#so i am. going to call a psych colleague in the morning probably

[oak-and-hurricane]

god i fucking wish i could post some of the wilder stories from my job like those dipshit nurses on tiktok

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 1/?

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name.)

This is just something I’ve been cooking up in my head during my maladaptive daydreaming. Not really having a plan for this one. ALSO: First post ever on Tumblr! I hope you enjoy it!

I forgot to include the Part 1 when I first posted this lmao F

Warnings: Curse Words, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

As a criminal psychology major, Jason Todd was an intelligent young man waiting to inherit a lot of Wayne Enterprises’ company. Not because Bruce was dying, but because that was Bruce’s promise to him, Graduate, he said, and you can work alongside me, boss and boss. The idea excited Jason entirely. To finally be seen as a colleague to his father was something he always needed from him, but he was too scared to say “Hey dad, am I more than just a sidekick now?” and he knew it.

She, too, was a criminal psychology major. An equally intelligent young woman fighting her way to the top of her class, Jason’s class. And of course, dating isn’t out of the question. Especially when she sees her peers, specifically the one with the white streak in his hair. There was something about him that made her insides twirl in many different ways, butterflies soaring throughout her as if he was destined to meet her. Luckily for her, he sat beside her. Before she could speak to him though, the Professor boomed at the class:

“Good morning class! I am your professor, Thomas Hangre, and welcome to Criminal Psych 101!”

And then began the quick and messy note-taking. She noticed the man beside her didn’t take notes. But, it’s his grade, not mine, she thought.

Little did she know.

When the professor finished, she went to pack up her notes, when the man tapped on her shoulder and outstretched his hand:

“Hey, I don’t think we got a chance to meet before Prof Hangre started spewing at us,” he laughed, “The name’s Jason, you?”

“Oh! My name’s Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, strange man from my criminal psych class, Jason.” she retorted and shook his hand.

“Well well, I can assure you if I was a criminal, Batman would have cracked down on me already, darling.” he stated, almost matter-of-fact-ly.

“You say that like you know Batman.”

“You don’t know if I don’t.”

She laughed at him, there was something about the way he delivered words and sentences that drew her in. This is the start of something good, she thought.

He nudged her slightly in a playful tap, “You want to get something to eat later? We can get to know each other better, and maybe rewrite those very, very sloppy notes of yours, Y/N?” he asked, he seemed shy about it.

“I would love to, Jason.”

They exchanged numbers and packed up her stuff. She figured he still had classes, but she didn’t. So she went back home to her roommate, A/N.

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

“Girl, you do not know the hunk of a man I met today, when I say carved by the Greek Gods and deliver words like a Wayne, I mean it!” she giggled with A/N, they were her best friend.

“C’mon, tell me that guy asked you out, at least to a book club if he’s that hot.” she asked.

“He did! We’re meeting up later at the library to rewrite my notes and chat. Do you think this outfit is cute? I want to make him swoon.”

A/N laughed, “Oh yeah? Girl you’re killing it and you know it. C’mon, red mini skirt, get that man. And maybe see if he has a brother.”

She roared out laughing, “A brother? He is the brother, no man comes from a family where there’s multiple nice ones, you know the saying.”

“Well still, roomies stick out for each other.”

“I know, I know.” she laughed. “Oh and have you seen the latest Bat news, apparently he’s gotten injured.”

“Serves him right for being a bat!”

“Be nice! The man protects us and you know it.” Just then, she looked at the clock, she had 30 minutes to meet up with Jason, so she started panicking.

“I gotta go now, wish me luck.”

“Go, get him.”

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

She pulled up to the library with her bag of hastily written notes and car keys on her lanyard. She was nervous. This was someone who was really cute, and so far, he seemed really sweet to her too. She gulped, getting out of her car. The thing was beaten up to hell and back, so she hoped Jason didn’t see her in it. But he did.

“Hey Y/N.” Jason whispered and she jumped. He laughed.

“Nice beat up car, Y/N. Really living out the broke college kid lifestyle, gotta respect it.” he joked.

“Oh yeah, this is, uh, just aesthetics. I’m secretly very, very rich. Millions of dollars. All my money too.” they both laughed and he lead her inside the library and they both sat down at a desk with two chairs and a computer. This was more luxury than she even had back with A/N.

 Jason grinned and took one of her notebooks and started trying to transcribe what she wrote onto a word document. She laughed, because even though she knew her handwriting was barely legible, he seemed to be managing, and she admired his efforts.

“You know, Jason, I can always transcribe it myself,” she said.

“No, no, it’s okay. If I write it then I can print it for both of us, so you don’t have to pay the printing fee.”

“There’s a printing fee?”

“Yeah, one of my brothers used to go here, my dad says if we all go here he’ll pay the fees since it’s worth it for this college.” he said.

“You have brothers?” she asked, shocked he opened up this quickly.

“Oh yeah I do. 4 to be exact. 3 sisters too. What about you?”

“A twin sister. She’s quite lovely, goes to a different college like a nerd though.” she joked.

He let out a booming laugh, “I think we’re the nerds, Ms. Criminal Psych Major.”

“You have got me there, Jason, you got me there.”

“I know I do, Y/N. So, what high school did you come from, or are you an out-of-city kid?”

“Not from this city, I’m actually from Metropolis. It’s huge and annoying there. Too many people. This is such a smaller city compared to Metropolis. I’m guessing you were a Gotham Academy kid?” she asked.

“Yeah, repping the Gotham Academy to death and back, I met a lot of good people there and I would have to agree, my uncle lives in Metropolis, it’s massive.” he said.

“Your uncle is probably a people-person then, I’m sure as hell not.” she retorted.

“Neither am I, but there was something about you that seemed inviting if I’m honest. I don’t regret asking you this, what is this? A date?” he asked.

“If you want to call it a date, we can call it a date, Jason.” you assured him.

“It’s been a date then.”

“Well I’m glad you thought I was inviting and worth your time, Jason. Really, this is lovely.” you once again assured him.

“Did I tell you that you look nice? Red’s a lovely colour. It’s even my favourite colour. It’s like you can read my mind and dress for the occasion.”

“Man, if I could read your mind, I’m sure it would be a joyride. Maybe I’ll know why you went into Criminal Psych over everything else.”

“That’s a story for another time, Y/N.” he said as he somehow finished typing out the last page of the notes, “I guess this will conclude our date, shame really.”

“Well, that just means there’s room for a second date, Jason.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my brothers about you, then.”

“Is the second date worthy of the Mighty-Jason’s brothers knowing about me?” you are inclined for the answer.

“Well, the first was the minor mention of your name, the second is saying ‘We had fun, I have hopes.’ You know?” he said.

“I know.”

And he printed the document.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Call Me By Her Name - Chapter 1 - Leslie!

Relationships: Connor Rhodes x Ava Bekker, Ava Bekker x Leslie Shay, Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Internalized homophobia, homophobia, swearing

Connor and Ava were at his apartment, having gone to drinks at a restaurant a block away under the guise of talking about a case they had together, and now they were entwined on his California king bed. They were having sex, hot, angry, steamy sex. And when they were almost at the climax, at the end, at the part where you call out your lover’s name.

“Ava...” Connor was close but she was closer.

“Leslie!”

Connor froze. 

What?

He hadn’t finished, but she had and was revelling in the pleasure while he was above her, his brain processing what just happened. He rolled off of her and lay next to her in complete silence. His girlfriend called out someone else’s name while they were having sex. And he recognized who the name belonged to, PIC Leslie Shay, though he wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. “Connor? Are you alright?”

“... You called out for ‘Leslie’ when you came.”

“Oh.”

“This is probably something we should talk about.”

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do, look, we’re dating Ava. We just had sex and you called out for someone who isn’t me, your boyfriend. This is the kind of thing we need to talk about.” Ava stole the comforter from the bed, wrapping it around herself, before leaving the bedroom. “I disagree.” Connor angrily plopped his head back on his pillow with a huff, he was too tired to deal with this shit.

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

“... And I just don’t get why she won’t talk about it! This is a pretty important thing to ignore, I mean was it a slip of the tongue or does she actually want to be with Shay? And if she does want to be with Shay, why is she stringing me along?”

“You seriously don’t know why she’s ignoring this? And that she’s the only one stringing along your relationship? You’re an idiot, Connor.” He wasn’t sure when he and Natalie became friends but he knows why; Will Halstead. After Will had kissed her in the ‘don’t you know?’ incident, Nat had run into Connor as they were both leaving, and she really needed to talk about it to someone who wouldn’t push her towards him, because as much as she loves her friends that was exactly what they would do. And so they’d gone to Natalie’s and spent the night ranting about Will. Of course, Natalie was now dating him and Connor considered him a friend, but they remained friends and met when they could to be each other’s soundboard. Flabbergasted Connor put down his fork. “And how am I being an idiot for being frustrated that my girlfriend won’t communicate.”

“Connor, what country is she from?”

“South Africa.”

“What is South Africa’s stance on homosexuality?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s not illegal there, right? And same-sex marriage and adoption is also legal...”

“But there is still a lot of discrimination and violence towards the LGBTQ+ community there, and some of the neighbouring countries aren’t as tolerant. And maybe her family isn’t open-minded, she could be dealing with internalized homophobia.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yup.”

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

He thought about Ava’s connection to Shay throughout shift and he felt more foolish as time went on. There were longing glances from both sides, excessive toughing, and heavy flirting. The only thing that kept them apart was Ava jumping back ten feet at the last second.

When Connor got home the first thing he did was go on google. He wanted to help her. He’d done a lot of thinking about their relationship and he realized it was flawed. It was never going to work out. But... If he could help Ava overcome her internalized homophobia, maybe she could be with the woman of her dreams; Leslie Shay. After a couple of hours, he’d come up with some good information, great sources, and three pages of notes, but ultimately he recognized that he couldn’t force her to accept anything and that ultimately she’d be the one going doing the self-realization. The most he could do was support her as much as possible, if she even accepted his support.

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

Their next off day Ava showed up at ten in the morning wearing a low-cut blouse and a mischievous smile. “Connor, are you busy today?”

“No, but I guess that’s a good thing because we need to talk.”

“This again? Really? Connor, it was nothing-”

“No Ava, it wasn’t nothing. We were having sex, and you called me by her name.”

“‘Her’ who?”

“Leslie Shay. The woman you really want to be with, not me.”

“It was just a slip of the tongue.”

“No, it wasn’t, and don’t try to pretend it was. Look, date her or don’t you’re your own person, I can’t make your choices for you. But, I can make choices for myself. It’s over, Ava, we’re done. Neither of us deserves to put any more effort into something that’s just circling the drain.”

“Don’t you love me, Connor? I love you.”

“I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you actually. I see the way you look at her, listen to you when you talk about her, see the way you gravitate towards her when she’s around, and I feel like a moron for not seeing it sooner. There’s nothing wrong with loving another woman Ava, and she clearly loves you back. Don’t you want to be happy? We both deserve better than this, don’t we?”

“Oh, this is just rich coming from you. So what if I said someone else’s name? So have you!”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never said anyone else’s name while we were having sex!”

“But you did when you were sleeping!”

“What?”

“Yes, that little psych resident you have a crush on, you mumble her name in your sleep sometimes. I’m not the only one responsible for this catastrophe, so don’t put that blame on me. I didn’t even mean to say her name, okay? I’m not gay, I can’t be gay.”

She left Connor gaping at her from his doorway as she skulked down the hall towards the elevators

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

EIGHT MONTHS LATER 

Ava was still not talking to him, and when she was her tongue was a razor-blade. It came to the point that they were put on opposite schedules, unless absolutely necessary because the work environment had become so hostile. Dr. Latham had personally given him a long, tortuous lecture about why dating your colleagues was a horrible idea and now the entire cardiology department was paying the price. He wasn’t wrong, and Connor was ashamed, but he really wasn’t sure he could have handled it better than he did. He’d never been very eloquent when talking about his feelings, but he’d tried to be as articulate as possible when he broke it off, for both of their sakes. Today had been especially hard, not only had this been one of the few shifts he and Ava been required to work together, but their patient died, and their patient was revealed to be in a same-sex relationship with the woman the patient’s conservative family thought was just her roommate. The day was long and hard and sad, and just hit way too close to home. He and Ava made eye contact from opposite sides of the hospital entrance, and his soul ached a little more at the vacant look in her eyes. But they weren’t dating anymore, they weren’t even friends anymore, so there really wasn’t anything he could do except turn away and go home. So that’s what he did.

He was halfway through The Mummy, O’Connel and Evelyn were fighting about whether or not they should be saving the world when there was a knock on his door. He paused the movie but debated not getting up. It was probably just one of his neighbour’s mistresses looking for somewhere to hide (again), because his wife had come home early (again), because she suspected her husband was cheating on her while she was at work (again). But the knocking started up again, so he sighed and got up. The person on the other side of the door was the last person he expected to see.

“Ava. What are you-”

“You were right. About Leslie, you were right.” Her eyes were red and sniffled slightly as she talked, she was shaking and she just looked so scared. “I don’t know what to do.”

“C’mere. I don’t know what to do either, Ava, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I’m here for you.” And just like that, the waterworks started for both of them. They must’ve looked like a right mess, clinging to each other in the doorway and bawling like it was the end of the world. Which it was somewhat, their current world was ending, and a new one was beginning.

[phantomato]

Uber

Nottmort (Tom Riddle/Nott Sr.), Modern Muggle AU, ~2k words

Thanks to @yletylyf for kicking around this idea! Tom drives an Uber in the Bay Area. Thoros & co need a ride.

—

Abraxas and Orion are bickering over luggage in the background when your Uber pulls up. Black, of course, so it’s a Mercedes that will smell a little too much like leather cleaner when you get in, but none of you have ever ridden in an UberX or, god forbid, an Uber Pool, and you’re not about to start.

Your colleagues—never forget, you are not friends, no matter how much time you spend with them—slide into the back seat before you can even begin to help load bags into the trunk. You’re left alone with the driver, and though he offers to help, you haven’t let yourself sink that low as to make this man pile all of your shit in his car while you sit around and watch. And anyway, it feels like the polite thing to do. More than Abraxas or Orion, you’ve been raised to be polite.

So you fold yourself into the front passenger seat, too kind to push the seat all the way back and give yourself the leg room you need even if Orion, behind you, is just 5’8 to your 6’3, and smile at the driver as he confirms your destination.

He’s pretty. You’ve been in a lot of Ubers and you’ve never seen a driver this pretty. Is that classist?, you wonder to yourself, remembering something you read in Vox the other day. Probably. Nevertheless, you’re taken by the curve of his mouth, the sweep of his dark hair, and you throw a smirk over your shoulder at Abraxas who you know must have also noticed.

“Traffic to SFO will be busy,” he says regretfully, and you roll your eyes. Orion refuses to take the early morning flights, unwilling to wake at 3 AM, and you’re always stuck with these long, miserable Uber rides down from the city to the airport. “And Terminal 2—right in the middle of it. There’s construction around those doors, if you haven’t been there—”

“We know,” Orion butts in rudely, shutting up your driver for the few minutes it takes to get out of your neighborhood.

You use those few minutes to swipe through your phone. Email—nothing important. Messages—you clear the notifications. Your Instagram is alight with people reposting the same infographic about voting rights and you make a mental note to kick some money to that non-profit that’s been all over Twitter lately. You close out apps and end up back at Uber, watching your car’s laggy progress through the San Francisco streets. Your driver’s name is Tom, the app informs you. It’s a nice name.

You clear the side streets and Tom offers amenities. “If you want any water, there are bottles in the cooler between the seats,” he calls back to Abraxas and Orion, “and mints in the cup holder. You can adjust the air conditioning if you like, and there’s a charging cable attached to the back of my seat if you need it. Would you like to choose any music?”

“No,” Abraxas says, and whether he means the music or the entire spiel doesn’t really matter, given his withering tone. You look back at him, trying to convey ‘Be nice’ with just your eyebrows, but Abraxas is fussing with his hair and ignoring you.

Tom’s one of the chipper ones, it turns out, because he takes the rejection in stride and shifts to the dreaded personal conversation. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Ah, we invest in companies, mostly start-ups,” you say, trying to avoid—

“Venture capitalists!” Tom guesses, and he’s right but you hate the term and its connotations. So what if you are all white men whose family money has bankrolled tech speculation? It’s what anyone with half a brain would do. You donate, you read the liberal news—at least, you think that’s true for all of you, though Orion was friends with that Republican mayoral candidate and Abraxas’ father sponsors that conservative think-tank and…

Ah, fuck. “Yeah, pretty much,” you agree, hating yourself.

Behind you, Orion digs his AirPods out of his pocket. You hear the snap of the magnetic lid as he closes himself off to the world. Abraxas is slouching, the hem of his third-favorite cashmere cardigan catching on the seat behind him, and you realize that you’re alone in this conversation.

Well, fuck it. If those two pricks are going to make you call the Uber, deal with the reimbursement paperwork, and sit in the front seat, you’re going to talk to the driver and make this car conversation as painful as possible for them.

As if reading your thoughts, Tom does the one thing that guarantees a terrible ride: he pitches his app idea.

“You know, I’m also a software developer,” he says, which is at least more promising than when someone isn’t, “and if I had the kind of funding that companies like yours provide, I would absolutely make this app.” He proceeds to describe something completely inane, the type of exclusive, niche social networking app that hasn’t had legs since before the Trump presidency and you would be content to let him drone on, to let Abraxas keep melting into his own seat and to let Orion channel his anger through a knee driven into the back of yours, but—

But for all that Tom’s idea is stupid, he has the energy of the best pitches you see. His energy is infectious. His eyes light up, he gestures with one hand, and when he stops to take a drink (one of those water bottles with a built-in straw, which you associate with joggers and your lamest employees but which does very different things to you when it’s Tom’s mouth wrapped around the top) you’re transfixed by the wet sheen over his chapped lips.

And so, yes, maybe it’s mostly lust, and maybe this is a sign that you need to download Grindr again, even if only to jerk off to the dick pics you’ll get, but you start to actually talk to him.

“There’s no future in niche social networks,” you say, halting Tom in his tracks. “There will always be new ones, don’t misunderstand me, but the broader landscape is saturated by the top names, and they’ll buy out their competitors if they need to. Perhaps you can topple Tumblr, but that’s not a path to profit. If you want to impact the social market, you need to pinpoint the novel interaction model that you want to offer and make yourself buyable.”

“Buyable,” Tom repeats, like he’s never been interrupted before. He probably hasn’t. The first rule of Ubering around the Bay Area or the Valley is to never engage the app pitches, and Orion has started kicking your seat for your transgression.

“Yes,” you enunciate. “You want to be bought out and brought in at a high level. The giant that eats you may or may not use your idea, but you’ll make a comfortable sum as a consolation prize.” You’ve helped companies through this before. You’re flying out to New York this week in part because one of your investments is considering purchase offers and you want to strategize in-person. The founder is dallying, sending emails about independence and integrity, and Orion will bully him into selling while you and Abraxas negotiate the best terms for the contract.

You can feel Tom’s eyes on you. Abraxas might be calling “Thoros…” from the back seat, and Orion might be attempting to annihilate you with his gaze alone, but you’re smiling at that handsome face behind the wheel and hoping for an accident on the 101.

Unfortunately, you make it through San Bruno without running into more than the usual level of traffic, and Tom’s pulling up to your terminal much sooner than you would like. Abraxas and Orion jump out of the car with uncharacteristic speed when it stops, Orion even moving to stand by the trunk in readiness to take his bags. You delay.

“Do you have a business card?” you ask, when it’s clear Tom’s waiting on you.

He fumbles to pull a wallet from his jeans. You can’t quite get a view of his ass as he does, but that doesn’t stop you from looking.

His card is bent at the corner, printed cheaply, and probably from his last job. You’re pretty sure that company doesn’t exist anymore. Tom taps the phone number. “I can be reached here,” he says smoothly, but his professionalism cracks when he adds, “by call or by… text.”

You know what sort of texts you’d like to receive from him.

Pulling out your own card case, you hand him your card. “Text me,” you say, your voice just this side of appropriate, “any time.”

Tom visibly swallows and jumps out of the car. You take your time getting up, and if your cashmere sweater—Margaret Howell, not that Elder Statesman piece of shit Abraxas is wearing—ends up in the footwell of Tom’s passenger seat, well, you’ll be back in SF next week, won’t you?

“Thanks for the ride, Tom,” you tell him as you take the handle of your luggage, letting your fingers brush his. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“Yeah,” he nods, and you don’t care that Abraxas is snorting behind you, he’s been judging you this whole trip and he lost out on a hot guy’s number as a result. “It was…”

“Thoros,” you interrupt him before he can ramble and psych himself out. “My name is Thoros, and I really would like to hear from you.”

Tom looks at you then, and you see him pull together the same sureness that drew you into his initial pitch. “I’ll text you about the app.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it.

—

Bonus:

“You know,” Abraxas drawls as you sit in the United club lounge, gesturing lazily with his overpriced airport Fiji water, “if you tip him too much it’s like you’re paying him for sex.”

Orion looks up from his phone then, removing one earbud for the first time since he put them in. “I’ve paid more for sex with less attractive men.”

“Welcome back,” you say, “I didn’t realize you had paid any attention.”

“Someone would need to not have eyes in order to miss how hot that Uber driver was,” he bites back, returning to his phone.

“Well, I’m tipping him extra anyway,” you announce, confirming Tom’s five-star rating. Should you write a review? Is that too much?

Abraxas, with a grumble, declares, “I’m telling Alecto not to approve this expense.”

—

Bonus bonus:

Your phone buzzes at the end of dinner, the celebratory affair to close the sale which someone had insisted must be at Lilia, even though Abraxas doesn’t eat carbs and you would have preferred to grab a slice at Scarr’s rather than haul out to Williamsburg, anyway.

It’s Tom. Of course it’s Tom—you’ve been texting all week, and between a few late-night flirtations and one very bald statement of interest, you’ve got a date set for when you’re back home. You’re going to Mensho Tokyo, since he lives in the Tenderloin and you live… vaguely around the Tenderloin, at least, you tell people you live there when you want to seem cooler, and Tom is the type of guy that makes you excited to stand in line for hours to get seats. You’re already thinking about whether you might put your arm around him while you’re waiting, and you unlock your phone to see what he’s saying now.

It’s a picture message.

A picture of Tom, wearing your Howell sweater and no pants and oh god oh fuck—

“Was that Uber driver’s dick?” Abraxas whispers, next to you, and you curse your luck. “Remind me to call the next Uber, Jesus Christ.”

[thefanficmonster]

Listener

John (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Male)

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE GAME LITTLE HOPE

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: He wishes to be fine, he wants to be ok. He only wants to get over that night, bury it in the past and push forward. But you can’t bury what you can’t see or touch - the scars on your psyche, the trauma, the nightmares. He’s not able to battle it...not on his own at least.

Requested by @dark-pictures-until-dawn Hello dear! Sorry to be posting your request so late. I really hope you have stayed patient enough to still want to read the fic because I’m really looking forward to hearing your feedback, especially since it’s my first time writing a male reader. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

I can’t go home. I feel unsafe and lonely there. I feel how shallow is the meaningfulness of my existence and am constantly reminded of how quickly and gruesomely it was almost taken from me back in that ghost town. How I was prepared to do anything to shield my life as well as the lives of those I was responsible of from the horrors Little Hope provided for us. Speaking of my companions at the time, I think they’re doing far better than I am. Angela is, well, Angela - unbothered by the real problem, rather focusing on herself, mostly appearance-wise. Taylor and Daniel are each other’s support and have finally made their relationship public and I’m really happy for them. They deserve nothing but the best and I hope they get through this soon. Andrew left for home for a week or two to be with his family until the concussion and the trauma wore off at least a small bit. I was really worried for him and still am, but I’m at ease knowing he’s surrounded by people who’ll take care of him.

I, however, am left to my own devices. Devices I’m not sure I have. I can hear the weak side of me whispering to me whenever I get home, telling me it’s ok to break the streak at a time like this, even encouraging me to do so. Telling me it’ll be alright, that I’ll be able to pick myself back up, but for now, I can turn to my old friend for comfort. I can allow the liquor to pick me up like it did then.  But then, thank the heavens, my rational side kicks in right on time - one second before it can be too late. It makes me ask myself if alcohol ever did anything for me except dig me a grave for my own dignity. Did it ever pick me up, or was it always the illusion behind which was the defeat and demise it truly gave me?

This rational side has helped me put down the bottle just as I was about to unscrew its cap, and I’ll forever be in its debt. Lord knows I’d be back in the same awful spot I was in before I started by journey of getting clean. I can’t go through the hellish first months of recovery another time. But the escape is a little too hard to resist sometimes.

Tonight it’s especially bad. This afternoon I had a meetup with the principle of the college during which I had to tell him all that happened that night, all the while enduring his ‘you’ve gone mad’ stare mixed with pity. He doesn’t believe any of us, how could he? I wouldn’t believe it either if I were in his shoes. Still, I’m the one who he bothers the most about it, given the others are students and I’m basically an employee of his and I am not allowed to show any sort of disrespect, no matter how much I’d like to put him in his place, if I want to keep my job.  Having to reach to the dark side of my mind for the memories of that night took a toll on me like it hasn’t been able to in the past three days. I sometimes experience rather decent days during which my mind is too occupied to crack under the weight of the trauma. But then come the nights when I avoid sleeping just to unintentionally sink in deep slumber which is interrupted by a nightmare that sends me in a state of absolute terror.

Those are the instances in which I need metal chains to tie my wrists and feet so I don’t go back to old habits. 

Why I still have alcohol in my house is beyond me. It’s like I’m taunting myself to fail what I’ve worked so hard for. Like dangling a piece of meat in front of a lion. The problem is - I’m both the person dangling the meat and the lion. I end up hurting myself by seeking comfort. It’d be a straight up lie if I tell myself I’m strong enough to resist temptation. The only reason why I do so is to avoid those first few months of the new attempted recovery. If I even attempt it, that is.

Because of the deteriorated state my mind is in right now and my weakened defenses, I have made the only move I can think of - sleeping in the school tonight. I’m lucky to have a couch in my office which I share with another professor, so sleeping here will at least be comfortable. The weather has been holding up well, so I won’t even need to bring out the heater. Just as long as no one...

“John? You’re still here?“

…sees me.

The familiar voice scares me half to death, bringing me out of my spiraling thoughts. I’ve become really jumpy and easily terrified which I consider to be reasonable. Other people are rather cautious around me and when approaching me, which I appreciate. 

The person standing in the doorway with one hand on the handle and a startled expression on his face is my colleague Y/N. He’s the professor I’m sharing this office with. Him and I started working at this college at the same time and we quickly bonded over our first-day-on-the-job anxiety. He is pretty swell guy, about my age and height. He is the laid back professor, you don’t see many of his kind, especially since he is an ECON professor. Some of my students are in his class too, and they have nothing but kind words to say about him and his teaching. While the other professors, myself included, sport suits to work, he shows up in a polo shirt and jeans. He hasn’t missed a single day of work and his class flaunts the highest score in the whole college. That should tell you enough about how professional and well-put-together of a person Y/N is. 

“Um, yeah...I just have some things to finish up.“ I wave my hand dismissively, hoping he’d leave it at that. But we’ve been colleagues and friends too long for him to let that slide so easily. He knows me well, people are an open book to him in general. He has told me he wanted to pursue psychology but his parents talked him out of it which explains his ability to tap into a person’s psyche like a literal mind reader. God knows I need a psychologist right now.

Y/N steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I can wait for you. We could get some dinner if you want.“ He suggests casually, shrugging his shoulders a tiny bit.

My eyes go wide, “No!” I answer a little too quickly and too loudly, causing him to frown in confusion, “I mean...don’t wait for me. There’s no need. It’s already late. We could get dinner another time.”

Y/N narrows his eyes slightly as if attempting to read a sign in the distance. I know he’s reading me. I bet he doesn’t even have to try so hard. I’m an open book that has suffered too much damage recently. And I’m not only talking the events back in that God forsaken town.

I try avoiding his gaze but when he says my name I can look nowhere but his eyes, “John, I know you’re still rattled and traumatized. Who wouldn’t be? Just know that you can talk to me anytime, about anything.“ His hand rests on my shoulder, “I’m one of those people who believes you. I believe you 100%” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’ve researched that stuff probably more than I should’ve when I was a teenager. And it still intrigues me. Though I’m really sorry you had to go through such horrible events. You know you can take a paid leave for a month or two, right? No one will hold it against you. I’d be more than happy to cover for you if you’d like.” 

I find myself smiling at Y/N’s words, “I really appreciate that, Y/N, but I’m afraid that if I don’t come to work I’ll end up losing my mind. Hell...“ I motion around the office, “I don’t even wanna leave. ‘Home’ doesn’t seem so homey at the moment.“ I force a melancholic chuckle, deprived of almost all emotion.

“Hey, now that offends me.“ He frowns, showing off just how much I’ve hurt his feelings, “You’d rather crash here than come over to my place? Come on, John, you should know better than that.“ He pauses for a second, eyeing me suspiciously before a smirk appears on his face, “You’re just afraid I’ll bring out the chess board, aren’t you?“

I can’t help but laugh, “Not at all. We both know I’m the better chess player.“

A mock offended expression makes its way onto Y/N’s face as his eyes widen, “Oh, you’re so on now.” He quickly open the door, one foot already out in the hall.

I hurriedly grab my jacket and briefcase from where I left them this morning, “Not before dinner, though. My treat.” I call after him, my arm automatically reaching out for him, taking gentle hold of his wrist, “And, thank you, Y/N. This means a lot to me. Your support, your company, your friendship...everything.”

Y/N turns around, sending me one of his bright, dazzling smiles, “I was on board with you till you said friendship.” He snorts, moving his hand so it can hold mine and give it a gentle squeeze, “Jokes aside, John, I really want to help you and be there for you. So, please, I’m begging you, don’t push me away. At least try not to, ok?”

The warmth seeping from his eyes comforts me, helps me forget what’s been bothering me, at least momentarily. He always understands, he’s always prepared to help, to comfort, prepared to give advice and receive criticism. He’s human, obviously, but a human who understands what it’s like to be let down, brought down and forced to pick yourself back up, I haven’t found many who understand that in my life. He was my support when I decided to get clean, my biggest stability pillar, why couldn’t he help me now too? Why don’t I allow him to make me at least half the person he is?

“I’ll try, Y/N. I promise.“

And this is a promise I’ll keep, starting by discarding all the alcohol bottles in my house.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Last Chance love

Author: Anonymous

Year: 2009

Rating: PG

Pairing: Maurice Moss/Howard Moon

Moss stared at the phone as if it might sprout legs and attempt a daring escape from his desk any second. Surely today he'd finally get a reply. It was a Wednesday, and Wednesday meant double-bill of Star Trek, the original, not the jaded copies the company were churning out these days, with no thought for the original fans; and Roy had promised to cook him an omelette. Today had to be the day. Amazingly, today was the day. The phone rang, and it was the woman from Last Chance Love, she gave him a name and a telephone number and wished him luck. Moss didn't need love, this was fate. Nine years he'd been with the agency and they'd only ever found him two dates. One of them had turned out to be a seriously confused OAP who'd dialled the wrong number by accident, thinking it was the plumber. That had been a messy incident. The other was a divorcee but she'd had three kids. Three screaming, noisy, demanding kids. Moss had made a run for it the first time he accidentally dropped one. After that, he'd decided to widen the search by extending it to men aswell. Moss knew perfectly well he was more in tune with the male psyche, and at least there wouldn't be the terrifying possibility he might have to discuss menstruation in public places. Howard Moon, age unspecified. Moss picked up the phone again, looked at it, then put it down. He couldn't understand why he felt so nervous, he'd already done his breathing exercises this morning, and there was no-one around the office to annoy him. Jen and Roy had been sent on some trifling errand by Douglas Reynholm that Moss had managed to avoid by feigning a limp. He was still feeling rather smug about that actually, and the feeling gave him courage. He hooked the reciever under his chin and dialled the number carefully. "Hello? The Nabootique, for all your dubious magical and jazz-related needs. Howard Moon speaking, primary sales representative. How can I help you?" Moss's brain froze, he'd already planned what to say, but hadn't expected that he'd know who he'd be speaking too! Better stick to the original plan, things tended to go wrong whenever he deviated from the original plan. "Oh, hello there. I'm looking for um, a Mr. Howard Moon, I believe he answered an ad placed in Last Chance Love a few days ago." The other end of the line was strangely quiet, Moss thought he could hear breathing, but it might just be a fault on the line. "Hello?" He ventured. "Is there anybody there?" Silence. "If you can hear me, tap the phone once" There was a small noise. Moss couldn't be sure whether it was the aforementioned tap or the phone line playing up. He tried again. "I'm sorry, was that a tap? We've got some problems with reception down here in the basement. If you could just tap again for me, slightly louder this time would be helpful" "No, I'm here" The voice hissed "Just, be quiet will you? I'm not sure if Naboo is monitoring the phonelines. I don't want him to find out about this. He'll only tell Bollo, and then it'll get back to Vince, and within half an hour everyone within a 20 mile radius will know about the private, and perfectly normal, dating habits of Howard Moon. Wait a minute, I'll just take the phone into the downstairs toilet" There was a lot of shuffling about from the other end of the phone. Moss had time for three games of Minesweeper, he beat his highest score. Oh, today was a good day.

"Are you still there?" the voice enquired politely. "Yes. Are you Howard Moon?" Moss attempted to return to the beginning of his conversational script. "I think we've already established that I am, sir." replied the voice testily. "Are you IT Hunk 3000?" "Maurice Moss, actually. But everyone calls me Moss" "Most people call me the Jazz Maverick, actually" "Are you in a band?" Moss pulled a slight face. He might have to go to gigs. He might be required to dance. "Not exactly. Well me and my best friend, Vince Noir, you've probably heard of him..." "No" "Oh!" Howard seemed surprised by this information. "We sometimes play at the Velvet Onion. Its quite experimental, our music, not for every Tom, Dick and Harry" "My names Moss" "I know, I mean, its not for the uncultured ear" "Me and Roy, thats my work colleague, but we see each other outside of work, not like that, we're not queer, but on a social basis we do see rather a lot of each other. Well we sometimes make experimental films. Avant garde. Roy says we're going to be the next Scorsese" "You're not queer?" Howard sounded confused. "Well, not with Roy." "Me neither" "With Roy?" "With Vince" "Oh" There was an uncomfortable silence while both men attempted to extricate themselves from the odd direction the conversation had taken. Moss decided to make a joke of it. Jokes worked usually didn't they in a sexual situation? Jen told him women liked funny men, hopefully men liked funny men too. "Sometimes, and you'll laugh at this, people think that me and Roy are gay and, even worse, that we're married! Because he cooks for me sometimes, you see. People think Roy's my wife!" Moss laughed slightly stiltedly. "I think I'd better go" Howards voice sounded distinctively more shaky than it had done at the start of the phonecall. "I've got something..I must attend to" "Okay, do you want to meet me this week then or next. I've got a pretty busy schedule tonight. Roy's making omelettes." "I don't think its a very good idea Moss. That we meet I mean. I'm sure you're a wonderful man but as I said, things to do" "Next week?" "Hoilday. I'm going on holiday. That thing I had to do, I have to pack. We're going away, for...months I'm afraid. Peru." The voice sounded distinctly panicky now. "Oh well, nice to speak to you, Howard. Hey, if you give me your email address I could..." There was a buzzing sound from the other end of the phone. Moss shook the reciever but the buzzing continued undeterred. He put the phone down, nibbled on a jaffa cake, and started another game of Minesweeper. Roy would probably be back soon, and he could show him his high score.

[heta-fics]

The Wanderer - Part 1

by @proliferationinthecrypts

“Out there, in the world, walk embodiments of ideas and peoples, whose lives contain multitudes. To us, they are almost beyond time. A young doctor is about to meet one.“

The following diary entries were taken from the journal of one Doctor Elliott Rutherford. 

19/12/2018

Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin. But, I guess, since the Big Guys won’t let me breathe so much as a whisper of this one to my colleagues, family, or anyone else, even with all personal details anonymised, I’ll have to get my feelings out here. Maybe I can get my thoughts straight, too. 

The patient those two business-looking guys, the ones in the suits who never introduced themselves, assigned to me, had his first appointment today. Right now, sitting at my desk, it still feels weird that I want to write about this, I mean, you see some pretty fucked up shit, as a psychiatrist, but… I mean, maybe it’s because my migraines have been bad lately, ramping up my stress levels? Honestly, who knows? I’ve been left pretty stunned by today.

I’ll call my new patient ‘Grandpa’. He isn’t that old (although I am still unsure of his age, which is embarrassing for me), but the name fits him well, and I’m not gonna put down the name he gave me here (I mean, I feel that I shouldn’t even write this in my own diaries, but hey, I love precaution!). I had been given very little information about him by the men in suits that let themselves into my office and grilled me on random shit for two hours, but my first impression of the guy still nags at me. When he came into my office and sat himself down, nothing seemed weirder than anything else I’d seen in my career. I do wonder if the mystery surrounding his arrival at my practice had put me on edge, although, for some reason, that just feels like a wrong answer. Damn, I need to slow my brain down. Easy, man, easy. No overthinking, this time. I’m going to write out our meeting as I saw it, and maybe, if I come back to my computer after sleeping on all this, things will make more sense. That’s often the way, isn’t it? Right, here we go.

I do a little thing when my patients first come in - I look them in the face, or attempt to, to get a gauge on their stance, expression, the general vibe they give off, if you will. Grandpa did meet my eyes pretty quickly, but only for a moment, before his body jolted, almost as if he’d gained some sort of focus, and heightened awareness of where he was. He then proceeded to glance about the room, his one visible eye wide. He really did look like a startled animal, trapped in a corner. He jumped into the room, hunched, with stiff arms, almost childish. His head snapped around, and he looked over his shoulder. It seemed like he was fixing to look down the corridor, but he pulled himself back, and slowly, slowly closed the door. It made no sound, and he seemed to relax again.

He did not speak until he’d perched in the chair I’d set out for him. He still hadn’t looked at me since he first entered, and he looked almost embarrassed. I smiled, introduced myself as the doctor, and then faltered. It was only a slight pause before I asked him how he preferred to be addressed - I mean, there was no name on the few papers I’d been given before our appointment, but it was still unusual for me. Something in me was sure that I would get no simple answer. Grandpa confirmed my suspicions by bouncing his leg, and staring at the floor for a few more seconds, before answering.

“Call me Grandpa.” He said.

“Okay, Grandpa, it’s nice to meet you.” I replied, still smiling at him. I got no response. There was another long pause, before Grandpa raised his head, and stared at the window behind me, caught up in the middle distance. I think he would have stayed like that if I hadn’t drawn back his attention.

“So, Grandpa, what can I do for you today?” My usual intro-question carried the tension it usually does, and a little extra. I’ve talked to people whose selves have been in many dark and odd places, and I have been, with them, in some equally dark and odd situations. I’ve seen every face and form the psyche can take. The atmosphere on this particular morning, however, said otherwise. It was at that moment, you see, when Grandpa raised his greying head and forced (yes, forced) himself to meet my gaze.

“How much have you been told, dear?” His voice crackled, like that of somebody who chain-smoked, hard and often. 

“About you?”

“Yes, dear.”

Now, as I’ve said, the men in suits, and those surrounding them, had given me very little on Grandpa. No date of birth, no name, no detailed medical history. Enough for a dating profile, maybe, plus a list of physical maladies, and medications, but little else. Moreover, the notes weren’t dated, or attributed to any practitioner or medical practice. They just had that cover letter, from the manager of my trust, and some guy the men in suits had mentioned.

“From the notes I was given, you’re… “odd, but gentle”?”

“Yes. Nice to see they’ve stuck with that one.” His little smile caught me off guard, and I stumbled over my reply.

“You “like coffee and cake”, and “don’t trust easily”?”

“That is correct.”

“What kind of cake do you like?” Another smile answered me, one that reached his eye, this time.

“Oh, my, that’s difficult to say. I’ve tried so many.” 

I was beginning to like this guy. Even if he himself couldn’t have been older than 65, his voice carried the self-assurance of someone who had lived far longer. It was kind, and gravelly. I wondered about his career, the places he’d seen.

“Have you been told much more, my son?” Grandpa asked.

“Hm,” I quickly flicked through the papers in my lap. “Not much. Hm… medications, some, uh, physical stuff, burns- uh, there isn’t much.” His warm gaze still held mine. I found my hands relaxing, letting the papers fall back down.

“May I see those?” 

“Why, er, yes, of course.” I gathered the papers, and held them out for him to grab. He stood up, and reached forward, maybe an inch or so, before jerking back, like he’d had a shock. He cleared his throat, I remember, before tugging down the cuff of his shirt, and taking the papers. I gave him the time he needed to look them over, once he’d sat down again. His gaze zipped through the pages, while he nodded, slowly. Eventually, they were handed back to me, with a courteous nod.

“It seems you have some little scraps,” he shifted in his seat, “I hope I don’t confuse you, you seem like one of the nice ones. You have that look about you. Not your outward looks, no, I’m referring to how you set your shoulders, your expression. Oh, I’m starting off on one again,” he took a deep breath, “I’ve tried this with other psychs, it might benefit you, too. Would you like to ask me some questions?” He smiled again, but this one was weaker. Not forced, but you could see even he wasn’t entirely sold on it. Now, this last statement had me stuck for a moment. The know-how in his voice was probably what spurred me on.

“Where are you from?” 

Grandpa tensed again, and cocked his head a little.

“Oy, that one. So easy to ask, and yet so tricky to answer. The simplest answer I can give is, wait, wait, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten the time of… Yes, the simplest answer is that I’m Israeli.”

“You’re from Israel? Cool.”

“Yes.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Last time I was there, I had a little place in Jerusalem.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Oh, I still live there, mostly. I’m just up here visiting some old… friends.”

“In London?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I wanted to move on. “How old are you?”

“Do you want the hard answer, or the easy one?” Grandpa’s brow was furrowed.

“Whichever you feel like giving.” 

“I’m very, very, very old.” He was leaning on his knees, and looking up at me through his thick, dark eyelashes. I believed him, in that moment. He raised his head again - I think he read the confusion on my face.

“For your purposes, peg me anywhere between 55 and 75. That’s where people’s guesses usually fall, within that range. It might be easier for you, that way.”

I took a moment to think, and decided it was best, once again, to press forward. After all, I still had so little to work with.

“Grandpa, what would you like me to do for you?” This question made him sigh, and lean his cheek on his hand.

“My dear doctor… I suppose, it’s still nice to have someone here to listen. As I’m sure you know, sharing one’s burdens is incredibly healthy. I don’t want to drop too much on you, too soon. I know you’ve seen many, many people, and read their stories. You’ve held their hands when they were sick, and sat with them when no-one else would. Here, though, there is something important for you to know,” he clasped his hands together, his mouth drawn in determination. “A hell of a lot has happened to me. A hell of a lot. I, myself, never know when or where to start. Plus, this is only a test session, I mean, it usually is, to see if we click, as patient and physician. Hence, why I’ve suggested that you ask the questions.” 

The quirk of his eyebrow drove me to start probing a little deeper.

“You wear an eyepatch,” I pointed at the glossy, leather-looking mask that hugged almost one half of his face. “Why?”

“Around thirty-three percent of my body was severely burned. Fairly recently - in your terms, anyway. Part of the damage was the loss of my eye.”

“Are you comfortable in telling me how this happened?”

“No. I should, but you are so young. So small.” His eye was wandering back towards the window.

“Do you feel… any kind of way about your burns that you want to share with me?” 

Another pause. This one, long, and the most stifling thus far. It took him a little longer, this time, to return to the present.

“My son, how it feels to die, over, and over, and over, millions of times over… It is something I still cannot describe. I have always been good, excellent, with words, but there are none there. I feel the same physical pain that you would, with injuries like these, except these are nothing like that. Not even close. They scorched an already battered, ancient ground, and every spot that stings, every little tiny cut that won’t close, even after years, makes me think of all the trees that once grew, and their children that will never be… that I will never know.”

Now, at this point, I was entirely fascinated. I think, looking back, I had completely forgotten how utterly lost I was. The questions came more easily, from that point. I’ll paraphrase, or remember the best I can, the ones that stuck out to me the most:

“You’d been hurt before?”

“Many times. In ways I’m very glad you can’t feel.”

*

“Do you work?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“Currently, I’m a librarian. I’ve been one many times before, but I’ve always been drawn to the written word. I practically peed myself when the printing press was invented.”

“You do have a way with words.”

“Yeah, language is my thing!”

“Do you speak many languages? You know a little Hebrew, perhaps?”

“Hebrew is an old and dear friend of mine. It’s nice to see it spoken again. I speak a little bit of everything, to be honest, but I always come back to that. These days, it’s all about English, so I’ve made sure to keep my skills there nice and polished. It’s such an odd, patchwork language.”

*

“Where did you grow up?”

“That’s a big one. Pick a decade.”

“Hmm… 19…50s?”

“Shit, I phrased that poorly. Pick a century.”

“…19th?”

“Shit, I really didn’t think this one through.”

“Were you influenced a lot by classic literature growing up, then?”

“I guess you could say that?”

*

“What do you like to do when you’re not working?”

“I don’t go out socially, really… Oh, no, that’s wrong, I sometimes go out for drinks with my old friend Joel! I wonder how his kids are doing, I think the family moved out of Leipzig- oh… oh, no… Never mind. I don’t go out much, except to walk, and peruse libraries that aren’t the one I work at. I like to feed the stray cats. There are a lot of them in Israel, did you know that? They’re very sweet. I think they have a particularly liking to me, which is refreshing, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

*

“Do you have any aspirations, or projects you’re working on?”

“A bit of peace and quiet would be nice.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“I’d just like to be left alone, you know? People can be so destructive.”

“You get some mischievous readers down at the library, then?”

“Sometimes, but that’s nice. I mean, it’s annoying, but it’s nice compared to, you know, the world.”

“The world?”

“Yeah… I don’t like to read the papers. My fear drives me to do it, doctor, but I feel sick when I see what they say about me-us, I mean, me. They think it’s new, but it’s not. But the individual people, the grains of sand, they’re too young, they do not see…”

*

So, yeah, those are the exchanges I had with Grandpa that I can recall most clearly. The rest of the appointment went well, in that we seemed to get on. There are still some things that bug me, though. For example, when we’d come close to talking about his injuries, he would start tracing his fingers along his wrist. There were times when he’d go to tug back the cuff of his shirt, as if to show me something, but quickly deciding against this. Speaking of his injuries, I still feel irked. Patients open up about things in their own time, I know that, but I still feel this weird guilt about not being able to get anything on why he was so extensively, well, fucked up. If a man has burns, keloids and gashes poking out of every visible gap in his clothing, along with a gnarly eyepatch and a permanent look of wariness, then there is a story there.

The list of the medications he’s on was pretty extensive, so despite the general weirdness of this situation, I don’t think anything has been left out, there. He isn’t on any kind of anti-psychotic medication, and nothing from what we spoke about, or what was in my notes indicated any history of hallucinations. Grandpa seemed perfectly lucid, although nervous, and spoke consistently and with confidence about himself, and the little he gave me about his past.

To summarise, I’m strung out, I have no idea what’s happening, and I need to sleep. I have yet to hear anything from the men in suits, or whom-the-fuck ever, but I’m too tired to think about that area right now. I hope to God this will make more sense in the morning.

[lottes-ocs]

one chapter (first chapter maybe? def towards the beginning though) of my story. i turned it in for a workshop in class (capped at 12 pages double spaced). a note from my workshop document:

“Since this is going to be a longer work, I will likely expand upon Adam’s personal and inner life towards the beginning, so that the breakdown and the subsequent conversation with Ezra don’t feel as sudden. I will definitely add more documents like the emails, maybe therapist’s notes or text messages, and I might play around with POV in some later chapters, however, my plan is for Adam to be the primary narrator throughout.”

also lmk if i get anything egregiously wrong. i do have ptsd myself, but i also consulted 2 of my schizophrenic friends to make sure i didn’t include any details that would conflict with that and also to get details about antipsychotics correct

tw for suicide mentions, mental illness, unreality, some graphic imagery.

[January 21st, 2019 // 9:00 AM] Since I got discharged from the hospital last month, I’ve been grateful to live alone. Granted, it makes the paranoia worse, but I’m the only one who needs to know how often I’ve tried to talk to shadows or woken up yelling at the void. And I’m the only one who needs to know that I, a 30-year-old man, have been sleeping with a nightlight. But look, when my room is completely dark, mirages of my father and Dr. Wronski appear in the corner with their faces peeled off like in an autopsy and they won’t stop apologizing. I tell them I forgive them and they double down, I offer them solace and they weep with guilt, I articulate my own guilt and they articulate what it feels like to die. Only the nightlight makes them go away. Does that all sound stupid? Sure it does, but it feels a lot less stupid when I just need some sleep after another day trying to balance crushing grief with debilitating mental illness with my normal-person job, teaching abnormal psychology. Classes have been back in session since last week, so for a week, I’ve felt like a fish teaching marine biology. Or something out of Mariana’s trench. Ezra walks into my office, looking just a little too put-together for the workday (as usual), perfectly-tailored pants, perfectly ironed shirt, and perfectly styled curls, and snaps me out of my self-pitying daze by setting down a large stack of papers on his desk next to mine. “The anxiety essays,” he says with an imperious sigh. “Was I this dumb in undergrad?” “Probably not,” I say. “You were a little older than them.” “And I actually had anxiety.” He’s made a point of bringing up his own issues since I got back. I think he’s doing it so I don’t feel embarrassed or isolated, but he does love to talk about himself regardless, and besides, the support of one grad student doesn’t outweigh the nastiness of some of the higher-ups. “Do you have any new bits, Ezra?” I try to change the subject to his comedy (he does standup on the side, and I hear he’s not bad). “Eh, nothing good. You look tired.” He brushes me off with forced nonchalance. “I’ve had plenty of work to catch up on.” There’s actually no reason that he should know why I was gone, it’s my business, but he definitely does. Everyone does. I work in the psych department, so the people here know what it means when someone’s witnessed the death of their mentor and is subsequently out for a month with no further explanation than “illness.” “Have you, uh…” he clicks his tongue in thought. “Did you drink coffee this morning?” I nod with an exasperated smile. “Well, y’know, the Keurig’s in the lounge if you need it. And I’m in 522 most of today if you need help. Catching up on work, or whatever.” He drums casually on the doorframe, shoots me finger-guns, and heads down the hall. I like Ezra. He’s my TA now, but we were both in grad school working towards our doctorates together, up until last spring, when I received mine. We’re the same age, and he’s definitely smarter than me (as he is most people), he just started college late. I think it’s very sweet of him not to be a condescending dick to me (I seem to be a popular target for condescending dicks lately) especially because Ezra can muster up a dangerous amount of condescending dickishness when he feels the need. However, I process absolutely none of what he said. I was listening, I was trying to listen anyway, but my head’s not working right, not right now. I really didn’t get enough sleep. It’s a vicious cycle. The hallucinations and intrusive thoughts keep me up, the lack of sleep worsens the severity of the hallucinations and intrusive thoughts. In fact, since I arrived at work forty-five minutes ago, I have kept a mental tally: Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab myself: 3 instances. Sudden and overwhelming urge to stab Dr. Carlisle for looking at me weird: 2 instances (fuck off, it’s not like I’m going to act on it). Sudden and overwhelming urge to break down crying: 45 instances. Rats underneath my desk: Yeah, I don’t know, I called maintenance and they told me they’re fake, so I guess they’re fake, even though I can see them. Hanging woman in the back corner of my office: Don’t mind her, she’ll be gone within the hour. I’ll be sorry to see her go, though. A sense of unreality is creeping in. I try to keep Dr. Beauchamp’s voice in my head, “if there shouldn’t be any real dead people in the room, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room.” Well, there was that one time, you asshole. No, fuck it, there are almost definitely no real dead people in the room. I reach into my briefcase, desperate for the pill bottle, because I know my thoughts are going to turn into alphabet soup if I don’t do something soon. I split a Clozaril tablet in half and swallow it hastily. I am not supposed to split it in half, and I am not supposed to take more than one dose in a span of 24 hours, and I have a Ph.D. in psychology, obviously I know I’m lowering the efficacy in the long term and increasing my risk of side effects. But at this point, let me die of agranulocytosis if that’s what I’ve got coming. I’ll be out of a job and wasting eleven years of higher education if this shit doesn’t stop. Maybe that isn’t true. It feels true. Maybe it isn’t.

[January 21st, 2019 // 1:30 PM] FROM: Dr. Raymond Carlisle TO: Dr. Adam Collins SUBJECT: Checking in.

Dr. Collins, I sincerely hope all is well. I received word that you cancelled a lecture today. I need hardly tell you that you just had a month off for Winter Break, and two weeks before that for the beginning of your hospitalization. I hardly think an even further extended reprieve from your work is fair, and if you genuinely do, that’s a conversation we need to have. To be frank, Dr. Herrmann and I feel it is irresponsible to allow someone in your condition to continue to work, in the field of psychology no less. Though I do not at all doubt the competence of our colleagues at the medical center, nor your mental facilities, I feel compelled to let you know that if your psychological state continues to cause issues with your work the department might require you to take a leave of absence. While I hope your treatment plan begins to work to its full effect soon, your own safety and the integrity of this department are top priority.

Best wishes, truly,

Dr. Raymond Carlisle Head Professor, Psychology (555) 555-5555

My hands tremble with anger (and hopefully not tardive dyskinesia) as I type my reply.

FROM: Dr. Adam Collins TO: Dr. Raymond Carlisle SUBJECT: Re: Checking In

Dr. Carlisle, all is as well as it possibly can be needs to be. I don’t respect you as a colleague and I believe your total comfort in your new position, which I need hardly remind you is Dr. Wronski’s old position, is quite frankly borderline disrespectful.  If it’s irresponsible for someone in “my condition” to continue to work then why do you give a shit if I cancel my lectures? Leave me the fuck alone or I’ll mention you by name in my suicide note.   At the moment, it is difficult for me walk by Dr. Wronski’s old office, which I have to do to get to 525 (where that lecture is held). Could I request a change of   I was having a panic attack you absolute dick how are YOU allowed to continue to work in the field of psychology when you have NO compassion My new medication has occasionally been making me sick. That issue should be resolved either way after I meet with my psychiatrist next week.

Thank you for your concern, Dr. Adam Collins Department of Psychology

[January 22nd, 2019 // 10:30 AM] I think back to our last faculty meeting, at least my last faculty meeting, in November. It does feel like a while ago, and it’s hard to fathom that Dr. Wronski was still here then. It gets easier to fathom when Dr. Carlisle comes in and takes his seat at the head of the conference table, simply because of how wrong that is. I picture her there instead, how things are supposed to be, how it should have been. I think about how someone should have helped her when they still could have. I really picture her there instead for a moment, her image replacing Carlisle’s. I blink once and she’s gone, and he’s back. As he starts talking, though, I feel a tap on my shoulder and see her behind me for a split second, ephemeral and transparent like the dots in a grid illusion, then she walks away and disappears. My whole body is left feeling cold, sharp, and jolted, as if I fell on a blade without expecting to. I’m filled with dread as I realize Carlisle’s words are simultaneously turning to nonsense and growing louder in my ears, and a high, harsh noise like microphone feedback intertwines itself with his voice. Dr. Wronski reappears in his place again, but she is lifeless this time, blood pooling from her head like it was when I found her, circling her hair in a grim halo. Her eyes are clouded with even more film, her mouth is agape, and I can feel my breathing grow rapid. I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I am in the middle of a meeting; I will not fall apart like this in the middle of a meeting, not when my “mental facilities” are already being called into question. I pinch myself, internally repeating “there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here, there are no real dead people here—” “Dr. Collins, are you with us?” Dr. Hermann’s voice pierces through my mantra, entirely unfriendly, entirely accusatory, despite the faux-sweetness she is trying to summon. “Yes.” My voice sounds thin and weak, and blood rushes to my face. I shut my eyes again, since I feel tears prickling at the corners of them. Not fucking here, Jesus Christ, not fucking here, I think to myself. Then I think again about my last meeting, the old hierarchy, the time when I fell asleep at one of these in October after a particularly long night and Dr. Wronski just pulled me aside afterwards and asked if I was okay, and if there was anything she could do. And now the image of her corpse won’t leave my head. It overwhelms me. I don’t see her in the room anymore, but I might as well be back in her office when I first found her body, the first time in my life I had ever truly hoped that I was only seeing a figment of my imagination. The gun in her hand— I try to think of anything else. Anything to keep it at bay. I click my pen repeatedly (Carlisle asks me to stop), I scratch at my wrists and pull at my skin, anything to shift my focus to anything else. Nothing is working. The lump in my throat grows. My heartbeat gets faster, my chest starts to hurt, and suddenly I can smell the blood and rot that permeated the room that night, and I am helpless to stop it— Someone grabs me. I look up to see every eye in the room on me. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, and I realize I’m in the middle of this meeting, crying and having a full-on panic attack, surrounded by people who already think I’m a headcase. I am sobbing and shaking and unable to steady my breathing and to them it seems completely unprompted at best, and at worst, it seems like it’s because Hermann and Carlisle snapped at me. And even in the midst of my abject humiliation, the image of Dr. Wronski lying in a pool of her own blood is still in my head, still absolutely fucking killing me, and I couldn’t calm down if I tried. I get up and walk out. That’s what fucking happens when I’m forced to try to power through episodes. I could care less what Carlisle does to me right now, I will not stay in there and continue to look like an emotionally unstable baby in front of my colleagues. I go to finish up my breakdown in the privacy of my office, catching a glimpse of myself in a window on the way and hating myself even more at the sight of my own disheveled hair and bright red, tear-streaked face. I sit down and hide underneath my desk, pop another half-a-Clozaril tablet that I try not to choke back up (I’m still hyperventilating so hard I could vomit), and bury my face in my arms. “Adam?” I look up. “Ezra.” I am barely composed, still hyperventilating, swiping at my eyes furiously and futilely. I look away, and I hope maybe he’ll think I’m just sick. I expect him to walk away, pretend that he never saw me like this and just silently let it color his perception of me. But he comes and sits down next to me underneath the desk. I don’t know what to say. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, after a moment. “You don’t have to.” I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t really want him to. Nobody else is this understanding with me anymore. I keep trying to collect myself, barely noticing at first when he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Do you need anything?” I shake my head, still not making eye contact. Theoretically, I’m getting the help I need, and maybe I do need the support of a friend right now too, but I don’t want to trouble him. Besides, I must look pathetic, cowering under a table and weeping, almost comically vulnerable. Hm. “Ezra,” I turn to him, finally, after a few more minutes of whimpering. I know my eyes look crazy, bloodshot to hell. “Can you take me to a mic?” “A mic?” “Yes. A standup mic. I want to see what it’s like.” “Really?” he smirks. “Yes, why not?” I can’t think of the last time I laughed, at least not genuinely. I can’t think of the last time I let myself. My self-loathing has become entirely unfunny, my psyche and my job both absolute nightmares, not to mention the actual nightmares—I need something light. Something just a little bit light. “You would… enjoy that?” “Yeah.” It makes me sad that he seems surprised, though I can’t blame him. I’ve been awfully serious, not even just for the past week or month, but probably since my dad died last spring. He reads my disappointment. “Sorry, Adam, I just… do you like comedy?” “I don’t know. My therapist laughs at my jokes sometimes.” He smiles at that, and I smile too, through dissipating tears. “Well, if you really want to, yeah. The next one is Thursday night.” I nod and take a deep breath. I realize Ezra hasn’t taken his hand off my shoulder, and he is absent-mindedly rubbing circles into my back. Maybe it’s stupid, but I stay as still as I can. I don’t want him to notice that he’s doing it and stop. “Is everyone there funny?” I ask, just to keep his focus. It’s a dumb question. I rephrase myself, “How funny is everyone?” He exhales a chuckle. “Honestly? About thirty people go up every night, sometimes more. They’re mostly shit. Don’t worry, though, there’s plenty to laugh at with the shitty ones.” He proceeds to tell me about the guys who show up high every time and just get up on stage and talk about nonsense (or weed itself) for 5 minutes, the wannabe Dangerfields and Seinfelds and Mulaneys who “never actually managed to glean what joke structure is” (though to be fair, It’s not like I have either), even the bigoted old men still trying with unflinching determination to resurrect “get back in the kitchen” jokes. I am losing myself in his stories, feeling at least marginally more relaxed, when Carlisle appears in my doorway. Ezra takes his hand off my back. Carlisle glances at us with confusion and disgust. “Dr. Collins, if you would please… get up and come see me in my office.” “We’re actually grading papers right now,” Ezra shoots back, in a tone of voice that says “yes, I think you’re stupid.” “Take a break, please,” Carlisle replies, glaring and exiting. I look hesitantly at Ezra, before getting up to follow him. “I do want to come,” I say. “To a mic.” “We’ll talk more later. I should still be here after you’re done facing the wrath of god.” I know I’m about to get chewed out to an extreme degree. Still, I can’t help but grin back at him.

[akira-seijuro]

The moment of Fall - Part 1

I am trying to listen to serendipity right now by bts. And it’s still trying to stream on my music player. By the way, do you know what serendipity means? Let me Google it for you.

Well, it means ‘accident, happy accident, chance, happy chance,’ a fucking fluke?! I swear, those are the actual Google results. Why does it sound similar to me at all? Because something happened to me recently. I fell again. I didn’t want to use the word 'love,’ because it is too soon to be so much. But the word 'like’ seems to be pretty small. I blushed the entire day, spent my work in the poetry of my head, not being able to think how to troubleshoot a device because of my heart, yes not my brain this time, my heart. I’ll tell you why later. So, yes my heart could not let my brain tell the steps to my colleague who wanted me to help him troubleshoot. He was staring at me in blank, because he thought I was way too dull all this week. Well, my dear colleague, in my defense, I met the guy only twice and one of them was when it was my mission to unleash all the anger at him and the other was when I was so pissed at his best friend who was my first love and also at his other best friend, who was/is my best friend as well who ditched me that day.

The first time we met was when we were crossing paths at the gates, we stared at each other properly, probably the only time in those 4 years of college. A 3-4 second stare and no shit happened then. I always was intrigued by him and I wanted to talk to him, one, because he was close to 2 people whom I love the most and two because everyone told me he was a difficult person to talk to. It just seemed challenging and I’m really good at such things. The next time was when we sat down for the same interview. The thing is, he didn’t register in my head properly back then, because I was too focused on winning against him in the group discussion. They made 2 groups of the group discussions, both separate and unlinked. Destiny put us in the same group. I was sitting on the right side of the table (extreme bottom side) and he on the left side of the table (non-extreme top side). So it’s easier to say, diagonally towards the corners, but shit didn’t strike before. I was like motherfucking shit, this guy had to be in this group, I’m gonna get him because I was too pissed that he was close to Loki and I’m not. This is an exaggeration. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just didn’t want him to and most of his wing-mates sort of hurt me in one or the other way. So it was just my defense mechanism to get ready for the battle.

If you’re wondering Loki? Yeah, let’s call my first love Loki, my best friend/brother Oikawa (I’m a big fan of Haikyuu and Kuroko-no basuke : Japanese manga/anime - I used to be like Akashi from kuroko nobasuke - then turned to Kageyama - then turned to Iwaizumi from haikyuu, hence Oikawa, the best friend). Let’s call the man in the focus Chris. You’ll understand why in the coming words. I never once thought I’ll write about Chris and the encounter with him but you know life, it just simply sucks. Now I can’t find him on Facebook, probably he deactivated. So I went through Loki’s profile, the irony, but couldn’t find a single thing related to Chris on his wall. First I’m only going through to know his birthday because it has always been a compulsion for me to know the birthdays of people who impress me, I don’t even know why. A few days back, his FB profile picture was Red John smiley. I love Patrick Jane, Simon Baker was amazing playing that role. Are you fucking kidding me?! This guy is actually like 40% Patrick Jane. 40% because Patrick is so cool and positive on the outside and you know, smart too. Well, anyway I asked one of my close friends to check for his dob on LinkedIn because he will get to know if I went through. Let’s see. I don’t think there will be any luck though. So, anyway, I really-really-really- really-really-really like this guy, like Carly-Ray-Jepsen’s song 'I really like you.’ As I am writing all this, it’s becoming easier and it’s sort of like going away I guess or it’s becoming stronger. I can’t differentiate anymore.

My bro, the Oikawa kept telling me that he is the perfect dude for me, I was like dude fuck off. I don’t like any of your wing-mates. Falling for one, turned everything upside down, the next one is not going to be from your wing. And a few days back before it all started, he told me he met a guy who said something that mindfucked him. He didn’t want to tell me because he thought it will mindfuck me as well. I said try me. Then Oikawa said 'The guy I met told me that he will never have kids. The world is so fucked up.’ After 2 days of my clever bro’s contemplation, he asked the guy why? The guy said that world is so fucked up, the government, people and all - something on that lines, he didn’t tell me the exact conversation, so why would you bring kids into a world like this. Guess the first thought in my head, 'He is my fucking Thor.’ Okay, brief flashback - my bro promised me he will find someone for me and I told him even thor had to prove himself to lift the Mjolnir - the hammer. So basically I became the Mjolnir and my the one would be thor. Anyway, I refrained from telling him the first thought in my head and told him, dude, it makes sense obviously. What’s the big deal? Why would you bring people into a world like this? He was woah, this girl isn’t as mindfucked as me. Well, Oikawa, I’m a dark person who understands it better than anyone amongst your circle, Chris is exceptional though. I had a buddha phase in my life where I saw suffering, death, and loss of so many. Then I could not control it anymore and I told him, dude, you met my fucking Thor. Please don’t tell me he is the gay dude from the office because I’m straight. He asked me if I really wanted to know who. I said 'yes, of course.’ He said 'the thor is Chris.’

Fucked. Psyched. Fucked. I fell off as if there is nothing to hold on to. The moment of fall. Yep, that’s when I have decided what I was going to call this writing. Another heartbreak because this guy doesn’t like or can’t to talk or meet people. I don’t know for sure. That doesn’t even make any fucking sense. All those counseling sessions, medications have convinced me that it’s the fucking pheromones that made me fall for Loki, but I didn’t even ever say hi to this guy. Everything had a logical reason behind it until now. After almost exactly 4 years, since 2015, this is the first time it didn’t make any sense at all. I fell for a guy whom I barely saw, like a fictional personality. But he is fucking Real. All the bloody lump of flesh is real. But as my bro said 'that fucking guy is a chuth and the beautiful possibility might be ruined because of him.’ I am being fair now, he is not at all like Kise Ryota from kuroko nobaske, who is so outgoing and swag. Loki is little like Kise. This guy is totally different from Kise if at all he is -infinity% like kise. Strange but known coincidence, he plays basket-ball. I don’t like to use the words 'good, God and happy’ anymore. So I’m gonna say 'sound, nature to assign all the unexplanatory blame, blithe/gleeful.’ I felt so bad that nature is such a bitch it had to take away thor from me and it doesn’t even give me back a captain America. Because of the way we both were born, we can never meet. Ever. The next morning I called Oikawa, chanting fucking asshole while waking up and told him how disturbed I was, I am for Chris. It felt like another heartbreak, the moment I came to know it was him like someone cut my heart into a perfect 2 using scissors instead of a single stab to stop it. I used to have 1% belief when my bro used to tell me he was perfect and 99% bitch please face. Now it became 100% with another zero towards the right at the end. But goddamn, this is not happening. It’s s reality fiction. I called my girlfriend and I asked her if I can come over. She invited me to stay over for the night and I got mindfucked. She was like why dude? Did you forget me or something? Why are you so shocked. It felt so new having someone be so nice to you without even asking after a long time. She asked me to go meet Oikawa in the middle of the night. Even though she was sleeping, she woke up at 11.45 to let me out. 2.20 to let me in and 7.45 to let me out again. Such an awesome friend. I met Oikawa and we talked random stuff like he says. Then I came back and slept beside her on the floor even though she gave me a comfy bed to sleep in. I needed someone, I wouldn’t have minded if it were a hungry tiger sleeping instead of her. But having her made me feel so gleeful that a cold floor felt more comfortable than a fluffy mattress.

I didn’t fall because he is Chris but because I came to know about the existence of a probable person who can understand the darkness with which I’m living in, the darkness that I am. I know all this is might as well just be an image in my head.

Either way, I woke up heartbroken and reasoned with myself on the way back to my place that I’m simply just too broken. So stop searching to trying to fix yourself Akira, you are only breaking yourself further in that process. I am a broken human. My own brain fucks me up, feels bad and tries to make up for it and realizes it has gone way too far and gives up on itself. I am that broken. I’ll probably never have kids too because I’m too broken to have them, not because the world is fucked up Chris. I would like to tell you something. The world is fucked up, but with one person to love and to care and to understand like how you’d want her to, the world is not just livable, its everything but unworthy. The words sad, grief, depression, anxiety would still be applicable, so will the words happy, enjoyable and amazing. I know I just said the word happy. You might lose that person whom you have found, she might die later, but I’m sure she will give you all that you need to be hopeful forever. Let me love you, you will know. Serendipity ends now. Thank you, Jimin Park, for that beautiful song.

But you won’t let me in Chris. So it’s all still broken for both of us. Because we both are broken by our own unloved lives, but I think if it’s our love together, it’ll be happily livable and hopeful. But I know the way we were born doesn’t allow it. All I’m saying is we can still change it, we can bear anything if we can choose. Even if it's your worst fear, it's bearable if you choose. The choice is yours.

If you guys are wondering whether my friend found him on LinkedIn, yes she did. But that fucking asshole didn’t mention his dob in bio.

[agentelmo]

The X-Files MSR Analysis Series: Season 1 Episode 11

“Eve”

Previous episode analysis - 1x10 Fallen Angel.

Eve is a nice episode in terms of MSR because it is littered with cute little moments between Mulder and Scully.  Mostly characterised by their silently eyeballing each other.  Sometimes when the other isn’t even looking.  

Sorry, lets be real here - sometimes when Scully isn’t even looking. 

There’s a great scene in Mulder’s motel room which shows they’re still feeling each other out on a personal level - despite Scully’s dismissal of Mulder as a potential love interest in Jersey Devil, she clearly hasn’t 100% given up on it because she’s definitely putting the feelers out in that scene - testing the waters of Mulder’s personal life. 

On a non-MSR front, we also get our first whiff of a mention of the super soldiers that become so prominent in season 9.  Which is interesting, right?  Right?

So the episode begins with Mulder and Scully in Basement HQ talking about the latest spooky goings on.  Professor Mulder must have got in late this morning, as he’s still putting together his slide show for this mornings class.

Mulder’s characteristic gallows humour makes an appearance, and what I really like is that he looks up to see her reaction to his joke - is he gonna get a flash of her dazzling smile?

No.

He gets nothing - nada, zip.  Scully isn’t rewarding that mediocre attempt.

You know why this stood out to me now?  After seeing season 11′s This, it reminded me of the skanky bar scene where Mulder makes a joke about Scully looking “adorbs”.  Mulder stares at her for a long ass moment afterwards, waiting for a response.  

From the very beginning, he always got a kick out of getting a rise out of her - cracking her cool exterior.  I just like that the same gesture is seen here, right at the very beginning of their relationship.  He makes a joke to enjoy her response - and I think, a little bit, just to see her smile, because holy shit, Scully has a million watt smile.  

Who wouldn’t want to be the cause of that?

How quaint.  Remember a time before you knew anything about cattle mutilation, Scully?

What I love about this is what I love about all Mulder’s slide show scenes, which is that he enjoys the song and dance of presenting his ideas to Scully.  He likes playing teacher.  Look at his face when she gives him her “say what now?” look.

Close enough, Mulder?  He’s looming over her, being an utter space invader - as usual.  It’s their classic physical flirtation, but where the real foreplay lies between them is in the meeting of two sharply intelligent minds. 

He already knew that she wasn’t familiar with the fine art of cattle sucking, and that this would be how their conversation would go.  He had it all planned out.

This is why he was queuing up the slide show before he even asked the question -  he was just waiting to explain it to her.  He sports the smile of smug success, because it’s all gone to plan.  He’s hit his mark and now he’s ready to go - Professor Mulder is in the house, people!

He does this for her validation, which in turn allows him to present otherwise fantastic ideas in a way that fits the conventions of a regular FBI investigation - she brings order to his chaos and I think he actually desires that - at this point he’s come to see the value in it.  

In Basement HQ with Dana Scully in attendance, Professor Mulder’s theories and ideas are not dismissed as nonsense, they’re treated as potentially valid.  This is a place of safety and mental freedom for him.  His relaxed demeanour, as he regales the grim details of the case, suggest this is the portrait of a man freed from the limitations of self-doubt and judgement. 

This is in sharp contrast to how Mulder has been know to behave around his peers.  He has a tendency to be very reticent with his fellow FBI colleagues. He’s been burned one too many times by talking about his ideas, and so tends to keeps his cards close to his chest. 

It just goes to show how her validation is like catnip for him - there is no holding back in these show and tells.  He fully expects Scully to hear him out and throw out her usual challenges, to which is he more than happy to rise because he knows they come from a place of scientific rigour not condescension and mockery - he revels in the acknowledgement and the challenge.  

As the series progresses he refines his beliefs - he too needs proof.  But at this stage he really does believe in almost anything, and is happy to go along with any bat shit theory.  Seeing is believing for Mulder in season 1.

Not so with Scully, of course.  He’s so overtly open and unabashed with his beliefs that sometimes - when you actually listen to exactly what it is he’s saying - you do have to wonder if he is, in fact, crazy.

See what I mean?  He’s pretty bald-faced about it.  Unflinchingly eccentric.   It’s actually kind of touching to watch him spout this nonsensical stuff about aliens coming thousands of light years to exsanguinate some poor moo cows.  Seriously, the guy sounds like he’s been smoking the good stuff.

Most normal people would tell him he’s a fucking mental case and report him to FBI human resources - this guy needs a psych evaluation - stat!

But Scully?  Nope, she’s there to do a job - put his bat shit craziness to the test, so she swallows her disbelief and instinctive need to object... literally...

...and off we go!

So Mulder and Scully go off to investigate the man who had been blood suckered and have a chat with his daughter - the only witness to his death.  

And oh God this series can be tough to watch at times with hindsight... more Scully being totes adorbs and sweetly softly spoken with kids.  

Any time Mulder and Scully are in scenes with kids I can’t deal.  It hurts man.

Even if the kid in question is creepy AF.

Seriously what is it with the kids being freaky mofos in this show?

Creepiness aside, I love that this little bunny-clutching satan spawn totally plays Mulder.  

She tells him what he wants to hear; the implication is that this girl has some kind of mind reading capability to pull “men from the clouds” and the word “exsanguinate” from out her arse.

Uh yeah...

Mulder, this is important... and not the time to be staring at your partner’s lips again.  Geez, man. FOCUS.

Scully gets a call that there’s been another murder, so off they jet to San Fran baby!  Check it out - that’s a sunny establishing shot!

Although when they get to the murder victim’s residence the weather is grey and overcast as fuck.

You tried, Vancouver.  You tried.

What I admire about this scene here with Mulder and Scully is the fact that she doesn’t let Mulder intimidate her.

When Scully was assigned to Mulder, she was green, untested.  He’s literally her first ever partner since she’s never been a field agent before, and he has quite the reputation as an incredibly savvy profiler and successful investigator.  Not to mention the fact he’s a man, and she’s a woman.

Yet she doesn’t let that stop her questioning his every step.

That’s pretty fucking impressive, isn’t it?

Scully’s self-confidence is crazy admirable.  She truly is a phenomenal role model for young girls.  I know she was for me.

What’s even more brilliant about her challenge here, is that she is more right than he is.  Mulder is, in fact, super wrong.  As we discover much later, these two deaths actually are the work of two killers working in tandem like Scully says and Mulder, the career profiler, dismissed this out of hand.  1 - 0 to Scully.  Keep score in this episode, because Scully does well to prove she’s more than a match for Mulder.

So they head off to speak with the daughter of the second murder victim, and Mulder exhibits his terrible parking skills.  How far away from the kerb do you wanna be, Mulder?

Look at Scully with her little season 1 briefcase... D’awwwwwwww.

Mulder is clearly in a good mood this morning, he’s quite playful with Scully all throughout this scene.

Case in point, when they’re discussing the fact that Teena Simmons has been abducted....

Let’s pause for effect.  Look at him looking at her.

Oh Mulder... are you GAZING by any chance?

Scully says the roadblocks turned up nothing... again Mulder, in his chipper mood quips back...

He’s doing it again.  Looking for her to react.  Both times.  He really does like to  enjoy her reaction, and I think she knows it because she refuses to give him one.  Perhaps it’s to loosen her up; relax.  My theory is that he just enjoys breaking down her professional exterior and so he make it his low key eternal mission to make her crack.  Like the proper little wind-up merchant that he is.

Also, whoa... Mulder are you blatantly checking Scully out?  She conveniently looks away... and down go those eyes.  You bad, bad man.

“I do not GAZE at Scully.”  Again, pause that.

Sure you don’t.

Then the door opens and we see that the second murder victim’s daughter - Cindy Reardon - looks exactly like the first murder victim’s daughter - Teena Simmons.

Spooky.

Mulder... focus.

I like the little silent conversation that goes on here.

Scully:  Mulder, are you seeing this? Mulder:  Yeah, what do you think is going on here? Scully:  No fucking clue.

Scully starts to question the mother about Cindy, and when Mulder chimes in to cut to the chase, he unintentionally upsets the mother.  Scully realises instantly he’s in trouble as Mulder stumbles over his words and Scully touches his hand, silently communicating – I’ve got this.

He instantly takes a step back and lets Scully handle it.  I fucking love these two.

It’s such a simple gesture, utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but for some reason little things like this make me think these two were made for each other.  I know, that’s a melodramatic thing to say, but this little exchange just thrilled me.  The simple act is trivial but also beautiful at the same time.

Am I weird?  I’m probably just weird.

Muldo and Scullbag head back out to their car and whoa... that is some heady bright red velour interior in their car - yikes.  

Holy crapsicle even the steering wheel is red!  The 90′s man...  Yeesh.

The banter… ah the banter.  This is what makes these two so deliciously fun. It’s not the Joss Whedon style of hyper-lighting-fast, sarcastic barbs or witty, self-deprecating one liners that permeate pretty much every TV show going these days.  It’s two clearly distinct personalities interacting and sparking off of each other in distinct, individual ways.

Mulder’s sense of humour bubbles along the surface of many of the duo’s scenes together, and it’s Scully’s reaction to his humour, rather than sharp-shooting back, that makes their to and fro banter feel genuine and real.  Her reactions tends towards the incredulous or playfully disapproving, but every now and then, he will be rewarded for his efforts with a dazzling smile of genuine amusement.

That feels more real to me because we’re not all witty zing-miesters ready and waiting with the best come back of our lives.  Although Mulder does land a few good ones, that’s defined as part of his personality, not just the collective state of all human beings that exist in the world like we seem to get in a lot of TV these days.

That’s not to say that Scully isn’t funny too.  She also gets her occasional zingers, but the infrequency of them makes them all the sweeter.

So Scully goes to check at the IVF treatment centre to find out how these two girls look so alike, and asks the Doc a question that is kinda scary in hindsight.

Especially given season 11′s recent revelations regarding how Scully became pregnant.  Yeah... this scene made my insides wiggly.

Scully discovers that a doctor called Sally Kendrick was experimenting with eugenics - tampering with the ova before fertilisation.  Again, all very troubling to hear in hindsight for us as viewers in the midst of season 11.  We as fans felt this question had been laid to rest about how William came to be, but season 11 has busted it wide open again.  Scully may have had this same tampering done to her ova before being implanted - if she even was implanted, we have no idea anymore!  Fuck CSM, man...

But lets wash the ickiness away with a stunning profile shot.  Naw... Looks how beautifully 90′s Scully is...

Now the next scene takes place back in Mulder’s motel room... hey now guys, you do know this goes against bureau’s policy on male and female agents consorting in the same motel room while on assignment, right?

Want to see another creepy connection to William?  Mulder and Scully are watching Sally Kendrick’s video monologue, which signs off on this oddly prophetic note...

Uhmmm....

Yeeeeeeeeeeah.

I realise that babies are described as miracles all the time, so it’s unlikely to be an intentional connection, but I got chills.  Did you get chills?

Scully doesn’t miss a chance to point out that Mulder’s cattle guzzling alien theory is looking less and less likely by the minute...

WHERE HAVE I SEEN DAT FACE?

Scully is the one rewarded with the smile this time, oh man keep ‘em coming Scully... Mulder in his glasses with his sleeves rolled up and his tie undone is my kink, my aesthetic, my everything, the sweetest song that I could sing...

OH BABY.

It’s like watching the air go out of a balloon.  Scully kicking dejected puppy!Mulder.... 

But wait! Ring ring... answer the phone, Scully.

New phone, who dis?

MULDER!   IT’S THE DEEP THROAT SIGNAL!

Yeah Mulder, how far does a girl have to go to untangle her tingle?  

SEVEN YEARS, THAT’S HOW FAR.

You’ve not yet qualified Scully, so get the fuck outta here.  No girls with tangled tingles allowed that haven’t gone through the 7 year Mulder vetting process.

He’s not kidding, he doesn’t have a clue what a girl is because thus far no one has made it through the 7 year Mulder vetting process.  

Who is up to the task, I wonder...

ANYWAY!

Mulder, are you seriously asking “what’s a girl?” when you have one of the most beautiful specimens right in front of you?  Go die in a fire now please. Thank you.

Poor disappointed Scully, too.  She wasn’t ready to leave and who can blame her with him flouncing around in those fucking glasses?  STOP IT.

Ughhhh... this whole fucking scene is just lady porn.

Also, isn’t it sweet that Scully’s automatic assumption is that he has a girl coming over?  She must think his little bit on the side was the one who hung up on the phone.  

Notice how Scully executes a classic fishing expedition, here.  She is curious about his personal life and because of his frankly highly suspicious behaviour - seriously Mulder, guy has zero chill, you could have done this a bit more convincingly - has handed her a prime opportunity to jokingly ask an otherwise overtly personal question. 

Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to, Ms. Scully.

So Mulder goes to meet his girlfriend, Deep Throat and they take a romantic stroll along the jetty, casually bumping shoulders, talk about catching a Warriors game together.  So sweet.

I like that Deep Throat is concerned that Scully has followed Mulder.  Look at this muppet.  He’s a powerful man at the centre of an international consortium of men embroiled in all manner of nefarious government conspiracies and he’s hiding in a bush, afraid of a 5ft nothing red head in a pantsuit.

To be fair to him, Scully is a bad ass, I’d be afraid of her too.  Don’t be messing with her boo, or she’ll be having words.

I had a discussion recently about how Deep Throat seems to take on a fatherly role for Mulder in season 1.  A friendly, compassionate guide who supports Mulder at great risk to himself, his ideal father figure.

These little moments where Deep Throat (Or Ronald Pakula as we know now him, cheers season 11) seems to have more than a professional interest in Mulder.  It’s not simply that he is using Mulder, he appears to genuinely care about him too - this is merely one of several occasions where he suggests they might have enjoyed spending time together outside of their clandestine meetings.  

I’d say we will never know if this care is genuine, as there are certainly times when Deep Throat is shady as fuck - and later will even lie to Mulder - but then we see Deep Throat speak to Mulder from beyond the grave in his The Blessing Way fever dream in season 3.

Where he encourages Mulder to go back to the living world and not to look into the abyss.  Suggesting he truly did care about him.

So moving on, Deep Throat tells Mulder about a secret government eugenics project called The Litchfield Experiment.  Deep Throat says the purpose of this project is to create a “superior solider”.  Yep, that’s right... the notion that the Syndicate were involved in creating super soldiers were seeded back in season 1.  

He directs Mulder to an insane asylum where a subject of this shady experiment is being held named Eve 6.

So I am confused, how did Mulder explain to Scully how he knew about Eve 6 and the Litchfield experiments?  He still hasn’t told her about Deep Throat, and won’t tell her about him until E.B.E.  So how exactly did he explain to Scully why they were going there?  “I dreamt it, Scully!  I totally do not have an informant that basically lets me cheat every paranormal investigation I get stuck on.  It err... yeah, came to me in a vision!  Honest!”

Seriously, I’d forgotten just how often Mulder cheats by getting help from Deep Throat. 

So off they trot to meet Eve 6, and Mulder takes another opportunity to side eye his hot new girlfriend partner when she’s not looking.

The eye sexing in this episode is off the chart by the way.  They’re silently communicating a lot.  A LOT, A LOT.

Eve 6 explains that she and many others were part of an experiment which gave them heightened strength, intelligence but also psychosis.  They’re failed early attempts at creating super soldiers as they are uncontrollable.  They all have a tendency to go bat crap crazy.

And shocker, the two girls Cindy and Teena are part of that same experiment.

Its interesting to watch Mulder and Scully’s differing reactions to Eve 6.  The horror of what she is, a human monster but through no fault of her own.  They both have a very visceral reaction to Eve 6′s Hannibal Lecter moment as she talks about trying to get a bit of lovin’ from a guard.

Scully is clearly uncomfortable; disturbed by Eve 6; her mental state; her living conditions, and the claims of what has been done to her.

Whereas Mulder looks at Eve 6 with morbid fascination.  Like watching a car crash - you just can’t seem to look away from the horror of it.  He’s reviled by her, but also strangely transfixed.  Probably the profiler in him.

Now remember I said to keep score on how many times Scully gets it right and Mulder gets it wrong in this episode.  Well, here’s another doozey.

So that’s Mulder acknowledging that the murders could have indeed happened at the same time by two different people working together, which earlier he summarily dismissed when Scully suggested it.

Have you noticed yet that I like to make a point of highlighting when Scully was actually right and Mulder was wrong?  Why do I do it?  Honestly, it’s because I still haven’t forgiven Mulder for his “who turns out to be right 98.9% of the time?” comment in season 6′s Field Trip.

Arrogant little bishop basher.

But wait, it gets better!

*whispers*  Scully is too good for you.

Mulder suggests the two remaining Eves, Eve 7 and Eve 8, are killing the parents in order to take the girls back into the Litchfield fold.

But there’s some big holes in that hypothesis.  First, if that was their goal all along, why not take the girls when they killed the fathers?  Both kids were alone with their father’s at the time of their murders, so why kill the fathers and return later when the girls would be more protected, not less.

C’mon Mulder, there is obviously more going on here... you’re really off your game on this episode.  

Maybe if you weren’t so distracted by all the eye sexing?

Cindy Reardon is kidnapped by Sally Kendrick a.k.a. Eve 7, and Mulder and Scully are left in the dirt.  Mulder gets to do a bit of sexy running though.  Damn, that boy can run!

Thankfully, through some spiffing police work, they locate the girls again, and it’s like someone has dressed them up in red as a warning - DANGER FOX MULDO, DANGER!  They may as well have a neon sign above their heads blinking out the words “SATAN SPAWN!”

Someone has to take custody of the girls temporarily and, unexpectedly, Mulder volunteers himself and Scully for the job.

Wow, admit it, you just want to play dad.

Seriously, it’s almost like he planned it after watching Scully play Mum, talking about how “we” will take care of you... you’re safe with “us”.

You think I’m reaching?  What is this “reaching” you speak of?  This is a serious analysis series, with serious analysis only.  

This is such a dad thing to say, Mulder.  The translation is:  SHUT UP AND JUST GET IN THE DAMN CAR.

I can just see Mulder and William now...

“Dad, what’s a momomyth?” “Not now, son.  Just put your shoes on.  We’re going to grandma Maggie’s” “But Dad, is it the sum of all human knowledge or first contact with an alien ra--” “WE’LL TALK ABOUT IT IN THE CAR, OKAY?!”

I see you Muldo, checking Scullywag out.  Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the road?  Look, even the creepy murder baby has noticed your wandering eye.

Hmm, asking a kid if they can hold their pee.  Yeah, Mulder has definitely never had kids before.  Heck, I’ve never had kids before and I know that’s a dumb question.  Kids seem to like waiting until their bladder is about to explode before asking to stop.

SCULLBAG!  YOU TRAITOR.  WHATEVER HAPPENED TO PARENTAL SOLIDARITY - SHOWING A UNITED FRONT?!

Ah the domesticity of the coke saga… the adults watching their waistlines get diet.  The kiddiewinks in need of recharging their murder batteries go for some of that high fructose goodness.

I love the look Scully has on her face in the background, a look that seems to be saying ‘don’t mind our precocious little brats’.

It kind of tickles me that this serving wench believes Mulder and Scully are married with kids.  Don’t worry, the rest of the world will catch up with this statement of fact in 25 years.

Mulder and Scully even do the eye sex communication before they’re about to go do their business.  Pee you on the other side, Scully!

Mulder even tells jokes silently.  It’s all there in the eyes.

Then the more sinister of the two satan spawn, which I think is Teena, comes out to poison Mulder and Scully’s drinks.

YOUR DAD?!

LOOK BACK THE HELL UP KID, DON’T BE FUCKING WITH MY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW I AM VERY SENSITIVE ABOUT THIS SUBJECT.

It’s all right for me to joke about it, but when kids in the actual show start calling Mulder “dad”, I am gonna probably hyperventilate to death.

So of course, Mulder goes and acts all fatherly again.  AHHHH THE PAAAIN!

He would have been such a sweet dad, guys… seriously.  FFS CHRIS CARTER.  MOVING ON...

TOUCH MAH HAND MULDERRRR!

It’s hypnotic, actually, watching their hands meet on a perpetual loop - you start to notice weird details, like how her finger slides over his.  

Look at what this show reduces us to.  Slavering weirdos who get excited at the merest brush of a hand.   Just, fuck this show... sometimes, really, it can just fuck off?

Then in a touch of writing genius, they drop the “oops I forgot my keys” trope.  

Mulder runs back into the cafe to find DUN DUN DUN... the poison conveniently left a partial mug ring on the table.  

Which makes no sense either, because if Teena had got it on the cup, wouldn’t Mulder and Scully have seen it already?  It’s bright green after all.  But whatevs... Mulder goes and sticks his fingers in an unknown substances then true to form, puts it straight into his mouth.  

I know, I felt thoroughly ashamed of taking this screen cap of Mulder licking his finger.  But it’s not like I stopped and looked at it for a long time or anything.  *whistles*

Realising the girls have poisoned his and Scully’s drink, Mulder runs back outside to rescue bae.

Again, Mulder has zero chill when it comes to feigning ignorance.  Was the earlier kerfuffle getting Scully out of his motel room in such an obvious way put there just to demonstrate that Mulder has the acting ability of a wacky, flailing, inflatable, tube man?

How chivalrous.

Before we move on, lets rewind back a second...

MULDER’S FLOPPY HAIR FLOOFING IN THE WIND OMG.

FLOOFING!

Okay, okay... so the girls know Mulder is onto them, obviously... I guess Mulder forgot that the Eves have heightened intelligence as well as heightened psychosis.  

Arghhh.. they’re so young!  Mah baby agents!

The girls vanish but Mulder and Scully outsmart the fuck out of these little shits.

Side note... baby!Scully... such a badass.

baby!Mulder... eeeh not so much.

Mulder and Scully go back into the cafe to see if the girls went to hide in there, and Scully ruins my dream - of a single human being existing in the world who thinks Mulder and Scully are married with kids - by flashing her FBI badge at the serving wench.

I know she’s a waitress.  Shhh... If I was a waitress, I’d much prefer to be called serving wench.

Wenchy McWenchface says a school bus just left with a ton a kids, so Mulder and Scully, quite cleverly I might add, trick the girls by splitting up.

Just to show us once again, these two are a pair of smart cookies, and are clearly meant for each other, as work partners as well as being the loves of each others lives.  Yeppers.

So Scully follows the bus in the car, and Mulder stays at the cafe.

Come out, come out, wherever you areeeee....

Mulder bullying children.  It’s a side hobby.

That’s all for Mulder and Scully, but there is an interesting scene at the end with the Eves.  It seems Sally Kendrick was, in fact, Eve 8 not Eve 7 (or maybe they were both her?) as she arrives to rescue the girls.

I wonder if perhaps, after they escape, these three are involved in the super soldier project that spawns the super soldiers we come to know later in season 9?  Who knows... but it would have been a cool little twist if they’d have brought back the Eves in season 9.  

Shame.  

It would have been a brilliant little bit of continuity.  But we know this show is continuity averse at the best of times, so it doesn’t really surprise me that the never took the opportunity to tie that thread.  

Next up... Ooh it’s the one you’ve all been waiting for, I can tell.  1x12 - Fire.

[travelingtarot]

TAROT THE WEEK!!!

Weekly Psychic Forecasts Every Monday Morning To Help Guide You Through Your Week!

Week Of July 30th – Aug 5th 2018

Card: Ace of Wands (R)

Quick Analysis: When the Ace of Wands is in the reversed position it usually means something is holding us back from starting fresh, starting anew.  We have a goal in mind.  We see the starting line just ahead.  But for some reason we can’t seem to step up to the starting line.  Because of that our dreams, plans, goals and aspirations for ourselves keep getting pushed away.

And the most frustrating thing of all is the starting line has not moved at all.  It’s still right there where it’s always been.  It’s we who have moved away.  Through reasoning, some legitimate some not, we have slowly inched ourselves further and further away from what we want.

We’re busy.  I get it.  We must take care of our partners, our immediate families and sometimes our extended families.  We must get our kids to school and then to the million and one extracurricular activities they have before and after school.  Then we must make sure they’re doing their homework and try our best to help them with it and the various school projects they have going on.

Then we have to check in with our partners and make sure they’re still breathing.  If we’re wise, we take out quality time each week to spend just with them.  But then that requires planning and doing.  We have to make sure the passion for not just our families stays alive, but the passion between our partners and ourselves as well.

Our parents aren’t getting any younger.  And while they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, you see a day not too far away where they will be leaning on you more and more.  In fact, in small subtle ways that leaning in has already begun.

Then our friends, associates, colleagues, and communities all require our attention to a certain degree.

We swear we will make time for ourselves and our dreams.  We swear next week, next month, next year will be our time.  But next week, month and year never do come, do they?  We only have right now because right now is the only thing promised to us.  And even if there was a next week, month or year what are we doing now to carve out time for ourselves?  I’ve heard it said, “Luck is preparation meets opportunity.”  What are we doing to prepare ourselves for the opportunity at hand?  Like I said, the starting line has not moved one inch.  What are we doing to prepare ourselves right this minute for when we finally step up to that starting line?

It’s so important to not forget self amongst the million and one things we’re called to do in any given day.  We simply must take time for ourselves.  Even if it’s 20 minutes a day, we must force ourselves to put ourselves first for those precious 20 minutes.  Yes, for most of us that goes against our very nature to put ourselves first.  Even for 20 minutes.  But if we don’t, we’ll never be prepared once we finally make the choice to step up to the starting line.

In-Depth Analysis: Let’s talk about fear.  Specifically, the fear of success.  Yes, the fear of success is actually a real thing.  The fear of success can be a WAY harder concept for us to wrap our heads around because we’re always talking about the fear of failure.  But the fear of success affects people in as profound a way as any of our other fears, including failure.  So what is the fear of success?  Let’s get into it:

The straight forward answer to that question is when you are so afraid of success you’ll do anything not to attain it.  For most of us that seems incredibly counterintuitive.  Especially in the western world where it seems our whole identity is hinged upon how successful we are.  (And how young and beautiful we are, but that’s another story.)  In fact, how successful we are, at least in the Western world, is a rote topic of conversation.  Think about it.  The last time you were in a setting where you’re being introduced to brand new people, how often were you asked what you do for a living?  And once you said what you do, did it not lead to more easy conversation-like questioning about the specifics of what you do?  It happens all the time.  

(Side note: In my weird little mind I think it would be HILARIOUS if the next time someone asks “What do you do for a living?” to answer “I live off the tax-paying dollars of other hardworking people.” Or “I am PHENOMENAL in bed.  So much so my boyfriend/girlfriend pays my way through life.  I get to stay home, look pretty and fuck like a champion!”  Or “I’m a panhandler.  You can find me selling fruit every day on the exit 121 off-ramp.  Stop by!  I’ll give you a deal on half-rotten tomatoes!”  That would be SO FUNNY!!!  Of course, I don’t have the balls to pull that off in public, but I bet you do!  Enough with the shenanigans!  Back to this week’s lesson.)

And we are constantly bombarded with images of successful people in all media.  Rarely do you see people in television or print ads that are unsuccessful.  Rarely do you see people who are down on their luck and can’t catch a break.  And if you do, by the end of the commercial, tv show or movie, they’ve found the “secret sauce” to success and are wildly successful.  It seems we as Westerners are all about finding that “secret sauce” to success and then ball out of control for the rest of our lives.  To fear success seems out of the ordinary to us.

Therefore, if that’s true, if the fear of success is so foreign to the minds of most westerners, is it really all that commonplace?  Well in my research for this blog I found it to be MUCH more commonplace than I could have imagined.  Just a quick Google search on "fear of success" and article after article and page after page of information about it is at our fingertips.  Clearly, it's a problem that a lot of people have to contend with.

So what are the warning signs you may be experiencing the fear of success?  Well a few include:

 You don’t complete your projects (this could be at work or at home). 

 You talk about what you are going to do more than what you actually do. 

 You work furiously on several projects at once, not really focusing deeply on any one of them. 

 You still have exactly the same things on your vision board that were there five years ago. 

 You procrastinate.

 You second-guess yourself often. 

 Distraction is your middle name. 

 You don’t think your work is ever quite good enough. 

 You’re on the verge of ‘success’ and things start going really wrong.

Do any of these things apply to you?

In my research I found a man by the name of Professor Frank Manuel who studied the fear of success.  Professor Manuel suggested the term “Jonah complex” - named for the character Jonah from the Bible -  for people who have a fear of success.  If you don’t know the story of Jonah, you can find it in its entirety in the book of – wait for it! – Jonah.  At only 4 chapters long it’s one of the shorter books in the Bible.  If you’ve never read it, I encourage you to do so.  It’s a fascinating character study.  And if you have read it, reacquaint yourself with it.  It’s a really fascinating story.  Only a few Bible chapters long.  And it’s a good read.  So find it and read it and draw your own conclusions about it. 

Anyway, Professor Manuel’s colleague Abraham Maslow came up with the etymology of the word.  In short he stated: “The Jonah complex is the fear of success which prevents self-actualization, or the realization of one's potential.  It is the fear of one's own greatness, the evasion of one's destiny, or the avoidance of exercising one's talents.  Just as the fear of achieving a personal worst can motivate personal growth, the fear of achieving a personal best can also hinder achievement,”

There is another layer to the fear of success. Many of us have been conditioned to believe that the road to success involves risks such as "getting one's hopes up" - which threatens to lead to disappointment. And many of us-especially if we've been subject to verbal abuse-have been told we were losers our whole lives, in one way or another. We have internalized that feedback and feel that we don't deserve success.

There are probably a lot of deeper layers underneath the two I mentioned.  I encourage us all to look deep inside ourselves.  And if the fear of success is holding us back I encourage us to find out the underlying reasons why.  Because only in doing the work to figure out the core reasons behind that fear of success will we be able to then do the work necessary to fix the problem and move forward.  The Ace of Wands is waiting for us.  That starting line is right there where it’s always been.  I will leave you with this famous quote from the incomparable Marianne Williamson:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.  We are all meant to shine, as children do.  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.  And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” 

Bottom Line: Fear is a powerful emotion.  It was given us as a tool for action.  The misuse of fear is to become paralyzed by it.  I’ve often heard it said courage is being scared shitless but doing it anyway.  It’s tough to unpack the reasons why we are afraid.  It’s a hard journey to peel back the layers within our psyche to get to the root of our problems.  I’m not gonna lie, it’s hard work.  But we are SO worth the trouble!  We are worth the time and energy, blood sweat and tears we must expend to shed those things within us that are no longer serving us.  Imagine a life without fear that holds us back from the good stuff!  Imagine valuing ourselves and what we have to offer this world enough to be bold, be strong, to be scared shitless but having the self-worth that we do it anyway.  If we can imagine ourselves being that type of person, we can do it.  There’s nothing our mind can imagine that we can’t make happen.  I encourage us to take the steps necessary to rid ourselves of the fears that are holding us back.  You can thank me later.

Have a FANTASTIC week, everybody!

Be Blessed.

Song Of The Week: Zach Williams “Fear Is A Liar” 

For more information and to book a psychic reading with me, click HERE 

For more information on the card used for this week’s reading click HERE  

[hubbellreviews]

USA Today published an article this morning that peaked my interest. An article that I will link at the bottom of this post. It was a poll that inquired amongst a diverse group of Americans of how they felt about America. The poll split the audience into three categories; Liberal, Democrat, and Independent, after asking them two interesting questions.

The USA Today poll results via USA Today

  As you can expect to see, the results find that Republicans are more cheery about the state of America while their political counterpart, the Democrats feel the opposite. Independents had a troubling time it seems to conclude either or, and that to me is a sign of healthy thinking.

  I occasionally see on social media a comment along the lines of “why does it have to be political?” I figure that this would be one of those cases, and so be it. I thought the poll was interesting but perhaps it was concentrated too particular on politics. There comes a time when, perhaps, the world will become too thwarted by identity politics that no progress will be made. But we are humans, and life is too enigmatic. We utilize metaphors, common vernacular, stereotypes, and assumption to alleviate some of the complexities of life; and specifically, the troubles caused by the communities we live in.

  In that regard, the communities we live in might give us a transparent look into the psyche of Americans. We all have our social circles; the social media community, our family, friends and the like. We might not be able to solve everything in one sweep, but I thought it would be interesting to inquire amongst the people I know, and perhaps even the people my colleagues know more than I.

  I did not intend to go too in depth on any particular subject but was curious if there was some sort of correlation between our upbringings and our perspectives on the current state of America. I did not direct the answers politically nor towards my particular bias.

  It is not often I look towards people to understand a problem. I have the proclivity for reading a book, a movie, a show to find the solutions. I think I am inclined to find it an easier journey because art soothes me. I have a penchant for the artists who can carry a reader on the wheels of deep themes and motifs that chronicle the inarticulate parts of life. If I am curious about love and the tragedies thereof, I can read the works of Fitzgerald. If I want to understand the complexities of social psychology through short stories that are almost prophetic and before their time, I can read Herman Melville’s work. If these don’t work, I typically introspect and I have found this process does not work as effectively as I’ve encountered more mature problems, questions, and achievements.

  I began my journey with someone I probably feel most comfortable around. I was intrigued by the possibility that he might oppose some of my views.

Cameron and his mother via Lynn Peters’ Facebook

Cameron Peters, a rather close friend of mine since middle school, although more so in our high school years, finds America to be divided. He adumbrated our political climate as something like a scenario of “you are either with us or against us.” He believes this can be attributed, at least partly, to social media; “a political leader on the left or right can tweet out a certain platform and the ‘rest of us’ usually agree(s) with and run with it no matter the side,” he said.

  According to Peters though, America has its silver linings even amidst the divided political atmosphere, extant and very much growing even with our understanding of the situation. He believes there are freedoms in America.

  “I describe the best of America being the freedoms that we have to not only live the way that we choose but also to have discussions about things like this that would be taboo in many countries,” he said.  

  As bad as I believe Trump is I believe our political structures will always be greater than any individual or group- we will bounce back like we always do and I think things will definitely get better starting with these midterms. But that’s what’s great about America in my opinion; if you don’t like something we always have a voice and a vote guaranteed to us,” Peters said.

  Peters, when asked of his upbringing, expressed his expectations that I would be surprised by some details. He said he was granted many freedoms growing up, save a few punishments by way of a belt or a paddle.

  “I never had bedtimes, curfews, or any of that other stuff because they knew I had the personality that I wouldn’t do anything too crazy anyway,” Peters said.

  My friend continued, expressing his “very” liberal upbringing, even though his mother and father were stark in contrast politically. He also added this, in accordance with the political points he was making;

  “Also I think it’s worth noting that I never talked politics with my dad or any other family member for the first 17 or 18 years of my life or so,” Peters said.

  In regards to religion, his upbringing consisted of Christian values yet never settled in a particular church.  His family’s evanescent behavior when it comes to picking a church, has come with some guilt. He hasn’t been to church in some time though, and in regards to that, he has this to say:

  “Personally I haven’t been to Church since I left Elevation which I feel bad about but I still read the Bible and pray daily so it’s still very important to me, personally,” Peters concluded.

  My friend has always brought to the table interesting points. He has a mind to do so, and if he is not in the gregarious mood, he would always have the attentiveness to care for another person’s views. I think that he, much like myself, thinks the world consists of perspective. We, of course, are vexed by that fact, because we want to focus on an issue at hand and live in the moment. I think we should live in the moment, but the world has perhaps lost a sense of what defines a moment. The political climate is too vitriolic, too black and white to define progress.

  I, like my friend, was instructed to live by Christian values as a young boy. I too also had that transient Christian lifestyle; the “church hoppers,” as the community calls us. I think that my Christian values gave me a grounding of right from wrong but my life has gone beyond the religious ties which feel more like indoctrination than a healthy community. I am therefore against organized religion but am in favor of the morals and independence in taking ownership of our responsibilities Christianity and perhaps others, teaches its followers. Please do not take this as a protest against your beliefs, and heed this instead; whatever is satiable, or gives you happiness please continue that course, unless it endangers others.

  I think though, our religion has a say in our perspective of politics and specifically the state of America as it is currently. I also think that the free space for youthful adventures, whatever they may be, granted for Cameron as a youth a chance to ground himself. I think this contributes to his vision of the world.

  In regards to the dearth of political discussion between his father and himself growing up, I have a similar experience. I think it would be interesting to go back and see what courses my perspective on this current state of America would be if I had to discover and discuss politics earlier. I think a discussion with the ones we love, in any sort, is conducive to a mature view of the world and yourself.

  I have just recently begun to discuss politics with my family, and especially my dad. My father and I, are in the same boat as my friend and his father politically. His Republican values were interesting to me, but we all hold our cards to our chest. Those cards might vary by individual but for my friend and me, it was politics. It was a charitable discussion. I disagreed with his points during some moments but denied myself of hasty characterizations.

  I figured my father did not find me ignorant and gives me respect for my views, and I should follow suit. So I did, and have in the few discussions that have followed. It seems politics is a touchy subject that is a ticking bomb for many. If we separate this stigma from the truth that political discussion brings a potential for growth, even within the family, we could grow one individual, and perhaps even one family at a time.

  Although that was an interesting perspective by my friend, one perspective is never enough. The journey continues.

Vanessa Nodes and my mother during a trip to the mountains this Summer. Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

Vanessa Nodes, a friend of my mothers whose amiability has been expressed a few times to me. She has always seemed like a charitable person in my mother’s life, and in that regard, it makes sense that they are so close.

  Nodes sees America as a place of both diversity and opportunity, something analogous to the “Districts in Hunger Games,” as she goes on to expatiate saying; “So many who have a life of comfort while there is (a) struggle. It can be a chance for others to provide a place of safety for (a) family yet many are being killed because of our own stupidity.”

  Nodes thinks that America is troubling itself over things that can be changed. She believes that America has lost a sense of perspective and pride.

  “There is a loss of pride about our country and that’s because so many are looking at why their life is unfair. It reminds me of a box sitting on a broken chair. The chair is America. The box is so full it’s about to topple but the chair is going to break anyway. Things have shifted and the largest problem we face is mental illness. It’s the root of every issue,” Nodes said.

  Even though Nodes believes our country is spirited with freedoms and opportunity, we aren’t taking advantage of them. The best of America is simply being obfuscated by our own doings; we are not seeing enough of the poor to appreciate the rich lives we could live. “Many can’t see this because they haven’t traveled to poor areas. This breeds entitlement and we as a society feel we are owed. It’s the land of freedom but has also become the land of ” rights” where people believe it is their right to things and beliefs and I don’t think that mindset existed 50 years ago,” Nodes said.

  There is a paradox at play, according to Nodes; a place of systems in place to keep us protected from loss is a country that is increasingly more impossible to live out the potential we have.

  “The best of America is the America that allows people to live, breathe, have choices, not worry about life because there will always be a system in place to help. The best of America comes from those before us that put things in place to have peace of mind….unemployment, food stamps, even Medicaid. It’s the system that allows us to not worry about our livelihood at 70 but the same system has made it impossible to live realistically,” Nodes said.

  I can’t help myself in thinking that this perspective of America is originated or at least enriched by her upbringing. I thought her words were trenchant and therefore felt no reason why I should synthesize any of it, as it would be a shame for an audience to be blind to her whole story.

  “My upbringing, (was) a blend of immigrant culture and Born and raised Northeastern American small town culture. I remember being very aware in the 80s my parent’s relationship was taboo. Especially in History classes, learning about protests and understanding my background and culture was root to that and vital to that became something I carried and was almost ashamed. My dad worked so hard to provide us the white picket fence, a good school, a good life but there is always this stigma. People talking and stopping mid-sentence when my parents were together. This made me very aware of how fortunate I was as an American and how lucky my dad was. He told me the story of his coming to America off the Naval ship. He was hosed down by American Soldiers. Like an animal. He being military himself ( he wasn’t part of the Viet Cong/ communist regime but the democratic military in Vietnam) it was a hard thing to process. Understanding he was in a place with so much opportunity but these are his first impressions. Nonetheless, my dad was proud to be here, blessed and always talked about America like it was the land that provided him with so much. Our home listened to the news daily, they were voters and I grew up hearing about all the good that America has to offer. This has a lot to do with the fact that most of my dads family was left behind in a poor Country. I was raised to be proud to be who I was, proud to be American and just like it was a land of opportunity for my dad it should be for others,” Nodes said.

  My mother, someone who has exercised her emotional capacities and mental fortitude through the tribulations life has lent her this year, remembers her father who has recently passed. In response to the answers expressed by her friend Vanessa Nodes:

  “She makes some amazing points, many I agree with. Her childhood was completely different than mine. Pop worked his ass off as he grew up poor to provide stability, opportunity, and experience for myself and my siblings,” my mother said over text message,” my mother said.  

  It will take me awhile to wrap my head around these points but it seems the world is a myriad of perspectives that can either choose to avoid or listen to. I think that I can do heaps more from listening than interrupting the progress that we all want to see.

  I have had an interesting Summer that began with the death of my grandfather. His dog waned and eventually was put down just a few weeks ago. Even though these were insurmountably tall mountains of inscrutable fear and confusion, the troubles began much earlier for my family when a family member committed suicide and sent shockwaves just a year ago.

My cousin Chris Kellison, who ended his life a year ago is pictured here via his Facebook. I have vague memories of Chris but the best impressions I can gather of Chris’s legacy is from his family who feels his absence. He was and forever will be definitely loved. 

My grandmother sits many moments during this Summer on the couch. I am spending the Summer with her but she is accompanied by many more visitors than I. She has been visited by guilt, happiness, depression, heartache. The mercurial fight of emotions continues as the memories cycle within her mind. She has many moments where she remains reticent, entrapped in her own prison of the past. I love her very much and it is terribly troubling to see the world seem so dour to someone. What I have learned from this journey through “the state of America,” and the experience with my grandmother is to listen. During his final years on this planet, my grandfather had settled his world in the unstable grounds of his own head. He listened to the depressed psyche frolicking within. I wish and wish even more every day that I had taken advantage of the time I had on this Earth with him. I did not listen enough to his words and the moments with him.

My grandmother on the far left. Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

My grandmother and grandfather, “Mimi and Pops.” Image via Marissa Hubbell’s Facebook

Perhaps it is time we all turn our ears and attention to the small to fix the big. I can listen to my grandmother as she deals with her own world of depression. I can deal with my the responsibilities that involve my work, and do it to my best ability. I can listen to my mother and father. I can give an ear to all my brothers. I can keep in contact with the people who care for me. We do not win by avoiding the problems but listening to everyone at the table and doing our part, however small or terrifyingly large.

My grandfather with his cherished dog “Lexi.” Image via Suzanne Johnson’s Facebook

  USA Today link: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2018/07/02/poll-proud-american-july-4th-but-pride-america-less-so/747954002/

Featured image via Vox.com

America is slipping, or is it? A look into what people (whom I know) think and what I can gather from it. USA Today published an article this morning that peaked my interest. An article that I will link at the bottom of this post.

[ilegnangeli]

Random May Thought #1

I think I may have forgotten how to properly write an entry on Tumblr. Much features have changed since I last posted here. If it weren’t for Instagram’s connect to Tumblr feature, I wouldn’t have updated this blog in years. Last I posted was a picture of my penmanship in Mandarin. I was still a student in China back then. And well now, I am back to the mothership.

Two years ago, COVID-19 didn’t exist. Oh wait, it did, they just hadn’t named it yet or they haven’t discovered it yet (I actually remember they used to call it nCoV). Two years ago, I was still lying in my bed in my spacious dorm room probably wondering why time flew so fast. Two years ago, I was a completely different person. I had plans two years later, you know. Plans that got soiled. I didn’t think I would still be here. I should be experiencing spring elsewhere and yet I’m basking in the scorching heat of summer in the Republic of the Philippines. Not that I’m complaining. Alright, fine, I am.

Life has been pretty tough lately. I think I wrote the same thing in one of my book reviews in Goodreads. After reading that book by Paul Kalanithi, I became more aware of how finite life is. I’ve always loved books that sorta ended in tragedies (maybe it’s the masochist in me lmao). But reading a memoir of someone who suffered a similar fate to those fictional characters I’ve read before, reading through his personal struggle made me think about how life—at the end of it all—is truly fragile.

I also read through my old entries in here. I laughed at some. I smiled at some. I sorta became sad after reading some entries. But I’m glad I wrote. Now, I’m feeling like continuing this thing I do often when I’m overwhelmed by life: writing. There’s a sense of bittersweetness to reading your old diary or journal entries for the world to see. Two nights ago, I dug through my old notebooks and read some of my written entries in there. Ten, nine, eight years ago versions of me who loved writing and sharing her thoughts on pages of now worn-out notebooks. Again, I’m glad I wrote.

Writing is probably something I’m not really best at but I’m good at. And suffice to say, I enjoy it. I love writing and it’s probably going to be the end of me. Funny how going back home, here in the mountains of Rizal, transforms me into a sentimental freak. The life in the city is probably the most ideal, future-focused lifestyle but the old soul in me will always go back and try to rekindle the sad and happy memories of the past.

Right now, I’m sat at the end of my bed. With a laptop. Typing these random thoughts. I see my piano on the left. I see my bookshelves right in front of me. And I see my luggage, to my right, that I haven’t used since I got back from China (I didn’t use this for my trip to Japan, I used a smaller one lmao).

I leafed through the pages of my old planner. It was the planner I used for my final year in university. I saw this “Dream Board” that I ever so creatively put together using cutouts from magazines, stickers, and sticky notes. I wrote there that I would make films, music, and literature. Funny how those “dreams” became reality. One by one. I also remember listing down the places I’d always wanted to visit in that planner. I remember writing all the countries that I would, one day, visit. And by some weird miracle, I’ve ticked off so many of those places. Well, except Amsterdam (because damn, the Netherlands is so far away). But don’t worry self, we’ll get there. Eventually. Lmao.

My dream board was extended to the next page where I listed down so many things that I would save up for. Teenage me would be proud of herself because ten years later, she has owned that John Green book collection (she now even has at least three versions of each book John Green has published, I know that’s ridiculous but please stop judging me lol), she has also owned two MacBooks (an Air in 2015 and a Pro in 2020), she has bought a digital piano (God, I srsly am in love with this piano, teenage me would cry out of joy I swear), and she has travelled to a lot of her dream destinations and countries. Teenage me would be so proud of who she has become. I seriously sighed as I typed that last line.

Ten years. Feels like an entire lifetime ago. I didn’t think life would be this fast-paced. I mean, thanks technology but boohoo because here I am, somehow struggling, asking myself every single day, hour, minute why adulting has to be this difficult. I sorta blame my teenage self because, she wished for this moment. She wished to fast-forward to my yuppy self. But then again, who am I to complain, THAT WAS ME ten years ago. Bitch, you did not. Lmao.

Earlier this afternoon, it’s nighttime as I type this, I spoke with one of my co-workers. We haven’t known each other that very long. But it feels like we’ve known each other forever. She’s a Libra, just like me. She’s a 92-liner, too. Oh the joy! And she’s a psych major, I envy her. Sometimes I still wonder why I didn’t take that path in university. Accountancy was shit and as much as I loved my Sintang Paaralan, I just didn’t want to be there anymore for personal reasons. You’d know, if you ever met me in person, I’ll tell you. Wow, am I really that good at moving on? Anyway, being a communication major is and was a great experience. I hate competitions but I joined so many competitions in that field and lost some but you gotta win some, right? So I did. Thank you for the wonderful experiences, Piyu.

Whoa, I didn’t think I’d be writing this long. But I’m not done yet. So as I was saying, I spoke with her. She isn’t just a colleague to me now but more like a best friend. I never thought I would meet someone my age who spoke the same language as me before her. I’m a nerd. If that isn’t already obvious. And if being caught by our director talking about Sigmund Freud and Maria Montessori isn’t enough proof, then I guess let’s talk about global warming, greenhouse effect, and the melting polar caps. I like talking about ideas, phenomenas, and books. Crucify me! #ReasonsWhyImStillSingle

I’d been praying about something recently. And I only got that clarity when I finally spoke to her about it. We’ve been on this topic for about a month now. And occasionally we like to make fun of this topic. But I guess, when something isn’t really meant for you, God will make a way for it to not, you know, find its way to you. Thank you, LORD.

She told me so many things that made me realize that the person I like right now probably has his reasons why he’s not making the first move. And I understood that. She insisted that my feelings were valid and it was okay for me to feel those things—to think those things. But oh my goodness, I told her, this person is so lucky. Like I swear to God. Because I don’t really “like” guys that often. I don’t feel easily attracted to anyone. So it is by some miracle that I ended up liking this particular human sub-specie (bro, you should feel privileged, too bad you won’t be able to read this). Anyway, It was so clear to me. And I had to move on. Immediately. But what’s weird about it is that I just took a nap. And when I woke up from that nap this afternoon I felt nothing. Like that feeling expired almost immediately. It completely dissipated. So ridiculous, right? I’ve harbored feelings for this person for some time now (it hasn’t been that long to be honest) and I’m just over that feeling now. In an instant, too. I don’t know why. It’s probably one of my talents.

Wow, I really do move on fast. Don’t I? Am I cruel (to myself) that way?

So I had decided to busy myself with work. Plan about my graduate studies. And hope for the best. But for now, I’ll enjoy the rest of my leave from work. I sighed. Again. As I wrote that. My head hurts. I don’t know why. But it does. And I almost typed that in Korean.

On another topic, I’m thinking about compiling all of my literary works in some way. I also feel like commissioning my niece and my older brother to illustrate some of my poems for me. I’ve actually thought about this like a year ago amidst the pandemic. But the lazy ass in me just kept postponing. And I blame myself for procrastinating because all my “plans” haven’t come to fruition. But I’ll get my shit together. Eventually. I need to make this happen. At least before I expire. Lmao.

P.S. I’m tired. I actually stayed up late last night. Or should I say earlier this morning. I video called one of my ex-colleagues. It was also a really nice chat. But I’m not used to staying up late anymore. I’ve burned tons of midnight oil in university. NEVER AGAIN. I’m sleepy to be honest.

P.P.S. Tomorrow’s my elder sister’s birthday. I’m going to post ancient pictures of her on my stories.

[hurricane-jenn]

Who Says You Can’t Go Back- Chapter 3

A few days late, but here is chapter 3! Thanks for all of you support and positive feedback.

Chapter 1 2

“Will you two please stop bickering by my bedside, you’re acting like an old married couple.”

Two sets of eyes whipped over to the hospital bed beside them.

“Megan,” Owen breathed.

Teddy shot up and raced to Megan’s side.

“What a welcome back,” Megan rasped, words getting caught in her throat. “I finally wake up and am greeted with the two of you fighting. Man, something never change!”

Owen and Teddy exchanged shocked looks, both surprised how quickly Megan had become herself again.

Before either of them could reply to her the door to Megan's room opened.

“Amelia!” Owen exclaimed surprised to see her.

“Hey I brought dinner, but I think you've got bigger things going right now,” Amelia said awkwardly. “I'll come back later.”

“Well don't leave on my account,” Megan quipped. She thrust her hand in Amelia’s direction. “I'm Megan.”

“Uhh hi,” Amelia said, unsure what to make of Owen’s newly awakened sister.

Owen jumped into her aid, “This is my, uhh… my Amelia.” All of a sudden he didn't know how to introduce Amelia. Yes she had been amazing and stood by his side throughout this whole thing, but they hadn't talked, were they really okay?

Owen’s uncertainty to introduce her has his wife snapped something in Amelia. She suddenly felt the need to prove her connection to Owen. Crossing the room Amelia set the bag of food on the table and stood behind a still seated Owen with her hands on his shoulders. “What Owen means to say is I’m his wife, Amelia,” she said smiling. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

Owen reached up and grabbed her hand in his own squeezing it. They still had so much to discuss, but she was here with him now.

“Wife!?” Megan exclaimed. “The closed off and broody Owen Hunt finally settled down, I’m shocked.”

Owen and Amelia both averted their eyes at that statement knowing how true it was, for both of them. Megan sensed that she had hit a sore subject so she directed her attention to Teddy. “What about you Ted? Got some hot man stashed away somewhere?”

Teddy went pale at that question, she had not been ready to talk about this, and she sure didn’t expect Megan to bring it up. In fact she had been sure her friend wouldn’t be in a state to chat about these things for quite awhile. She was still trying to process the fact that one second her friend was unconscious, and the next she was awake and chatting pleasantly like the past 10 years hadn’t happened. Teddy didn’t know how to answer Megan’s question so instead she turned her attention to caring for her friend.

“Megan, you just woke up, you shouldn’t be worrying about me. You must be exhausted.” Teddy skillfully changed the subject bringing all attention back to Megan. “I should probably let your doctor know you’re awake. I’ll be right back.” And with that Teddy left the room before anyone could ask her another question.

“What’s up with her? Was it something I said?” Megan joked.

Owen’s face remained grim and his eyes continued to track the same spot on the floor he had been looking at for hours.

Amelia sensed there was something Owen wasn’t mentioning, she moved to take Teddy’s recently vacated chair and urged him to look at her. “Owen, what’s going on, are you okay? I know this is all a lot to take in, but I’m here.”

He nodded at her. He tried to find the right words to say but he didn’t know where to begin. So much time had passed since he had seen both Megan and Teddy, so much they had both missed, and so much he had never told Amelia about. There were so many things that needed to be said, but somehow the worst possible thing he could have said tumbled out of his mouth.

“She didn’t know about Derek.”

“What?” Amelia replied, shocked Owen would bring up her brother now.

“Teddy, she didn’t know. When she found out I married Derek’s sister she asked if Derek is okay with us. Is, present tense. No one told her. Or more she didn’t care to know.”

“Okay,” Amelia replied still not following. “What does my dead brother have to do with this? Teddy knew Derek? And no one told her he died?”

“That’s just it. I’m sure someone did try to tell her. I’m sure Arizona tried to call, or Callie, hell maybe even Webber, but she probably never answered.”

Owen was met by two sets of confused eyes. Amelia was having trouble following where he was going with this, and Megan, for her part, really had no idea what any of them were talking about, but was trying her best to follow.

“After Henry died, Teddy moved to Germany. She cut ties with all of us, we all tried to stay in touch, but every phone call and email went unanswered. I haven’t spoken to her in almost five years.”

“Who’s Henry?” Megan’s voice surprised Owen. He had almost forgotten Megan was there.

For the next hour Owen explained to Amelia and Megan about Teddy’s relationship with Henry. Megan was heartbroken to learn about her friend’s tragedy. Owen also filled Megan in on his life over the past ten years. He let it all out; his relationship with Beth, moving to Seattle, his marriage to Cristina, PTSD, meeting Amelia. He left out some details, like Amelia and his problems, and some of the more ugly things like his infidelity with Cristina. He also left out the fact that his old best friend, and Megan’s fiance, Nathan now lived in Seattle and worked at the same hospital. Finally Owen and Amelia decided that Megan had probably had enough for one day, and left the room to let her sleep.

After leaving Megan’s room, Teddy wandered around the hospital aimlessly. There was too much for her to process. Derek was dead, Owen married his sister, and what the heck had Owen said about Arizona’s leg? And then Megan had to go and ask her about her love life. She knew that she had been a terrible friend lately. She had shut out everyone in her life, too focused on her own grief to even think about theirs. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how selfish she was. She knew about the plane crash. Though neither Owen or she knew about it when he fired her, in the time it took her to finish up with her patients and clean out her locker, the hospital had been already buzzing about it. She knew her friends and colleagues were on the plane, and still she left. She didn’t wait until she heard they were okay, she just packed her bags and ran.

How selfish could she have been? She assumed no one’s pain could be as great as hers, so she just put them all in a box. Her little Seattle family. And if she never opened the box, how could anything bad happen to them? There they stayed in her mind, frozen in time. Like no years had gone by, like no one had died, like no one had left, like no one had moved on. But that wasn’t how reality worked, she should have known that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Megan's doctor approaching her. “Chief Altman?”

That suddenly reminded her that she had said she was coming out to tell Megan’s doctor she was awake. She took that moment to fill him in on the fact that Megan was awake, and surprisingly seemed to be coherent. They discussed how she was probably still in shock, and the need for a psych consult. “That should be able to wait until she is moved to Seattle,” Doctor Levi said on the subject of the consult.

“What?” Teddy replied, shocked they were considering moving her already.

“Well I will need to do my own check up on her, but from what you have told me, I see no reason why we can’t transfer her as soon as possible. Maybe being in a familiar city might be good for her. I’ll just go call Grey Sloan and make sure they are ready for her.” And with that he walked away, leaving Teddy standing alone in the hallway.

She was not ready to go back to Seattle so soon. And now after what Owen had said, and her realizations about how selfish she had been, she didn’t know if she could go back. If her friends would even accept her back. She knew they would be heading there soon, probably in the morning, and she needed to have some sort of forgiveness before she could do so. Owen was too busy with Megan, it was not fair to ask for forgiveness when he was in this state. So she did the only other thing she could think to do. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the contacts until she found a number that she hadn’t called in almost five years. A number that had lit up her screen so many times but always went unanswered. Hands shaking she brought the phone up to her ear, unsure what to expect.

Owen and Amelia exited Megan’s room, suddenly feeling very awkward with each other. There was so much that needed to be said, and now that they were alone, there were no more reasons to avoid them.

“Look,” Amelia started. “I know we have so much to talk about, I know things can’t magically be okay again. But all this talk with Megan, about Teddy leaving, and about Derek, it all made me realize life’s too short. I know how cliche that is, I hate myself a little for saying that.” Owen let out a small chuckle, and she looked up to meet his eyes. Encouraged by the love and support she saw there, she continued. “I don’t want to run away from things and come back five years later to see how much I missed out on. I don’t want to wake up and find ten years have gone by and I missed out on spending time with loved ones. I don’t want you to die without knowing how much I love you. I’m not okay, I’m messed up. I mess everything up, you know this. But one time, back before this all went wrong, we agreed to mess some things up together, and I’ve realized that isn’t what I want anymore.”

Owen froze, she didn’t want to be with him, she had made her decision. He felt like punching a wall, but he also felt like breaking down and crying. Both sides of his personality conflicted inside of him. So instead of reacting, Owen fixed Amelia with an icy gaze and said, “I understand. Thank you for finally letting me know. At least now I won’t wonder if we still have a chance.” He turned away from her and began walking away down the hallway. It wasn’t until he was a few steps away that he finally let tears cloud his eyes.

Amelia stood there dumbfounded. How had that all just gone so wrong? She played back what she had just said. “Shit!” She realized she had said the curse out loud and not in her head. Owen stopped where he was, but did not turn around. “Owen, wait!” she exclaimed. “That didn’t come out right. That’s not what I meant. Shit I’m really screwing this up aren’t I?”

Owen finally turned around to meet her eyes and she could see the tears threatening to spill and it broke her heart that she was the reason for them. She made her way down the hall towards him, grabbing his hands in her own when she reached him. She didn’t know what say to fix what she had said, so she didn’t speak. Instead she reached up and grabbed his neck pulling him down to meet her lips. She tried to put it all into that kiss. All that she couldn’t say, all that she had fumbled to express. He gave the love right back, and finally for the first time in weeks she felt like they could get through this, like they were going to be okay. Amelia pulled away grinning at him, she opened her mouth to speak, there was still so much to say. But before she could, they heard alarms going off in a patient’s room and were pushed out of the way as doctors and nurses rushed by. They were running in the direction Owen and Amelia had just come from, all rushing straight into Megan’s room.

[max-sparrow]

No- I am not the Wizard of Oz

No- I Am Not the Wizard of Oz

I feel as if I am looking at a mirage and all I see is sand- I am in a desert- helpless- As I watch the wind hurl the sand in a violent storm- something that is not real- that will never be real- that only I see- I watch it dance in front of me. My life and its truths have become a burden that is not easy to carry…

My name is Robert and I pen this story as my clock turns 1:30 a.m. I am sitting in my study at home. Presently I am captivated by distressing images and discussions of a patient that move through my head- one realization- after- the other- Almost as if I was flipping through a photo album- or perhaps even sand through an hour glass. I believe that writing this story on paper and with ink- well- it is the only way I can alleviate the burden that rests on my shoulder. This writing will be buried away in a drawer where I keep many of my sorrows. When I die, I know they will find my countless cases of distress hidden away in my bottom drawer— seemingly in shame. Yet, my experiences in life are anything but shameful- I am human and as such- I feel sorrow like any other man. In the world of psychiatry, I seem to understand the troubles of patients, unlike my colleagues. They tend to patients all day and retire to their home where they lead a normal life. While I- I am plagued by inadequacy. Although I am a Psychiatrist and I am looked upon for guidance- the truth is I do not always have the answer- No- It is not easy, but I mask my timid emotions well. Behind my glasses rests a pair of light blue eyes that look at my patients with curiosity, but I am careful with my gaze- I want to appear unbiased- I want to appear caring- But most of all- I want to appear sane. Yet, I admit- I judge my patients- In fact, on occasions I find some hard to like- and I know I am anything but sane. Yet, I give the appearance that I have the upper-hand and that I am- so to speak- The Wizard of Oz. The problem is- as I stated previously- I am human. The story that I have to tell at 1:30 a.m. rips into my flesh like a tiger pouncing on a calf as it searches for its mother in the foliage. Yet, before I tell you this story- I want to share my experience in Medical School, and how I came to enter this hellish existence. It will help you understand my predicament.

I remember attending college and taking a course called, “Madness in Medicine.” It was about the history of psychiatry and while people took it with strides- I was blown away with pity and sorrow. The idea that people in mental distress could be treated in such ways- I felt waves of shock overcome my youthful mind. As class ended on the very last day- I sat in my chair while students filed out. The professor was in the front of the room as he collected his notes. I approached him. “How? How can people be treated this way? Why would people who clearly have mental health issues- a medical condition- how could people only afflict further turmoil upon them? What can be done?” I asked him. I was naive- keep in mind- I was just a college student in my third year. And as I uttered those words- it was clear how emotionally affected I was. I realized this, and yet, I do not think the professor picked up on it, and if he did- he probably took pity on me. The professor looked up at me and studied my face for several seconds. He shook his head back and forth as his eyes trailed into deep thought and then he refocused on me as he said something that would change my life forever. “People are cruel- people are naive- but to be honest with you- I have no idea why people act the way they do. Perhaps that sounds odd- given that I am a psychologist,” He paused and chuckled slightly before continuing, “That is a good question, and I am not sure there will ever be an answer to that question. There isn’t a solution. At least not yet.” The professor looked at me in distress. Several moments passed and he said, “I am glad you got something out of this class.” He left out the door with me standing silently and in deep thought. As I stood still and calculated the professor's remarks- I realized I could be the solution. I would go into the field of psychiatry. My heart beats with love for this field of science in a rhyme that was keen to my youth and Nativity. I would complete college with an M.D. in Psychiatry. Yes, dear readers— I thought I had a solution. I would treat patients with care and kindness. I would look into the depths of their mind and solve issues like no person before… Yet, as my career progressed, and years began to unfold- one after the other- Well, I realized that this was going to be a hard journey. No matter what I did- many patients would wander down a stray road as I realized that I could not change people. Kindness does not alter the core of an individual with a mental illness, and pharmaceuticals are only a band-aid. Yet, I still thought there was a solution out there- Even after many years of practice— I would never admit to the callous remarks that professor had stated many years ago. I was sure there was a solution. But- it was stressful, and time wore on me. After a long day— to unwind— I would take to secretly smoking cigars and drinking wine in the evening as I contemplated the entire course of my life… Now that you have a greater understanding of my life- I shall tell the story that has kept me awake all hours of the night for the previous two weeks. It is a story that has broken my philosophy on life, and yet worse- broken my understanding of humanity.

I was drawing doodles on my note pad as I usually did when patients were in my office. It was not an attempt to ignore them, but rather- it was my way of dealing with stress. Trust me- I was always listening. Yet, some people thought I was taking notes and if a patient was curious or paranoid about what I was doing in my notebook, I would smile widely and show them the doodles. My patients would usually laugh or were amused by this. As I sketched out a picture- I was listening to a 23-year-old African American. We were in my office on a locked-down psych ward. She was beautiful African American girl, and intelligent - in-fact, she was going to college. I listened to her as I drew in my notebook. The way she thought- the way she carried herself- her verbal expression- she had a place in this world. However, what placed this youthful and talented individual in my hospital was that she had threatened suicide. We spoke for a long time. I enjoyed spending time with many of my patients- I liked talking to them— this was my only chance to guide them back on a road that would deliver them to peace of mind. It was the only chance I had, and I truly thought I had helped her and guided her onto a path that would drive her to success. She had been in my hospital for a week, and I finally placed my notebook down and I asked her, “Are you ready to return to your house?” She nodded her head and I stared at her soft face, youthful lips, and long black hair. She was always very reserved when speaking her thoughts. “Do you have any more suicidal thoughts?” “No,” she said as her eyes averted from my own. She had recently given birth to a child with severe defects, and I knew she blamed herself, but she was strong— I thought she could lift herself up. Believe me— I really thought this, but nevertheless, I have a lot of remorse over what I did next. “Okay, I am going to discharge you,” I said as I studied her. She was not an easy person to read, but I suppose that is a lousy excuse…

As I got into my office the next morning, I went through my newspaper. I know everybody is crazy about reading the news on electronics— all the damn gadgets, but there was something about holding a newspaper- the creases, the crumpling of paper- the flipping through pages- I enjoyed it. However, this morning was not going to be enjoyable. I read the headline- “23-Year-Old Steps in Front of Car on Highway.” As I continued to read, I would realize that this 23-year-old was no other than the soft face African American that had left my psych ward. She had driven her car by the side of the interstate and jumped into the traffic. Dead. I recall placing the paper down and closing my eyes in distress. I took off my glasses and bit the end of them as I recoiled in distress. Honestly, I thought she was going to go back to her home— I thought she was ready. Yet, ultimately I had failed her. I kept my composure as long as could, but this was where I cracked and I whispered into the air, “There isn’t a solution.” Her child would grow in a very cold world— a world where his mother committed suicide because of him— because she thought it was her fault that her son had birth defects. As I thought about this I brought my fists down on the desk with rage. Picking up my coffee mug- I hurled it at the door. Truth is, “There isn’t a solution.” That professor was right and I was naive to think I could change the world. So naive.

[idealisticrealism]

Blindspot 2x13 recap

(Aka the one with Shepherd’s real name)

So much going on in this ep! Weller gets his Boss Pants on to stop some terrorist farmers, and then ends up kidnapped by the creepiest terrorist with the most boring name, our very own Shepherd AKA Ellen Briggs. Meanwhile Roman is barely present (sadly), Jane is adorable, Tasha is an awesome friend, Reade is a mess, and Patterson needs to be swaddled in blankets and protected at all costs.

A very delayed and slightly shorter review this week, but lbr I’m gonna have so many thoughts about the Rich ep that it’ll more than make up for it haha.

Lol I was wondering why I had no memory of this opening scene and then I remembered that my crappy livestream was having issues the other day and I didn't see anything before when Shepherd says goodbye to Kurt on the couch. Oh man I can't believe how much I missed? I'm LOVING this young rebel Kurt (we knew he snuck out to see Sarah, but dude he literally punched a guard for it?? And ughhh he's all angsty and has those intense blue eyes and okay legit who is this actor because I am getting young Wentworth Miller vibes from him and it is WORKING FOR ME. Aaaand then Shepherd shows up and ruins my buzz, bc of course she does. Also she is either a really old-looking 30yr old here or a very young looking 50yr old in present day haha. "To really protect people, you need power. This place is the first step in getting it" yeaaaahhhh mm-hmmm this place is totally a Sandstorm recruitment spot. I just know it. And aaaahhhhh that whole scene was a memory that he was recounting to Jane as they approached the school, I’m so happy about it. Also lol remember earlier in the season when like half a scene could go by before you even realised Jane was in the room? That's now happening to Nas instead (literally it seemed like Weller and Jane were alone given how focused they were on each other). Also damn, Archie is so tiny! What a lil munchkin. Also I love how much more positively he responds to things that Jane says vs things that Nas says? I appreciate that subtle difference there writers, thank you

Sigh Reade what is with this endless string of bad decisions? You clearly do not want this woman in your apartment right now, and you weren't planning on getting her number either. Dude. And you missed your daily morning workout with Zapata! Which I, for one, am delighted to learn is a thing that they do. And then awww Patterson calling them 'the three amigos'. She is too cute. I need this team to be together forever okay?? Like for their whole careers and then when they retire they can all go on cruises together and hang out and stuff. But anyway then she shows them the tattoo they'll be following-- some fake Genesis quote (the bible passage, not the band) that some farmer posted about, and when they ask how she found out about it, she hedges and says she doesn't want to bore them with the details. And Reade totally speaks my mind when he asks, "Since when???" haha. And then she says it's ‘too much math’?? Nope, uh-uh, something is wrong here. Patterson never misses an opportunity to get her math on. Is she deliberately being evasive or is she having difficulties with mental calculations etc? Seriously c’mon Tasha and Reade, don't just let that slide. But they head off, both saying 'let's move' at the same time because they're two lame-o’s that are just super lame and I love them

Lol the secretary lady gushing over Weller. And then Jane corrects her that he's the Assistant Director rather than an agent and hmmm who’s gushing now?? Aaaaahhhh Wifey is so proud of her man. Like just genuinely proud and amazed by him and ugh save me. And then hahaa "you both work for the FBI too?"-- *ex-terrorist/unpaid FBI asset and shady NSA agent look at each other*-- "Sure" haha. But wait a sec, is this the same boss guy? He kept that job for twenty years? Nice. And then omg 'Ellen Briggs'. I'm sorry, I think you just named a florist who lives in the suburbs with her husband and four kids and who crochets in her spare time, not a psychotic terrorist leader. I just... Ellen. It’s so... harmless-sounding?? And then the boss guy talks about how this army lady that occasionally came to give talks convinced him to keep one random student and then even paid that student's fees? Like how did that not see weird to him???  And then the moment the three of them leave the friendly reception lady calls Sandstorm??? Geez. It’s like I’ve always said, never trust people who smile too much. All those gleaming teeth gotta be hiding something. Also lol I feel like Nas (and even Jane) didn't really need to be there for that but I appreciate that Weller brought Jane with him at least. lbr Nas probably invited herself along bc being the unwanted third party is kinda her specialty

So now the team has a name to go on, but still don't seem to be having much luck. Damn military firewalls. But wait she was a Major General, and the Deputy Director (seems like the deputies are the important ones in this show) of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency? Is that a thing? I'mma google it. Huh it actually is a thing; the DTRA is "the official Combat Support Agency for countering weapons of mass destruction." So basically she was once part of the jedi order but then turned to the dark side. Well, I guess fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and we all know where hate leads... on a completely unrelated note, though, I am going to have "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General" stuck in my head for approximately the next 600 years. Thanks, show. But anyhow totally unsurpirsingly most of the info about Shepherd is redacted or missing so they still don't really know much more than they did before. But they do figure out that she's paying for the care of an old colleague/friend of hers so at least that gives them a place to start looking. And lol for the second time this morning someone has said let's go' and everyone immediately leaves.... except Patterson, who just chills and enjoys the cushy desk chair and climate control in her lab haha. 

Lol Zapata trying to suggest that Reade sees a psychologist. That's actually a really good idea, Reade. Though I will admit your last experience with a psych wasn't a great one...

Weller you recognised that game SO FAST. How old were you even in ‘88? Six? Though apparently this game was a super big deal, like it was a miracle win for them somehow? Idk enough about baseball history but could this game and the Dodgers be an allusion to something that happened with Shepherd/Sandstorm in 88? And then when Jane introduces herself as Remi (which must be weird for her) he says she's not on the Dodgers. Does it actually mean something?? And then after Nas is all "give up he's got dementia" Jane is the one that comes up with an idea, suggesting that Weller talk to him about baseball to maybe get through to him. She also totally unnecessarily touches his arm as she suggests it which I am appreciative of. I am so Jeller-starved that I’ll take whatever I can get lol. And then ughh the way she watches him as he talks to the old man. Nas sees it, she knows what's up... and ugh Jane looks so sad for him when the guy just says the line about Kurt playing for the mets (and that he was supposed to be a national but 'they would never allow that".) She wanted so badly for Weller to get some answers bc she knows how awful it is to not know something so huge about your life and ughhhhh my babies

So the team has reunited and Jeller are up to speed about the farmer with the plans for a big kaboom. And then suddenly they find him with facial recognition... in their own building. And loolll I love that the whole team immediately starts running-- except for Patterson, who is like "Running? Nah thanks. You guys got this" haha. Also seriously like did the team take the stairs? Or did they just sprint into the elevator and then all stand there awkwardly shuffling their feet while the elevator took them to the correct floor? Because this is a detail that is very important to me and I must know it. And then they catch the guy who is *gasp* an informant, but my main interest is that the team managed to gain two random agents on the way?? Like how did they get them? Were they in the elevator and just ran out with the crowd?? "Hey guys what's going on oh okay we’re running now??". And then wtf this dude is working for them??? Oh wait, no, he's working for Mr DoucheyFace, who is literally having him entrap private citizens, which both Weller and myself are pretty sure is a no-no. And which Weller yells at him about (mysteriously suddenly sans jacket) and takes over because he is the MAN IN CHARGE. And I dig it. 

So anyway aaaahhhh Jane/Roman is everything and ugh Roman is having confusing ~feels~ about Shepherd and I don’t like it. And come on lbr they would totally give the files on Shepherd to Roman. They need to know what he remembers and that would be one of the best ways to do it. But ugh of course Jane is scared that he's gonna remember the Zipping and ugh my babies

Speaking of babies, ugh Patterson is still not looking good (health-wise, not appearance-wise, because she always looks gorgeous). The now-jacketed Weller is picking up on it too, and ugh he's concerned about her and also knows she's keeping something from him. And then bam she drops the bomb that she used the info from Omaha and omg Weller's face is like sTOP BREAKING THE RULES EVERYBODY and then omg he strides angrily back to where Doucheyface is and the guy calls him 'sir' which pleases me bc he da boss and also bc the team doesn't have to call him sir bc they’re his squad hehe. And then Weller is really doing his taking charge thing (update: the jacket is gone again lol) and oooooh he's let the douche convince him to send the informant guy out into the field against his better judgement and oooohhhh he's gonna regret thiiiiisssss. Aaaaaand yep he does, bc psycho farmer lady sees right through the informant’s shit (never try to fool a pissed off woman) and dude they couldn’t have given him a vest?? I have a hard time believing Weller allowed him out there without a vest. And oooh now we’re having a bike chase kinda reminiscent of 2x01 while RUDE FARMER PEOPLE ARE SHOOTING AT MY BABIES. But natch our super squad take care of them, though meanwhile doucheyface ruins Weller’s mojo and the crazy lady gets away. Bummer.

So Nas clearly has no problem giving Roman all Shepherd’s files, contrary to what Jane was saying. And I love this spinning camera effect that captures Roman's confusing feelings as he looks at the photos and ugh he wants to know if Briggs is his last name too (thank god it’s not) and why she didn't legally adopt them and then ughhh he has 'warm' feelings towards the pictures of Shepherd and maybe THIS is what Jane was afraid of? Him forming an attachment to Shepherd?? But in any case ugh I just wanna hug my baby boy

Mmmm more Shouty Boss Weller. I love when he shouts at people I don't like. And I love that he has the power to fire this guy. But man things don't look great, the team can't find the lady anywhere..... and then their system reports a robbery which proves that Crazy farmer lady has a whole ton of explosive stuff (not a literal tonne. But a lot. idk) to blow something sky high. And so naturally Jeller, the A team and the perfect combination of Strong Trustworthy Justice Man and Caring Compassionate Understanding Lady, are the ones to go talk to the farmer guy they captured to try and learn what the target is. I mean who wouldn't want to spill their guts to these two. I'd say anything just in the hope that they’d think well of me. And clearly Farmer Joe feels the same, because he tells them where the target is, and they all race there-- Weller naturally again choosing Jane to stick with him. #Lifepartners. But then Patterson radios in--- a Big Truck is racing towards the building and is almost certainly carrying the explosives. So what does Weller do? Why, stand in the middle of the road, of course! Because you know he just hasn't been almost-killed in an explosion for like a couple of days and the poor dude's going through withrdawals. But of course he’s such a badass that even a speeding truck ain't gonna dare mess with him, so it ends up crashing instead (okay, the bullets he expertly put into its tyres might have had something to do with that) but tbh rn all I can think about is Jane watching this situation??? Like she must be so scared for Weller standing there unprotected (no one can convince me she wasn't going to try and tackle him out of the way if the truck had gotten any closer) but she would also trust in his judgement and his abilities and let's not lie here, she totally found that whole moment as hot as we did. But anyway fantasies aside, crazy lady jumps out of the truck with a detonator in hand and is immediately surrounded by the team. And then ugh everything that both Jane and Weller say to her reflects so much of the FBI vs Sandstorm/ good vs bad theme of this season and ughhh he walks right up to her and takes the detonator from her hand and dude you're not making it easy for me to focus on the Serious Life-Threatening Business rn bc I'm already back to thinking about how much Jane probably wants to shove you against a wall rn and gawd this is just a lot for me to handle rn

Oh but here's a proverbial bucket of cold water, in the form of Nas, coming into Weller's office and instantly killing the mood. Geez, lady, you're like that visitor that overstays their welcome and misses all the cues to leave. She’s also again playing the unwanted stand-in for Jane in this scene (legit this would have been a great scene between Jeller but instead is completely uninteresting and feels insincere, despite it being meant to be deep). Also she mentions something about Sandstorm and personal stuff causing him to lose sight of the ‘bigger picture’ and I am so sure that this is foreshadowing for when she's revealed to be some kind of sneaky traitor who was using them this whole time for her own shady gains. It's coming, I know it.

Ah, thankfully here's a much better duo. Weller is making Patterson stop using Omaha because using it is crossing the line into Bad Guy Zone and compromising themselves. And she gives in, but has a last bomb to drop-- Mayfair had spoken to the old guy in the nursing home back when he was in charge of the DC office, suggesting Weller be promoted/transferred to DC the year before. But Shepherd blocked it, ensuring that Weller was still with the NYO when Jane was found. Ooooooohhhh Weller, how deep in this web are you tangled? And why?? Dramaaaaa. Also as a sidenote, Patterson's voice has sounded off throughout this entire episode and I am so interested to know if Ashley just like has a cold atm or if she's deliberately altering her pitch as a subtle sign that ~something is amiss~. I mean she's a voice actor so this is literally her jam...

Naw and another pair that I enjoy so much more than any that includes Nas! Tasha gives Reade some gentle ribbing about their gym date, but in true Zapata fashion, is genuinely caring beneath the jokey exterior. And she tries to support him with his possible 'new relationship' and tells him not to get in his own way. Which we all know he's not going to listen to bc he's Reade and he's a freakin disaster

Weller in the nursing home is actually super cute. And then he's trying to get info from the old guy about why Shepherd (I can’t call her Ellen, it's too weird) wanted him to stay in NYC. And the guy says "You're the face of the franchise, her star player", but okay WHY. Why is he their Chosen One???? And what the hell is the Truman Protocol?? Is it a nod to the movie The Truman Show, where the guy has been watched his whole life, playing a role his whole life, without even knowing?? And then shit, they go to his room to talk privately (bad idea) and BAM a wild Shepherd appears?? Plus a dude who must be wearing super bulky coat to have been able to sneak that GIANT GUN into a nursing home???

Aaaaaahhhh Jane shows up at Roman's cell and is taking about what they'll have for dinner and it sounds like they do this all the time which is THE CUTEST THING. But then Roman's too focused on Shepherd and her light terrorism so it kinda puts a dampener on things. Just like when he questions her about whether she's being used by the FBI, and ughhhh I love that she is so sure when she says she helps them because she wants to (because they're her faaaamily ughh). But ugh I hope his anti-FBI-ness and insistence that they control her doesn't make her waver in her belief of her place in the team.... though lbr she already made her choice about where her loyalties lie and I can't see her ever turning away from the team. Not from them, and definitely not from Weller. Maybe not even if Roman's life depended on it, though I really hope we never have to find out for sure.

Sigh okay I have to say I just really don't like Nikki. They've given us nothing likable about her, and instead have her not only insult Reade's good qualities but also encourage his bad ones. He was already starting to spiral and she's just puling him down faster and ughhhh it’s frustatinggggg

And okay I have such conflicting feelings about Oliver. On one hand he's a bit of a cutie pie and he's genuinely sweet to Jane (ngl I 'aawwwed' a lil bit at the handholding scene), but on the other hand I know that he would just never be able to be able to accept Jane's true self and her past in the way that Weller does, so it's clear they have no real future. Plus, given my ridiculous prejudice against my own accent (and the cousin-accent of New Zealanders) every time he speaks it legit drives me insaaaane. I just need him to not talk, ever. Sigh but anyhow definite points to him for making Jane smile. Shame that his comeback basically means he's probably gonna die or at least meet with some unpleasant circumstances in the near future....

Naw Zapata showing up in Patterson's lab to make sure she's okay and that she's eating and ughhhhhh Tasha Zapata is SUCH A GOOD FRIEND. And ugh I love her so much for trying, even though it's only making Patterson flip out more. And seriously the voice thing is getting even more obvious and actually I just noticed Patterson also looks like she's wearing less eye makeup than usual and I feel like this is about to--- aaaaaaand she's on the floor. Noooooo. Sigh my baby, I hate seeing bad things happening to youuuu

And nooo my other baby. I'm sorry Weller honey I actually kinda forgot that Shepherd had you lol. And uuhhhh wtf is this 'powerful medicine' she used to get the old demented guy lucid? Bc lbr lady if you have something that can reverse Alzheimers, then seriously give up on the Sandstorm crusade and just patent that shit, you'll be a billionaire in no time! But anyhows Shepherd is being her usual super creepy self and is gushing over Weller, who is apparently 'saving the country' with her. Somehow. And so we know that she and Remi came up with the tattoo plan together, but she was the one that involved Weller in it. And she seems to fully expect that he'll help 'when the time comes' which definitely indicates that she knows something that we don’t. And wooooowwww she's kneeling in front of him legit stroking his thighs and GAWD WOMAN YOU CREEP ME OUT. Why must she be SO STROKEY all the time??? And then she cuddles with the old dude (who she apparently cared about) while she stabs him in the chest, before telling Weller that he'll have no choice but to join her, and that in another life, they could have been family. WHAT. THE. FUCK. Does she mean literally, like she was somehow connected to someone in his family-- ie, had been with his dad or something? Or is she being more poetic?? I literally cannot get a read on her, mostly bc she's all over the freakin place!!! She's a mess. But ugh anyhow Weller's gonna cut himself free soon and ugh I just wanna know who he calls first bc I obviously want for him to call Jane bc she's his ~person~ and ugh I need her to race to where he is and be so relieved when he's okay and ugh I just need some more Jeller huggin' alright???

Anyway sorry for the short(er) review-- tbh I really enjoyed this ep as I was watching it live, but I realised later that a big part of the enjoyment was the anticipation for another great Jeller moment... which never happened. I mean I get why, bc the ep had to reintroduce Oliver and also have Weller abducted, so there was hardly a chance to end this ep with another awesome Jeller moment like we got last time. But STILL. We all know I rate ep quality by the quality of the Jeller it contains, so to me this ended up just being a ‘good’ ep rather than an amazing one. But hey, Rich makes any ep and instant fave, so bring on ep 14!!!