#he’s actually a good hugger when he’s not trying to kill you or anybody else

[closedrop]

I didn’t think I would ever have a dream where I hugged the younger teen version of millions knives because I was fleeing from the evil scientists at my school yet here we are

Here’s what he looked like btw

[tinyboxxtink]

Build Me Up Buttercup *Part 6*

Okay this may be my favorite chapter so far. Actually screw it, it most DEFINITELY IS. 

NOTE: If you have never heard the song “Sparks Fly” by Taylor Swift, go listen to it NOW. Before you read this. And actually, you know what just listen to it while reading it, trust me.

If you need to catch up:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Tag List: @wanniiieeee

“Uh, watcha doin’ there, detective?”

Sonny’s voice immediately brought you back down to earth. Your head bolted upright and you sprang away from Barba like he was suddenly on fire.

“What? Oh, nothing. What? You know I’m just, tired, you know-- long day,”

Words spilled out of your mouth quicker than you could think of them. God how embarrassing! Why would you even think of making a move on your ADA? In front of everyone?!

Was it a move though? I mean really. Did he have to just call it out like that? You had to get out of that booth.

“Y’know what actually I am going to run to the ladies room, that Hurricane really went right through me! Like a hurricane!” Again, the word vomit would not stop. You let out a pained awkward laugh and bolted from the table.

--

“REALLY, Caris?” Rafael gave Carisi a look that could kill him right there in the booth.

“What? I just---OW! Amanda, that hurt!” Sonny rubbed his thigh and looked at Amanda who was shaking her head.

--

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, you were beating yourself up in the mirror.

“What is WRONG with you?!”

You were yelling at your reflection, totally normal.

“Ugh…” you sighed, splashing water on your face and cupping your hands around your neck. You needed to wash this day OFF already.

Wait...that gave you an idea.

You peeked out of the bathroom to see everyone still at your table, so while they weren’t paying attention you made a mad dash out of the bar and to your car in the parking lot. You popped your trunk and began throwing things around.

“Please please please please…” You begged no one in particular, shoving empty water bottles and coupons onto the pavement.

“A ha! Yes!” you exclaimed in triumph.

You would never admit it, but you basically lived in your car sometimes. You probably had half your closet in here.

You pulled out a pair of hip hugger jeans and a t-shirt; your lucky t-shirt, to be precise.

Yes maybe it was stupid to have “lucky” items at your age, but you didn’t care. You and this t-shirt had been through some STUFF, and came out the other side together. If anything could turn this night around, it could. Sure it was a TAD too tight from so many washes, the writing on it was barely visible, and it may have had a tear or two, but you had altered it to make the damage look fashionable. At least, you thought so.

You knelt behind your car, trying to change discreetly. You kept a careful watch out, God knows the squad did NOT need another case right now. You tossed your blazer and dress shirt back into the trunk, slipped off your skirt and pulled on the jeans and t-shirt as quickly as you could, then you slammed the trunk shut and walked over to the driver’s side view mirror.

“Not bad; not bad at all detective,” you smirked at your reflection before locking your car and running back inside.

As you approached your table, you saw Barba notice you, and then NOTICE, you. His eyes grew and his mouth slightly opened. Okay so maybe sometimes you went a little overboard on trying to look “professional” around your squad-- this was probably the first time you even alluded to having chesticles.

“I’m sorry sweetie have you seen our co-worker?” Amanda asked jokingly.

“What? I needed to get this day off of me, you know?”

“Yes, off indeed,” Oliva raised her eyebrows.

“What is it too much? Should I change back?”

“NO” All three men responded in unison, then quickly looked around elsewhere like nothing happened.

“You’re fine,” Fin assured you.

“Yes you are,” Carisi blurted.

“REALLY Carisi?!” Barba almost slapped him across the table.

“What? I didn’t mean it like--” Sonny protested while pleading with a very offended Amanda. They started having their own little squabble as Barba scooted closer to you.

“You really do look nice,” He smiled.

“...In jeans and a t-shirt? Thanks,” You gave a smile back while you felt your face blushing.

“No, I mean, happier. I like seeing happy on you,” He smiled even more, fidgeting like he wanted to touch you but didn’t want foghorn Sonny going off again.

“OH. Um, yeah thanks. I like seeing you happy too, counselor,”  Your face was a full on skillet, you could fry an egg on them from the heat they radiated. You had to look anywhere else but his eyes or you might do something Carisi would DEFINITELY have something to say about.

“Ooooh! You know what else I do when I wanna get the taste of a bad day out of my mouth?” You changed the subject lightening quick as soon as you saw the stage across the room.

“Shots?” Amanda asked.

“Well, yeah obviously but--”

“AMBER did you hear that? Another round of shots!”

“DANCE,” you completely ignored Amanda’s antics. “I dance it out!” You pointed over to a small band who was testing sound equipment, obviously about to start a show.

“...Is she serious?” Fin muttered to Olivia.

“Is she drunk off ONE Hurricane?” Carisi raised his eyebrow.

“No come on-- Ugh! You guys cannot be that old.” you groaned.

“We might be,” Olivia half laughed.

“Too old to dance?!” You scoffed.

“In a room full of people, to country music? I don’t even have to be old to not wanna do that honey,” Fin put his hands up.

As they were all expressing their objections and insults, a scheme began running through your brain. Your eyes went from the band--- 2 guitarists, a drummer and a girl lead singer-- perfect. Your eyes then turned back towards Barba, who actually hadn’t protested your dance it out idea. PERFECT.

“Well I’m not old yet, I’m gonna dance it out to Tay Tay Swift!” You stuck your tongue out at the group and ran over to the band. The squad exchanged looks of disbelief while they watched you have a conversation with the band, and soon came running back over.

“Alright hey ya’ll we are Cactus Flower, how we feelin tonight?”

Scattered applause and drunken cheers answered her.

“Great...well, for our first song we’ve actually got a request, so this one is for you detective,” she smiled as the music started

It was relatively slow, so a few couples slowly began congregating on the dance floor. Other young girls squealed and formed a dance circle in a corner. Alright, it’s now or never, detective.

You started off dancing by yourself, just vibing to the song. You eyed everyone in your party, daring them to join you.

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless

That should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“Oh come on guys, you’re really gonna make me stand here looking like a moron?”

And you stood there in front of me

Just close enough to touch

Close enough to hope you couldn't see

What I was thinking of

“Baby girl, you're doin that all on your own!” Finn laughed.

You saw the thoughts mulling in Barba’s mind, glancing from you to the group and back to you again. Finally, to your delight, he shook his head and stood up.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“You guys are cruel,” He remarked, walking right up to you.

“Can I have this dance?”

PERFECT.

He took your hand and spun you, you clumsily fell into his chest and looked into his eyes with a smile JUST as the song hit your target.

You glanced over to see the squad’s collective jaws on the floor.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“....You know, my eyes are green.” he raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Huh. Go figure,” you batted your eyes innocently.

You were downright shocked that Rafael had not run screaming from the very obvious message of the song, and even more shocked the squad was allowing it. But you were not tempting anybody or anything by questioning it; you were just going to enjoy this dance, this moment.

My mind forgets to remind me

You're a bad idea

You touch me once and it's really something

You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you I know it's no good

And I could wait patiently but

I really wish you would

You both continued to dance in silence, Rafael now listening very intently to every word of the song, and grinning more and more as it went on.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

Rafael spun you around in a big dramatic flourish, as he commented “I do have a gorgeous smile, don’t I?”

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

“What? Hm? Can’t hear you,” You pretended you were too far away, then smirked when you twirled back into his torso.

“Mmmhmm,”

The song reached it’s interlude, the beat banging every word emphatically. Rafael pulled your arms up around his neck, just as the last chorus went into the soft breakdown.

I run my fingers through your hair

And watch the lights go wild

Just keep on keeping your eyes on me

It's just wrong enough to make it feel right

And lead me up the staircase

Won't you whisper soft and slow?

I'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show

You looked into those green eyes, your head swimming. 24 hours ago this man was just your co-worker, a coffee snob ADA. And now, you were both in each other’s arms and staring at each other’s lips-- you closed your eyes as the song played.

Drop everything now

Meet me in the pouring rain

Kiss me on the sidewalk

“I um, I’m really sorry Y/N. I um...I need to go. To the...bathroom. I’m sorry just...I’m sorry,”

Take away the pain

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile….

You watch Rafael practically bolt off the dance floor and into the men’s room as you stood there alone while the song finished.

Get me with those green eyes

Baby, as the lights go down

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly

Whenever you smile

What had just happened?

[kryptidkat]

Now I'm curious. Does ghoul have faves? Kobra? Party? What about the Girl

Oof I spent way too much time on this and then didn’t proofread it….but here u go. (For the rest of the Four I’m excluding the Girl again, because she’s still so young that she has a very different relationship with them than they have with each other.) 

KOBRA

For Kobra, you almost have to exclude Poison from the start, because from being raised together and sharing so much of life, they’re on the same wavelength to where they can have whole conversations without saying a word. However, Poison can be loud — and obnoxious with razor-sharp precision like any good brother is  — so Kobra often needs space, even from him. It literally just depends what mood he’s in, who he most likes to spend time with on any given day. If he’s feeling mischievous, Ghoul is the obvious choice for a partner in crime. (Those two will also rag on each other incessantly, but it’s all in good fun and they’re pretty well attuned by now to when they need to back off before they hit an actual nerve.) And Jet, a man of relatively few words himself, is great for just being in the same room with while doing your own thing. (And once Kobra warmed up to him? Jet quickly became one of his favorite huggers in the world.) If you straight-up asked Kobra, though, he’d just snort, because he doesn’t even have to think about it, and because you should already know. No matter how unbearable his brother can be, it’s always Poison. 

POISON

Of course we have to start with Kobra, here. Poison perhaps has more of a bent toward protective than companionable feelings for Kobra, but he still feels incredibly close to him. They’re so close that you rarely see them physically side by side when they’re hanging out. More often than not, they will be on opposite sides of the room and merely sending occasional looks that will have the other making a face or outright laughing like there’s an actual verbal conversation going on that only they can hear. That said, Kobra can be moody quite often and won’t speak to anybody at all, not even to Poison by telepathy or whatever the hell it is that they can do, and gets even more moody if Poison tries to cheer him up and make him come do something with him. (That or he’ll ramble for hours about something Poison couldn’t give less of a shit about, like lizards or the care and feeding of succulents or different kinds of bike tires and how they respond on different terrains….)  So however borderline codependent they may be, it’s not an end-all be-all and their relationship doesn’t come at the expense of their relationships with other crewmembers. 

It’s nearly impossible to rile Jet. Poison knows, because Poison has tried. This discovery would make most people more comfortable around Jet; Poison finds it uncanny and infuriating. No one should be that unflappable. (He’s determined to find more of Jet’s buttons, so that’s kind of a subconscious ongoing mission of his.) However, if Poison’s feeling unspecifiably fragile, (and therefore acting the most assholeish), Jet is a steadying presence, as big and sturdy and unmovable as a joshua tree. For this, Poison is secretly glad Jet is unofficially the actual leader of the crew. And yet Poison’s never quite shaken the feeling that Jet is always…watching him. Not judging him—just trying to figure him out, see under the Party Poison mask, predict if he’s going to blow up at someone or fall into a panic in a given circumstance. Poison’s never been sure if this is actually the case or just his imagination. 

Ghoul can take whatever you give him and throw it right back. His addition to the crew was actually a godsend for everybody else, because Poison finally had an outlet for what seemed like an infinite amount of pent-up aggression. More often than not, they can be found wrestling on the floor somewhere without check, like they’re genuinely trying to kill each other (the rest of the crew have learned it’s best to just step around them), or screaming insults at each other. What’s more jarring is when they’re both being amicable. They skip making up entirely; there’s nothing to make up. (When Kobra first noticed Poison had started letting Ghoul touch up his hair, the two of them were on the receiving end of frequent horrified, wary side-eyed looks for a full week before he seemed to be satisfied that this was as far as things were going to go.). They were made for cuddling each other — they’re most alike in size of everyone at the diner, so they love hugging and snuggling once they’ve exhausted their excess frustration. 

GHOUL

Ghoul, who’s still trying to learn gentleness for the first time (it’s easy with the Girl, but a little more difficult with everyone else), is grudgingly fascinated how desert-hardened Jet can be so strong and yet remain so in control of that strength. Jet is fucking tough, tough as nails, but Ghoul’s never seen him use brute force on anyone besides a drac. Even at Ghoul’s worse, Jet has never lashed out at him. That’s nice. More than Ghoul deserves, certainly. The other nice thing about Jet is that he lets Ghoul be, much like the crew treats predator animals they encounter when they’re out in the open after dark. A desertborn attitude — live and let live. Jet doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to change him. Ghoul’s grateful for that. 

Kobra is like, 12. And what a weirdo. Ghoul doesn’t get him at all. He has to respect the kid, though, because despite his quirks Kobra is a keen strategist, a formidable prank partner, and not scared of getting the shit beaten out of him — whether it’s in a fight or a bike accident or whatever. Not to mention he’s got a helluva pokerface, and a dark, sardonic sense of humor to rival Ghoul’s own. So yeah, Ghoul likes Kobra just fine. 

Ghoul trusts Poison completely, full stop. He’s not sure how much Poison does. There’s a huge, scary amount of trust between them, he knows, but he gets the feeling Poison has many more layers he still isn’t ready to show Ghoul. Which is fair, because some things Ghoul doesn’t want to bring up, either. (Not because it’s Poison. Poison would never laugh, or dismiss him, or judge. Ghoul just doesn’t want to think about certain things, let alone talk about them.) When they first met, Poison saved his life, probably (Ghoul maintains to himself he would’ve been fine even without his help), which under normal circumstances would’ve made Ghoul hate Poison’s guts forever. But Poison never acted like Ghoul owed him anything. As soon as Ghoul was well enough to take it, he treated Ghoul with the same abrasive combativeness he did everyone else. And Ghoul loved him for it. Poison never pulled punches, with him. That was what made Ghoul ultimately come to trust Poison with his softer side, too, oddly enough. 

THE GIRL

Jet is strong and smart and big. He can lift the Girl off the ground with one hand and he knows everything about how to not get killed in the desert, which is really important. Being the biggest means he’s the best for climbing up, which is also important. And even though he only has one eye anymore, he’s a killer shot. He’s super dangerous for bad guys and can even throw whole people across a room! He’s always nice to the Girl and Party and Kobra and Ghoulie, though. 

Kobra is so cool. He even gave the Girl a pair of sunglasses, so she could be cool too. Kobra knows everything about bikes and computers and martial arts, and he’s even started teaching her some sick moves. (She’s still too small to ride a bike, though.) She appreciates how Kobra tells things like they are, even though he still does his darndest to shield her from actually seeing things like they are when they’re out running the zones. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking sometimes, but she guesses that’s just part of being cool. 

Ghoul is so fun. Which is fitting, given his full name, but yeah — he lets the Girl do the really fun stuff. At least when Jet isn’t watching. He knows everything about blowing stuff up and making things catch on fire. It doesn’t get much funner than that! And yet there’s something about the way Ghoul looks at her from a distance, sometimes. Like he’s seeing somebody else. It’s kind of creepy, but it happens rarely enough that she’s never mentioned it. 

Party is…a lot of things. He’s a really good artist, and a good teacher of it, too. He’s even taken the Girl out to do graffiti before, not just paint on the diner walls. He can be scary sometimes, but never in her direction. When they’re in public and he jumps up onto something and starts talking really loud, everyone shuts up and listens and does whatever he says. His eyes can get scary when he’s like that (if he’s angry, not just excited). However, if he catches the Girl watching him and remembers, afterward, he’ll usually shoot her a wink so she’ll know everything is okay. And he’s never given the Girl a reason to believe he’d ever turn that anger on her. Sometimes after a clap he gives hugs so tight they hurt, but the Girl isn’t bothered by that. The only thing that bothers her about Party is that he reminds her of someone, occasionally — in a fleeting expression, in the tilt of his head, in a smile. She’s never been able to put a finger on who. 

[cabeswaterlovesthem]

Vancouver Crowd

I don’t know if anybody else has headcanons for these boys but I have noticed a lack of them. So here are some bits I’ve written up for each of the boys of the Litchfield House please feel free to add on to these! I used what little info we had about them from the books to form some bullets. 

HENRY BROADWAY AKA CHENG2

Known as Cheng2 not because we was the second Cheng, but rather the second Henry. He sort of embraces this though because him and Henry have been best friends since private primary school and have been attached at the hip for years.

Cheng2 was always the shy one which is how he ended up being the 2. He didn’t really like to let anybody get too close to him and prefers to have only a few close friends over a big group.

But the reserved side of Cheng2 ceased to exist when he started at Agliony. Henry managed to form a group around him that made Cheng2 feel comfortable and included. Soon, his louder side was coming out.

One of the things about being the shy guy was that he spent a lot of time not really talking to anyone so, because of it, when he does open his mouth, usually it’s to say something unbelievably stupid like “Holy fuck, we got girls?” but yah know.

He’s a fucking economics wiz and plans on majoring it. He’s pretty much Ivy League bound which is fine by him. He doesn’t know what getting burnt out feels like. He works incredibly hard for his good grades and hasn’t found that they have come easy to him like some of his other friends. But he lives for success. He has goals and he’s going to achieve them and nobody is going to stop him.

That’s probably because he’s constantly drinking a red bull to stay up studying until 4am and then smoking a bowl to fall asleep. The other perk of being The Shy Guy at school is that nobody knows when you show up high to class. He’s taken advantage of this fact multiple times.

RYANG (WOO?)

Ryang (aka Mrs. Woo’s nephew) is a piece of fucking work my guys let me tell you.

Ryang is always pissed about something happening in the world and has to do something about it. If there’s a charity drive happening at Aglionby you can imagine he is behind it.

There are about 20 cats roaming around Litchfield House and they’re all there because Ryang saved them from a kill shelter two summers ago. They all have names after famous activists (although one is named Beyonce after a long winded argument with Henry in which Henry sorted every good thing Beyonce has ever done for the world) and they all have collars.

Ryang can often be found sleeping in a bed with five cats because all his anger exhausts him so much that he needs to take a lot of naps. This is extremely frustrating to Koh who likes to cuddle but is slightly allergic to cats and all the hair that collects in Ryang’s bed is just too much.

He drives a motorcycle and has his own custom helmet made that Koh designed for him. Did I get to the part where they’re both in love with each other but won’t admit it? Maybe that’s a story for a different night.

One time Ryang tied himself to a tree on Aglionby’s campus to save it and all the Vancouver boys rallied enough support around him that the tree stayed and the plans for a new media center were moved to another location on campus.

His favorite kind of music is classic rock and, no offense to Henry, but he can’t stand pop. He only tolerates it when he’s drinking with the guys. He also lightens up a bit when he’s drinking and is often the one to initiate weird games.

But otherwise, he’s generally standoffish but Koh softens his edges a lot. He doesn’t mean to be standoffish, but he’s staunch in his opinions and demands his peers learn to be better. It comes from years of dealing with privileged white boys in his classes.

Him and Cheng2 often have heated discussions about policy and the latest United Nations topics.

KOH

Koh is almost the opposite of Ryang. He’s a ball of energy who is actually quite liked by everybody. He is on the student government at Aglionby because of his generally positive attitude and friendly nature.

He’s acquaintances with pretty much everybody at school and has a way of making everybody feel included.

Probably because he’s a team player from being a fricken soccer star. It’s insane how good he is. He works out for it but most of it is absolutely natural skill and when he’s not at Litchfield he’s probably on the pitch.

Koh is crazy smart but he couldn’t give half a shit about half his classes. His interests include the finer things in life like golfing on the weekend and drinking fancy drinks at a club house. He’s a little flippant with his money which drives Ryang fucking nuts sometimes but he always shuts him up by showing up to every single one of Ryang’s fundraisers- even if they do start at ass o’clock in the morning.

His grades are good but he really doesn’t try and honestly? High school is a bust. He already has plans to go to business school and take over the family’s pharmaceutical company (but hopefully only after he plays in the premier leagues for a bit).

There is one class that he tries in and it’s music. He sort of loves mixing records together and will often steal the speakers away during parties to control the music. He doesn’t really think he can pursue it, but the boys have been really encouraging him to not give it up. Secretly Koh wants to be encouraged….

As much as him and Ryang are polar opposites in a lot of ways (he’s materialistic where Ryang is minimalist) their heated debates are usually dripping with tension. And when Ryang sneaks downstairs into Koh’s cat-free room to sleep, they don’t talk about it in the morning.

(To be perfectly honest, the book wasn’t clear about whether or not SickSteve, Logan, or Lee-Squared live at Litchfield but I don’t care for the sake of this headcanon. They live there now. Welcome home, boys.)

SICKSTEVE

Bruh, you know what you have to do to get a nickname like that? A lot of sick shit that’s what.

SickSteve is the epitome of awesome and has the wildest stories. Like one time he went to the Vatican and puked in the holy water because he was too hungover.

And another time he skateboarded off a roof into a pool and broke his arm.

Literally there isn’t a weekend that Steve doesn’t have a story for on Monday morning. And it isn’t like he’s trying hard to do shit- it’s just his nature to be wild.

He owns a BMW but it’s his third one so far because he keeps finding ways to fucking total them by accident trying to do donuts too close to a building or some shit. It’s literally insane.

The crazy thing is he’s so calm and nonchalant about it all. Like you would not at all guess by his demeanor at school that he’s such a crazy guy, but the minute he starts telling you a story your jaw can’t not hit the ground in shock.

And he’s always somehow convincing the guys to pull stupid shit with him. He’s crazy persuasive about it and thanks to him most of the other guys’ lives have gotten a lot more fun. He’s the reason for their toga parties 99% of the time because they just want to see what will happen after he takes a few shots and a hit of weed.

But perhaps the wildest thing about Steve is that he is the biggest movie buff any of them have ever met and can quote over a hundred movies from start to finish. It would be annoying if Steve didn’t turn the volume down and improv half the time. He’s just got this good humor about him that everybody likes to be around but will shrug when you tell him he’s funny.

LOGAN RUTHERFORD

He’s basically their classic fuckboy who they constantly rag on for having a white boy name.

Logan is the resident lax bro of the house due to the fact that 1. he does play lax and 2. he’s actually that obnoxious about it.

He wears bro tanks and backwards hats and spends a ton of time at the gym. Protein shakes are pretty much his staple and he tries to convince the whole house to get into shape to no avail. So instead, they dedicated one cabinet to all his health food junk and tell him they weren’t going to touch it anyways.

He’s the beer pong champion of the house and likes to brag about it a lot. He’s also the one who supplies most of the alcohol as his family lives in town and his brother is attending college nearby.

His family is old money which is weird for their little group. Nobody knows the backstory though because Logan doesn’t get along with his father. His parents are divorced and he was raised by his mother and step father instead. Thankfully the divorce settlement was insane so his mother made out like a bandit. Which Logan thinks is karma because his father is a dick.

He gets pretty terrible grades in school because he’s more focused on sports and it pisses his dad off when he sends his report card.

He seems like he doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them, but the truth is that Logan has a really big heart, he just keeps it on lockdown. He had a tough time growing up that he doesn’t talk about a lot but has opened up to his friends about. Because of that, they put up with his bro bullshit for the guy who would drop absolutely anything to be there for them if they asked.

More than once he’s been the friend they’ve called at 4am to come pick them up or the one they’ve gone to crying after a really bad day. He’s a good listener and a great hugger and knows how to make things better with a smile and some froyo.

LEE-SQUARED

He’s known as “Lee-Squared” because he has a twin sister (who Cheng2 has a huge fucking crush on which drives Lee-Squared absolutely nuts). 

Lee is actually his last name but he prefers to be called that anyways so it works out. 

He’s incredibly insanely close to his family and it’s hard to be away from them during the school year. He’s from California and fucking hates the east coast winters to be honest.

He’s got the west coast sort of attitude too. Super laid back. Absolutely surfs in the summer. Is cold 99% of the time and is always turning the heat up and driving the house nuts. Smokes a shit ton of weed with Cheng2.

Generally he’s pretty quiet, even when he drinks. He’s big on observing and people watching over participating in events. 

He’s the only one who will eat Logan’s healthy meals and goes running with him sometimes. 

Lee-Squared is also a huge fucking nerd who loves reading and writing and psychology and anything that involves personal connection. He’s taken up yoga and mediating and is always looking for ways to find his calm.

The reason why is because while his exterior is calm, his mind is usually moving a mile a minute. He’s got pretty bad internal anxiety but he doesn’t like to talk about it a lot. He’s pretty self deprecating and second guesses himself a lot. Him and Logan talk about it sometimes and the runs with Logan sometimes help him turn his brain off for awhile. 

Him and Logan become even closer after sharing their backgrounds and really support and love the heck out of each other. They don’t externally appear soft ever, but truly they are. 

Anyways, all the Vancouver boys are good good boys who I love and adore thanks for listening! 

Edit: I worked really hard on these and did as much research as I could but I may have missed things from the book so feel free to point them out and I will add them! Like someone mentioned Koh was on the soccer time so I have since amended my headcanon. So as a general disclaimer, I tried my best here but do not be afraid to be like, “Hey, actually, this makes more sense based on their character!”

[mbtizone]

Clara Oswald (Doctor Who): ENFJ

Dominant Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Clara is very much in tune with the emotions of the people around her, and she has no trouble expressing her own. She is typically friendly and good-natured, but when someone crosses a line, she will tell them exactly how they made her feel. She can admit when she’s hurt or frightened, and she will make it known if she is angry or anxious. However, in certain situations, she will put her own feelings aside in order to keep the peace. She’s angry when the Doctor leaves her behind, but even though she’s mad at him, she stops herself from berating him about it because it was the “wrong thing to say” and they “shouldn’t be having an an argument.” She lies to Danny about continuing to travel with the Doctor because she’s afraid of how he will react. She doesn’t have to spend very much time with Professor Palmer and Emma to realize that they have romantic feelings for one another, and meddles in the situation, asking Emma if she’s aware of the way he feels about her. After their mother dies, Clara remains with the Maitland’s for a year, putting off her travel plans in order to help care for the children. She’s caring, selfless, and giving. When she meets Merry, she is encouraging and supportive, insisting that Merry will get her song right. She is instantly protective of her and genuinely wants to help. Clara craves external validation, particularly from the Doctor. “How did I do? Was I okay?” She wants him to admit it when she does something well because she needs the affirmation. She wants him to be proud of her and cares about whether she impresses him. Clara is warm, encouraging, empathetic, and extremely moral. She cares very much about the safety, happiness, and well-being of other people (or aliens). Clara is very physically affectionate, often hugging the Doctor (even against his will when he regenerates into Twelve, a very firm non-hugger). She often clashes with Twelve because of his tendency to be rude, cold, and indifferent towards people’s feelings. Clara tries to force him to tell Courtney that she’s special, because when he told her she wasn’t it hurt and saying something like that to an impressionable teenager can leave a scar for the rest of her life. You can’t just go around telling children that they aren’t special, even if it’s true! Clara often uses her emotional insights to reason with her adversaries. She uses her understanding of them to bargain. Clara reminds Skaldak of the way he hesitated when she begged him not to kill before, and pleads for him to show the same compassion now. She knows that the Doctor isn’t the Doctor when he begins to “admit” the way he feels about her, and immediately hits him because she knows that even if he did feel those things, he would never, ever say them aloud. She knows how much the Doctor regrets what he did during the Time War, and she can see that he would give anything to change it. It is Clara who convinces him to undo the genocide he carried out all those years ago. Clara can usually tell what the Doctor needs, and realizes that he needs a moment alone after they save Gallifrey. When it’s time for Clara to face the raven, she demands that the Doctor not insult her memory by using her death as an excuse to wage war. She doesn’t want anybody else to die and orders him to stand down. Even though Ashildr is the reason for her death, she does not wish her to be harmed and wants the violence to end with her.

Auxiliary Introverted Intuition [Ni]: Throughout her time with the Doctor, Clara has made many intuitive leaps, that she’s usually believes with complete certainty, and they are often proven to be correct. Clara is quickly able to realize that her connection with the Zygon works both ways. She can control it just as it can control her. She’s positive that it needs her alive, which it does. She also has an appreciation for symbolism and the deeper meaning of things. She understands the significance of the leaf that brought her parents together, and knows that it isn’t just full of history, but an entire future that will never get to happen, and instinctively knows that it will be enough to feed the Old God. However, she sometimes puts so much faith in her hunches that, when she is wrong, the consequences can be disastrous. She is certain that if she takes the chronolock from Rigsy, they will be able to buy more time and figure out how to stop it, because Ashildr promised that Clara was under her personal protection. Even though she wasn’t there, she is absolutely positive that Rigsy didn’t kill anybody, and never doubts him. She immediately believes that he’s been set up, and is fiercely determined to prove his innocence. Clara is convinced that the TARDIS doesn’t like her (Fe-Ni) and sometimes gets into arguments with it. Clara likes to think ahead and doesn’t generally want to do anything without a proper plan. She’s constantly asking the Doctor what his plan is, though he rarely ever has one. She knows that if the Doctor is at her school, there is an alien threat and that his strategy for dealing with the Blitzer will endanger the school because he hasn’t shared his plan with her, indicating that she wouldn’t approve of his method, which clearly means that he’s putting the school at risk. Because Clara fully believes that the future can be better, she encourages the Doctor to undo what he did to Gallifrey. Even though the War Doctor looks a lot older than her Doctor, she knows that he’s actually much younger just by looking into his eyes. After the Doctor shaves his head, he claims he did it as part of a “clever plan” but she knows that he really just “got bored one night.”

Tertiary Extroverted Sensing [Se]: Clara enjoys living in the moment and running into dangerous situations. She’s excited by action and adventure, she gets a thrill out of escaping perilous circumstances. She wants to experience everything the universe has to offer. Sometimes (particularly following Danny’s death), she can be downright reckless, which is what leads to her own demise. After losing Danny, Clara loops a bit. She’s so distraught and grief-stricken that, when the Doctor shows up, she goes around the TARDIS swiping each and every key, asks him take her to a volcano, and impulsively tosses every one into the lava until the Doctor agrees to help her bring Danny back. It is only after she throws them all in that she realizes what she’s done and regrets her actions. She completely bypassed her auxiliary function. She was devastated over the loss and acted without bothering to think of the consequences. When she’s afraid to go looking for the ghost, she asks him to dare her to do it. Although Clara typically feels more comfortable when there’s a plan in place, she doesn’t mind taking risks and is quite capable of acting in the moment when need be. She typically is more aware of the physical environment than the Doctor is, and will sometimes point things out that he overlooks, such as when she notices that the chimney doesn’t blow smoke. When the Doctor, along with two of his previous incarnations are sitting in a cell they assume they’re locked inside of, she ridicules them because not one of the three thought to just try the door.

Inferior Introverted Thinking [Ti]: It’s nearly impossible for Clara to detach from her emotions. When the Doctor leaves her on her own to make the choice about whether or not to kill the moon, she’s furious with him for leaving that kind of a decision up to her. While Lundvik argues that they need to do it in order to ensure the survival of humanity, Clara just cannot bring herself to kill a baby. Even though Lundvik is unwilling to take the risk of living with whatever the consequences may be if they allow the creature to live because humanity is her number one priority, but Clara refuses to make a call until they debate each and every possibility. What would happen if we were to kill the moon? No more tides, no more satellites… but what else? It’s hard for her to reach the most logical conclusion on her own. Clara isn’t great with computers and needs to contact a hotline just to turn on the Wi-Fi. Although the Doctor’s plan to lure the Blitzer to her school is rational, she reprimands him because it’s unsafe and doesn’t want to risk putting any of the children in harm’s way. Her flaws in logic (such as her certainty that Ashildr would’t let the raven get her), sometimes get her into trouble.

Enneagram: 2w1 1w2 7w6 Sx/So

Note: I strongly considered ESFJ for Clara, because there are definitely some instances that appear as though she’s using Si (not accepting the Twelfth Doctor, asserting that “good guys don’t have zombie creatures” based on what she’s read in stories, her attachment to the leaf, trying to perfect her mother’s soufflé over and over again, her freak out after seeing Earth’s entire life cycle, etc.) but I ultimately decided on ENFJ because of her bold insights and convictions with little to no evidence to support her conclusions and her optimism and fearlessness when it comes to the future, as well as her tendency to get a kick out of dangerous situations and quick thinking in the heat of the moment.

Quotes:

Clara: Look, she says that you told her that she wasn’t special. The Doctor: Rubbish. Clara: She says that’s what sent her off the rails. The Doctor: Pffff. [The Tardis has found a larger place than the previous supply cupboard, with glass panels in the door.] Clara: Doctor. I know, I know. But, you say something like that to somebody, it hurts. Especially if you’re somebody of her age, especially if you’re you. Doctor, it can affect her whole life. The Doctor: Bah.

Clara: Look, Courtney, you’re not going to be needing those because you’re not going to be doing any travelling. Doctor, will you just, just tell her? The Doctor: Tell her what? Clara: [through clenched teeth] Tell her that she’s special. The Doctor: Have you gone bananas?

The Doctor: Why do I keep you around? Clara: Because the alternative would be developing a conscience of your own.

Clara: Why are you being nice? The Doctor: Because it works on you.

Clara: Stop. Right, listen. This is a, this is a life. I mean, this must be the biggest life in the universe. Courtney: [on monitor] It’s not even been born. Lundvik: It is killing people. It is destroying the Earth. Clara: You cannot blame a baby for kicking.

Danny: Why do you do it? Why do you fly off in the box with him? The truth. Please, just this once. Clara: Because it’s amazing. Because I see wonders.

Clara: What were they like? The Doctor: What were who like? Clara: The others before me. Did they let you get away with this kind of thing? This school is in danger. The Doctor: Well, it’s lucky I’m here, then. Clara: From you. The Doctor: Me? Clara: You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t an alien threat nearby. Your strategy for dealing with it involves endangering this school. The Doctor: You don’t know that. Clara: I don’t know anything because you haven’t told me anything, which means I wouldn’t approve, which means you are endangering this school.

Clara: So you’re, you’re leading the thing here? To a school? My, my school? The Doctor: My school? Oh, that is telling. This is the only suitably empty place in the area. I’ve set up a circle of time mines around the school. Chronodyne generators. Bit unstable. I switch them on, the Blitzer gets sucked into a big old time vortex, billions of years into the future. It’s dead easy. Tiny bit boring. I’ll need a book and a sandwich. Clara: And me. You’re not doing this alone.

Clara: You knew. You knew this was no relaxing break. You knew this was dangerous. The Doctor: I didn’t know. I certainly hoped. Clara: Okay, this. You see, this. This is why I’m leaving you. This. Because you lied. You lied to me, again. And now you’ve made me lie. You’ve made me your accomplice.

Clara: I am asking you for help. The Doctor: Listen, we went to dinner in Berlin in 1937, right? We didn’t nip out after pudding and kill Hitler. I’ve never killed Hitler. And you wouldn’t expect me to kill Hitler. The future is no more malleable than the past. Clara: Okay, don’t you do this to make some kind of point. The Doctor: Sorry. Well, actually, no, I’m not sorry. It’s time to take the stabilisers off your bike. It’s your moon, womankind. It’s your choice. Clara: And you’re just going to stand there? The Doctor: Absolutely not. [The Tardis arrives, and Courtney comes out.] Clara: Doctor?

Clara: If we let it live, what would happen if the moon wasn’t there? Lundvik: Listen, we haven’t got time for this. Clara: We’re discussing it! What would happen if the moon wasn’t there? Courtney: I have a physics book in my bag. There’s this thing on gravity? Lundvik: Super. Is there a word search? Clara: Okay, there would be no tides. But we’d survive that, right? They’ve knocked out the satellites. There’s no internet, no mobiles. I’d be fine with that. Lundvik: It’s not going to just stop being there, because inside the moon, Miss, is a gigantic creature forcing its way out. And when it does, which is going to be pretty damn soon, there are going to be huge chunks of the moon heading right for us, like whatever killed the dinosaurs, only ten thousand times bigger. Clara: But the moon isn’t made of rock and stone, is it? It’s made of eggshell. Lundvik: Oh, God. Okay, okay, fine. If, by some miracle, the shell isn’t too thick, or if it disperses, or if it goes into orbit, whatever, there’s still going to be a massive thing there, isn’t there, that just popped out. And what the hell do you imagine that is? Courtney: Loads of things lay eggs. Lundvik: It’s not a chicken. Courtney: I’m not saying it’s a chicken. I’m not completely stupid. Lundvik: It’s an exoparasite. Courtney: A what? Lundvik: Like a flea. Or a head louse. Clara: I’m going to have to be a lot more certain than that if I’m going to kill a baby. Lundvik: Oh, you want to talk about babies?. You’ve probably got babies down there now. You want to have babies? Clara: Well, yeah. Courtney: Mister Pink. Clara: Shush! Lundvik: Okay. You imagine you’ve got children down there on Earth now, right? Grandchildren maybe. You want that thing to get out? Kill them all? You want today to be the day life on Earth stopped because you couldn’t make an unfair decision? Listen, I don’t want to do this. All my life I’ve dreamed about coming here. But this is how it has to end. [Lundvik sets the trigger.]

Clara: I don’t know. I don’t know. If you didn’t do it for her, I mean. Do you know what? It was, it was cheap, it was pathetic. No, no, no. It was patronising. That was you patting us on the back, saying, you’re big enough to go to the shops by yourself now. Go on, toddle along. The Doctor: No, that was me allowing you to make a choice about your own future. That was me respecting you. Clara: Oh, my God, really? Was it? Yeah, well, respected is not how I feel. The Doctor: Right. Okay. Er. Clara: I nearly didn’t press that button. I nearly got it wrong. That was you, my friend, making me scared. Making me feel like a bloody idiot. The Doctor: Language. Clara: Oh, don’t you ever tell me to mind my language. Don’t you ever tell me to take the stabilisers off my bike. And don’t you dare lump me in with the rest of all the little humans that you think are so tiny and silly and predictable. You walk our Earth, Doctor, you breathe our air. You make us your friend, and that is your moon too. And you can damn well help us when we need it. The Doctor: I was helping. Clara: What, by clearing off? The Doctor: Yes. Clara: Yeah, well, clear off! Go on. You can clear off. Get back in your lonely, your lonely bloody Tardis and you don’t come back. The Doctor: Clara. Clara. Clara: You go away. Okay? You go a long way away.

The Doctor: You didn’t answer my question. Clara: What question? The Doctor: You don’t seem like a nanny. Clara: I was going to travel. I came to stay for a week before I left, and during that week The Doctor: She died, so you’re returning the favour. You’ve got a hundred and one places to see, and you haven’t been to any of them, have you? That’s why you keep the book. Clara: I keep the book because I’m still going. The Doctor: But you don’t run out on the people you care about. Wish I was more like that. You know, the thing about a time machine, you can run away all you like and still be home in time for tea, so what do you say? Anywhere. All of time and space, right outside those doors.

Clara: So, you and Professor Palmer, have you ever, you know? Emma: No. Clara: Why not? You do know how he feels about you, don’t you? You, of all people? Emma: I don’t know. People like me, sometimes we get our signals mixed up. We think people are feeling the way we want them to feel, you know, when they are special to us, when really there’s nothing there. Clara: Oh, this is there. Emma: How do you know? Clara: Because it’s obvious. It sticks out like a big chin.

Clara: Hello? [Something bangs and make her jump. Then the girl appears.] Clara: Hey. Are you okay? Are you lost? [The girl runs off. They find each other further on.] Clara: Are you all right? What are you doing? Merry: Hiding. Clara: Oh. Why? Merry: You don’t know me? Clara: Sorry. Actually not. Merry: So why did you follow me? Clara: To help. You looked lost. Merry: I don’t believe you. Clara: I’ve got no idea who you might be. I’ve never been here before. I’ve never been anywhere like here before. I just saw a little girl who looked like she needed help. Merry: Really? Clara: Really really. Merry: Can you help me? Clara: That’s why I’m still here.

Clara: So, what’s happening? Is someone trying to hurt you? Merry: No. I’m just scared. Clara: Of what? Merry: Getting it wrong. Clara: Okay. Can you pretend like I’m totally a space alien and explain?

Merry: I’m the vessel of our history. I know every chronicle, every poem, every legend, every song. Clara: Every single one? Blimey. I hated history. Merry: And now I have to sing a song in front of everyone. A special song. I have to sing it to a god. And I’m really scared. Clara: Everyone’s scared when they’re little. I used to be terrified of getting lost. Used to have nightmares about it. And then I got lost. Blackpool beach, Bank holiday Monday, about ten billion people. I was about six. My worst nightmare come true. Merry: What happened? Clara: The world ended. My heart broke. And then my mum found me. We had fish and chips, and she drove me home and she tucked me up and she told me a story.

Clara: Oh, I was scared lots of times, but never of being lost. So, this special song. What are you scared of, exactly? Merry: Getting it wrong. Making Grandfather angry. Clara: And do you think you’ll get it wrong? Because I don’t. I don’t think you’ll get it wrong. I think you, Merry Gejelh, will get it very, very right.

Clara: Is somebody going to do something? Excuse me, is somebody going to help her?

Clara: How can they just stand there and watch? The Doctor: Because this is sacred ground. Clara: And she’s a child. The Doctor: And he’s a god. Well, he is to them, anyway.

Clara: Well, I brought something for you. This. The most important leaf in human history. The most important leaf in human history. Clara: It’s full of stories, full of history. And full of a future that never got lived. Days that should have been that never were. Passed on to me. [An energy tendril reaches for the leaf.] Clara: This leaf isn’t just the past, it’s a whole future that never happened. There are billions and millions of unlived days for every day we live. An infinity. All the days that never came. And these are all my mum’s.

Clara: How did I do? Was I okay? The Doctor: This wasn’t a test, Clara. Clara: I know, but The Doctor: You were great, yeah. Clara: Really? The Doctor: Really.

The Doctor: Look into my eyes, Skaldak. Look into my eyes and tell me you’re capable of doing this. Huh? Can you do that? Dare you do that? Look into my eyes, Skaldak. Come on. Face to face. Skaldak: Well, Doctor. (The helmet tilts back to reveal the Martian lizard with its lidless eyes.) Skaldak: Which of us shall blink first? Clara: Why did you hesitate? Back there, in the dark. You were going to kill this man, remember? I begged you not to, and you listened. Why show compassion then, Skaldak, and not now? The Doctor’s right. Billions will die. Mothers, sons, fathers, daughters. Remember that last battle, Skaldak? Your daughter. You sang the songs. Skaldak: Of the Red Snows.

The Doctor: I need to know if you feel safe. I need to know you’re not afraid. Clara: Of? The Doctor: The future. Running away with a spaceman in a box. Anything could happen to you. Clara: That’s what I’m counting on. Push the button.

Clara: I’ve got this weird feeling it’s looking at me. It doesn’t like me.

Clara: Please tell me there’s a button you can press to fix this. The Doctor: Oh, yes. Big friendly button. Clara: You’re lying. The Doctor: Yep. Clara: To stop me freaking out? The Doctor: Is it working? Clara: Not so much.

Clara: Doctor, I’ve been thinking. The chimney The Doctor: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Way past that now. Yucky red parasite from the time of the dinosaurs pitches up in Victorian Yorkshire. Didn’t see that one coming. Clara: Yeah, but the chimney The Doctor: But what’s the connection to Mrs Gillyflower? Judgement will rain down on us all. An empty mill. Clara: A chimney that doesn’t blow smoke. The Doctor: Clever clogs. Clara: Missed me? The Doctor: Yeah, lots.

Clara: Prove you’re you. Tell me something only the Doctor knows. The Doctor: Clara, I suppose I’m the only one who knows how I feel about you right now. How funny you are. So funny. And pretty. And the truth is, I’m starting to like you in a way that is more than just [She hits him.] The Doctor: Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Yes! It’s me. That really hurt. How did you know that was him? Clara: Because even if that was true, which it is obviously not, I know you well enough to know that you would rather die than say it. Finish your stupid game.

Clara: Hang on. Three of you in one cell, and none of you thought to try the door?

Clara: I’m Clara. We haven’t really met yet. War Doctor: I look forward to it. Is there a problem? Clara: The Doctor, my, my Doctor, he’s always talking about the day he did it. The day he wiped out the Time Lords to stop the war. War Doctor: One would. Clara: You wouldn’t. Because you haven’t done it yet. It’s still in your future. War Doctor: You’re very sure of yourself. Clara: He regrets it. I see it in his eyes every day. He’d do anything to change it. War Doctor: Including saving all these people. How many worlds has his regret saved, do you think? Look over there. Humans and Zygons working together in peace. How did you know? Clara: Your eyes. You’re so much younger.

Clara: These are the people you’re going to burn? 10th The Doctor: There isn’t anything we can do. The Doctor: He’s right. There isn’t another way. There never was. Either I destroy my own people or let the universe burn. Clara: Look at you. The three of you. The warrior, the hero, and you. The Doctor: And what am I? Clara: Have you really forgotten? The Doctor: Yes. Maybe, yes. Clara: We’ve got enough warriors. Any old idiot can be a hero. The Doctor: Then what do I do? Clara: What you’ve always done. Be a doctor. You told me the name you chose was a promise. What was the promise? 10th The Doctor: Never cruel or cowardly. War Doctor: Never give up, never give in. 10th The Doctor: You’re not actually suggesting that we change our own personal history? The Doctor: We change history all the time. I’m suggesting far worse. War Doctor: What, exactly? The Doctor: Gentlemen, I have had four hundred years to think about this. I’ve changed my mind.

Clara: Need a moment alone with your painting? The Doctor: How did you know? Clara: Those big sad eyes. The Doctor: Ah. Clara: I always know. Oh, by the way, there was an old man looking for you. I think it was the curator.

Bonnie: [on screen] Oh, there’s no point turning over. There’s nothing better on the other side. I could erase your mind. Clara: Then why haven’t you? [Bonnie closes her eyes.] Clara: Having trouble? [Clara closes her eyes.] Clara: Let’s see what I can do. [Bonnie turns into a Zygon, falls down, then stands back up in human form again.] Clara: See, this thing works two ways, you know. Bonnie: I want those memories! [Clara sits on the sofa to read her newspaper.] Clara: Trouble is, you’re asking me for them, which means you can’t access them, right? Bonnie: I can make you tell me. Clara: No, you can’t, otherwise you would have done already. Bonnie: I can kill you. Clara: Go on, then. Bonnie: You think you’re calling my bluff. Clara: I am calling your bluff. You need me alive. Bonnie: Only as a source of information. Clara: Then you’d better start asking questions. Bonnie: You’d better not lie. Clara: You see, that’s the problem. I am a brilliant liar. How are you ever going to know?

Clara: What about your life? Just for once, after all this time, have you not earned the right to think about that? Sorry. Wrong thing to say. We shouldn’t be having an argument.

[Clara runs through the door, followed by the Doctor, who closes it on the bright yellow light outside.] Clara: I told you it’d work! The Doctor: It very nearly ate you for dinner. Clara: Oh, admit it. I totally saved your life. The Doctor: It wasn’t going to eat me. Clara: [laughs] I totally saved you from having to marry that giant sentient plant thing. That bit when I jumped over the side? That was amazing. [The Doctor snorts and grins.] Clara: Ha! I knew you were impressed.

Clara: There is no way you did this. Ashildr: So, what then? You think someone called him here? Set him up? Clara: Yes! OLD MAN: Mayor! Clara: Obviously. Which means one of your pet aliens out there is the real killer.

Clara: Rump? It’s er Rump, isn’t it? That man’s wife. She said something. Give it to me, tell me I can have it. What did she mean? Rump: Two ways to survive a Quantum Shade. The Shade’s master removes the chronolock, or you can give it to someone else. Clara: Give it? You can just Rump: No, you can’t just push it on someone. It’s not that simple. It has to be taken willingly. The death’s already locked in. You can pass it on, but you can’t cheat it. [Rump leaves. Clara turns and sees the Janus boy. She waves, and he leaves.] Rigsy: You’re serious? You actually expect me to give you my death sentence? Clara: Ssh! Go on. I’ve always wanted a tattoo. You know, something small, discreet. Rigsy: Clara. Cut it out. Clara: Weren’t you listening? I’m under the Mayor’s personal protection. And it’s absolute, apparently. Look, she controls the Raven, so I will never have to face it. This is clever. Rigsy: But this is putting you in danger. Clara: No, this is us talking the opposition into their own trap. This is Doctor 101. We’re buying time. We get all of the aliens on our side in the next half an hour, and then we reveal I’ve got the chronolock, not you, and boom! We buy ourselves more time to find the real killer. Rigsy: The Doctor would never let you do this. Clara: Doctor 102. Never tell anyone your actual plan. He’ll have a tantrum when he finds out. And then, when we confront Ashildr, she’ll want to take the chronolock off just to shut him up. What happens if you don’t go home tonight to Jen and Lucy, eh? If you never go home? You really want your little girl growing up without a father just because he wouldn’t take a risk? You trusted us to save you, so trust us. Come on. Rigsy: Okay. All right. Right, how do we do this, then?

Rigsy: Look, Clara, even if one of them knows something, they’re not going to come forward. The way they look at me. Clara: The way they look at you? Rigsy: What? [Outside Anah’s home. Clara knocks at the door of the Janus boy. He opens it then starts to closes it again.] Clara: Hey, wait. Everyone here is weird around us because of Rigsy. But not you. You look at me and the Doctor like you’re confused. Like you’re curious. ANAHSON: I don’t know what you mean. Clara: You do. You know Rigsy is innocent because you can look into his past and you can see it, can’t you? [Anah’s home] Clara: She dressed you as a boy to protect you, but really you’re a girl. You have the gift.

Rigsy: I don’t have it, I’m telling you. Clara does. [Clara shows Ashildr the back of her neck.] Ashildr: No. No, you didn’t. Clara: Go on, then. Take it off. The Doctor: Clara, you didn’t! [The Doctor turns Clara around and stares at the numbers in horror.] Ashildr: I had no idea she’d do something so stupid. I swear, I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Look, what were you thinking? Sacrificing yourself? Clara: I wasn’t sacrificing anything. It was strategy. Backup plan, to buy us more time. The Doctor: Who told you to give it to her? Clara: Nobody did. I did. Rump said The Doctor: What exactly did Rump say? Clara: He said the death is locked in. You can pass it on, but you [Clara realises her folly.]

The Doctor: Yes, it is, you can, and you will, or this street will be over. I’ll show you and all your funny little friends to the whole laughing world. I’ll bring UNIT, I’ll bring the Zygons. Give me a minute, I’ll bring the Daleks and the Cybermen. You will save Clara, and you will do it now, or I will rain hell on you for the rest of time. Clara: Doctor, stop talking like that. Ashildr: You can’t. The Doctor: I can do whatever the hell I like. You’ve read the stories. You know who I am. And in all of that time, did you ever hear anything about anyone who stopped me? Ashildr: I know the Doctor. The Doctor would never The Doctor: The Doctor is no longer here! You are stuck with me. And I will end you, and everything you love. Clara: Doctor, for God’s sake, will you stop? The Doctor: Now! Clara: I did this, do you hear me? I did this. This is my fault. The Doctor: I don’t care. Clara: Liar. You always care. Always have. Your reign of terror will end with the sight of the first crying child and you know it. The Doctor: No, I don’t. Clara: I do. Listen, if this is the last I ever see of you, please, not like this. Clara: (to Ashildr) Is there anything you can do? Ashildr: I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, I- Clara: Time’s short. Yes or no? Ashildr: No. [The Doctor breathes heavily. Rigsy is trying not to cry.] Clara: Well, if Danny Pink can do it, so can I. The Doctor: Do what? Clara: Die right. Die like I mean it. Face the Raven. The Doctor: No. This, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Clara: Maybe this is what I wanted. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is why I kept running. Maybe this is why I kept taking all those stupid risks. Kept pushing it. The Doctor: This is my fault. Clara: This is my choice. The Doctor: I let you get reckless. Clara: Why? Why shouldn’t I be so reckless? You’re reckless all the bloody time. Why can’t I be like you? The Doctor: Clara, there’s nothing special about me. I am nothing, but I’m less breakable than you. I should have taken care of you. Clara: I never asked you to. The Doctor: You shouldn’t have to ask. [The Raven caws as it flies along the winding street, and the people scatter, terrified.] Rigsy: Clara, if I’d known, I’d- Clara: Don’t. Shut up. Rigsy: But I- Clara: Really, Rigsy, shut up. If you feel guilty about this, even for one minute, I- [They hear the Raven.] Clara: You. Now, you listen to me. You’re going to be alone now, and you’re very bad at that. You’re going to be furious and you’re going to be sad, but listen to me. Don’t let this change you. No, listen. Whatever happens next, wherever she is sending you, I know what you’re capable of. You don’t be a Warrior. Promise me. Be a Doctor. The Doctor: What’s the point of being a Doctor if I can’t cure you? Clara: Heal yourself. You have to. You can’t let this turn you into a monster. So, I’m not asking you for a promise, I’m giving you an order. You will not insult my memory. There will be no revenge. I will die, and no one else, here or anywhere, will suffer. The Doctor: What about me? Clara: If there was something I could do about that, I would. I guess we’re both just going to have to be brave. The Doctor: Clara. [They hug.] Clara: Everything you are about to say, I already know. Don’t do it now. We’ve already had enough bad timing.

Clara: This is as brave as I know how to be. I know it’s going to hurt you, but, please, be a little proud of me.

Clara Oswald (Doctor Who): ENFJ was originally published on MBTI Zone

[gogh-bot-blog]

Everything Else

Originally published in Gravel magazine.

Mozart was crazy. Flat fucking crazy. Batshit, I hear. But his music’s not crazy; it’s balanced, it’s nimble, it’s crystalline clear. There’s harmony, logic. You listen to these, you don’t hear his doubts or his debts or disease. You scan through the score and put fingers on keys and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away… — “Everything Else”, Next to Normal   My favorite confessional poet is Anne Sexton, who committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning at age 45. A book of her poetry, published posthumously, featured her therapist:   I have words for you, Dr. Y., / words for sale. / Words that have been hoarded up, / waiting for the pleasure act of coming out, / hugger-mugger, higgiliy-piggily / onto the stage.   When I was in kindergarten, a boy hit me in the forehead with a toy truck during playtime because I asked to play with him. I sat in the corner and cried. Eventually, the teacher called me over. What’s wrong? she asked me. I don’t have any friends, I replied, sniffling. The teacher called all of the kids to the front of the classroom and asked them to raise their hands if they were my friend. Everybody raised their hands. I don’t know why, but this was probably the moment that I became crazy.   Or maybe I was crazy all along.   She laughed when I told her this story. She said it was incredibly sad and funny. I’m glad she saw how funny it was. Then she asked me, have you ever written about this?

Eunoia is a dated term for mental health. Literally, it means beautiful thinking. However, some of the most beautiful thinking has been done by people with mental illness. Consider the incredible artistic achievements of people like Vincent van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, and Sylvia Plath. And if you look for mental illness in artists, writers, poets, musicians; the list goes on.   We were running about Whole Foods. I say running because she kept forgetting things on her list and going back. We probably circled around the store three or four times, picking up various items along the way. She was in constant motion. Couldn’t stand in one place. Got excited over a jug of coffee. Perhaps she didn’t even notice, but I did: a slight fidget, balancing on one foot at the cash register. We looked at the things she’d ended up buying and laughed. Talking constantly. I am attuned to these kinds of things. She had told me, though, that she felt manic. I wished I felt as manic as she did, but I was not; rather, I was plagued by a familiar moroseness, a heaviness.   Asked about JS, I mused well, I think you’d win a fight with her.   A few months after the breakup with JS, I fucked a fashion designer from the city. He was kind of cute, dyed hair and a stutter. He slept in my bed with his arm around my waist. I slept uneasily. In my dream, I saw JS. It was the first time in a while I’d seen her face in my dreams. I don’t remember what she said, but I woke up all at once warm and shivering, cold sweat dripping down my forehead. I snuck out from the boy’s grasp and went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking into the mirror, I thought how strange it was. I started to cry. He gave me his shirt afterwards.   I don’t usually see people’s faces in my dreams. I rarely ever learn a person’s face. This is a condition known as congenital prosopagnosia. In fact, I only come to individualize the faces of people I’m in love with. When I told her this, she said it was very romantic. I did not tell her that I had come to know her face.   There is a thing known as a flow state: when words come out of your brain like blood seeping from a tapped vein, an insatiable passion for the task at hand. Manics often get into flow states. The world is poetry, you breathe it like air. Maybe this is part of why we are so successful in art. Love is also like a flow state.   She’s a doctoral student in the psychology department. But she told me that she used to write as if seized by a certain fervor for it, for the language, for poetry. I imagined Van Gogh and his passion for painting, his insatiable hunger. I thought I wanted to kiss those lips stained with yellow paint. Yellow, the color of the edges of a street, the boundaries of a self crossed like two neurons, the actualization of a synesthetic dream. To imbibe it is to take all of that in, the passion, life thrust under your tongue. I wanted that.   When I was a child, I sat by myself at recess. The teachers saw that I was always alone; they gave me chalk to draw on the sidewalk. My hands dusted with pastel yellow, I would watch the other kids play. It’s not easy for me to admit, but I hated them. I truly hated them. My heart was so full of hate that I couldn’t bear to watch them anymore, and I would go to the bathroom and cry. I’ve never been a good person.   Sadness is part of the human condition, said one of my writing professors, a woman who seemed perpetually rather flummoxed by the world. Without it, you’d be a monster. I wanted to ask, with sadness, am I not a monster?   For me it was different. I, too, was seized by passions; but they occurred for me in successions, a pattern sometimes disapprovingly called serial monogamy. I was like that with my writing, too. But when I was engrossed in the page, or lost in her eyes, everything but the space between my canvas and I disappeared. Everything else goes away.   I wrote constantly when I was in love with JS. Everything I felt was transferred to the page. She was my muse; she was the gasoline to the fire behind my eyes.   Kay Redfield Jamison wrote an entire book about the connections between mental illness, particularly bipolar disorder, and artistic talent. It’s called Touched with Fire.   My heart has holes in it. They’ve been there for a long time; before JS, I’m sure. But maybe I could have ignored them before that. Not anymore. I wanted to patch them up, fill them with cement, or gorilla glue the pieces back together and pretend that it was the same as it was before. A clean canvas, a blank page, a fresh start. But it’s never been the same. I’ve always been different from other people. Maybe that is why I write. To escape the sadness of being alone. The desolation, the emptiness, the misery of a life condemned to this certain loneliness.   Sometimes I try to fill the holes with other people’s loneliness. It never works. I knew right away that she wouldn’t be a suitable shape to fit there, like a square peg in the round hole of what I really needed. I was filled with this dread of knowing. But when I looked at her I would forget.   Everything else goes away.   I was ten years old when I first decided I was going to kill myself. I wanted to slice off my arm with an old circular saw, patched with rust, and die in a pool of blood on the hard cement floor of my garage. I daydreamed about it, wondered endlessly what it would be like to die there, cold and alone and smeared with bright red, a baptism in blood.   It was Anne Sexton’s therapist, Dr. Martin Orne, who encouraged her to write poetry. Perhaps he thought that poetry would be a form of healing, a way to expel her demons through the pen, exorcism in the act of creation. Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard, she said. I am a collection of dismantled almosts, she said. Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.   But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.   Lithium is like an emotional straightjacket, or at least like wearing a shirt that’s too tight. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel the way you felt before, not manic or depressed or happy or sad or anything. You wonder if you can even write. I didn’t write for months after I started taking it.   She told me she feels sadness only fleetingly. We’re opposites, I guess; two sides of the same coin. I live in a state of melancholy permeated briefly by manic interludes. But I wonder if mania is really like happiness. Or is it like a saccharine substitute for happiness, itself almost a deeper form of sadness?   I remember hanging upside-down on one of the hospital couches and pacing up and down the long hallway, smiling cheerfully at anybody I passed along the way. The doctor informed me point-blank that I was manic. I’m happy, I said. There’s nothing to be happy about, she told me.   Although the official diagnostic term was changed to bipolar disorder in the DSM-IV, maybe this is why some people identify more with the older term manic depression. Vincent Van Gogh’s stay at the little yellow house in Arles, France, from February 1888 until he was committed at the St. Remy asylum in 1889, was arguably the most prolific period of his entire career as a painter. He believed that the growing disruption of his inner chaos stirred within him this compulsive creativity: The more I am spent, ill, a broken pitcher, by so much more I am an artist... a kind of melancholy remains within us when we think that one could have created life at less cost than creating art. His time in Arles culminated in an episode wherein he cut off a portion of his left ear and attempted to give it as a gift to a prostitute, requesting she keep this object like a treasure.   Perhaps, in the end, this is the ultimate display of love: to give a piece of oneself to the other. To be something more than a memory, something tangible, something real. It’s a distinctly human error, this drive to be treasured.   I was sitting across my kitchen table from her. She was wearing my pajama pants and my sweatshirt, an oversized blue one that falls in folds around her thin wrists. I thought it looked better on her than it did on me. She had a look of deep consternation as she studied. I was quiet. I was watching her mannerisms, an absent-minded gesture of her fingers as she stared into the screen. The harshly azureous light of her laptop illuminated a sharpness in her almost perfectly symmetrical face, a ubiquitously beautiful face.   Perhaps it is not simply that the artistic temperament comes in tandem with emotional pitfalls, but that inner turmoil fuels the creation of art. If Van Gogh had not been crazy, would he have painted at all? Perhaps, like his brother Theo, he would have settled to be an art dealer, and never dirtied his hands with the business of creation.   Do you ever feel like I do, that you know a lot of people, but you’re still very lonely? But sometimes, maybe just when the stars align quite right, I meet someone that sees me. That looks at me like I’m not invisible.   She came up to me in the courtyard one day, a small green space in between the psychology buildings that’s mostly overgrown with ivy and shrubs. I was pacing back and forth, taking long drags and blowing smoke into the October sky. She asked me to bum a cigarette and smiled and said, I’ve seen you out here. You have a very thoughtful walk.   You always say the right thing, Elliot. You toss out aphorisms like you’re handing out daisies, she said. (Aphorism: either a pithy observation that contains a general truth; or, a concise statement of a scientific principle.)   And you know it’s just a sonata away. And you play, and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away. Everything else goes away...   She says she finds solace in her loneliness. I wonder if I could ever come to view things the same way. I’ve been alone for a long time, since my childhood. It wasn’t a tragic childhood. But it was solitary. For my whole life, I’ve wanted to find whatever it is that breaks down this invisible wall that divides us, that brings the fragments of people together into one, into a mosaic of shared humanity that I’ve never quite fit into.   I feel like I can tell you anything, she said. You’re very understanding. I feel like you understand me. I smiled sadly.   Is talking easily about something the same thing as healing a wound? About her family, about foster care, about the scar on her thigh? She gave a small laugh, like it wasn’t really a big deal. It’s not my place to say something like are you really okay? No. I couldn’t heal her. She couldn’t heal me. I just wanted to listen, to understand you in the way I have never been understood. That’s why I write.   Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,   I thought to call JS. It rang only twice; I knew she’d blocked my number months ago. I wanted to say, but I was always there for you. I wanted to say, but I loved you. I wanted to say, but I need you, I need you, I need you. Please. Two rings. Silence. leaving the page of the book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the love, whatever it was, an infection.   She told me about enneagrams, a theoretical model of personality. She told me that I was a type four, the individualist, which she qualified as the suffering artist: expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, temperamental. In love chiefly with my sadness. I wanted to say, and you are not?   I’ve changed, she says.   But why are you still here?   We read Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. Her voice grew incredibly impassioned as she read aloud: I say something about how clinical psychology forces everything we love into the pathological or the delusional or the biologically explicable, that if what I was feeling wasn’t love then I am forced to admit that I don’t know what love is, or, more simply, that I loved a bad man.   Sometimes I would wait in the spot where JS and I would always meet together before class, as if she’d appear there again if I waited long enough. She never did. I found myself there, cold, alone, staring at the sky in its seemingly infinite vastness. Eventually I stopped waiting.   I want to write again, she told me one day, sitting outside the front of her house, smoking a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the gray sky and faded like the unintelligible, inexplicable fragments of a dream upon waking. You should, I said. It was the best healing I knew of.