#this is barely even a theory honestly it’s just my Literature Brain acting up

[gnomeniche]

if two of the dhmis guys’ names are (hypothetically) david and jason then would the third one also be a common modern name that comes from some kind of mythical/legendary figure

[life-rewritten]

The doomed futility of Sisyphus; Sisyphus The Myth Kdrama Analysis

Before we start this analysis, I did have a lot of help getting to understand what's happening in this show especially the logical rules of time travelling, due to this website bitchesoverdrama, we have a great community over there we talk about shows and comment our thoughts and the way packmule sees things in shows is so inspiring. So even though this is my theory it is based of her own theories and opinions on what's going on in the show. 

Sisyphus The Myth Ep 1-4

Let's talk about Sisyphus. The Korean drama that everyone seems to have something to say, mostly negative because they don't understand where the storyline is going, and because of that frustration of lack of understanding, they go to insults, and annoyance, and lack of patience to wait it out, they call the show ridiculous with it's terrible directing and also outlandish action scenes and unreasonable logic. The first mistake these people made is going into this show, thinking it was a logical sci-fi. There is another show where people have mistaken a mystery fantasy plot (as the writers announced it was, in an interview)  for sci-fi because it includes scientific rules sometimes and discusses time travel. Do you the know the show? It's The king's Eternal Monarch. So because logical people have it out for writers using specific sci-fi plotlines to write a romantic mystery show; that doesn't actually base its self on the realism or logic of the science they expected, people call these stories dumb; they say it's ridiculous and should not have been done. And it's hard for people like me who completely gets bored at the idea of a sci-fi show, I'm not logical. Let's first get that out of the way; I won't be calculating mass, and time, and velocity and use maths and science as a base for my analysis.  In fact, I usually run away from anything to do with sci-fi. But there's something funny about this, that with TKEM and now Sisyphus, mystery fantasies that do incorporate a piece of the sci-fi genre, actually make me enjoy them. 

Perhaps it could be argued that it's because I'm not smart and I like ridiculous things, I only want romance with shitty writing, and maybe that's it. However, I disagree, what I see in these stories are a different sort of basis; instead of relying on scientific logic rules, or whatever is seen as appropriate in a sci-fi plotline, they use meta; they use other things to make their world mean something. For TKEM, it was literature and fairytales, and stories, and for Sisyphus actually named after the  Greek myth, it's the same. In order to understand where a show is going when it uses a literature base, you have to first understand the source. What is the source saying? Why have they chosen this source to tell this story? But people clock out and don't want to wait, aren't connected to the characters enough to care, or just plain detest anything that doesn't follow a specific set of logical rules, and that's fine; you're allowed to like or want whatever you want to see on TV, it's your experience, but  for the others who do want a show that is maybe deeper, interesting, laced with a good plot and love story that is sad, futile and also romantic, then I would suggest Sisyphus being for you. This isn't going to have a lot of support, and I already know this. Still, I do want to write about this show and explain why I'm into it because it has everything I like, a mysterious plot, fantasy/sci-fi elements, and a romance that is very angsty but also very deep. The show's director maybe not be as great as the others before him, but I think he's doing an okay job showcasing what he wants from the story. So yes, Sisyphus has so many scientific questions to ponder about, but I want to get rid of all that and focus on the bare bones of the story. How does this myth connect to this story, and why does it foreshadow how good this plot could be? This doesn't mean, this plot will be great because it all depends on the directing and writing skills, I'm not familiar with their work and with the director. I don't particularly care a lot about what he offers. But I know how he makes shows, I know the themes he's into and from this myth analysis, this show is definitely up his alley. So for now, I'll keep enjoying it and analysing, but it doesn't mean I think it's the best thing ever to exist in this genre. Okay, now we have that out of the way; let's learn about Greek Mythology, shall we? 

An Introduction to a Genius

So who or what is Sisyphus? When I hear about Sisyphus, I think about the guy who tried to run away from d*ath but ended up being captured by Zeus for even trying to think he could do that. He ends up basically with this painful task of constantly rolling a boulder uphill. In a way, it's depressing AF, and it really holds this theme of futility and punishment. So it's interesting to see we have a character who is being punished for his brains and his cunningness to evade situations and save people, and it seems unfair that he gets this ending. It also makes me worry about Tae Sul, our main character in Sisyphus the myth, who begins the first episode evading d*ath by saving tons of people on a plane and then also wanting to revert a specific family member's demise that he feels guilty about. Taesul is just as smart and cunning as Sisyphus; he uses his skills, his brain and his talent to help people. So it's a bit disturbing because already from looking at him, it's unfortunate he's destined for a futile, sad ending; he's destined to be punished by powers be, for being an obstacle. And will you have it, the whole plot revolves around him being chased by people who want to get rid of him because it seems he's found a way to prevent d*ath and prolong the lifespan of the people he loves. What a surprise. Honestly, it's that simple; the boulder represents him having to take on weight constantly because of his actions and live with that repeatedly being chased by the thing he tried to avoid. The episodes scream that it's because he tried to bring back his brother from the past, but the thing is, there's more to the myth of Sisyphus than just this outline. So before we can truly understand the big picture and where this plot is, we need to truly go back and understand the real story of Sisyphus, the myth. 

Let's go back. So yes, Sisyphus is cunning, smart, witty, he has many moments since he's apparently a king, royal full of influence and power. He really cares about protecting people, including himself, yet the way people see him is actually harmful. They see him as childish, sneaky, heartless and a player. Surprise. The thing is, this is precisely how we are introduced to Taesul. He's a big flirt, a big child who complains and acts immaturely with his company. He's someone of influence, in fact, significant impact; so much money and prominence, and yet he doesn't seem like he cares about anything. So yes, you can understand why people have a wrong perspective of our Sisyphus. However, he doesn't want to care about anything because he's self-destructive, broken by the guilt of letting pride, money and greed stop him from preventing his brother from being eliminated.

 And it's something that lives with him every day; in fact, he's dependent on self-medication to get rid of the haunting figment of his brother. Now he says he doesn't care about people and others, but we know he's lying; he's clearly someone who's destined to protect, he does care even when he acts nonchalant, for example, saving a whole plane from crashing and hurting people, especially when he has said he is waiting and has been excited to leave the world, if he were selfish he would have let the plane crash, he didn't care as he said, but something in him still went back and provided the solution to help. 

So this is really vital, this idea of Sisyphus being misunderstood by people in a way he's actually with a saviour complex, he protects, and he saves people with what he has yet even his actions are deemed evil or selfish or a natural disaster for them. So again, it's obvious the plot is based on whatever he has done to create this apocalyptic future we see in the show that is being misunderstood. The people who are out to get him are seeing him and hating him when in reality, it's obvious this was meant to better the world/ also himself because as much as Sisyphus has a saviour complex, it doesn't mean he's selfless; in fact, he's a very selfish character, he'll put his own needs above the world at times. This is where Taesul will make a mistake. Because for him, his only goal is to bring back his brother, even when warned he shouldn't, even when there are hints that him unveiling the truth will lead to suffering and the end of the world as we know it, it's still all he wants to do. Is it just that though? I'm getting ahead of my self I still need to break down this myth. 

The Problem with Cunningness

So Sisyphus is someone with cunningness, knowledgeable and powerful, so when the first time he sees an opportunity to get rid of this thing we call mortality for people (not just him), he's punished when the gods aren't happy. Especially the god of war himself, Ares, who is frustrated at Sisyphus for chaining de*ath,  Ares is upset; he is annoyed that Sisyphus is getting in his way, making people lose the meaning of war, what's the fun of war if no one is being removed? Which is interesting because we also find out in Sisyphus that Taesul's actions and mistakes and his own demise will lead to a war that will end everything and some organisation isn't happy they were at the losing end of that war. They hated the result of Taesul being alive to either cause or prevent that war. So they're sending people from the future who look creepy as hell and also like don't have limbs because they're rushing the process of uploading or just using a fake uploader with more errors (not yet sure which), but they are here with one goal; to get rid of Taesul, like Ares. Wow.

 So Sisyphus punishment is actually that he is eliminated and sent to the underworld. Wait, so it wasn't the boulder that was his first punishment; his first punishment was to be chased by De*ath (I'm going to find another name for this we're gonna say D  because of this stupid flagging system in Tumblr) just like Taesul is suffering in the present time in our show. Oh, okay, so where do we get the other punishment, the one Sisyphus is really known for. This is where the plot of this show unfolds, surprisingly. Because there's another character connected in this Sisyphean myth, Seohae, meaning Sisyphus had a wife. So when Sisyphus ends up, you know, getting axed, he still has a few tricks up his sleeves; he asks his wife to do something for him, not to bury him or respect his body wishes appropriately, in fact, to drop him naked in the middle of the city (that's obviously a parallel to how people are being downloaded into the past in the show visually). So because he did this, he's able to trick Hades and Persephone into letting them allow him to run back to the past to his wife to have a go at her, to tell her she didn't respect his wishes. And oh boy, oh boy, does he end up again evading D. Genius, in fact, he ends up going back to his wife and staying a very long time because it was his plan all along; he wasn't back to the underworld; they were all chumps who allowed his escape. So Sisyphus is a funny character, he chooses to go back, and he again avoids D; however, when he finally reaches his old age, he has to face everyone, including the gods; Zeus isn't happy with Sis; he says it's a bit of an insult really for what he has done, so Zeus basically punishes him with that godforsaken boulder. 

Okay, hold, that's a lot to unpack. So what happened here is we're still seeing Taesul as Sisyphus in this second part of the myth, right? So he's going to find a way to avoid Sigma always and survive, but we know he doesn't. His story ends truly when his demise leads to the war if we're following a timeline mentioned by Seohae. So what is this second punishment about a boulder?  Because this is the most crucial plot for every Sisyphus myth. 

Our Surprise Sisyphus

Well, look at it carefully;

 it has themes of running back to the past to criticise a lover,

 it has themes of trying to prevent a lovers demise, 

it has themes of futility and repetitive actions, it has themes of being punished by a powerful source,

 it also has themes of someone who is rebellious and doesn't want to let D win. 

It's Seohae. And that blew my mind. We don't have one Sisyphus in the storyline; we have two. The show's title is Sisyphus the myth because the love of these two is actually the role of Sisyphus; let me explain. 

The first acquaintance with D is Taesul's story he's the one who invents a way to chain D and then is punished by being taken by D. The person who ends up wanting him to save himself is not himself in this show; it's Seohae her whole goal, her whole reason to want to go back is also to evade D for her mother (she mentions this in episode 1 to her father) but also to stop Taesul from being eliminated, to stop the war but more of all because she loves him, she's married to him, they're meant to be lovers. However, she doesn't have all her memories of everything. All she knows is that another version of her self has told her she needs to go back in time to warn Taesul, so he doesn't make this mistake, so they live happily together after marriage, and the war doesn't happen. 

Ohhh, that's what's happening. So who's Zeus, you ask? It's the ICB, the Control Borough, that has to find balance and makes things right with all of the time travellers; they're looking for Seohae because she's illegal; she's not meant to be doing what she is doing. Just like Zeus has to intervene to punish Sis. So alright, we're getting there, we have Taesul, he's going to do something to avoid D, but unfortunately, he is going to be found by D because someone does not want him to succeed. Okay, however, we have Seohae; she is in love with Taesul and is determined to keep him safe. Hence, she finds a way to go back and warn him to prevent D from finding him; she essentially tricks the system to find and save the world, but also selfishly to go live a happy life with the guy she loves. So what's this about this boulder then?

The boulder; A heavy frustrating punishment

 Well, unfortunately for our two characters, it's pretty apparent Taesul always ends up being eliminated #, and it always leads to the war that destroyed earth. But also we know Seohae gets shot; during her wedding, she also is fated to suffer and be eliminated if she goes back to save Taesul. Her father warns her repeatedly about this. She doesn't listen. The clue here is the boulder keeps on being pushed; Sisyphus is in a constant struggle of the futility of his punishment; he can't escape; he is tied to this boulder to keep trying to push it to a destination, but all he does is repeatedly keep pushing the boulder infinitely.

Oh, wait, a show about time travel, a show about the futility of trying to change the past, a show where the future versions can go back with regret and meet their past versions which make the same mistakes over and over again, no matter how much Seohae tries to stop Taesul from opening the stupid suitcase that starts everything, he always opens it, it's useless, they're in a time loop. Each time he always creates the uploader, and each time the war happens, Seohae returns to stop him from being eliminated each time they always fail, and Seohae somehow leaves her diary telling her next self to do the same. It's an eternal loop. She's stuck being punished for carrying that weight, constantly relive that story over and over again, to try and save Taesul; her destination is always the start again. Like Sisyphus with the boulder. 

The only thing is why does she not remember or why is she acting like she doesn't remember, because it's different versions of her, it's a paradox, she always goes to find her next self, and she leaves that diary starting this all over again, her next self has now instructions always telling her to find Taesul, to save him and when she's going to be eliminated. (her wedding probably). Each time she goes back to save Taesul, she falls in love with him, they get closer to the wedding, and she gets shot. For Taesul, we see that the wedding leads to him making an ultimate decision, remember Sisyphus evades D twice. Seohae does this all the time to escape D for her mum and Taesul.

Meanwhile, Taesul only does this to avoid it for Tae san, his brother. Who is the second person? It's Seohae. They're Sisyphus for each other, surprise, Seohae ends up becoming Sisyphus always to try to prevent Taesul's demise and the war, but Taesul has a choice on the wedding day to choose either Seohae's life, or the world, what do you think he chooses? That's why I think he continually invents the uploader because of her, to save her, more than anything else. He always chooses futilely to save her above the results of the war. In doing so, he always ends up being the one who gets eliminated, but she always ends up determined to prevent that situation. 

Her dad was indeed right; she shouldn't meet with him; they both are in this repetitive loop, and the world is always a victim because of it. See how Sisyphus can try to be good and protective but still be seen as evil, a disaster, and a curse. So, in the end, both Seohae and Taesul are Sisyphus; both are punished every time. One by Taesul continually being caught and two by Seohae constantly losing her memories and forcing her self to repeat the journey again, to push that boulder over and over again. But with TKEM, we entered a timeline where change could happen after being stuck in an infinite loop forever, and that's interesting. With this show with how many times it seems Seohae has always written more instructions each time she travels, could we be in the timeline where things may become different? 

Sisyphus; A chance to change the past futilely

It seems like it more things are being revealed to them, that might be new information, Jung apologising and realising his mistake in probably being the one who takes Seohae's life in the wedding because he thinks she's evil (lied to by ICB) might be a new occurrence in this new timeline. There's more information slowly being added each time we do this time loop; the question is, where are we now? As I said, I don't know the science or calculations needed to understand the time travel aspect of the show, but that is important. 

So we have a star crossed romance that is being torn between the claws of D, two people punished continuously for just wanting to be with each other and putting the world at risk. We've seen what the results of Taesul's actions lead to; it leads to an apocalypse, a disaster and more; we've seen his stubbornness and determination not to let that stop him. All he wants is to evade D for his loved ones. But Seohae also becomes like that; she's also stubborn, also determined just like him to protect her loved ones despite both being advised not to do anything more, not to shake fate, not to mess around with time and life. Still, they never listen; they've put themselves in a time loop where they're being punished, and their punishment leads them again to do the same thing because of their desperate need to be together. 

It's heartbreaking; however, there's a slight hope for a happy ending, one because this director does stories of couples torn apart by forces and things they can't control (Master's sun, Dr Strange etc...) being tied to each other's downfall and growth, being pulled away no matter how desperate they want each other. Their need to be with each other puts others at harm, but he always ends it in a happy ending. Sisyphus actually gets his goal a bit, not how he wants it, but he gets to live a long life with the woman he loves. However, it's after he lives that life; he goes back to being punished. So maybe this timeline Seohae may succeed and live the married life she wanted with Taesul (she does not know she loves him, she will fall for him repeatedly each time they do a loop, both of them always do); however, the sad truth is it was not her first version/authentic version that got to live that happy ever after,  it might be this version though who knows? Either way, her original (her first-ever version, always suffered and had to be the one to push that eternal boulder with no end, she didn't get to see her ending) but this one or another future version may do. Taesul also has a chance to have a happy ending because even though his story ends with the first part of Sisyphus, Sisyphus finds a way to get out of the underworld and go back to his wife, so again it's like yeah, his first version did get punished, did get eliminated, failed, but this version or a future version may get a chance to spend that time with this Seohae. 

Do you get me? It's not their original versions that get the happy ending, but it's still them that gets a chance to live old and have a happy life. So I'm hopeful, is what I'm trying to say. Thought that infinite loop of futility and failure to escape mistakes isn't a great sign. Let me know what you think about Sisyphus so far. Are you like me? Are you intrigued by this love story, and what are your theories? Let me know. 

[allexmussen]

I MADE AN O.C. AND I WANT HELP TO FINE TUNE IT

World/Verse: Harry Potter Name: Malcom Limerick Age: depends on what year Gender: Male Height: 6"4 Orientation: pansexual and flirty Personality: very accepting to people, tries to be cheerful and goofy, can be very serious if need be, has a deep dislike of bullies and is quick to anger with them, tries to hide most things from friends and the like because is afraid they'll dislike them. Background: growing up Malcom had been often picked on for his height and unnatural personality. He would much rather avoid confrontation with people due to the bullying, gained the mental thought that he dint fit in and was stupid dispite his grades. He didnt exactly fit the nerd type or the jockish type. He wasnt both or punk or super outgoing in his schools. By the time he was going into 4th grade Malcom had memorized random facts to annoy the bullies because, hey, maybe they'll go away when they realize he doesnt have anything left to give? Unfortunately nothing really helped. He found ways to distance himself mentally, focus on the few sports he did-swimming, baseball, and gymnastics-, and overall blocking people away. Mid way through 4th he figured out that mental blockage wasnt going to help. Eventually kids went from bullying and harrassment to ignoring him and making sure nobody would go near him. The teachers acted as if he was a prodigy, but that cant be true! He was practically failing! By the time 5th grade reared around he had 2 concussions from being an idiot and another from a car crash. His parents fought more and his dad drank more then most parents did. He decided he needed to up his nonchalance with his attitude. He smiled more, took to acting out and annoying people so people couldn't ignore him anymore, and he did everything to make friends and stay normal. He gave up on trying for better grades and become smart for once because no matter what he was a complete idiot! His A+s slowly became Bs then barely holding on to a C. About two months in his new grade and he found another outdated kid. His name was Levi. Levi-he wasnt a good friend. But he was someone to talk to. Their conversations went from random blabbering of scientific theories to how horror films could become real. It wasnt long into the friendship did Malcom realize Levi was scary. Levi went on little tangents of how to murder someone without anyone finding out. Everytime Malcom tried to veer the conversation another way Levi caught on and brought the murderous plots full throttle. But Levi was the only one to talk to him. Everyone else hated or ignored Mapcom so they NEEDED to be friends. And honestly? Malcom was afraid of being alone. His parents fought and he stayed in his room blocking the noises if the arguments of some over do of alcohol from dad or how to make up what happened with the new car wreck dad did while drunk. He had terrifying thoughts of just dying and it going away, heck he remembers curling up outside of the house because randomly he would remember some bully or his parents fighting and everything became too much! He needed a distraction and he found one I worrying about Levi. Halfway through 5th Malcom was sure he was depressed and had thought that he was an insomniac from only starting to sleep at 3-4 in the morning. Him and Levi didnt change much besides the murder and gore becoming more realistic. That is until lunch when Malcom and Levi sit down and Levi pulls out a slightly pointed wooden knife and tries to stab Malcom. Malcom starts to panic, expecting blood to pour and slowly die. But nothing more really happened except a dull throb from the new bruise. Thank God he had on a hoodie that stopped the sharp edge. We looked up at Levi in surprise after his brain fully processes. Levi starting eating lunch after muttering that it needed to be sharper or something. A teacher later found the knife in his pocket and monitored Levi a bit. Malcom had gained a new fear of his only friend. Besides being stabbed by his friend Malcom still had horrible issues. His new teacher seemed to grow a dislike for him. He did is essays late and yeah he k ow hes going to get chewed for it. But then his teacher signs him and about 5 other males on detention during lunch and brake periods. His mom got a note and she lectured him for a while. Dad found out and had a good yell. His grades got to an even B by the end of the month when detention would start. Kids found out about the detention and that got a whole new speel of "Loser Limerchick" and other such names. And dang it Levi freaked when he realized he wouldn't see Malcom as much. Levi even fought his way to the detention area to press real close and whisper thinly veiled threats. By the end of the year Malcom had gotten friends in detention. Aeden, Logan, Liam M, Nathen T, and Harriet. They formed the male rejects and banded together for almost everything. That was except for when Levi was involved. Levi scared them off when detention was over, Levi would chase them down and threaten them, heck Levi even made sure to harshly rip Malcom away from them and sit somewhere else. School ended and everything started falling. His report card was a few A-s, Bs, and C+s. Nothing too bad but "you have to try harder" and some words of you'll eventually do better. The Male Rejects became lost in the bustle of summer and Levi moved to Ohio-promising to keep in touch and meet up later. And so summer began. It was about his birthday- August 10th-when he recieved a letter. And dang it time to go to another school! Fresh start hopefully. He was sorted into Ravenclaw-which he found utterly preposterous because he was in no way smart- and settled in relatively nicely. When he met up with Hermione in a study group friendship became instantaneous when the started rapid firing how some of the complicated spells worked and how math and literature fit into spell work. A week into the friendship he met Ron Weasley who was slightly quick to assume and Harry Potter who was slightly brash but loyal. When they became friends he vowed to never brake his wide yet fake smiles and protect them with his entire life. Best keep the trauma boss in a rapid moving river then in front of his friends. Being around Harry atracted Draco Malfoy and that sent red flags everywhere. Malcom often got between the two and in some occasions Malfoy and Malcom had gotten into rapid fire insults and the occasional fist throw. Soon the Headmistress and Albus Dumbledore got him on detention and threatened his leave. He promised to both the teachers and his friends he wouldn't hit Draci again but still that wouldn't stop the constant rebounds Nalcom would make to an insult. And that my peeps is Malcom Y. Limerick of America and Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Sorcery.

[adapted-batteries]

It was weird, but nice, to only have one episode this week. “And the Disenchanted Forest” was pretty good, but left me wanting. It certainly wasn’t nice to have two scenes cut from the episode too (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see the ask I got sent here. Anyways, here’s my thoughts and rambles on the episode.

The staring..and not speaking...if it wasn’t such a dark topic I would’ve felt okay for laughing at it...I mean what an odd way to start an episode.

I really don’t like this whole ��can only be 1 Librarian thing” that’s carried over two episodes now...and probably will impact the rest of the season. Screw you Darrington Dare. I’m glad Eve is not agreeing with it, even though Flynn didn’t just leave because of that, and Jenkins is on the “Screw Darrington Dare” side too.

“What’s the deal with poop?” Okay but if we see Jenkins making tea and stuff, that means he probably eats food when he wants...so he should still poop? Or does his immortality magic just absorb everything??? I need answers.

What is Jenkins mouthing to them when Eve shuts the lits up from arguing about who should be the remaining librarian? Part of it looks like he’s trying to pop his ears, but the first bit definitely looked like he was saying something then mocking them.

“It doesn’t bother you that Flynn is gone?” “Even a little bit” WTF guys of course you know it’s bothering her to heck, and you arguing makes it worse...why would you even ask that? I think that’s part of why Eve gets all on “work and forget about Flynn flaking out” thing.

I’ve only been to camp once, but I’m so glad there was no team building crap or pranks...I really don’t like that stuff...just let me sit in the woods alone please, thanks. That being said, I like seeing Cassandra happy (she did boost the mood in the bus anyway). She did take it too far both only picking on Ezekiel and drugging him...like hun...no…Also Ezekiel says “I thought people were sent to places like this when they’ve done something wrong” and it makes me think he either got put in a boys home/ranch thing, or was threatened with it.

Now knowing that the dosa dude was trying to be better than Baird, every interaction with him now makes me laugh.

Do camps like this normally have a promotional presentation?

I really wish they gave Stone’s love interest (I can’t for the life of me remember her name) more depth...like journalist who gets thrown out for trying to submit stuff is a fairly common trope. I really wish she was actually a literature geek like him, or like something actually unique. And I really wish they got more time on screen together too. I wasn’t invested in her at all because I barely saw her, and she felt like a generic trope character. And that scene in the Library had no emotional weight cuz they freakin cut the kiss scene for some reason...like regardless the needed character depth, that at least would’ve made me a smidgen more invested. I loved seeing Stone with perpetual heart eyes basically, but it was overall a poor one episode relationship compared to the others.

I can’t handle Cassandra literally cackling when she got Ezekiel with the fake spider. But also that was the start of me getting annoyed with the pranks...Ezekiel wasn’t amused, was really unsettled enough to leave. Honestly with the running ptsd theory, no wonder Ezekiel was reacting so much. I’ve not had a bad prank experience myself, but anytime I watched something that had them, I always felt uncomfortable watching them, and the thought of both pranking someone or being pranked makes me uncomfortable too.

At first I was confused why people who put a motion detector up would leave the key under the mat, I mean it’s a really stupid move, but what if they were trying to lure someone (maybe Eve) into the cabin to get caught? But then again I also wonder if I’m giving them too much credit for that theory since they didn’t know people were going missing.

Why do all dosa agents say “department of statistical anomalies” the same way?

“They fired me because I wrote about the Library” okay but what if the Library keeps track of publications and stuff so nothing gets out, and that’s why she got fired? Or she just looked nutty to her editor. But also, how the heck did she get that much information...both with dosa and the Library...she “intercepted an internal communication”...they had the opportunity to make her a cool hacker or something.

I’m honestly surprised that Ezekiel didn’t get she drugged him right off the bat...he got suddenly tired, she was acting weird...both of those should’ve been big red flags to someone who was a world class thief and no doubt had experience with people being drugged or himself. I’m not mad at all for him being angry with her, I was angry with her, I hated Ezekiel being constantly pranked, and Cassandra apparently basing her hypothetical “normal life” on movies...even normal people don’t do that with movies.

For a good minute I thought the carrots and corn on their trays was candy corn cuz it looked like it on Ezekiel’s tray...I do know it’s not.

Okay Eve I know you’re stressed with being successful to compensate, but someone looking like they just about passed out, saying they heard something, is nowhere the same as “pining over a girl.” Like who gives a flip about the folder in his hand, the one Librarian to be as verbose as Flynn is suddenly not able to finish sentences and looks dazed, that’s not normal.

So Stone hears the voices (I assume the audience is the only one who hears what he’s hearing when he gets dragged back), and he hears them in English...does that mean Stone’s brain is like the universal translator from Star Trek that automatically starts learning and translating as soon as it hears something? I mean the tree couldn’t be speaking in English since Stone in the tree was all like “the tree language and English are very far apart.”

I love how they think Bender was masterminding the disappearances and he’s just like “i dunno what’s going on I just paid some government people to get the land for cheap sorry.” Also the dosa people being amazed/confused by Cassandra using her gift.

Stone took “communing with nature” to a whole new level. Honestly I hope the nature magic that’s been happening is gonna continue to be a theme, because I love it so dang much.

No wonder dosa gets into such a mess sometimes...they were totally gonna try to cut the tree down without even seeing why the tree was taking people...or like, you know, TALKING TO THE SENTIENT TREE.

Honestly the best thing about this episode was Stone getting Eve to get past blaming herself for Flynn leaving.

The trees being alive makes me think about Cabeswater from The Raven Cycle series.

Nothing like a glittery pine cone being a sacred seed to regrow the forest...honestly more ironic cuz they’re at a camp and I feel like glitter pine cones would be a camp thing. Okay also, what do they do with all the people the tree just returned? Like that poor conquistador is gonna be so confused...does dosa have a team to reintegrate people or send them back?

Man you can tell there should be more when it cuts from the people popping out of the trees to the aerial view and getting on the buses...literally could’ve found somewhere to slim down to do the kiss scene, it couldn’t have been that long…

I love how dosa is just cooperating completely and being the Library’s hand in the government basically.

God that weird back hug thing Stone does to her is so odd without having the kiss scene...like that’s such an intimate pose but that we see, there’s no reason for them to be that intimate.

As always, feel free to message me about the librarians!

[dee-brief]

How to be a terrible friend in a few easy steps: 1) Plan an angst-riddled fic for your friend’s birthday. 2) Get so flipping busy in life that said fic remains only 30% done and chilling on your computer as it slowly but surely becomes months after said friend’s actual birthday. 3) Ignore the really, really, really cool prompt fic you got graciously handed because you know you need to finish the birthday fic first before you can start on abovementioned really, really, really cool prompt fic. 4) Finally decide to take your own birthday as an excuse to ignore some RL things to finish said birthday fic. 5) Don’t actually even finish the fic on your birthday but take almost three weeks after it to ignore RL things to write. [5.5) Take so long the person you’re writing fic for actually writes YOU fic in the interim >__<]) Don’t write the birthday fic. Or the prompt fic. Instead, write snippets of an AU nobody but you knows about and that nobody cares about or wants to see.

[blows a streamer] Happy birthday, Sarah! At this point, it’s more an early-ish birthday present for next year than a very belated birthday present for this year. I swear, your actual birthday fic will be written. Someday.

Honestly, even if Camille hadn’t been around the moment Kirsten’s buzzer went off – obnoxious orange with a huge Feed Me! sticker on it, because ‘why not?’ was Camille’s motto – she would have known it was one of those days Kirsten was in an exceptionally bad mood, doing all in her power to contradict all the literature that stated her people were kind, empathetic beings. Whoever had written that literature obviously had one hell of a marketing degree: they knew to leave out the part that her people also embodied the term “hangry” like nobody else in the known universe.

“Are you seriously not going to talk to me because I took out the book you wanted from the library?” Kirsten shoved the buzzer back into her bag and whirled around, a wall of blonde hair and icy silence. “You know we’re roommates, right? You know the book will therefore be in your room for the next two weeks, right? Does it really matter whose name it’s under?” Kirsten continued to march. Camille continued to stride behind her, trying to resist rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in exasperation so she didn’t walk into anything or anybody as they ploughed down the hallways. “Kirsten…” Would strangling her roommate really be such a bad thing? There was certainly no shortage of replacement babysitting jobs. Too bad Camille was attached to this irritating, slightly wonky one. “I didn’t do it on purpose! Our PhDs are so similar it was bound to – Oh, sure, let the swing door close in my face. What is this – high school?” She sighed. “Look, I’ll even let you keep it late on my name. I’ll pay the damn fine. Or whatever will make you feel better for me ‘stealing’ the book you need for your literature review.”

This earned her a little glance over the shoulder, but nothing much more. For the love of Dracula rolled in a doormat – why did she like this insufferable blonde, again?

“Afternoon, Kirsten. Camille.” Ayo smiled up from the forms she was filling in, completely oblivious to the fact that Kirsten was acting like a child instead of a mature, put-together twenty-something who just happened to need some food. Camille almost wished she was allowed to act this irrational and moody from skipping a meal. Her childhood would have been damn interesting, if that had been the case. “Feeding time, Kirsten?”

“Yes,” Camille answered empathetically. “Holy hell, yes.”

“Don’t say that rather delightful oxymoron be heard by too many,” Ayo chuckled, flipping through her papers. “You’re in luck; one of yours is open right at this very second.” She scrawled something down. “Bed four.”

Kirsten thanked her shortly and started down the hallway of curtained-off beds. Camille sighed and sank into a waiting chair, pulling out her phone in anticipation of the boredom. But she hadn’t even loaded any of her new emails when Kirsten came striding back. One look at her friend’s face, and Camille straightened from her slouch – she didn’t need to have seen through Kirsten’s eyes to know who was waiting behind the curtain.

“Where’s Ayo? I want somebody else.”

“She walked off. Looked important.” Camille stood hesitantly and put a hand on Kirsten’s arm. “Hey. Talk to me. You seemed fine with him on Monday.”

“That wasn’t this,” Kirsten said, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders tense. “You know what happens when…” She twisted her hands. “I’m with Liam!” she snapped hotly.

Camille took a deep breath so her usual views on Kirsten’s boyfriend would not leave her mouth and make the situation tenser than it actually was. “Last time I checked, feeding off of somebody doesn’t count as cheating.” Kirsten looked at her with big, conflicted eyes, her expression saying what her words could not. “He’s a good guy,” Camille defended. “He would never do – ”

“Of course not. But I… but…”

“I can come with?”

Kirsten pulled a face. “It squicks you out, watching.”

“It’s not the best entertainment ever, no, but if you need me there to… mediate then… Hey, who knows; I might get a front-row seat even if I don’t come. You know flashes tend to happen when you’re stressed.”

“Yeah.” Kirsten cleared her throat, suddenly looking shy. “Yeah. Would you…? I mean…?”

“I’m the best wingwoman ever. And don’t you forget it. Go on. Pale And Ready To Bale is not a good look on you.”

Kirsten gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand, and Camille couldn’t bring herself to feel any irritation or exasperation at having to follow her friend to the fourth curtained-off bed. There was a gap in the curtains, and through it Camille saw the familiar unruly mop of brown curls. The rest of his face was, predictably, buried in his tablet, fingers swiping furiously as he held the screen too close to his face.

“Hell, Goodkin. Hasn’t anybody told the human world about bifocal contact lenses, yet?” Camille said, breezing her way into the cubical.

She laughed, then; not at his flailing jump of surprise, but at the way his face lit up with delight when he saw Camille and Kirsten. She’d thought, in the beginning, that it was just because one had to be somebody who found a very particular genre of things exciting and exhilarating in order to willingly volunteer to be a walking, talking buffet. She still mentally apologised, on occasion, for pegging him as somebody who was joyous to see them just because of what they could give him.

“Ah, hark, the arrival of sweet Melétē  and Mnḗmē.”

The dork probably even pronounced the names of the two muses in the correct Latin. “Does that make you the muse of song? You gonna sing our praises?” she teased back.

“Not after that I’m not: now I’m not amused,” Cameron grinned and then held up his hand for a high five.

Camille glared. “No. That was terrible. You deserve nothing for that crack.”

Cameron’s face fell into a puppydog pout for a moment before he focused on Kirsten. The expression turned so warm, Camille had to glance at the blonde to see what affect it was having on her.

“Evening, Stretch.”

“Technically, for us it’s mid-morning,” she deadpanned.

But Camille could see her resolve to be aloof and cool already cracking under his warmth. Neither Kirsten nor her, already pegged as ice queens by their peers since high school and earning more of said reputation as they mowed through college together, had been able to stand up to the passionate, nerdy genuineness that was Cameron Goodkin. The plan had been to go to the lab the Academy had set up for him and his other human scientists and only do the bare minimum for the study so that Maggie and Turner wouldn’t make their lives hell, making the lives of the humans hell in the process. They had, after all, enough problems to wade through without being the sudden labrats of a feeder who had gone in to have his memories wiped at the end of his year of service and had ended up producing enough notes and theories that they set him up, memories intact, in the unused sub-sub-sub-basement of the Academy.

They hadn’t expected to be wowed by his ‘little human science toys’, or by the theories he was slowly refining about Spirit magic. But the more they listened and watched and let themselves be part of the discoveries he was pioneering, the more they understood why people as ruthless and as dogged as Maggie and Turner had been won over by one scrawny, stubborn human in his mid-twenties.

A scrawny, stubborn human who wore geek Tshirts under his multitude of plaid shirts, Camille was reminded as he removed the plaid monstrosity from one arm. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if she could convince him to take it off all the way so she could bin it – he had a hundred others to replace it with, anyway – but then caught Kirsten’s eye, saw the unspoken message in the gaze, and dutifully turned to face the other way, pretending to be very busy on her phone. She could almost feel Cameron shooting her a curious look; she wasn’t actually allowed to be around when the feeding took place and had therefore never shown up with Kirsten before. But his attention only focused on her for a few moments.

Not that she could blame him – there were all sorts of reasons  a woman with razor-sharp fangs biting you on the arm was a lot more attention-grabbing than the back of somebody seemingly scrolling through Facebook.

She was glad, not for the first time, that slipping into Kirsten’s head naturally meant only that she saw what the blonde was seeing, but didn’t necessarily feel what Kirsten was feeling. It was weird enough having her view suddenly distorted – to suddenly be herself but looking through somebody else’s brain – without having emotions that weren’t hers shoved into her chest. Unfortunately, Cameron’s little machines sometimes had the latter effect. He was getting better at controlling it, but Camille could still remember very, very clearly the first time Kirsten went under and Camille was suddenly not only feeling weakened by Kirsten’s use of Spirit but was also feeling emotions that weren’t hers. They weren’t Kirsten’s, either, and being forced to feel a double whammy of fake emotions still invaded her dreams, sometimes. It had been intense; the foreign emotions had been stronger than her own, drowning out her panic and fear and dislike and making her almost react the same way Kirsten had when Cameron had pulled her out, gasping and disorientated.

It was a good thing weakness had kept her slumped in her chair; she wasn’t sure what anybody would have done if both her and Kirsten had grabbed Cameron roughly and kissed him passionately.

He had dismissed it as magic-science residue the one whole time he’d spoken about it, gently trying to hand Kirsten some of her pride and control back. But one didn’t simply forget. Especially not when the same not-boyfriend person you’d kissed was also under your mouth giving you the blood your entire body craved while he gasped in automatic reaction to the euphoria from your saliva. And, no, Camille couldn’t fault him for that little gasp; she’d been there. She understood.

So, as soon as Kirsten let go, Camille jumped in to be the diversion Kirsten had brought her along to be, calling his attention back to her by whatever means necessary so Kirsten could put her walls back together and pretend it was just another feeding with just another human, and that those not-hers emotions that Camille had also been forced to feel were the only reasons she’d kissed Cameron Goodkin. She diverted even as they both beat a hasty retreat, too fast for him to even get a word in edgeways until they were already closing the curtain.

“See you tomorrow morning! Err… evening?”

Kirsten took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Camille patted her on the shoulder in consolation.

***

Camille missed what happened to start the argument, as her entire concentration was being taken up by Linus excitedly babbling about the new toys they’d installed into the lab and were about to use. It seemed it didn’t matter how many times Camille told him that despite her brief upbringing in the human world, their worlds were now enough apart he was speaking a foreign language to her; Linus would insist on trying to impress her or engage her in the things that were exciting him every time he had a spare moment. Camille didn’t actually mind it, either; Linus was naïve in ways that were dear and amusing, and there was a genuineness and steadfastness to him that Camille felt drawn to. So much so that she’d wondered a few times whether the fact that Linus had made Cameron’s lieutenant even in the deepest dungeon of a vampire college was more telling of the likeness that connected the two scientists than of Linus’ curiosity, passion to pioneer the unknown and geek-streak that ran as wide as the Grand Canyon.

It was, unfortunately, that naivety and that grand chasm that also made him incredibly prone to putting his foot in it. And as much as he was a great guy most of the time, there were also times Camille had to remind herself that a dhampir blow could easily kill a human, so slapping him was not quite the way to go despite what her irritation was telling her.

“Linus,” she tried to interrupt, gritting her teeth to hold in the caustic, acid words she didn’t want to burn him with. “Look, I appreciate the grand tour of the nerd-dom but I – ”

His face disappeared as the now-familiar slight swooping sensation grabbed Camille behind her eyes and pulled. One blink later, and she was staring at Cameron’s face, level with hers for once. And that wasn’t the only difference; the usual spark and excitement were gone from his eyes and face, and he looked tense and wary and a little upset. Camille shook her head in an attempt to break away from Kirsten’s mind, succeeding a split second before Kirsten started yelling, filling Camille in on erupting argument anyway.

“What are you actually doing here?” Kirsten snapped, furiously. “And don’t give me the same old crap you spun Maggie. Why are you here doing this? What’s the outcome, Cameron? What’s the game plan? Or did you really just not outgrow fantasy so much you have to self-insert yourself into escapism like this?”

Linus whispered ouch behind Camille, but Cameron only flinched a little. “My intentions? They’re to make sure you don’t end up like virtually everybody else with your element, Kirsten. They’re to find a way – some way – to stop Spirit turning you insane. A way that doesn’t include dumping all of that darkness and insanity and negative life-force drainage on your bond-mate.”

“Hey, thanks for that bit, by the way,” Camille chirped loudly, hoping to break the intense stare-off. But neither of them looked at her. “The whole Mad Hatter vibe isn’t really my thing, you know? I have no idea about ravens or writing desks.”

“My job is to make sure you and Camille are safe,” Cameron continued, fingers flexing in and out of fists as he stared at Kirsten.

“By ‘keeping me safe’ you mean blocking my magic,” Kirsten accused.

“What? No, I – ”

“That’s what everybody else wanted. One little pill, and I can stop everything from happening to me. I can no longer be a danger to anybody. But I’ll have this thing inside me, forced back, that’s there but that isn’t allowed to breathe. That’s what you want to do to me.”

“Kirsten.” Cameron took a step forward and put his hands on her shoulders. She startled, but, to Camille’s surprise, did not fight her way out of his hold. Not that she would need to fight very hard; at her flinch, Cameron loosened his hold so much his fingers barely brushed against her. “I don’t want to supress your powers, okay? I’m not letting that pill anywhere near you unless it is literally that or your life. And I won’t let that scenario happen.” Kirsten stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before her mouth twisted.

“You do want to take away some of my ability, though. I heard you. You want to make sure I can no longer see ghosts.”

Cameron sighed and scrubbed at his face with one hand. “Cupcake, I…” His eyes searched hers for a long moment. “There’s no evidence the ghosts are real. Only you can see them. It could just be that what you think are real spirits back from the dead are actually just…”

“The start of insanity.” Her voice was cool, brittle and dangerous. “Just because you can’t see them –”

“I know,” Cameron interjected quickly. “I know, Stretch. Maybe it’s because I don’t have your magic. But… I’m not going to take that chance. I’m not going to ignore the possibility that the ghosts aren’t magic but are some sort of way the magic is trying to hurt you.” He was quiet for a long beat. “Even if that means working toward a world where you won’t be able to see your mom again.” She stepped back from his remaining hand on her shoulder, and Cameron let it fall limply to his side. Camille watched them watch each other for a long moment, noting how the whole lab was quiet and waiting. “Are we going to do this?”

Kirsten glanced at Camille, and the brunette gave her her best winning, confident, affectionate smile. “We’re going to do this. But.” She turned and half-glared at Cameron, fierce and unrelenting. “Promise me you will give as much weighting to the theory that the ghosts are real. Promise me you’ll let me try and see the dead instead of erring on the side of caution; promise you’ll take risks where my mom is concerned.”

“Yeah,” Cameron said, and his tone of voice alerted Camille at once to what had happened. “I promise. Of course.”

Kirsten turned and marched briskly toward Camille, pulling up her hair so it wouldn’t get in the way as she walked. Linus slunk off as she approached, and Camille crossed her arms and raised an accusing eyebrow at her best friend.

“What?” Kirsten asked.

“It holds a lot more weight when you’re not compelling the man to make the promise you want him to make,” Camille pointed out. “I mean, are you not usually the one going on at me about trust and shit?”

“I had to be sure,” Kirsten shrugged, but she wasn’t looking at Camille as she said it.

“One day he’ll realise you’re manipulating him. And somehow I don’t think he’ll like it very much.”

“He’ll have to learn to deal,” Kirsten said, stubbornly unrepentant.

Camille rolled her eyes but let it go, flopping in her usual seat for the experiment. To her joy she found the boys had finally listened to her suggestions and bought the good chocolate, and she started on it before Cameron had finished making all the necessary checks.

“That’s for stabilising your blood sugar afterwards,” Cameron said when he caught sight of her. His grin was pure exasperated fondness, and Camille saluted him with the chocolate bar.

“Giving it a head start,” she said around a full mouth, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, team, let’s glue her in and see – ”

“Glue her in?” Camille interrupted, incredulous eyebrow raised.

“Well, somebody objected rather loudly to the ‘welding’ metaphor last time,” he said, his gaze on Camille pointed.

“Yeah, well ‘gluing’ sounds just as stupid.”

“Knitting her in?” Linus suggested from his seat.

“What, am I being transformed into an old woman’s blanket?” Kirsten scoffed.

“Pinning her in,” somebody else called from the side of the lab.

“We’ve been over why that one will not happen,” Cameron shot back. “Guys, we’re wasting time arguing about something that doesn’t even – ”

“Folding her in?”

“That one’s not bad. Baking metaphor. What do you think, Cupcake?” A grin twitched at his mouth.

“I will end you,” Kirsten said, very calmly.

“Yeah, she’s still cookie dough. Not done baking yet.” It slipped out before Camille could think; before she could remember that perhaps other people in the room had watched enough vampire cult classics to get the reference. Cameron gave her the oddest look; a mixture of pride at her taking up the referencing torch, confusion about whether it was a relevant reference or just one made because of baking, and a surprised-aching-hope that it did apply to Kirsten; that she wasn’t as eternally unreachable as he thought. “Ugh.” She had to say something to cover up her slip. “Just use the comparatively not-awful one from last week.”

It worked; his face scrunched up as he thought back. “Stitch her in?”

“We’ll use the least gag-worthy while we find something better,” Camille agreed.

Cameron shrugged. “Stitching it is. Alright, everybody. Get ready – on my mark – ”

They’d run the simulation to map Kirsten’s powers and their effects enough times for Camille to no longer be caught off guard by the second-hand emotions and visions. So it didn’t take her long to realise that something was different, this time; something was wrong. It was like each of her eyes was pressed to a different peephole, and she was seeing two separate scenes unfolding while her brain struggled to keep up. On the one hand, there was the usual montage straight from Kirsten’s head into hers – flashes of Kirsten’s life, her father, the sister who had disappeared years ago. But she was also seeing faces that were jarringly familiar to her that Kirsten would never recognise. Kirsten had, after all, come after Camille’s parents had left without a word.

The pain of reliving her abandonment increased and decreased as her mind struggled to deal with two completely different flashbacks at the same time, dialling back enough that it was a distant sort of hurt and then slamming into her as fresh and gutting as it had been on the day they’d left her.

“Camille?”

Kirsten’s memories disappeared abruptly, and suddenly her own were given the spotlight. They slammed into her with such a force she lost whatever small grip on the reality of the lab around her she’d held on to. There were the Moroi, all looking at her scornfully like a piece of trash under a microscope, discussing in loud voices whether she was too tainted to be reformed into a proper guardian, given the way she’d been brought up in the human world. The feeling of being let in only because they were so desperate for dhampir clung to her like a scar that would twinge whenever somebody brushed up against it. There was Theo, pushing her harder and harder despite fatigue and injuries, all under the guise of making her better and stronger and worth something.

“What’s happening to - ?”

“Is that really all you’ve got, Millie? And yet they let you join the fancy place and not me. Maybe it’s cause most of the higher ups are dirty old men. Is that how you – “

“Cami-!”

“Millie, Millie, Millie! Get up!”

There was smoke and fire of younger years; her home was on fire, and she couldn’t get out. And that transformed to her lying on an expanse of nothing, staring at blurry stars, hearing Kirsten screaming for her as she felt herself dying. Kirsten had saved her, hadn’t she? But nobody was coming now. She was dying. She couldn’t breathe.

“What’s wrong with her? What’s happening?”

“Dude, she’s totally not breathing at all. Her heartra – ”

“Don’t! Kirsten, hey! You can’t heal her! You’ll only make it worse when the backlash of using your powers falls on her! Just… let me… Camille. Hey, Pumpkin, hey.”

She hadn’t made everything right. She hadn’t proven herself. And who was going to look after Kirsten, now? Stinger was still out there. The Strigoi were amassing an army. Kirsten hadn’t even declared a magic yet. Damn, everything was fading so fast. What a shitty way to die. What a –

The scene around her jolted and scattered, confused and suddenly not as real as she’d first thought. Something was moving her arms; she could feel them being dragged forward and positioned. But her arms were limp at her sides… weren’t they? Sensation flared into her fingers; a drumming. A steady beat she didn’t really want to focus on, but that was there and attention-grabbing anyway. And then, beneath her other hand, the whoosh of air. Like a breeze passing over the earth, only more deliberate. More like –

Breath. Something was breathing right under her hand.

“Camille, sweetheart, I need you to focus on me, right now. Whatever’s going on in your head isn’t the most important thing right at this moment, okay? You’re not breathing properly and your body’s freaking out and that’s probably making everything feel very, very shitty.”

Yeah. Yeah, it was. She was dying.

“I need you to focus on what’s under your hands, okay? Use those enhanced senses, Supergirl. And then make your breathing and your heart match what you feel. You can do it. Just focus.”

Cameron. The voice was Cameron’s. She knew him. And she’d met him after the night she’d died. Which meant…

A deep inhalation rumbled under her fingers, and she followed its example, gasping in air. It felt magnificent. Cameron continued to murmur things to her – encouragement, instructions, nonsense pet names so she wouldn’t get lost again – and she clung to his wrist with one hand, letting his pulse thrum through her as a metronome for the galloping that was going on inside her chest. Her other hand scrambled for purchase against his chest, slipping up and down the weird-feeling bumps that the buttons on his flannel made.

Eventually, she was able to breathe properly again. Eventually, her heart slowed to just-above-normal; enough to make her head clear. Enough for her to open her eyes. She was on the floor of the lab, and Kirsten and Cameron were both crouched in front of her, looking worried. Kirsten didn’t hug, much, but Camille received an armful of blonde almost as soon as she’d proven she was all there and not dying, and Camille let go of Cameron to hug her back. She had to work incredibly hard to keep the tears from breaking free.

“I’m going to go and call Ayo,” Cameron said, and she saw him stand out of the corner of her eye. “Just relax until she’s here to take a look, okay?”

Camille shut her eyes, tightly, and wished she could shake off the remaining ghosts that clung to her. Something else was niggling at her, though; some inconsistency her over-stimulated brain needed to pick apart and make sense of. There was something off about what had just happened, and she needed to reconcile the truth with the lie her brain had been telling her. But what was the lie?

Cameron returned, and Camille realised at once that he was wearing only a plain Tshirt. His flannel, she realised, had been taken off and thrown over his chair when they’d first come in. So then… why the hell had she been feeling button bumps under her fingers?

“You okay?” Kirsten asked her as she frowned.

“Yeah, I… yeah. Just something I’ll need to figure out, later.”

But later was manic. And then the days wore on, and she forgot, for a long time, about the mystery her adrenalin-fuelled brain had insisted was so important back then.

***

They’d learned how to delay Camille being pulled under into Kirsten’s mind, and she was happily munching on chocolate as she waited and the scientists mapped Kirsten’s brain activity when the noise started and made her instantly alert.

“What is that?” she asked, already getting to her feet.

“What?” Cameron said, distracted.

“That sound. It’s like – ”

Strigoi, Camille thought a moment later, really had to stop trying to emulate bad movies. The three who barrelled their way into the lab did so with a Hollywood flair, and they did so snarling like animals, brandishing crude weapons and – honest to gosh – chuckling evilly. It was so over-the-top that everybody else in the lab stopped to stare for a good few seconds, nonplussed and not yet as afraid as they should be.

And then the battle started.

“Get Kirsten out!” Cameron yelled at Camille, and she didn’t have enough breath to spare to shoot a no duh, genius his way.

She knew she had to pull the Moroi from the experiment and hustle her to safety – but knowing she had to do it and being able to fend off three Strigoi who had weapons when she only had her fists and her feet was an entirely different ballgame. Her training and her desperation and her knowledge of the lab’s layout meant Camille managed to kill one who was just about to turn Kirsten into dinner. But snapping his was mostly a fluke, and Camille knew it. She was no match for two oldish seeming Strigoi, and the best plan was to run the hell out of there. The other two, who had been mostly hanging back, now advanced as a team.

Cameron yelling and throwing something on fire at them was only a momentary distraction; the one nearest him snarled, easily dodged the fireball and then leapt forward in a streak of speed Camille barely followed and Cameron had no chance of tracking. Said Strigoi flipped Cameron’s desk at the human, knocking him clear across the floor and then pinning him beneath the metal.

“Cameron! Cam!” No answer; no movement. Camille’s heart constricted in pain and worry.

At the very least, the loss of Cameron’s computers made Kirsten start to rouse. But it was too little, too late: the most it would do was allow Kirsten to wake up to her best friend being murdered – or worse, turned – just before she got her own blood drained from her body. But to hell with them if they thought they could take Camille down without a damn good fight. They laughed at her as they advanced, deliberately slowly and completely at ease.

She slammed one in the face, breaking her nose, but her partner caught Camille around the throat and squeezed and –

The lab lit up in bright, glaring light. Camille flinched at the sudden brightness, confused brain skittering for the source. Kirsten, mostly awake, hissed and tried to get under cover. The Strigoi burst into flames. With a yelp of surprise, Camille freed herself from the burning, horrifically-shrieking attackers, grabbed Kirsten’s hand, and pulled her out of the wide circle of sunlight. Sunlight. In the lab. Camille looked wildly up and saw a trapdoor in the ceiling had been rolled back to reveal what looked to be a mirror of some sort that was reflecting the sunrise down into the lab. Another look around and she found Cameron, pale and shaky, clinging to a lever in the wall. He was watching the burning Strigoi with wide, horrified eyes, and as Camille watched he slid weakly down the wall and landed in a heap on the floor.

“What the hell?” Kirsten breathed shakily.

It was a sentiment taken up by Maggie and the senior dhampir trainer, Fisher, when they barrelled into the lab a few moments later. Linus babbled a slightly-coherent explanation, and Maggie took charge. Her first point of call was getting Fisher to escort Kirsten far away. Kirsten, however, resisted, eying a still-crumpled, very obviously in pain Cameron on the floor.

“Go, go – I got him,” Camille assured.

Kirsten squeezed her shoulder, once, and then allowed herself to be led off. Camille scampered to Cameron’s side, relieved when she didn’t see or smell much blood.

“Now was not the greatest time to try we wrestling,” Camille joked, hands trying to figure out what was wrong.

Cameron blinked at her, eyes glazed and face uncomprehending. “What wrestling?”

“We? The… the famous wrestling crap on TV where they hit each other with chairs?”

That startled an almost-laugh from Cameron, which led to a groan. “WWE. It’s just my leg, I think,” he added in response to Camille’s prodding.

She made her touch to said leg as gentle as possible, but he still cried out. “Okay, shit, sorry.” He tried to wave her off, still panting in pain. She glanced back to his overturned desk, and then measured the distance from it to where they currently were sitting under the lever. “And yet, you still came all the way over here.”

“Crawled, mostly,” he explained through gritted teeth. “Had to get to the…”

“That was a really nifty thing to put in this lab,” she said, glancing again at the sunlight still streaming in. “Was that your idea?”

“Was inspired by a recent Mummy rewatch.” Camille gave him a blank look. “The Mummy? Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz? ‘No harm ever came from reading a book’?” He shook his head. “Add that to the list of things I have to… introduce… you… to.” He panted the last few words, face now looking a little green.

“Right. Ayo time. Don’t look at me like that; I’m strong af. I can carry your skinny butt up there. I’ll even do it bridal style if it wouldn’t hurt you more.”

He tried to smile for her, but it just came out a grimace. And the facial expressions only got worse from then on – even though Camille tried to be careful as she lifted him to his feet, the movement still jarred him. And as much as most of his weight was on her, hopping about was not a viable option. Luckily, Linus zoomed to their side and took Cameron’s other arm around his shoulders. They had to adjust their positions a few times before they got the right balance that meant Linus wasn’t banging into Cameron’s injured leg as they walked, but eventually they were able to make their slow ascent to Ayo’s capable hands.

Camille was looked over by another medical assistant and then sent to sit with Kirsten, who was actually one of the least badly hurt or drained by the whole fiasco. They were sent back to their dorm early, with Fisher posted outside the door just in case, and so Camille only got one more glance at Cameron that day. Ayo had fitted him with a leg brace and was busy explaining the correct use of crutches to him as Camille passed.

They both made a beeline for the lab as soon as possible the next day, and found that it mostly looked normal, except for some scorch marks on the floor that made an odd shudder run through Camille’s insides. Cameron’s workspace was also visibly stuck back together, with cobbled parts of other computer and technologies to replace bits of his that had obviously not made it out of the battle. Cameron himself looked a little cobbled together, as though held in place only by tenuous sticky tape. He was shockingly pale, and looked smaller than usual with the crutch and the leg brace.

“Didn’t Ayo give you two of those?” Camille frowned, watching him painfully limp around his table, putting too much weight on the injured leg for her liking.

Cameron waved a vague hand. “I can’t have both my hands occupied,” he said, firmly. “I need to get this up and running again.”

Camille and Kirsten shared a glance. “Cameron,” Kirsten started, doubtfully.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, still not looking at them. “Just… I’m fine. I can still do this.”

“Nobody said you couldn’t,” Kirsten tried, gently. “But we just…”

“Hand me that wrench, please?” Cameron said, voice like steel, and the women shared another glance and a sigh.

“Okay,” Camille said, dubiously. “But I’m going to laugh if you fall on your ass in front of me.”

She didn’t get to show that the statement had been all talk; Cameron didn’t fall. But he did get increasingly paler as the morning wore on, and before long his hands were trembling in pain and his leg was barely supporting him even with the help of the crutch. Kirsten and Camille had both retired to a corner of a lab with their library books, content to just be around the people they now considered as friends as they put their lab back together, helping where they could. But when Cameron had to suddenly grip the table to keep from collapsing, Kirsten shut her book with a snap and marched toward him, Camille hot on her heels.

“Okay, you’re done doing this.” She took him by both of the shoulders and supported him upwards while Camille positioned the chair behind him. “Sit.”

“I don’t need to -!”

“Cameron. Please sit.” Kirsten’s voice and demeanour changed, but for once Camille couldn’t find it in herself to call her friend out for using compulsion. “Please, just take a break, okay? And, look; this chair has wheels. You can use it to wheel around the lab.”

“I…” Cameron said, blinking at her.

“It’s more convenient,” Kirsten promised, lowering him into the chair. “You’ll get a lot more done this way.”

“Yeah, okay,” Cameron agreed.

“Or,” Kirsten said, suddenly eager and kneeling before him. “Or – I could heal that for you. I could make it better right now.”

“Wh-? No! No, no, Kirsten!” He yelped a little, involuntarily, as he twisted away from her in alarm. “Stretch!”

“What?” Kirsten folded her arms, face steely. “That’s what I was meant to do with this element, Cameron. That’s what I’m good at.”

“Animals – no mammals yet, I’ll add. And one or two dhampir and Moroi. No humans. There are no records of human healing anywhere. We have no idea what that would do to you or Camille.”

“Oh, man, that’s flimsy bs,” Camille argued. “If she can heal animals, she can do a human.”

“There’s no scientific proof,” Cameron stressed, glaring at both of them.

“Isn’t that what an experiment is meant to bring to light?” Kirsten argued back.

Cameron shook his head, mouth in a tight line. “I’m not leaping that far into the unknown. I will not risk you! Either of you!”

“It’s not a risk – ”

“Everything we do in here is a risk! Everything! Just because we’ve spent hours running all the variables doesn’t mean we’re not wrong,” Cameron snapped. “That’s why we take it further and further by tiny, calculated, acceptable steps. We do not jump all the way to unknown species healing when most of the lab isn’t even paying attention to stats!”

“Cameron,” Kirsten soothed, placing a hand on his arm and leaning a little closer. “I just want – ”

He clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes, tight. “You’re not going to compel me to do this!” Camille and Kirsten both drew back a little, surprised that he knew what compulsion looked like. Now that made a few past interactions very interesting. “You don’t…” He sighed, used his hands to scrub through his hair wildly, and then ran them both down his face. “You’re not the first Moroi down here, Kirsten.”

“What?”

“You’re not our first experimentation. Maggie… she always had her eye on you, but her and Turner wanted to advance on you slowly so you didn’t run off. In the meantime, there was a Spirit wielder who was… already in deep. Her name was Marta. She was… the hallucinations had already started and we… we were reckless and went too fast and…”

“And what?” Kirsten asked, very quietly. Camille kneeled before them, her hand on Cameron’s good knee, her heart pounding uncomfortably. She thought she knew where his story was going, and empathy ached through her as old wounds threatened to reopen.

“She turned herself Strigoi,” Cameron said, flatly. “Before we had the failsafe in the lab” – he motioned to the lever – “and before we knew… Turner killed her. Burned her alive.” He stared at them in turn, eyes haunted but shoulders determined. “We don’t take risks that big,” he stressed, but his voice was cracked instead of authoritative.

They let him get back to fixing his lab, after that, but both of them stayed close. Camille, in particular, abandoned the pretence that she was doing work very early and went to help him so he didn’t have to rise from the chair when his attempts to do so ended in him in pain and humiliation, unable to rise. Kirsten eventually had to go to a class, but Camille bunked hers after a silent conversation with her best friend; gazes that promised she’d look out for the human that had inexplicably become special to them.

She brought him coffee, eventually, and then reclined in a non-wheelie seat beside him, bouncing his crutch up and down while he watched.

“If I had stayed in the human world,” she said, suddenly, “If they hadn’t come to find me, I mean. I probably would have studied something to do with brains in a human university.” Where she would have found the money, she didn’t know. But this was a pipe dream; she could forget how much of nothing she’d always had.

“Yeah? Any field you like in particular?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t old enough to extensively research. I just… what you’re doing here; trying to help by understanding the brain…” She nodded, unable to put it into words. His hand squeezed hers. “What about you, Goodkin? Were brains your first love?”

“Yes and no,” he said, making a hand wobble in the air. “I mean, except for the months I was convinced I was going to build the world’s first time machine, neuro-something has always been my path. My mom’s a neurosurgeon. Brain doctor.”

“But you went for PhD instead of MD,” Camille said.

Cameron sighed, a little. “Medical doctors… Look, I’ve known a lot of them throughout my life. All sorts of specialisations, all sorts of temperaments. And they… They’re great. They do great things. But they’re always looking at problems. They’re always trying to find solutions; the body is just a means to an end, really. I don’t… I didn’t want to see humans like that; to look at what was wrong and try and be the godlike one who fixes it. I just want to… to… wonder at it.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Camille said, fondly, her chest warm.

“No, no, but like…” Cameron leaned forward as much as he could, eyes alight and hands gesturing. “You and Kirsten – you’re not human, but there’s the same wonder in how you work. How your brains work. How your minds by themselves are… beautiful. Camille, I know you didn’t really look at your brain scans but… oh, man, Sweetheart, your mind is magnificent. And then you factor in how it links to Kirsten’s! And on top of all of that is the fact that you are behind all those neurons and that amazingness.” He was grinning at her; still too pale, but suddenly alight from the inside in a way she’d never seen him. “Not just a scientifically beautiful working organ; not just scientifically fascinating but also… there’s a person behind it all. And that person is amazing. You and Kirsten… you’re both so…” He gestured, big, like he had no words.

And Camille stared at that gesture, watching as it made something big and warm start in her chest. Something fragile she didn’t want to be there, because she knew how much it hurt when it was broken and proved untrue. But as much as she tried to stay realistic – as much as she reminded herself that nobody saw her as worth anything more than what she could do for them and be used for – the delight and warmth in Cameron’s eyes demolished her walls. The warmth and aching pleasure of being loved filled her veins and lay there, singing, while she sat silent and gaping and unable to breathe properly in a good way.

“I’m so glad you two were the ones who became part of this,” Cameron said, firmly, and Camille couldn’t give in to the desire to reach across and hug him close.

***

There was something off about the way Cameron was leaning on his crutch when they arrived that day, but he made sure there was no opportunity to ask more than once if he was okay. His leg had been slowly healing – mostly because, Camille was sure, she and Kirsten had been forcing him to take it easy – and he’d even been medically cleared to use only one crutch a few days ago. So the first explanation Camille jumped to was that he’d done too much and injured it more; she and Kirsten shared a few rolled eyes and raised eyebrows, and then they went to work on the pre-testing.

Linus had just finished walking them through the new simulation when Cameron, on view behind them, suddenly staggered and half-fell into his chair. The women exchanged a look, let an oblivious Linus finish, and then marched up to Cameron to find out how they could help.

“We’re going to round up the others and get coffee,” Linus called from the doorway. “Orders?”

Cameron shook his head, and the other two also declined, watching while Linus led the only other occupant of the lab out. Alone with just Cameron and determined to use that to their advantage, they rounded on him.

“You guys should get the caffeine,” Cameron said, not meeting their eyes.

“You should tell us what’s wrong,” Camille countered. “What did you do to your leg?”

“Nothing. It’s not the leg. I’m fine.”

Kirsten gently lifted his hand by the wrist, displaying his shaking hand as evidence. “Cameron.” Her voice was worried but incredibly firm. “What is going-?” Camille saw her suddenly jerk in surprise, saw her eyes widen, and saw her grip on his wrist tighten.

“Kirsten?”

“What – His heart is going crazy,” she gasped, staring at Cameron’s wrist in horror before looking at him in the eyes. “Cameron. Holy crap. Camille, call – ”

“Don’t, don’t. It’s okay.” Camille didn’t bother with his hand; she pressed her palm right above his heart. The organ was beating erratically beneath her palm; too fast with jerks like it was being kicked. One particularly vicious kick had Cameron exhaling shakily, obviously hiding a groan. “It’s fine. I just forgot. I just need a moment.”

“You forgot?” Camille said, incredulous. “What? You forgot to tell your heart how to beat properly? That’s bullshit, Cam. You’re basically dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Cameron sighed. “It’s just heart palpitations. It’s really not as – ” He broke off and flinched, hard, automatically curling in around himself. Camille felt the way his heart had squeezed all wrong, and her own heart started thudding in fear.

“Explain, or we’re hauling you off to Ayo right this very second,” Camille insisted.

“We should be doing that anyway,” Kirsten countered, looking grim.

Cameron sighed, again, and slumped a little in his chair. He looked everywhere but at their faces. “I was born with a bum heart. Took the doctors a few years to figure it out, and when they did it was… bad. Had surgery when I was ten. It fixed most of it, but not all of it. The rest can’t really be fixed by the technology we have right at this point in history, so I instead deal with what I can in ways I can. But the medication is… it has a few crappy side-effects, sometimes. So I…” He paused, struggling for words. “Moroi bites… they don’t only release endorphins.”

He finally glanced at both of them, and then settled on Kirsten. “Your race has evolved to be the very best at extracting blood from a willing donor. That means making it pleasurable for the donor, for starters, but it also means making sure you get the best and easiest… meal.” He pulled a slight face. “So you also release agents and chemicals into blood that regulates your blood donor’s systems; fixes small problems to make the process better. If a Moroi bites a human with cholesterol, for instance, the venom starts to break that blockage down. Because cholesterol interferes with the blood sucking process. Some of those chemicals also regulate heartbeat; do, in a much better way, what heart pills do. The condition, of course, is that when you’re being fed from you can’t have any medication in your system, because it tastes hella nasty, apparently, and we still aren’t sure what human meds do to Moroi.

“Long story short – I wasn’t selected as randomly to be a feeder as people are led to believe. I was the experiment before I was the experimenter. And I’ve gotten into the habit of not taking pills on the days I’m being fed from. But I can’t be in the programme right now because of the stupid leg and this morning was manic and I just… forgot that it wasn’t a feeding day. Forgot to take the pills. And my body’s a little freaked out. That’s all. I’m fine.”

Camille and Kirsten stared at him. Camille’s stomach had dropped somewhere to her knees. “’My heart is going wonky because I didn’t take the medication I need to to keep it okay’ and then in the same breath ‘I’m fine’?” she said, incredulous.

“They’re mild palpitations,” Cameron countered, his expression long-suffering. “It’s…”

His heart kicked again, and he winced, and Camille automatically began rubbing at his chest. Her fingers slid over something bumpy underneath his skin – something metal, from the feel of it – and abruptly she remembered the day months ago when she’d been bewildered by the mystery of the missing buttons on his shirt.

“Does Ayo have meds?”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t have those.”

“So, what, we’re just supposed to sit around and watch you -?” Kirsten was upset, and Camille couldn’t blame her for being so.

Cameron forced a smile. “It should be over soon.”

“Should,” Camille parroted, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Kirsten’s expression hardened, and she suddenly lifted the wrist she was still holding to her mouth.

“Whoah -! Kirsten!” Cameron tried to jerk his hand away.

“I’m not going to heal you,” she countered.

“You – I’m going to taste like crap.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself – like you usually taste delicious,” Camille snorted.

It worked; he was surprised enough he glanced at her, and in his distraction, Kirsten bit down. Cameron’s heart sped up even more under Camille’s hand, and for a long moment she was terrified they’d made it worse. But then the quiet groan he released was familiar, and with one more jerky beat his heart slipped back into rhythm, calmly, as though there had never been anything wrong. Cameron sagged in the seat, eyes closed as he got his breathing under control, and Camille looked to Kirsten. The blonde’s face was screwed up in disgust, and Camille indicated the door that led to the bathrooms. Kirsten nodded, trying not to gag, and made a beeline.

Camille turned back to watch Cameron watching her go, his face ashamed and miserable. She should get an honorary PhD in distraction, she really should, she thought with a sigh.

“So, hey… I’m feeling bumpy things…?”

He looked at her, thrown, and blinked a few times. “The sternum doesn’t ever heal properly,” he finally said. “So they have to… staple you back together.” She ran another hand over the bumps after wordlessly asking for permission. “Those are the staples.”

“How bad was it?” she whispered, not quite able to meet his eyes. His silence was telling. She laughed shakily, suddenly feeling light-headed in her relief that he was there and breathing and okay. “So… I’m thinking I should start an I Died Once club. You’re my first official member besides myself.”

Cameron grinned slightly at her, and touched his forehead to hers. “How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist,” he said, quietly.

Kirsten was still gone, and Camille was still shaken, and Cameron was a grounding anchor she’d always insisted she didn’t need but apparently really did. So she unlocked the doors sleep sometimes wrenched open, and looked at him and asked, “Was there anything for you? I mean… did you see…? For me, there was only blackness.”

He cupped her cheek, gently. “You have four minutes after your heart stops to be resuscitated,” he said, quietly. ���I think you didn’t see anything because you weren’t gone, yet. Kirsten was already working on bringing you back.” He smiled, gently. “But that’s not the sort of thing you want to waste your whole life worrying about. It defeats the purpose of living.”

“Ha. What is this purpose you speak of?” She was being flippant and purposefully argumentative, but he looked at her seriously and answered, anyway.

“I, for one, am not going anywhere until you and Kirsten are safe.”

***

The world was spinning out of control around them. Camille and Kirsten were gripping hands, tightly, but even that didn’t anchor either of them. Not when Maggie and Turner were a second from ripping into each other physically. Not when Cameron was standing in front of them like a guard with huge eyes.

“It’s just a theory,” Cameron insisted, again, as though Turner would listen this time.

“We cannot just get another dhampir and make them bond-mates with Kirsten,” Maggie snapped. “She’s not the only Moroi we need to protect! This afternoon’s attack proved that! We lost good people, Turner. This is supposed to be a place to keep them safe!”

“We need Spirit to turn Striogi back to Moroi,” Turner argued, smoothly. “If we get their best and make them our best, again…”

“That’s just a theory,” Cameron said, again.

“And I’m ordering us to test it, Goodkin,” Turner said, turning a dangerous look on Cameron. “Either you help me – use your scientific whatever to make it as safe as possible – or I do it myself.”

“Over my dead body are you going to force Kirsten Clark to bring another person back to life,” Maggie snarled.

“Careful, Baptiste. I can make that happen,” Turner warned. “Just grab a random human off the street – somebody nobody will miss. Bring them here. She gets another bond-mate; somebody to share her negative effects with so that she can become stronger. Then we work on turning Strigoi; on a real weapon against the bastards.”

“We don’t know what healing a human will do to her,” Cameron insisted, not backing down from Turner’s advance.

“It’s not a request.”

“That person is going to be in her head,” Cameron argued, actually taking a few steps forward, his anger rising. “In both of their heads! That’s not even mentioning the fact that bringing – ”

Turner’s hand closed over Cameron’s throat. Camille and Kirsten both shouted and started forward, but Turner released Cameron casually and he staggered back, barely-healed leg folding a little underneath him.

“Find a human, or I’ll send people to find one. Help me do this, or I’ll make her do it without your expertise. This is not a negotiation.” And then a sudden gleam entered his eyes. He took out a stake and pointed it very solidly in Camille’s direction. “Or perhaps we don’t need a second bond-mate? Perhaps we just need to strengthen the bond.”

Kirsten and Camille both tried to fight. Maggie was able to wrench Camille out of Turner’s hands. Everybody was yelling and panicked and angry, and it was therefore a moment before Linus yelling Cameron’s name got people’s attention.

Cameron sat on Kirsten’s usual recliner chair, his face pinched. There was a syringe in his arm that clattered to the floor as his fist went numb. Horror nearly sent Camille to her knees.

“If it has to be somebody…” He was panting already as Kirsten reached him.

“What did you do?” she cried.

“Will st…stop my heart.”

“No,” Camille groaned, making her way forward on shaky legs.

“This way… if it works I’ll f…find a way to make it b…better for you two. And if…if it doesn’t…”

He shuddered and groaned and slipped sideways. Camille and Kirsten both caught him. “Don’t let me be one of them,” Cameron whispered. “And don’t… don’t make this your fault. If you see my ghost, k…kick…”

They laid him on his back out of automatic habit more than anything else.

“Cameron? Cameron!”

“Cam? Cammy Cam?” Camille felt herself starting to cry. “No… Cam…”

Kirsten caught her hand in a vice-like grip and met her eyes. “This is going to kick you in the ass,” she whispered.

“I don’t care,” Camille snarled, dashing at her tears and then at Kirsten’s. “You save him.”

Kirsten took their joined hands and put them, Camille’s on the bottom and hers on top, on Cameron’s chest. She took a deep breath, and Camille felt a sensation she’d never experienced before kick to life in her gut.

[planetwalker]

Reflections on 6 years of sobriety

Today, May 18th, I officially have not had a drop of alcohol in my system for six years. It has been a long road, and without the support of my family, my friends, and my therapist I would likely be dead or in prison. More that likely, dead. Also, I would like to thank a doctor I knew personally (she shall remain nameless) who risked her professional career by prescribing me medicine to keep me from going into seizures when I quit drinking the first time at twenty (for a year and a half), because of my refusal to go to rehab or do it any other way than in my house, alone. I woke myself up with an alarm every four hours for over ten days to manually check my own blood pressure and administer the medicine that would keep me alive and not convulsing, seizing, or having delirium tremens. It wasn't pretty.

My alcoholism had taken me to a depth of insanity that ended in me finally drinking nearly a 1.5 liter bottle of hard liquor a day, plus beer to wash it down. That's when your tolerance has beaten you so far into the ground that you pretty much just wake up and begin drinking again. There's just not enough time in the day to drink that much otherwise. That is no exaggeration. From about 10am until 5am the next morning, I would drink whiskey in a nearly constant way. There would often only be a half-inch of the largest bottles of liquor they sell left in my freezer by morning. A hair of the dog that bit me, which would get me to the liquor store for a fresh new dog. I think I spent about 25 dollars a day on booze for those 5 last (and worst) years after my initial relapse. That's about 45,000 dollars, more than triple what I have ever made in a year of my working life.

On this sixth anniversary of sobriety though, I'm not really reflecting on my accomplishments in the past, but I'm using it as an opportunity to talk about something far more deadly and much more hard for me to deal with, or speak about. I have to begin at the beginning, but every word of this is difficult to write, I will try my best to speak openly and honestly.

After many years of denial, after being psychologically tested at fourteen years old and severely misdiagnosed and mismedicated, put on lithium, and poisoned to a point of amnesia. After a week in a psychiatric hospital at twenty due to suicidal ideation, and after eleven more years of waiting (including these six sober years), I finally went to a psychiatrist to get a full mental health assessment, at the behest of my family. A multitude of tests, by the most progressive and up to date standards were administered by an expert clinician. I waited to hear the conclusion I pretty much have known my whole life was coming: I have Bipolar II, without a shadow of a doubt, and on the nose.

The good news: I have rote number memorization in the 99th percentile, as well as a smattering of other high-functioning brain abilities that I cannot take any real credit for. I just know how to memorize and remember things in a way that seems insane to most people. I can recite texts I read when I was ten forwards and backwards. I once made a rap out of the alphabet being recited backwards. I remember memorizing decks of randomized playing cards as a kid, just for fun, to see if I could name the last card in the deck. I found out many years later after requesting my transcripts that my IQ had been tested at fourteen as well during those psych exams and largely said the same thing, I was in the 99.975 percentile, something like 151. Unfortunately then, their only concern was me being able to "sit down and listen in school", which I found to be impossible, boring, and frustrating to the point that acting out was my only recourse. I remember refusing to say the pledge of allegiance in the 4th grade after reading a book on my own about the genocide of American Indians, and the horrors of slavery instituted by the very same people who wrote these documents. I was a little shit, too smart for my own good, and I needed to be controlled.

I was expelled from school in the 6th grade for printing out "The Devil's Cookbook" (essentially a bomb making guide, and anarchist literature), from the schools library, hundreds of pages. I went to a "democratic school" run by hippies for the rest of the year where I mostly skateboarded and flirted with girls. I spent 7th grade with my father living in South Africa, and was quickly shuffled out of middle school after arriving back halfway through 8th grade. They couldn't wait to get rid of me. My one saving grace was my music teacher named Ken Johnson, who always let me stay late after school and practice guitar, piano, singing. I don't think I could have finished that year without his support, he turned me on to great music I never would have heard. Mostly, he just got that was talented and interesting, and not just a little shit. That pretty much ended my formal education. I read manuals and textbooks in my spare time and proceeded to get my GED at 15 and tested again to receive a stamped and signed high school diploma (with honors!) from the Rockville Board of Education (the same document all my fellow graduating seniors would get at 18, after wandering the halls for four years of the hellhole I abandoned). I still think skipping high school was the smartest decision I ever made in my life. I have never met anyone who says they learned almost anything in high school except "I still have friends that I know on Facebook", which really says a lot. I was accepted into The Evergreen State College two days before my sixteenth birthday. I had not filled out the small line that asked for age on the application, and apparently nobody noticed. I flew across the country to Olympia, Washington that spring and began my studies in creative writing, ecology, and a self-created major with my friend Sky Cosby: "Liberating the voices of incarcerated youth", which we had a brilliant and very optimistic professor graciously sign off on. We called it "Celldom Heard". We threw a great hip-hop showcase in Red Square that year, as well as producing a DIY chapbook of prisoner literature. My drinking career also really took off at this time, as I was a seventeen year old on a college campus thousands of miles away from home. My gambling too, playing poker anywhere I could, often at seedy clubs and online with a pre-paid debit card, as well as hosting poker tournaments with everyone I knew and could convince to lose their money to me. I could do anything I wanted. I never lied about my age, but simply refused to tell anyone for quite a long time. Age is just a number, right? Says any self-righteous seventeen year old.

My grandiosity surely impressed people; I have been a performer since as long as I can remember (my mother always jokes that I was ready to go entertain people since I left the womb). A magician at five, playing piano and performing music by ten; writing, slamming poetry at the national championships at fifteen, it never stopped. I was in the center of the room, and I thought that meant something, not just that I was an egomaniac, sure to be on the cover of Rolling Stone by the time I was twenty-one. My parents couldn't understand why I could never get up for school, they didn't know till years later that I would put a towel under my door to block the light and stay up all night reading and writing, until about 5:30, where I would sleep for thirty minutes before my father came down the hall to wake me up for the bus. I don't know how I survived. Years pass; trying to drink my hypomania away, trying, jamming alcohol down my throat followed by NyQuil, Ambien, Benedryl, all to try to just get to sleep, that one unattainable goal I could never quite reach. At some point my dreams just disappeared into darkness. As the years progressed further, some of the darker sides of hypomania began to present themselves; impulsive spending, reckless gambling, strings of unhealthy sexual relationships, all of which were doomed to failure from the start. Anger, rage, darkness, depression, and finally, the scariest points of this last year of my life: Mixed-Episodes.

In the past year and a half, I have had to experiment with a regimen of drugs until finally finding the right dosage and medicine to help me live a functional life. And as much as people can be proud of you for conquering alcohol, it's a much harder beast to speak out about your mental illness. I remember once going on a date, and the first thing my date started talking about was her "crazy bipolar ex-boyfriend", he was an "alcoholic too, so I'm so glad you don't drink". What to even say? I'm a fucking mess, girl, you don't want to get anywhere near me, trust me. And what to do? Deny, deflect, and continue to function (sobriety will buy you a lot of time in doing this, as you can use it as an excuse that you've gotten help and are doing fine). Hypomania, actually also keeps you functioning at such a high level. I have been able to operate on about 4-5 hours of sleep for as long as I can remember. I produce music all night in my solitary zen wonderland, read about 3-4 non-fiction books a week, about topics from psychophysiology to economics to super-string theory. Memoirs about drug abuse to politics to mountain climbing. Anything I could get my hands on. People wondered at work out loud often to me "where do you find the time?!". My response was always the same: I am awake and doing things when you are asleep. My hours of extra work were from 10pm-5am. That's seven hours of intense, single-minded focus that hypomania can provide you with, and it is a very very hard thing to want to give up, especially if your depressive spells are severe, but not all that frequent.

This went on for years. I traveled the world, studied all manners of healing and spirituality, motorcycling through the dirty terrain of Cambodia at night, swerving around cattle barely visible until hitting the glint of my low-beams, yards ahead. Being chased by wild dogs on a night I was sure I was going to die and be ripped to pieces. Nothing could stop me. Ever. I was a star exploding at light speed through the galaxy, burning as bright as anything you had ever seen, but sure to collapse upon it's own weight and gravity eventually. I paid this no mind, as I had decided at about twelve that I was sure I would never make it to my 30th birthday alive. I didn't really want to. I wanted to live, hard, fast, intense, non-stop, now. I came pretty close to making that pact a reality. I'm only 31 now, but this year I finally made strides to comprehend and look deeply at who I am and what is happening to me, and what factors are chemical imbalances in my brain, rather that just my insane hyperactivity. I had never even thought to blame anyone but myself. Or thank anyone but myself. My choices were my fault. Everyone else's judgements about me were right, but fuck them, I didn't care, I'll move on to someone else who sees the good parts with the darkness hidden.

The mixed episodes began, and got worse quickly. This is where you have the intensity of the hypomania mixed with the self-hatred of the deepest and darkest depression you have ever felt. Suddenly all that energy I had to conquer the world was turned inwards into a pattern of suicidal ideation, agoraphobia, blowups with close friends, despising my family, hanging up on my father after screaming matches, all of it, more. So much more I can't even write it all down. It was the hardest time of my life, a thousand times harder than my worst days of drinking, without a doubt. At least then I had something to numb out the pain, something to try and quell the manic thoughts and get some sleep. I always used to say "drinking *is* a coping skill, it's just not a healthy one." It's true. Now, instead, I had hypersomnia, sleeping 14 hours a day, unable to get out of bed, whole weeks where I never left my house, fear of everything outside. I was so scared I bought a gun. Then I was scared that I had a gun in my house. Worried I might shoot myself, or worse, mistake some passerby as a burglar and shoot some innocent stranger. Afraid and anxious about the outside world, uncontrollable sobbing for hours at a time, the inability to pull myself out of it for more than 20 minutes before collapsing back into the despair and pain I can't describe as anything short of brutal psychological torture.

The first doctor I saw in New Orleans (who I later found out accepted thousands of dollars from big pharma, of course) told me outright that he didn't care about the tests, he was sure I had Bipolar I, which is much scarier and involves hallucinations, delusional thinking (I am Barack Obama, people are out to get me, etc.), psychosis, and far worse symptoms. He prescribed me tranquilizers that nearly killed me in the following three months. My depression worsened. He suggested I up my dosage. I declined. I am very fortunate and lucky that he was wrong about me having Bipolar I, and that I have the lesser of these two evils, and I never forget that.

That didn't matter though: my agoraphobia worsened to the point that I couldn't get into my car, could barely make it to my porch to check my mail. I didn't go grocery shopping for three months and ate chinese food ever night. Agoraphobia, means literally "fear of the public square", and comes from our (very smart) reptile brains that were afraid of the open savannah. This is because birds of prey could see us from above and pick us off while exposed without a tree to hide beneath. It is a very primal instinct, and hard to counteract. My anxiety attacks got worse and worse, the medication wasn't helping, it was making things worse, but I continued to swallow them down, convinced I was just adjusting. I was not.

My parents finally begged me to come home to Connecticut and see a doctor who was a specialist with Bipolar males of my age, and after months of fighting them off, I reluctantly agreed. And he likely saved my life. He took my off the tranquilizer immediately, and I began to experience emotions again. Not great ones, but at least something. And then I was put on Lamictal, the only Bipolar medication that has been approved for Bipolar II and come on the market since Lithium did in 1948. Lithium is the aforementioned drug that I refused to ever try again, after I was put on it at fourteen, and which cost me a year of my life I can barely recall but for hazy half-memories, lost in a sea of white noise. And to the gracious angels, goddesses, or simply to the smart psychiatrists diagnosing me correctly and providing me with a plan of action including proper medication and therapy, have saved my life.

I cook dinner every night. I went to the grocery store the other day, then the bank, then the post office. I didn't even mind. It felt kind of great. I always ask how people are doing, a habit I've always done. It's amazing how the little things can go such a long way. When I call Cox to complain that my internet has gone out again, I always start with "Hey, my name is Sam Dillon, how are you doing today?". The other night I was met with "No one has asked me that in a week". Try it, it's pretty fun. Sometimes a grocery store clerk will literally break down in tears and tell you about her bad day. That happened not to long ago too. I still go to sleep late still, up reading books, but when I'm ready to fall asleep, I drift off into the odd and vivid dreams I remember having since I was a child, the same ones that disappeared for more than a decade. I am on the path to recovery, not there yet, and as with my alcoholism, I take small steps and don't get ahead of myself.

I was born with a strange chemical imbalance, not much different that someone with diabetes or anemia or Crohn's disease or autism. The large difference is the stigma. When you are an impulsive, grandiose, gambling, alcoholic maniac, nobody gives you much slack that you can't just "get your life together", "fix your problems", or simply "stop acting this way". There is no discussion of treatment (other than AA, a religious doctrine started by holocaust-deniers, sorry AA folks), not much in the way of offering help, a lot of blame and a small amount of empathy. You can only burn so many bridges before people don't want to come near you. And I've burned a lot. Lost of a lot of good friends. Sometimes I'm amazed that most of my family still even talks to me. Some of them barely do. I understand. I empathize. I get it. I know why, even though I know they also just don't understand what I have been struggling with my whole life and simply blame me and say I "always play the victim".

I have not been easy to deal with for many, many years. Even in sobriety I have been a raging asshole to deal with at times. At the height of my hypomanic episodes I have been explosive, unpredictable, and stubborn beyond belief. Impossible to deal with. I have always been this way, in a sense, and for many years, it served me. I skipped high school completely, choosing to get my education through books, following politics and world affairs, listening to everything around me, absorbing knowledge and skills like a sponge, learning from the world and by trial and (a lot of) error. When I made a decision, there was no challenging me or changing my mind. I followed my gut to the ends of the earth and back. Nobody could have stopped me, though many tried.

So on this day I celebrate six years since I touched a drop of alcohol, I guess I would like to begin not by celebrating at all, but by admitting what I was actually trying to drink away, the hypomania, the depression. By admitting that getting to the root of a problem is often just the beginning of seeing a deeper one. That hitting rock bottom only happens when you stop digging, and try to find a way out. That stigmatizing people who are mentally ill is killing millions of people every year. That suicide recently surpassed homicide as the second-leading cause of death in teenagers each year, after car accidents. That our military veterans come home wounded in body and mind and have a suicide rate that is drastically high, with little to no mental health treatment available. Just "be a man and deal with it" leads to guns being put to heads, nooses being wrapped around throats. That we as a society must change the way we treat the mentally ill, simply as people who have an illness no more controllable or treatable alone than Parkinson's. What's the difference? There is no difference but our mind-state, that's the difference. I worked in a Psychiatric hospital for almost 7 years, and I am still amazed at the daily comments from doctors, nurses, staff in general: "Oh, she's just Borderline", "He's just an attention-seeking teenage brat", "He's just classic Bipolar, throw him on Seroquel". "She's just a Benzo-head", "He's just a fucking drunk", "If he even starts acting up, throw him into isolation and we'll put him down with a shot of B52", (this is what we called the injected cocktail of Benedryl 50 with 2mg of Ativan, the B50-2). "He's crazy as a loon". "Don't even try to talk to her". "He's just an old asshole". "Homeless grunt trying to get a free meal". "He's not nice enough, I don't think we should let his kids visit". "She's a classic cutter, let her find a paper clip and do her worst, just ignore her". Daily. During "Report", as they called it. On the floor of the hospital within earshot of other patients. Sometimes directly to a patients face. Adults, Adolescents, Children as young as four years old. I worked directly with them all. And every time I heard "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND", I remember distinctly thinking: "You're right, I don't understand your exact nature, your exact chemical imbalance or behavioral disorder, but I refuse to not try and help you in whatever way I can. I will show you as best I can that I am WILLING to try to understand, not just that I do", because most of the time, you just don't. But you can try. Empathize. Don't be scared of us. We're your mailmen, postal workers, neighbors, bartenders, waitresses, telemarketers, local business owners, bosses, employees, co-workers, friends, family, loved ones, heroes and heroines.

Which leads me to my last thought. Last night we lost another amazing musician and gentle soul to suicide, Chris Cornell. Add him to the list of amazing artists we have lost to suicide, drugs, and alcohol over the last few years, decades, and the list is too great to comprehend. And the biggest killer of us all is the inability to speak out without being judged, I can speak to that from experience. Saying (or writing) all of this is very hard, when I could be taking myself out to a steak dinner and saying "I used to spend 25 bucks a day on booze, time to treat myself to something nice". I could be getting a relaxing massage. I used to do that. I don't anymore. Now I reflect on what comes next, what the future looks like, what I can do about it personally and globally, and what is beyond my control. I urge other members of my community, and communities around the world to speak up and speak out for themselves and those they love when confronted with the silence that permeates mental illness and awareness of all kinds.

We can't afford another Robin Williams, Chris Cornell, Aaron Swartz, Kurt Cobain, Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, David Foster Wallace, et al. The thousands of unnamed teenagers and unknown mothers and fathers who have to live every day knowing their child is gone. We as the mentally ill need to speak out, and we as a culture need to speak out against the stigma, which increases mortality rates more than any chemical in our brains, of that I am sure. So, help us. Stand up for us. Yes, ask us to get help for ourselves too, and be patient when we need time, or aren't sure, or don't want to talk about it, but keep on pressing. We need the reminder, even when we don't want to hear it. We need the reminder that someone needs us on this earth, and they refuse to let us go without fighting for our lives, and without us fighting for our own.

"Most of us are acutely aware of our own struggles and we are preoccupied with our own problems. We sympathize with ourselves because we see our own difficulties so clearly. But as Ian MacLaren noted wisely, “Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle.”

Good luck and godspeed.

May 18th, 2017

Sam Dillon