? And it also has a fever? Oh no…” In the eyes of her dad blazes the hot-blooded fire of the Medic he has always been. He pushes the cage aside, takes off his coat, carefully wraps up the owl in it and places it on the passenger seat. Then he puts his hands on the steering wheel, depresses the gas pedal fully with his foot and they are racing through the city. “Where does he want to go now?” “Trust him” begs Archimedes. After a few meters they stop in front of a larger building. “Where are we?” “That’s the hospital.” Medic opens the car door, picks up the owl and gets out. “Dante, accompany him!” “Why?” “They will try to stop my Papa. You have to help him.” “Understood!” The Dobermann jumps out of the Van and follows Medic. “Why should they try to stop him?” “It's obvious! The patient is an animal, and they are not an animal hospital, Maggot!” “You always know everything better, or, lad?” “That's not it” Archimedes answers sadly. “These people here don't like my Papa. They think he is something, but what he isn't. I'm so glad we're leaving. But now explain to me what happened.” “I would like to know that too.” “Ssshut up, rodent. Thisss isss none of your businesss. When all thisss isss over, we'll cassst you adrift anyway.” The snake peeks out from under the seat and gazes with her yellow eyes at the squirrel, which has made himself comfortable on the headrest of the driver's seat. “Well, I want to see that. You will not get rid of me anymore.” “Listen, Archimedes. Sniper, Spy and the new Medic were kidnapped!”

Hans hurries towards the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something black. He stops and looks down in wonderment. It's the Dobermann who follows him. The animal looks up to him, expecting. Hans feels uncomfortable with Friedrich's dog, but at the same time he feels as if it wants to help him. What is going on with these animals...? Despite all confusion, Hans bethinks of the essentials again. Namely, to treat this owl as soon as possible. And nothing and no one will stop him! Determined, he enters the building through the double door. The woman at the desk (Mrs. Kelly?) makes a startled face as she recognizes him. It was exactly the same scared face when she learned that Hans was actually a German. A face as if she must be terrified of him. At the beginning she was so nice...

Hans rushes past her. Somewhere in this building there must be a lab or a storeroom where he finds everything necessary to help the animal. Something to splint the broken wing and a homeopathic remedy for the fever. Maybe he even has to operate the owl. “S-stop! You just can’t…!” Kelly calls after him but Hans has already disappeared through the next double door. She doesn’t run after him but she will left no stone unturned for sure to stop him. With a quick step Hans hurries through the wide corridor, right and left doors with labels. Mundy's owl doesn't move. Hans is not sure if it's still alive... Is there a defibrillator in this wannabe hospital? What you use for a human cannot be bad for an animal. At the very end of the corridor, a sign points out to the lab. It has to be right around the next corner. “Freeze!” A doctor obstructs him. Hans recognizes him immediately. It's Mr. Burnsfield. The man who claimed that there is no place for Hans in this hospital. But he is not alone. Another man, presumably also a doctor, goes to his rescue. But that's no reason for the thoroughbred Medic to stop. And if he has to break through the two! He already holds a protective hand over the injured animal, but fortunately it doesn't have to come this far. The Dobermann sprints forward and growls and barks. Startled, Burnsfield and his colleague retreat. The dog pushes the two out of Hans' way and holds them in place. Watch out with bared teeth that they are not getting too close to Hans. It gives the impression of a wild beast. “A wrong move and my Dobermann will rip you apart. You know that a Dobermann is a German dog breed, right? And since you're such smart men, you know, of course, that everything that comes from Germany is dangerous. Therefore, you should take my warning seriously.” With a schadenfroh laugh Hans continues his way to the lab. Finally he can do his job.

The lab is behind a normal, white door. Usually such areas are strictly secured by titanium doors and a numeric code. But this door is not even locked. Once again Hans realizes how lucky he is not to have to work here. All this is below his level. Far, far below his level... I should stay fair. After all, this is a small town, cut off from civilization. These people probably knows Metropolitan crime only from books. The doors here don't have to be locked. Almost like in Rottenburg... The lab is small and lucid, but it contains everything Hans needs to handle the owl, and he sees it with just one glance. An operation on the bird would have been nice, but there isn't enough time for that, so a conservative method must be used. Hans places the owl on the counter and carefully palpates the injured wing. “Ah ja… Don’t worry, my winged friend. Soon you are as good as new.” Luckily Hans doesn't have to dig through the cupboards. Everything he needs is already at hand. The damaged bone must be returned to its proper anatomical position. Of course, since he cannot use human splints, Medic quickly grabs a wooden clipboard nearby and breaks it in half. The two halves are just the right size for the big wings of the owl. After that is done, he grabs a small bandage role and carries everything to the animal. He rolls off one meter of the bandages, puts the two wooden halves on the broken wing and fastens them with the white bandage. “So, that should hold. And now…” On the wall in the back of the laboratory hangs a small cupboard with a sliding glass window. The content - small, brown vials of various pharmaceuticals for injecting. Not even that is locked… Already through the glass window Hans discovers the vial with the inscription Metamizole. He takes it enthusiastically in the hand. “Metamizole. You can even use that with animals. Perfect! Hmm?” Shouting is heard in the corridor outside, but the Dobermann makes for loud barking and threatening growl for instant silence. I should hurry up. Hans hurries back to the bird, grabs a syringe lying loose around, fills it with the metamizole and injects it into the bird's neck. “Now we can only wait…” He picks up the owl wrapped in his jacket and leaves the lab. In the corridor are now three people who are guarded by the dog. Mrs. Kelly had arrived. Probably to check what happens here and was promptly taken hostage by the Dobermann. Just like her male colleagues. Presumably the screaming came from her, startled by the big and threatening-looking dog. All three are pressed close to each other against the wall and hardly dare to breathe. A picture that would normally make Hans burst out laughing, but the patient in his arms needs urgent rest. “Thank you for letting me use your laboratory. I found what I needed. Then I don't want to harass you any longer with my presence and that of my animals. Auf Wiedersehen~ Bei Fuß!” And indeed, the Dobermann reacts to his command and together they leave the hospital and return to the Van. Hans places the owl carefully on the passenger seat. The Dobermann finds its place in the footwell of the passenger seat. When Hans finally sits back in the car, a weight is lifted from his mind. But suddenly Archimedes lunges at him, clawing at his shirt as he beats his wings wildly. “Was ist los, Archimedes?” “Coo~! Cooo~!” “Hmm…!? What?!? Spy, Sniper and Friedrich were kidnapped? By Gray Mann? At least that's a guess?” “Coo~!” “My goodness. How could that happen? Well, that would explain this situation.” Hans looks at the animals. “Okay then! Off to Gray Mann's headquarter! Hehe! I cannot wait to see Friedrich's stupid face when I come to free him. Then he will owe me something.” He owes me my job as a mercenary of the class of the Medic and that he quickly goes back to Germany or anywhere else. But Hans knows better. Neither he, nor Friedrich can decide about it. Only the Administrator. And her words were more than clear. Whether mercenary or not. He feels responsible for his former colleagues. And he would always come to rescue them. Even if he have to travel to the end of the world for that. “Haha… Nun, that was very cheesy.” Hans notices the eyes of the animals on him. “Well. Here we go!”

Team Fortress 2

When Spy comes to himself, he feels absolutely whacked. Even before he opens his eyes, he feels that strong pain in his back, as if he had remained in one and the same position for hours. He automatically tries to push his back, but notices that he can barely move. His eyes open and a gray wall stares at him. “What the…?” slips out of his mouth and then he already feels the ropes, which are tightly wrapped around his wrists and upper body. Even at the ankles he was tied up. They are furthermore tied to the legs of the chair he was placed on. Double hedging. Somebody wanted to play it safe. And then, the memories come back. “Merde… I’m too old for this nonsense.” “Finally awake, Spook?” “What?” The voice behind him makes Spy turn his head. Like a lightning strike, the pain runs up from his back into his neck. “Damn it! Ahh…” “Rusty?” “Just shut up, Bushman! And after all, you were the first one to be overwhelmed. I kept up at least for so long that I could find out who we owe our kidnapping to.” “I would like to finally have an explanation, too!” “Our dear docteur is also awake.” Spy turns his head (carefully) in the other direction. As far as he can tell, their chairs are standing back to back. Then he starts to take a closer look at his surroundings. A small, colorless, empty room that probably has never been used. Till this day. “Hmph! Such a big headquarter, and our lounge is a shithole.” “Honhon! You are a Bushman. You should be used to that. Wait a moment. So you know where we are? Did they mention Gray Mann to you, too?” “Nah. But who else should be interested in kidnapping us?” “Pah! You seem to be awake in quite a spell. You ‘ad plenty of time to think about it. Because you're not quick-witted.” “Oh, make yourself invisible, Spook.” “Unfortunately, I lost my watch.” “Could someone finally explain to me what's going on here? We are tied up here, not knowing what is going to happen to us, and you have nothing better to do than to dis each other! What is wrong with you?” “Oh, right. You didn't ‘ad the pleasure with Gray Mann yet.” “Who is that?” “A phenomenon that does itself the ‘onor every now and then.” “So that has happened often?” “Well, he attacked us once or twice. But that he kidnaps one of us is new. That means the wanker is planning something new. Maybe he even kidnapped the whole team.” “I don't think so. There were three of them and one of them was a ‘ulk, but they would ‘ave a tough time with Heavy. No, no. I think, only we came into the firing line of Gray Mann. The support team.” “Why us?” “Just as I know Gray Mann, ‘e's already paying us a visit and telling us ‘is plan. We just ‘ave to wait.” “Wait? How about we try to free ourselves?” “Docteur, sometimes it's just better to stay calm and to let the opponent make their move.” “Apart from this, you're really the last person who should complain, Doc. After all, you absolutely wanted to take over Hans' job.” “It was planned from the beginning that I work as a Medic! I am your Medic! Still, it would have been helpful for me to have taught that we have more enemies than the BLU team! There was nothing in the contract about that!” “Why should it? As Spook had so well formulated, Gray Mann is a phenomenon. Also, the Mann Co. contract is from the time before Gray Mann showed up with his robots.” “Robots? What robots?” “Yess~ Robots built after our image.” “Our dead ringer.” “…what?!” “The robots look like us. They are designed to resemble us in everything, but are ten times stronger than we are.” “Maybe you're lucky and he's rebuilding the Medic robot in your own image. That's a certain honor.” “I ‘ardly believe that. I don't think Gray Mann knows we ‘ave a new medic right now. And even if, I don't think ‘e'll make that effort. ‘e's already old and building robots is a tough job now.” “I think I am losing my mind. Whenever I come in contact with Hans, something happens. This guy is a walking jinx. How much trouble have I had with him in the past? And now that!” “Sounds almost like you want to quit this job.” “I have to defeat your hope. I will stay.” “Don't blame Hans for all your failures, Docteur. If you are 'onest, you 'ave contributed a certain amount to it.” “What do you mean?” “’e told us everything before ‘e left. ‘e told us ‘ow you caught ‘im by doing one of his experiments. You threatened to report ‘im to the university administration. You both knew that would ‘ave meant the end for ‘im. If you ‘ad left it at that, Hans wouldn’t ‘ave ‘ad to take revenge on you.” “Leave it at that? He had removed the skeleton from a living person! It was my duty to report this! Hans is crazy and a danger to humanity! I would have never forgive me for letting this man set onto patients!” “You are very responsible. But Hans, too. Okay, his methods may be a bit stubborn. But he has always kept us alive. He even got me back from the dead once.” “And now you just sit in this mess because you thought you must taking what you deserved. If you stayed at ‘ome, it wouldn’t ‘appen to you now.” “There is even a word for it. Karma.” Friedrich sighs resignedly. “Apparently I am the only normal person in this damned desert. Nobody sees what a maniac Hans is. But on the contrary. He is even being protected. That is not normal here.” “You seem to forget that you are now a mercenary. We ‘ave different rules.” “Yes…” Aimeric had heard a certain tone in Friedrich's voice. This man is easily overwhelmed. But he tries not to show it. He is still cold and distant.

Suddenly, a deafening squeak echoes through the small room. Aimeric bites his teeth tightly, his eyes tight as he tries not to let the aching sound penetrate too deep into his pinna. Now even headaches are spreading. “I already imagined that you are already awake. Damned mercenaries…” Aimeric has the door in his back, but he doesn't have to see their visitor. He immediately recognizes the old, scratchy voice. Gray Mann comes with his wheelchair driven into the room. “Now comes the part in which the villain reveals his plans?” Mundy sneers. “Pfah... As disrespectful and loudmouthed as ever. I do not think I have to explain my plans to you.” “It's always the same. You're trying to kill us to get Mann Co. We know this. What we don't understand is why you let kidnaped us.” “I have changed my plans slightly.” While Gray Mann is talking to them, he drives slowly counterclockwise around his prisoners and stops by Friedrich. With a scrutinizing look at the new Medic, he answers monotonously: “And you too, apparently. What did you do with your old medic? Do you have two now? It would be annoying to have missed one of the support team.” “That sounds like you see us as the greatest danger.” “I do. Support... What would we humans be without it? Without support, our goals were unequaled. I need my robots to support me to destroy your brood. Helena needs the support of the mercenaries to defend Mann Co. And both the offensive and the defensive needs support. In other words - you.” “So you really think that we were the reason for your previous defeats?” “Not the only reason, but the main reason. You are hard to grasp during the fighting. But that's no wonder. Because you are cowards.” Again Gray Mann circles them, slowly, with a smug smile on his wrinkled face. “Snipers. You can safely attack from a distance while crouching safely and hidden in your hiding place, far away from the battlefield.” Mundy makes a puffing sound. “Spies. With your small, sophisticated toys, you could either make yourself invisible or imitate the enemy. You're sneaking from behind to stab your opponent in the back. You do everything to win. But woe, you have to face your enemy eye to eye. Then you also like to make yourself invisible. Hehe...” “…………” “Medics…” Again, Gray Mann comes to a stop in front of Friedrich. “You heal, you revive. You stand at the front, but you don't fight. You are doing everything to keep your allies alive. But also to stay alive yourself. And for that you hide behind your healing subjects. Use them as human shields. And should your healing target die, you're just looking for a new one to use it as a shield as well. Everyone should be hit by bullets and missiles, the main thing, you will be spared. You are like parasites. So, the question is... who of you is the biggest coward?” “I hide behind someone?” Friedrich replies suddenly. “Preferably behind this Russian, right? Pah! I am not hiding. Never.” “I don't care who you are or why you now the medic in this team. But you chose a bad time to ally with Helena. Because soon you will die. You all will die.” “Do you suffer from amnesia? We can't die just like that” Mundy growls. “Ahahaha! Of course, I haven't forgotten your respawn machine. How should I? It's after all an invention of my stupid brothers. They are long dead, but still I curse them for it. With the mercenaries now having to fight without their precious support team, it will be a lot easier to get to the core of the respawn and destroy it. And with it you too.” “I think you underestimate the offensive and defensive. Just because we are no longer, doesn't mean that they will lose.” “We will see about that. We'll see... My robots are already on the way to your base with the transport tank. When it's over, I'll personally give you a bullet in the head. I hope Helena will enjoy the show as much as I will. Farewell, mercenaries. Oh, and ... don't try to escape. Outside this door a nasty surprise would await. And you are unarmed. Please don't take the fun from me of killing you personally.” And so the old man leaves the room, the door behind him closes automatically (again with a deafening squeak). “How dare he call me a coward? The job as a sniper is noble and connected with concentration and responsibility!” “I understand you. I also didn't like ‘ow he vilified my profession.” “He was right about you, Spook. Your spies are really cowardly and devious. Bloody Spoies.” “…I will remember that.” “Could we focus on getting us out of here?” Friedrich spits. “You sound irritated, Docteur.” “I am! I am reluctant let me kill idly.” “We will get out of ‘ere.” “And how can you be so sure about that?” “Because we are the mercenaries of Mann Co.”

[mushbabe]

Mass Cartoon Crossover AU

heyyyyy its uhhhhhh another fucking au writing from me

ties into this comic i did here, which i am making a sequel to

so if you wanted to hear my explanation for how shit like Who Framed Roger Rabbit, CN City, and canon crossovers might possibly work, clicky that readmore friend it’s about to get deep and overly thought-out

so like. basically: when a creator creates something, the universe for this something exists on another plane. the characters are all real, just more or less materially inaccessible to people on our plane. there are points in the various planes of existence where our plane and their plane meet, be the points natural or artificial. these points of meeting were used to film things like Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Space Jam, where visceral, fleshy organisms like ourselves could stand alongside the 2-D manifestations of our own minds. both humans and cartoons could enter the opposing side’s realm, but by no means is it natural or healthy for the state of the worlds, not to mention for the individuals crossing dimensions. as such, the scenes in both WFRR and Space Jam where any one person was not in their respective domain were filmed in intervals...

so now we’ve got two planes: ours, and the plane of our creations. like previously stated, each creation has a universe in which it exists and lives, a place where it is given purpose, a story, stuff to do, etc.. compared to our universe, these worlds are all incredibly small.  though the sizes can vary wildly: from the universe of Ed Edd ‘n Eddy, which is more or less encompassed by the cul de sac that they live in, to the universe of Adventure Time (which feels expansive, but really is only made up of the places shown or mentioned in the show, and is by no means infinite like that of our own.) lets imagine that all of these universes are kind of tied together. think about wreck-it ralph when i say that there is a central location, a city probably, that they can all converge in and exist within. 

to keep things homogeneous and as easy to digest as possible, lets assume the only universes that are inherently tied together are the universes from the same kind of media. 2D televised cartoons would all be tied into one place. 3D televised cartoons would converge in a different place. Anime/Video Games/all that good shit would tie in somewhere else respectively. We could imagine that this is because these similar universes are close in proximity as a result of being similar. and because they’re all so close, they all have an established point where they all meet. contrasting this, the convergence of two different kinds of media would be extremely rare and hard to achieve, but is do-able, and has been exploited by characters before (cite the Jimmy-Timmy Power Hour). for the sake of keeping with the natural order, these ties are temporary and will break off easily. 

to illustrate this converging of similar universes, we could imagine this structure as a large central bubble with a bunch of other smaller bubbles surrounding it, each of them connected to the middle one by a thread. 

DIRECTLY CONNECTED WORLDS

but !! these small, individual worlds can also be connected to each other directly! some of these connections are inherent, as they were part of their design upon their creation. a good example of this: the universe of Gravity Falls and Rick and Morty would have a natural thread connecting the two. 

some of these connections can also be forged. these connections are typically the result of a crossover episode, and would exist between the worlds of Futurama and The Simpsons, and The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy and Codename: Kids Next Door since they all had crossover episodes with each other. In all likelihood, the lifespan of these connections is probably dependent on factors like the earnestness of the episode(s) in question (whether they were done for a cheap cash-in or because the writers were genuinely invested in these characters meeting) and how compatible these universes are (things like similar visual styles and how much sense the crossover makes. the crossover between The Jetsons and The Flintstones makes way more sense thematically than the crossover between Kim Possible and Lilo & Stitch. 

THE HUBWORLD:

this is best understood when you think about the old Cartoon Network City bumpers that CN used to play in between commercials. They were large, semi-realistic urban environments where all of the characters from the programming of the time would interact with the world and with each other. CN City could be thought of as a district of this larger city where all these worlds converge. this is a place that, regardless of art-style or compatibility, everyone can just exist alongside each other. 

so not all of the cartoons live here. lots of them live in their respective worlds for their own reasons (their show may still be ongoing and they need to actually be there for it to happen, or maybe they just prefer their own world) but they may make trips into town to run errands, visit, attend university or even commute to their city jobs. however, after a character’s show has run its course, plenty of them make the decision to move permanently to the city. 

we know that each character can leave their original universe and travel to the central connecting one, but can they leave the central one to visit another person’s universe? i would say yes. probably not for extended periods though. unless there is an existing connector between the two character’s worlds, visiting wouldn’t feel comfortable, and the characters probably just wouldn’t want to. i imagine that, while it’s not exactly illegal or impossible to visit, staying for a long time is frowned upon. again, we can refer back to wreck-it ralph for comparison. visiting is fine, but eventually you need to go home.

IMPORTANT FIGURES:

a character’s role in the city and to others is determined by a lot of things. usually, one would find a job they can perform with their unique skills and/or powers. I’ve headcanon’d the roles of a lot of characters already. some ideas I’ve had:

The Powerpuff Girls are easily the ones in charge of protecting the city. They head Homeworld Security, the various police departments, and have a lot of people working under them. They can often be seen patrolling. 

the city is headed by a City Council and a Mayor (there is also a Head Judge in charge of the court system, but they don’t determine any legislation, they just enforce it.) The Mayor is kind of shadowy in the au at first, but it’s pretty obvious that it’s Mickey Mouse. He’s concerned with corporate interests for the most part.

the Council is made up of elected representatives, each coming from different big names in the cartoon world (Nick, WB, Disney, Hanna-Barbara, etc.) The Council Chairman tbh has to be Bugs Bunny. he’s iconic, charismatic, and experienced, and so has a lot of sway in how things operate; it only made sense that he go into politics. a crucial part of the “plot” of this au is that Bugs and Mickey are bitter rivals. It’s understood by most that Bugs should be the de facto mayor, but through underhanded means, Mickey stays one step ahead of him. while Bugs isn’t exactly innocent either, he certainly stands for different ideals. Bugs is definitely a man of the people. 

Professor Utonium is the dean of the university as well as the head of its robotics department, their most successful STEM department. he teaches a few robotics classes. Dexter, Edd, and Phineas would have all studied under him at one point

Without a doubt, Warden from SuperJail! is the warden of what’s probably the largest and craziest prison in existence. Only a mind like his could contain the biggest threats to the hubworld’s wellbeing. 

i’ve thought about the placement of a lot of other characters too, but i only wanted to list here the one’s integral to the structure of the city.

with that said, all of the villains original to the connected worlds are very much still real and still able to wreak havoc on this metropolis. some won’t have a reason to concern themselves with it, while others will certainly make it a target. this includes extradimensional entities like Bill Cipher, Him, and Aku, who wouldn’t exactly be contained in the city jail. a main concern of the city government is how to protect the town from these major antagonists. 

CITY DISTRICTS:

i was talking about districts of the city earlier. another district i was thinking about is Toontown, a space relegated to old fashioned, classic “toons”. Like, Animaniacs / Tom & Jerry / Merrie Melodies / Steamboat Willie / Roger Rabbit -esque toons. the one’s we all understand as the physics defying characters who can pull material from nothing (hammerspace) as well as take a shotgun shell to the face and live. The nigh-indestructible, goofy-ass, slapstick, foundational characters of animated comedy. this is gonna be one of the few districts that is actually somewhat segregational. I imagine that society views toons in a weird, kind of split way. on one hand, the Old Toons are to be respected. they forged a path and laid a foundation in entertainment and have helped bring all of this into existence. on the other hand, Toons are also considered outmoded. classic slapstick has largely reached the end of its run. the iconic white gloves, cigars, and dynamite have all come to represent a bygone golden era full of its own problematic ideals. their shows are analyzed now much like modern psychologists would analyze Freud: no one can doubt the significance of the impact they’ve had, but the faults are widely acknowledged. (for example, modern cartoons would probably criticize older toons’ shows’ lack of diverse protagonists, rampant themes of racism / antisemitism / blatant use of tobacco / objectification of female characters, for being unfunny or unchallenging to the viewer, or for just being visually unappealing as some newer cartoons might believe.) as a result of this mindset, older Toons are the target of some prejudice but also some high respect. it depends on which group you’re talking to. 

List of City Districts

New Townsville (the one filmed for the CN City Bumpers). town hall, banks, business hub.

Toontown (the one filmed in WFRR) - area reserved for Toons

Endsborough - slightly evil, run down part of town. bars, gambling, etc. hangout for the unsavory.

University District - the campus, dorms, student accommodations 

Hillwood Metropolitan Area - expansive, unspecific urban area, main marketplace, apartments, schools. underground cultural haven.

Jump District - upscale part of town, nice stores, ritzy condos. opposite of Endsborough. favorite hangout/residence of hero-types. 

Middleville - suburban residence area, lots of families living here.

Jellystone - large park

CITY GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS

I am also going to list my ideas for these:

Mayor - Mickey Mouse

Chief Justice - MENTOK THE MIND-TAKER (he’s from Harvey Birdman and he’s a great judge ok google him)

City Councilmen:

Warner Brothers / Chairman - Bugs Bunny 

Cartoon Network - Grim

Metro Goldwyn-Mayer - Pink Panther

Nickelodeon - Phoebe Heyerdahl

Hanna Barbara - Top Cat

Disney -  Stanford Pines (not Stanley)

Adult Swim - Dr. Mrs. The Monarch

THE GUILD OF CALAMITOUS INTENT 

as one might imagine, the hubworld is going to be full of both heroes and villains. to manage the inevitable carnage, i thought i’d borrow an organization from The Venture Bros. the Guild of Calamitous Intent’s purpose (in this au anyway) is to fit villains with their arch-rivals and contain the amount of collateral damage their conflict creates. heroes and villains can only fight one villain/hero at a time, respectively. this is to prevent things like all-out fights between huge numbers of villains and heroes, which would destroy a good portion of the city. as well, there is a limit to how much destruction one pair of arch rivals can cause. charges are incurred otherwise. certain areas are entirely off-limits (schools, hospitals, etc. basically they follow the Geneva Convention here). the presence of the Guild would also be a good explanation for why villains only tend to target one hero most of the time. once one villain/hero is defeated, another one can take be fit to take their place. villains and heroes are both ranked in order of power and resources, and a villain is always paired with a hero of equal rank to allow for the fairest fight. arching outside of guild regulations is strictly forbidden and the Guild will hunt down a rogue villain/hero. groups of villains/heroes that are always together (the Teen Titans for example) will count as a single arch-able entity and will be ranked according to their combined power. So in this universe, Slade would be labeled as the Teen Titan’s arch-enemy. 

while the Guild is originally a service for evil characters run by evil characters, they generally play a neutral role in the struggle between good and evil. 

but there are bound to be evil doers who are too chaotic to follow guild regulations. these characters have to act in the utmost secrecy or simply be too powerful to be taken out normally; otherwise, the Guild will act upon them. the heads of the Guild are totally anonymous, and, while they’ve worked with the City before to impose certain regulations, they are independent of the government. All villains and heroes must be properly registered, but registered villains ARE NOT guaranteed safety from Homeworld Security. heroes and the police often work together to take down bad guys, and its a hero’s responsibility to keep their respective villain in check.

ANYWAY that’s what I’ve thought up so far for the overarching premise. I STILL NEED A NAME FOR THE CITY 

i could just call it Big City a la Sheep in the Big City, but thats.... kinda dumb. idk i’ll think on it.

[picturebookmakers]

Anna Höglund

In this post, Anna talks about her work and shares some stunning illustrations from a few books including ‘Alla frågar sig varför’ (Everyone Asks Why) – a unique picturebook which introduces us to children asking existential questions and philosophers who have tried to answer them. It’s published in Sweden by Lilla Piratförlaget.

Anna Höglund on the Lilla Piratförlaget website

Anna: To start at the beginning: What is the driving force that keeps you doing what you do?

This picture was in a photo album that I received from my mother when I turned thirty. In the foreground you can see a glass bowl that my father made. He was the centre of the family that everything revolved around, even though he was rarely physically available.

To my mother, he was everything.

Slightly blurry in the background is my mother and the child that she thought was me, but in fact it is my sister. Well, you get it.

Almost everything I do is about identity and a desire for some kind of truth.

I often use emotions from childhood and youth, rarely specific events.

In my latest books, I have started mixing in collage because I started to get so tired of my own style. Collage is also a great way to escape the lonely white paper. By bringing in a foreign element like something I have cut out, I can shake up my associations and pathways. I can surprise myself a little.

In a similar way, for example, that a trouser commercial from the 70s (my own teenage years) set off a whole lot in my subconscious. My aim with the resulting book – called ‘To Be Me’ – was to make the book I myself needed when I was thirteen. “Why do you have to be afraid so often, as if you were some kind of prey made to be hunted?” thinks the protagonist.

It was ten years before I found the right tone and shape for ‘To Be Me’. At first, I wanted to do Simone de Beauvoir’s ‘The Second Sex’ in a simplified cartoon for youths, but it didn’t work out.

I have started letting the subconscious increasingly control the work process because I realised I work best at that level. In one of my books about a highly sensitive teenage rabbit, I started by making the pictures; the text was probably somewhere in the back of my mind. I hung the pictures on strings with clothes pegs one after the other as they were finished. That way, I could move them around in different combinations and chapters.

The rabbit likes people. But he needs to be alone otherwise he starts to think just like whoever else happens to be in the same room as him. He realises that everything contains its own opposite and that if you can be your own worst enemy, you can also be your own best friend.

Freud claimed that the very first language is verbal. That as soon as we receive the verbal language, we translate all previous impressions from the pre-verbal period into words. I am not sure if this applies to everyone though. For me, the idea can still manifest itself as a picture when dealing with things that are more difficult to understand...

My latest book is called ‘Everyone Asks Why’, and it is about existential questions.

The text is written by Eva Susso from different philosophers’ existential theories.

I made the philosophers animals. (They are all dead anyway.)

Illustrations © Anna Höglund. Post translated by Gengo and edited by dPICTUS.

Buy this picturebook

Alla frågar sig varför / Everyone Asks Why

Eva Susso & Anna Höglund

Lilla Piratförlaget, Sweden, 2017

Is everyone worth the same? Why do you have to die? Who decides over my future? In ‘Everyone Asks Why’ we meet children who ask various questions about some of those things we all think about, and we also meet famous philosophers who have tried to answer those eternal questions. The book puts the questions into a larger context and discusses them through a philosophical perspective, in text as well as in illustration. A thoughtful book which allows the reader, no matter what age, to feel that they are not alone in asking difficult existential questions.

[loneberry]

Mari Ruti on love and desire

[Excerpt from Chapter 7 of The Summons of Love]

The Bedrock of Desire

I have already proposed that there are lovers who stand out from the rest because we experience them as so irreplaceable that even a definitive parting of ways does not entirely banish their imprint. The reason for this is that such lovers touch what I would like to call the “bedrock” of our desire. This bedrock is the deepest kernel of our being, articulating what is most archaic, least socialized (and therefore most idiosyncratic) about us, particularly about our ways of seeking satisfaction in the world. As a consequence, whenever a lover manages to awaken this kernel, he or she almost by definition cuts into unconscious layers of our interiority that are absolutely fundamental to our being yet also a little mysterious—shrouded, as they are, in the impenetrable mists of our prehistory. More specifically, such a lover activates currents of desire that are so essential to our sense of self that we would not recognize ourselves without them.

In chapter 1 I mentioned that although we may, across the span of our lives, meet numerous people who pique our curiosity, there are usually only a few who raise our passion to a feverish pitch. Those who do are the ones who—often unintentionally and without being fully aware of their power—brush against the bedrock of our desire. They stir our desire on such a primary level that we sense that our destiny is inextricably intertwined with theirs. This is how we sometimes come to feel that certain people are “fated” for us—that we do not have a choice but to respect the thrust of our desire even when this desire gets us in trouble.

The famous French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan explains that whenever this happens, our lover comes to coincide with what Freud already called “the Thing”: the unnameable object of desire that we incessantly circle but can never attain. This Thing, in Lacan’s rendering, is a fantasy object that we imagine having lost and that we therefore spend our entire lifetimes trying to refind. It connects us to our first objects of desire (usually our parents) so that when we meet its echo in another person, we tend to feel the agitation that Plato linked to the transcendent yearnings of the soul; we tend to feel as if we were in the presence of something unfathomably valuable. Indeed, there is nothing in the world that incites our desire as forcefully as a lover who seems to reincarnate the Thing. However, because the Thing is a fantasy object rather than something that we once actually had (and then lost), we can never recover it in any decisive sense. We can only ever move toward it in an imaginary way.

Our inchoate sense of having lost the Thing makes us feel that we have been deprived of existential fullness. Arguably, this is precisely what gives rise to the human condition of lack that I talked about earlier in this book. At that point I emphasized that, contrary to what might at first appear, this primordial malaise is productive because it induces us to pursue various forms of secondary satisfaction. Lacan’s analysis of the Thing augments this insight by revealing that the trajectory of our pursuit is by no means random but consists of a very specific configuration of passion in that the shape of our desire corresponds to the shape of the loss we infer having endured. It is because the Thing for which we seek substitutes spawns a very particular nexus of fantasies that only a precious few of the objects that we chance upon manage to satisfy or engage us. We are constantly, and sometimes quite compulsively, on a lookout for the exceptional object that, we believe, can make us whole. As a consequence, we fall in love when the object we find appears to fit into, and even to seal, the void within our being; we fall in love when we (unconsciously) sense that we have discovered a little piece of the Thing. In this manner, even when we are unable to identify what it is that we are searching for—even when we cannot explain the “why” of our yearning—the Thing as an unconscious object of longing gives us the treasure map of our desire.

In a sense, our inability to find the Thing underpins our continued capacity to love others. After all, it is to the extent that the Thing remains absent that we are motivated to insert one object after another into the empty slot left by it. We fall in love over and over again, only vaguely aware of the fact that each new lover can merely approximate what we are looking for. However, some lovers come much closer than others to embodying the lost Thing. And the ones who come the closest galvanize the bedrock of our desire, enigmatically conjuring up the Thing for us. When this happens, we may feel that what we desire in the other is something “more” than who he is, that there is, as Lacan puts it, “something beyond all good” about the other that attracts us irresistibly. This something “more” defies classification. It is an ineffable, intangible, indefinable, and incommunicable quality that cannot be equated with the other’s personality—that is, as it were, “in excess” of who he or she is as a culturally intelligible entity. It is as if, “within” the other, our desire was pursuing something that the other has come to represent, but that does not entirely correspond with who he or she is. This elusive quality inspires us even as it confounds us.

What is so wonderful about this quality is that it has little to do with cultural conventions of desirability. It should be obvious to anyone living in our society—a society saturated with standard images of airbrushed and idealized beauty—that our desires are frequently almost pathetically conventional. We are conditioned to want what everyone else wants. We value certain physical characteristics because our culture esteems them highly. Certain body parts—hair, eyelashes, breasts, biceps, legs, etc.—become fetishized and carry forms of collective desire. According to this account, we are all to some degree alienated from our desire in the sense that we do not fully “own” it but receive it from the culture around us. This is why certain individuals (movie stars, singers, models, etc.) manage to trigger desire relatively easily and are desired by large numbers of people. We consider such individuals fascinating for the simple reason that they possess an unusually high concentration of culturally attractive traits—the kinds of traits that we have learned to perceive as appealing.

The mysterious bedrock of desire is something more elemental than this. Although certain characteristics of the person we desire may come to symbolize this bedrock, they are never synonymous with it. Rather, it expresses an inscrutable substratum of magnetism that resides somewhere between, beneath, or beyond our lover’s definable attributes. It cannot be reduced to the coordinates of what our culture deems desirable but, quite the contrary, tends to reveal itself, intermittently, and in a somewhat baffling manner, through the cracks of our lover’s social persona. Perhaps it conveys a slice of his or her true self. Perhaps it has to do with some potentiality or inner intensity that has not been fully actualized. Or perhaps it is related to some unspoken point of deep vulnerability—to what our lover most carefully guards from the probing gaze of the external world. We might never know. Yet we feel uniquely enlivened by it. On those rare occasions when we sense that we have managed to draw close to this substratum, we may feel that our existence finally has a purpose, that we have at long last found what we have spent a lifetime looking for. We may feel that what is in principle inaccessible to us has miraculously become accessible—that we can touch the mystifying kernel of our desire even as it remains veiled.

Love’s Apprenticeship

Hitting the bedrock of our desire can be just about the most thrilling thing that could ever happen to us. Indeed, even though our quest for the Thing may cause us to make bewildering romantic choices, these choices are not necessarily erroneous. Our desire for the Thing is not a mistake, even if it is unrealistic—even if the Thing-in-itself will always remain unattainable. In other words, although our pursuit of the Thing is hopeless in the sense that there is no way to refind what we never had in the first place—that there is no way to recover a wholeness we never actually possessed—there is still an accuracy to this pursuit in the sense that it can lead us to lovers with whom we feel a special kind of connection; it can usher us to the arms of partners who meet the needs of our true self much better than the average, run-of-the-mill lover ever could. It is, in short, safe to say that our most momentous loves tend to be ones that bring us within the Thing’s aura.

Equally important, the Thing’s power to displace socially predictable patterns of desire at times empowers us to find merit in individuals we might otherwise discount. If we frequently fall into routine patterns of perception that determine what we appreciate—and if these patterns make it difficult for us to desire along lines that go against the grain of cultural conditioning—the Thing compels us to assess differently. It causes us to sit up and pay attention so that our habitual ways of determining which people we look at (and therefore conjure into existence) and which we let languish in the shadows (and therefore in irrelevance) suddenly become utterly immaterial. It prompts us to elevate a specific person into the venerated status of worthy-to-be-desired not because he or she meets cultural standards of desirability, but because he or she meets an enigmatic inner standard of ours. This is why our love choices can sometimes be quite surprising—why we often fall for the kinds of lovers we could never have envisioned in the abstract.

This, of course, in no way protects us from pain. If anything, because the reverse of uncommonly strong passion tends to be utter defenselessness, the price we often pay for our most life-shaping alliances is bottomless suffering. Although there is no automatic connection between the bedrock of our desire and pain—and although we sometimes manage to sustain devoted relationships with lovers who animate this bedrock—there is no way around the fact that those who reach us in this deep manner are frequently also the ones who hurt us the most. For example, in cases where we are unable to let go of an unrewarding relationship, it may be because our lover appears to personify our bedrock with unusual accuracy. He or she seems to contain this bedrock, with the result that we find it virtually unbearable to shift our attention to another person even when we, on a rational level, know that we should. Our need for what our lover represents can be so relentless that we are incapable of opening a space for new kinds of emotional possibilities even when it is clear that our alliance undermines us.

An excessive fixation on the bedrock of our desire can cause us to stay with a lover who lacks the capacity for meaningful emotional connection or who may even treat us badly and disrespectfully. We may end up tolerating abusive, demeaning, disparaging, wounding, or mortifying relational scenarios because we are unable to sever our attachment to a lover who seems to epitomize what we most desire. We may even become so entirely caught up in our desire that we allow the rest of our lives to collapse (so that all of our other concerns fall to the sidelines). When we cannot undo the unconscious link that unites our lover with the bedrock of our desire, we may feel that without him or her our lives have no meaning. At times we may even remain obsessively preoccupied long after we have been rejected, long after our lover has told us that we are not wanted.

It would be easy to place a moralistic judgment on this dynamic, and to say that being unable to break an addiction to a past lover or (even worse) to an abusive relationship means that something is wrong with us. However, because we are dealing with the bedrock of our desire—with something that is both unconscious and intensely binding—it is difficult to know exactly what to make of such situations. What is it that our desire is ultimately looking for? Is there a lesson to be learned from being stuck in a hurtful relationship? What might this stuckness be attempting to communicate? Is it maybe gesturing toward dimensions of our being that are undergoing a difficult apprenticeship—one that will at some future point reward us in one way or another? Are we engaged in some secret alchemy of the soul that will eventually convey us to a place of insight? Or are we simply masochistically courting pain?

Such questions usually lack easy answers. But we might as well admit that trying to relinquish a person who incarnates the bedrock of our desire—and who consequently feels irreplaceable to us—can be agonizing. Yet sometimes we need to do exactly this in order to survive. Thankfully, we do not usually experience too many of such losses during our lives. But when we do, we are altered beyond reckoning. Even if we over time manage to get our lives back on track, we will never be the same as we were before this love and its loss. When we surrender a person who represents the bedrock of our desire, we give up a part of ourselves. And we give up the fantasy of ultimate satisfaction; we give up the promise of unconditional love. There is no way to go on with our lives without carrying the melancholy trace of this event into our future. There is no way around the fact that we will always bear (and transmit to others) the deep wound inflicted by it. The wound will fade over time, of course. But it may never heal completely.

[nemesis-nexus]

Full Crow/Worm Moon HAIL MARDUK, Great Father and Original Earth Defender/Water Protector, HEAR US! Tonight we celebrate the Full Worm Moon which this year comes before the Vernal Equinox and the official Rebirth of the Planet! It is so called because this is the time of year when the worms are underground toiling away, aerating and tilling the soil, preparing the plant life and vegetation for the Grand Regeneration of Life! When the Season of Death is drawn to a close and the Earth once again begins to awaken from its hibernation, when the birds who flew South return North, the bears come out of their caves and all manner of Life resurges and the cacophony of and bustle of Nature is in full swing yet again! I would like to take a moment to touch down on something even more personal. Four years ago in January or 2013, I began Walking the Gates of the Necronomicon and I was told before I even started that the true "Initiation" of the Deities on the 'Ladder' would begin AFTER I finished, if I was permitted passage in the first place AND I chose to keep going until the end, which I did. First I want to acknowledge that the Necronomicon is a FICTITIOUS book and NOTHING in the story is legit EXCEPT the Enuma Elish which is part of the Magan Text, the Descent of INANNA into the Underworld to confront her sister ERESHKIGAL and the names of the Babylonian Deities mentioned. Everything else is just the work of a literary genius whose gift was such that people are STILL convinced that it is completely REAL! This is why I love HP LoveCraft's work, he truly was one in a million! The reason I wanted to mention my Walking is because the book, though fiction, is still a great tool to utilize for personal introspection because when you are Walking the Gates, you are NOT just ascending into the Astral, you are also DEscending into your own psyche or as Freud put it, your own Abyss (hence the Dark Night Of The Soul which is the time just before the Vernal Equinox we take a good hard look at ourselves and see what it is that we are doing or not doing that is hurting or helping us), to establish a deeper connection to that which is Within to that which is Without. This is absolutely necessary to do because we all accumulate various forms of energy all throughout the year and sometimes we don't realize that some of the things we are doing or not doing are actually not helping a situation no matter how pure our intentions may be! What makes my Walking more interesting (at least to me anyway) is that ISHTAR/INANNA is the third Deity on the 'Ladder' and she represents the Divine Feminine, Fertility, Birth/Rebirth, Female Strength, Honor, all the attributes of the Spring Season and her personal holiday during this month is Ostara, this is interesting because with everything that has gone on in the last year ESPECIALLY during the Seasons of Degeneration and Death (Autumn and Winter) the Earth is in DESPERATE need of a Rebirth that will reawaken not just Nature itself but each and EVERY Earth Defender and Water Protector! The Worm Moon is also called the Crow Moon and what are Crows most famous for? They are the Bridges between Death and Life! With all the negative energy that has accumulated even since just September through the end of November of 2016, it is no surprise that the SURGE of support for those who have and are Protecting the Water, People and Planet has EXPLODED, where there was once only DEATH there is now a great deal of LIFE charging forth and taking the lead - the Crow has taken flight and all those who feel their sense of duty are heeding its call to bring back the Balance between Death and Life, Chaos and Order! As Satanists it is our duty to uphold our Fathers Honor and to earn his Respect by taking our cue from him when the Qi is rendered Unbalanced and restoring it to its Balanced state! There are many who still think that Satanism is about constant Chaos, Death and Destruction and while all three are utilized by Nature itself to keep things circulating, WE are NOT one-dimensional Beings! We understand that Order, Life and Creation are equally important or else NOTHING can exist in ANY state! We do not revel in anguish or the suffering of others as some would have you believe nor do we wish to destroy the world as others would have you believe! Rather we are the ones who will make the tough calls and step up when things get rough, we also have no problem with getting our hands dirty if it is necessary to defend anyone we call Family, whether Blood or Spiritual, Human or Animal! Some Core Values of Satanism are: 1) ALWAYS stand against injustice no matter WHAT form it takes or who the aggressors are; it is easy enough to stand up to an enemy who poses a threat but it is EXCEEDINGLY difficult to do the same with a friend or family member because of the emotional ties and the fear of losing that connection. Be that as it may what must be the deciding factor is the greater good especially if it means exposing tyranny and corruption in a well established organization. 2) ALWAYS Honor your Family both Blood and Spiritual because "We are ONE even though we are MANY and we stand STRONGEST when we stand TOGETHER!" what that phrase means is that even though many of us consider ourselves to be strong individuals and loners, no man is an island. We all call on our Family (Human and/or Animal) for support when the chips are down and as such we should demonstrate the same regard for them as we would have them show us - at all times! 3) NEVER stop pursuing education and knowledge because the world is ever-changing and the only way to keep up with these changes is to never stop learning! Some of these changes will be good, some will be bad, the only way to know is to seek out the information ESPECIALLY the information they AREN'T telling you because that is always the most vital information which can change even the most stalwart persons mind if it is so persuasive or devastating that it needed to be hidden in the first place! 4) PHILANTHROPY is not just a buzzword, a true Satanist aids in the care and maintenance of their respective communities, lending a hand where it is needed because we live here too! This assistance should not be limited to our immediate areas as what is happening in other parts of the world may be happening THERE but that DOESN'T mean that it WON'T affect us sooner or later and even if it doesn't we should do what we can to lend a hand if we are able! All too often we see people on the street who are being passed by from people who call themselves "good" or "righteous", there has even in recent years been businesses putting up SPIKES to prevent the homeless from being able to sleep where it is warm! Apparently the so-called "righteousness" of these company owners disappears during business hours! It's quite nauseating! The Domestic Terrorism that has been used against Water Protectors by the so-called powers that be in all its forms is UNACCEPTABLE and as such many people the world over have risen in resistance and even though they could not be in the immediate areas where it was occurring, they STILL did what they could to send aid in the form of money and physical items as well as spiritual reinforcement! Philanthropy is necessary to keep fighting the good fight and to do what must be done at the time it needs doing for the sake of protecting the people and planet! The world is now realizing that the Divine Feminine needs to be honored as much as the Divine Masculine and that Life needs to be valued more than money or material wealth and as such it is going through yet another huge transition that may take years to come to full fruition, however as Rage Against The Machine stated in their song Guerilla Radio, "It has to start SOMEWHERE! It has to start SOMETIME! What better place than HERE? What better time than NOW?" That being said, we ALL need to rise up and resist TOGETHER and as such I am posting one of my favorite prayers to inspire all those who are willing to do what needs to be done to Protect and Defend our great Mother Earth and all those who dwell in, on, above and below the surface! For the women, it is reinforcement of YOUR power and wisdom, for the men it is representative of YOUR own ability to stand in solidarity with the women rather than being threatened by them which demonstrates your own strength of character and security in your masculinity that enables you to instead of reducing women to being the alleged "weaker sex" see them for what they truly are = EQUAL! We now more than ever MUST work together to restore the Balance to the Multiverse, failure to deprogram from all those false teachings of money is everything, that people are only worth as much as their bank statements dictate and trying to force absolute authority over other humans and nature itself demonstrates a person or groups prowess will only end in the utter destruction of the Human Race and quite possibly with a MYRIAD of "collateral damage" in the form of the extinction of many animal, plant and insect species! We MUST do what we can to slam on the brakes of the train that is trying to railroad us all to oblivion and put those wheels in reverse so that not only do OUR children and subsequent lineages have a future, but so all life forms that currently reside on this planet are also able to keep going! The Human Race needs to remember that we are neither above nor below the Natural Order of things, that we are all part of the Circle or Hoop of Life and as such we need to repair the broken links so that we can resume doing our part in keeping the Qi flowing rather than being the weakness that is disrupting it and making things that much harder for all life forms! The Human Race lets go of its own ego and remember WHY it is that we are able to do the things we are especially as far as Magic, Technology, Medicine, Travel and Science are concerned, we were given the ability to Master all these things BECAUSE we were always the Guardians and Protectors of the Planet and everything that comes with it! We are here to work with nature, not exalt ourselves above it, the sooner we remember ourselves, the better off we will be! We can start by making sure that all those who are causing the hate, pain, destruction and devastation are brought to Justice so that they may be dealt with them accordingly and we can then resume our duty as assigned by our INFALLIBLE Father Satan! AVE SATANI! Illustrious Lady ISHTAR Do Not Mistake Her Kindness For Weakness, She Will Prove You Wrong! Do Not Think That Anything You Do Escapes Her Eye, She Sees All! Do Not Think That You Can Commit Acts Of Aggression And Not Be Judged, Her Judgment Is Severe And She Is Not In The Habit Of Being Lenient! When The Drums Sound, Heeding The War Cry, She Emerges In Full Armor! When The Names Of Her Children Are Slandered, She Will Strike Down Their Detractors! When The Children Of Her Children Are Attacked, She Will Destroy The Guilty! When Those Who Instigate Are Relentless, She Will Drive Them Into The Ground! SHE Who Removed Every Piece Of Protection And Ascended To EGURRA! SHE Who Faced Her Sister ERESHKIGAL And Her Horde Of Demons! SHE Who Died And Rose Again To Retake Her Place On The Throne! SHE Who Does Not Back Down From Any Battle No Matter Who Engages! SHE Who Comes To The Aid Of All Her Children In Their Time Of Need! Lionhearted Lady Of The Battle, I Call To You From The Earth, I PRAY YOU HEAR ME! Gentle Spirit Of Divine Love, I Call To You From My Soul, I PRAY YOU HEAL ME! Triumphant Goddess Over The Netherworld, I Call To You From My Heart, LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH THAT I MAY DECIMATE ALL ENEMIES! You Who Are Most Loved By The Gods, You Defend Your Own With Your Life, SPREAD YOUR ARMS AND EMBRACE THOSE AFFECTED! You Who Fears Nothing And No One, Who Will Meet Any Threat Head On, BRING FORTH YOUR SWORD AND SHIELD! You Who Lets It Be Known That She Will Not Be Disrespected By Anyone, SMITE THOSE WHO ARROGANTLY CURSE THINE OWN AND SATANS NAME! You Who Are An Inspiration To All Those Who Have Had To Die So They Could Live, WE ARE ETERNAL FOR WE KNOW YOURS AND SATANS LOVE, HONOR AND PROTECTION! --- ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA! MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INSENCE! Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una! Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In Diabolus Nomen Nos Fides! AVE SATANÍ! (We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER! Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In Satan's Name We Trust! HAIL SATAN!) Ave URURU! Ave EA! Ave DIMUZI! Ave ININNI! Ave GILGAMESH! Ave ENKIDU! Ave TIAMAT! Ave ABSU! Ave MARDUK! Ave SARPANITUM! Ave SATANÍ! HAIL SATAN! HPS Meg "Nemesis Nexus" Prentiss

[mintjamsblog]

Headcanon: Tommy’s submissive tendencies

Just reposting this because Tumblr deleted it (due to the gif). The anon question was this: Tommy clearly likes being submissive with Alfie, but has he always had submissive tendencies?

I love this question, I kind of had a half-written head canon on this (not to mention a lot of thoughts) so here are a lot of thoughts, which hopefully answer your question as well as several other questions that no one actually asked!

We all know that Tommy has an overarching need for control. Over everything in his life. And in the past I think that has pretty much extended to the bedroom too.

On a sexual and emotional level, when he first came back from France he started seeing Lizzie, which was purely a case of scratching a physical itch. He fucked and he came with as little actual presence as is humanly possible (at first Lizzie wondered if he did it on purpose, with barely a sound or a change to his facial expression, whether it was due to embarrassment or control. But it didn’t even seem to be deliberate, it was more like there was just nothing for him to suppress because he was barely feeling anything). 

With Grace he allowed himself to enjoy sex again, and form an emotional connection. He still preferred to be in control, but every now and again he would let his vulnerable side out a little … would enjoy if she wanted to ride him or boss him around. But that’s as far as it went, like most people, she saw him as the dominant character and it never really occurred to either of them to mess with that. It would also have been at odds with his need to protect her.

By the time he hooks up with Alfie (in Season 3, after Grace’s death) things are very different for Thomas Shelby. He has lost his wife and finds himself being played by very powerful men, treated as a puppet. He’s been nearly beaten to death by the priest and is dealing with everything alone. He doesn’t trust anyone with the full details of what he’s involved with and at the same time he’s trying to maintain control of the family and the company.

But then Alfie turns up and sees the state Tommy’s in; he just knows how fucked he is. Because Alfie’s like that. He watches closely and he can see inside Tommy’s head in a way no one else has (maybe no one else has been looking, maybe they don’t want to see what’s in there!) But this being seen is alarming to Tommy who is usually so good at keeping his inner-self hidden (even from himself most of the time). When Alfie suggests that Tommy doesn’t want to be in charge, should let someone else take control for a while, it’s a bit of a lightning bolt moment for Tommy. It just sounds so fucking appealing that he’s momentarily pretty overwhelmed by it. He has actual emotions (that he doesn’t name and can’t examine, but still, they’re there). Which is why when Alfie just grabs hold of him and kisses him he actually feels like he could cry. 

The idea of giving up control is just so far from his reality and from everything he’s ever known that when Alfie says, “maybe you need someone else to tell you want to do,“ Tommy just reacts physically, viscerally, can’t even help it. Alfie fucking Solomons has waltzed into his house and is telling him what to do, telling him not to drink, telling him to give in. It makes him fucking angry because Alfie is right (goddammit), because he wants to relinquish control and something about it is just horrifyingly sexy and yet it’s weak and it’s such a ludicrous idea that … why did Alfie even bother saying it? It can never happen and he was perfectly happy (ok, maybe not happy exactly) living without someone… Alfie …turning up and plucking at the inner workings of his mind. His needs. Only now the seed has been planted. Of course Alfie takes it out of Tommy’s hands anyway and does takes over. (And if none of that makes sense then maybe go and read the start of my series, Sideways, which is basically this story of their first encounter). 

Once Tommy has opened the door to that need to submit it just seems to be very fucking hard to shut it again. Because it feels so fucking good. Terrifying and risky and dangerous but just … good. Maybe it’s because it’s Alfie; maybe it’s because he’s a man; maybe it’s because he’s someone that Tommy deems to be an intellectual or moral equal. Who knows? Tommy doesn’t. All he knows is that when he submits to Alfie in the bedroom it’s a different world. He’s not submitting to him in any other aspect of his life and he’s not submitting to anyone else in his life. It’s just a very ring-fenced, secretive, delicious thing.

And he tries very hard not to examine it too closely. Because in his own head he doesn’t need warmth or comfort or security or affection (even though those are exactly the things he gets ultimately from Alfie, albeit in a specific setting). From the start of their relationship Alfie kind of forces all of that on him: forces him to accept soft kisses and gentle sex and relentless pleasure. Even if he’s tough and uncompromising in how he gets Tommy to accept it. He simply doesn’t take no for an answer, which somehow makes it OK for Tommy - makes it easier for him to force down his self-loathing for a while and live in the moment. 

Perhaps somewhere in his mind Tommy finds it acceptable to submit to Alfie because he is so obviously powerful and intelligent and capable, in a way that has just never crossed his mind with the women in his life (not that women can’t be all of those things of course, it’s just not who Tommy has found himself with). 

There is an element of his submission which is undoubtedly tied into his self-loathing, a slightly reckless attitude to risks, (letting Alfie tie him up early on for example). And when they hit a relationship crisis he definitely  feels that he deserves pain. 

But because it’s Tommy, and at the risk of repeating myself, he doesn’t really do a lot of self analysis. He tries to compartmentalise all of this as sex. Plain and simple. And for a while that works. But over time it is obvious that this type of sex almost forces an emotional connection, because it forces him to be vulnerable, and allows Alfie to drag things out of him that he’d never normally let anyone see.

I think their relationship is such that Alfie is the more self-aware of the two. He’s certainly not a paragon of emotional availablility or maturity, but he’s a lot more evolved than Tommy. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t know for a fact that Tommy is getting a lot out of it. He’s not actually a sadist (entirely); unlike Tommy he is very comfortable with his desires. And, as I’ve said before, he just WANTS Tommy. 

Tommy, for his part, has read Freud and figures that this sexually masochistic tendency is just another way in which he is damaged, broken. But it’s hardly like he abides by normal rules elsewhere in his life, so he very gradually adapts to the idea that this is simply one more way in which he is different. And Alfie is different. And so long as they both live outside the normal rules then it is … just … something that happens. Which he tries not to analyse. Because he’s Tommy. He tries to ignore any and all emotions about anything to do with Alfie until he is in the heat of the moment. It doesn’t always work.

Plus it becomes obvious pretty quickly how cathartic Tommy finds handing over power to someone else. There is no other area of his life where he dares to do that and where he feels so unburdened.

And so over time an emotional connection is being made with Alfie, and sex is a key component of how that bond forms, it’s like their glue. If Alfie weren’t forcing Tommy into it it would never have happened. Alfie loves nothing more than making Tommy vulnerable, getting to the parts of him that no one else is allowed to see. And whilst he’d never admit it, there is a part of Tommy that needs to be seen, to be known. It’s human nature and, much as he might like to deny it, he is actually human.

Find the rest of my headcanons at the bottom of my masterlist.

[catherinesnyder]

What is creativity? The ultimate guide to understanding today’s most important ability.

Creativity is one of those traits that people seem to have an intrinsic understanding of, but if you actually ask them to define it, they get tripped up. It’s easy to come up with a list of creative people (Frieda Khalo, Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak, Einstein), and the outcomes of creativity (a novel, an invention, a new way of looking at the world), but it’s difficult to wrap your head around the actual concept of creativity. The more I researched this article, the more I realized creativity is an incredibly nuanced phenomenon.

by rvasilovski

But you have to start somewhere, so let’s begin with a definition:

Creativity is the ability to transcend traditional ways of thinking or acting, and to develop new and original ideas, methods or objects.

Let’s break that down:

It’s an ability It’s also an ability to run a mile, or to do calculus or recite a Shakespearean sonnet (Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?). So creativity is a skill that is specific to an individual. For some people, it might seem to come naturally, but it is something that anyone can improve at if they give it the time and effort.

It transcends traditional ways of thinking or acting Transcending means you’re going above and beyond. It’s recognizing the limitations of what already exists, and trying to improve upon it.

It develops new and original things I think the key word here is develops. Creativity goes beyond imagining: it’s about developing. If it’s an idea, you go out and do the research to prove it. If it’s a new process you try and test it to see if it works. If it’s an object, you build it.

Great! And now that I’ve provided you with that enlightening definition, let’s wade a bit deeper and try to really understand what creativity is (and why you should or shouldn’t care).

Creativity is a relatively new phenomenon —

Creativity has only been a thing for the past 60-80 years or so.

“But wait,” you say, “what about all those amazing artists and inventors of yesteryear. Are you telling me you don’t think Mark Twain and Sir Isaac Newton weren’t creative? Preposterous!”

I am certainly not one to dis the fathers of Tom Sawyer and gravity. What I’m saying is that the concept of creativity as we understand it—even though it seems so ubiquitous—wasn’t really part of the popular lexicon until midway through the last century:

From Google’s Ngram viewer

In many ancient cultures, ideas or advancements that we would attribute to an individual’s creativity were deemed “discoveries.” Even artwork was seen as an imitation of nature rather than a form of creation.

In the medieval Christian world, creative ideas were positioned as divine inspiration. Did you do something awesome? You owe god a high five for sending that fantastic idea your way, my friend.

With the dawning of the enlightenment, we started to see a gradual shift towards individual responsibility, but even then the focus was on imagination and intelligence—both of which are definitely part of the modern definition of creativity, but not quite the same thing.

by E·the·re·al”

Where we really begin to see the emergence in the idea of modern creativity is in the 1920s. With the birth of psychology1 at the end of the 19th century, paradigms in the western world shifted to focus more intently on the individual, and our unique capabilities and personalities. (Another one of those things that we think as innate—personality wasn’t really a thing until Freud.) Creativity as an ability, or a personality trait, first gained popularity after Graham Wallas’ book Art of Thought. In this work, Wallas presents a model for how humans approach problems and think creatively.

And thus, the modern idea of creativity was born. Since then, psychologists and researchers in other disciplines have only continued to develop the idea into what we understand today.

So does that mean that no one was creative until the 1930s? No, clearly humans have had the ability to think outside the box and develop new ideas for a long time. What the current focus on creativity does show is that it’s a valued quality in our culture right now. The focus on it as a coveted trait can probably be linked to the rapid development of new ideas and technology in the past century.

Creativity is a pattern of thinking —

So we know that creativity is an ability that allows people to develop new ideas, but that still feels a bit vague and intangible (kind of like saying swimming is the ability to not drown in water—technically true, but not particularly useful if you’re going for a deeper understanding, or ya know, wanting to not drown). Put on your floaties and let’s dive into the deep end.

All skills originate in our brains: whether it’s physical (learning to do the breaststroke) or mental (learning to solve an algebraic equation), it’s all about neurons in the right part of your brain firing over and over again until what you’re doing becomes ingrained.2

Creativity is the skill to transcend traditional ways of thinking and come up with new ideas. But where do these new ideas come from?

Forget left vs. right brained, it’s all about the networks.

Like the persistent “we only use 10% of our brains” myth, the concept of left-brained = creative vs. right-brained = analytical is total pseudoscience.

by LittleFox

Yes, there are parts of our brain that have specific functions, but it’s the connections between these areas, and the subsequent networks they create which creates cognition. For example, if you’re trying to climb over a log that’s fallen on a path, you’re likely engaging the network which links the parts of your brain that process visual images and govern motor coordination. If you’re explaining to a friend how to climb over said log, add in the parts of your brain which control language.

When it comes to creativity, neuroscientists have identified three large-scale (and aptly named) networks of the brain that are important:

The executive attention network helps you pay attention and focus

The imagination network allows you to daydream or imagine yourself in someone else’s shoes

The salience network let’s you identify when things you have buried deep in your brain are salient to the world around you (e.g. you’re going for a hike and taking in the scenery, and you notice this plant… realize it looks familiar… and that it’s poison ivy! And you just saved yourself from a terrible itchy rash.)

The more active these networks are in your brain, and the more they work together, the more creative you are.3

So going back to our original question: what is creativity? Creativity is a skill that allows you to draw understanding of the world around you, connect those observations to your existing knowledge reservoirs, and imagine new applications of your knowledge on the world.

Is there a connection between creativity and intelligence? —

This study purports to find a positive correlation between creativity and intelligence, but our in-house statistician was dubious of the results.

So if it’s all about what’s going on in certain brain networks, does that mean that creative people are smarter? I wish I had an easy yes or no answer for you, but the study of creativity is still a pretty new thing, and the research isn’t entirely settled on this matter yet.

In 1999, researchers Sternberg and O’Hara provided a framework of five possible relationships between creativity and intelligence:

Creativity is a type of intelligence

Intelligence is a type of creativity

Creativity and intelligence are overlapping constructs (they have some traits in common)

Creativity and intelligence are part of the same construct (they’re basically the same thing)

Creativity and intelligence are distinct constructs (there is no relationship between them)

There are studies that provide evidence in favor of each of these perspectives, but thus far none has been overwhelming in its conclusions. So essentially there’s nothing that shows if you’re smarter you’re more creative. But there’s nothing showing that there’s not a correlation either.

Are children more creative than adults? —

If you do a Google search on creativity, you’ll pretty quickly run into an article that mentions a study run by Professor George Land that seems to show that children become less creative over time.

The gist: Land worked with NASA to develop a creativity test that would help them select innovative engineers and scientists for the space program. In 1968, he and colleague Beth Jarmen gave the same test to 1,600 children and found that—shock—98% of five-year-olds were apparently creative geniuses. And we all just got less and less creative as we aged, until only a measly 2% of us adults qualify as creative geniuses.

by fritzR

Now, maybe I’m just bitter because I’m jealous of all those child prodigies and their ideas that would allow them to be astronauts, but I’m a bit skeptical of these results. Sure, they make for great clickbait and feel-goodry (just embrace your inner child, ignore the pressures of society and you might be able to qualify to go the moon!) but have you spent any time with a five year old recently?

My colleague has a son about this age: this past weekend he linked together a Barrel of Monkeys to create a ladder for his green army men to climb.

Not only is this adorable, but it’s an amazing example of out-of-the-box creative thinking. But real world application? Maybe not so much. (Though I’m having a fantastic time imagining this scenario!)

Fewer synapses = fewer monkeys?

Young children have amazing brains: they develop literally trillions of neural synapses in the first few years of life. Then, through a process called synaptic pruning, those connections decrease over time, as some of these synapses are used and others aren’t.

In other words, kids connect all sorts of weird things together in their minds because they haven’t learned that these things don’t necessarily go together yet. This ability to make connections between seemingly unrelated things—also called divergent thinking—is an important tennant in creative thinking. But it’s just one part of it. And probably why I’m not quite ready to trust the Space Program to child geniuses just yet.

But this highlights an important question:

How do we test for creativity? —

Some of our designers excel at divergent thinking. Flying turtle by Fafahrd Deustua.

The original creativity tests developed in the 1960s are tests of divergent thinking. A couple examples of these include alternative uses (how many different ways can you think of to use a paperclip; the number and originality of your ideas impact your score) and incomplete figure tests where you’re given a line on a paper and asked to finish the drawing (uncommon subject matter, implied stories, humor and originality earn high marks).4

Other researchers have tried to measure creativity through self-reported creativity questionnaires and social-personality approaches (where they look at a mix of other personality traits and try to find a “formula” for a creative person). Both of these methods have some inherent biases.

So while divergent thinking tests have been criticized, they are currently the most accepted measure of creativity. (Though I’m very curious to see where the neuroscience takes us.)

Why should you care about creativity? —

I hope I’m not being to presumptuous when I say everyone wants to develop new skills or grow their abilities. (Who wouldn’t want to be a faster runner or a better poker player?) But we all have limited hours in the day, so you can’t practice to get better at everything. Why is creativity one of those skills you should spend time developing?

by InQueen

Well, if you care about your career, it’s probably worth the investment. Both individuals and businesses value hold those with creative qualities in high regard. According to a survey by Adobe, people that identify as creative earn 17% more money than those who don’t. Similarly, in a survey of 1,500 CEOs, IBM found that creativity is the number one trait needed for business success.

And yes, the data from these surveys is based on opinion or self-reported creativity levels, but even if the scientists might squawk, it’s probably worth paying attention to. Basically, your boss and your boss’ boss both think creativity is important. And that makes sense as the definition of a creative person is literally someone who comes up with good ideas and can bring them to fruition. In today’s world, that is exactly the fuel that drives business success. So if you want to get ahead, start churning out those ideas like a barrel of monkeys. (Am I doing it right?)

Can you become more creative? —

Absolutely! Creativity isn’t a magical gift bestowed to just a few lucky individuals, it’s a skill that you can hone and develop. The trick is figuring out how to flex your creativity muscles.

1. A number of things happened at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries that shifted our world view, from the discover of relativity to the invention of mass, fast transportation, new ways of communicating across long distances, and of capturing reality (i.e. photography and filmmaking).

2. This TED Talk on how to practice effectively is great. It offers a great explanation of the impact of practice on our brains.

3.All that being said, there are some compelling evidence that our current education system is not setup to nurture the type of creative thinking that we value in today’s society. Which makes sense if you consider that the basic structure and curriculum of schools (at least here in the United States) comes from the 19th century.

4. Interested in more? 99U has a great article with 5 classic creativity tests you can try.

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