#what’s the differential diagnosis for yearning

[tunastime]

A Gear of the Heart, Starting

just a little something I wrote for somebody's (@shepscapades) birthday back in November :3 after I asked what etho and bdubs would've been like shortly after etho's deviation. this is the few times before last life where bdubs realizes etho might be a good friend, and how their relationship changes. comes right before A Gear of the Heart, Turning! (4653 words)

Etho remembers quite a bit.

He remembers the ricochet of the explosion through his left side. He remembers a dozen errors across his vision, showing every unit damaged by the blast, the fractals of fracturing snaking up his arm, the shattered remains of his central programming lingering like a livewire. 

Over and over he can remember the pitch of Bdubs’ voice and had to wonder his own diagnosis at that moment. Bdubs watching his android die in his name—he remembers that, too. Bdubs didn’t even ask for that. It was something Etho gave to him. He’s not sure he could even say why, either. 

It remained a bitter flavor he couldn't identify, even as Xisuma assured him he was okay. Something had happened then, sitting on that floor, thirium in hand. Some movement in his chest he couldn’t place. It wasn’t anything physical, but it felt like some gear of his nonexistent heart had started, turned—rotated. And all he could do was ask himself why. What’s he supposed to do with that?

He doesn’t know. Fine. 

Etho goes back to work at someone’s request. Not even his own request, either, so he has to wonder if maybe Doc put him up to it. Him being Bdubs. Him being Bdubs who shifted back and forth on his feet at Etho’s door—a facade of a base in the process of being designed. If one could even call it a base, yet.

And even though he was increasingly certain that Bdubs had been told to ask—and Etho asked him if he’d been asked to help, and he was adamant about asking by himself, that’s what he said. He said: “You think I gotta be told to ask people for help? I can’t just be doin’ things on my own?” and it had felt so much like doublespeak that Etho didn’t even fight to differentiate his tone. 

But Bdubs had asked if he wanted to help with the horse course. Terraforming—it should be right up his alley, if he’s still into that kind of stuff. Figured he was the expert—or so it goes. Etho had nodded. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do. He supposes he could have easily said no. 

But every part of him yearned to say yes.

So he did.

The dust sifts through his fingers.

Etho perches in the grass, partially hunched as he leans over his line of redstone, shrouded by the hill half-built around him. He’d spent most of the week prior carving out the lines of the track, setting posts for buildings, laying out blueprints for Bdubs to finalize. Today, he lays his line meticulously, dust shifting in his hands. They still shake a bit—nothing a human would notice, nothing that disrupted the flow of his lines, but the overworked gears still shifted in protest as he worked. He could see the faded overlay of the project in his vision if he focused. It crackled, slightly blue-yellow, orange glowing indicators where action was needed, where there were mistakes to be corrected.

It isn’t his redstone to fix. The lines under his hands were—freshly laid by his near-expert technique—but the deeper lines, noteblock announcements, droppers, doorgates, the flourish of the house course, weren’t. Etho smooths out the line he was standing near with his thumb. 

There was nothing wrong with the laid redstone, really. It’s just. Well. It’s not even. It takes up so much space. It lacks the efficiency and tidiness he practiced to a precision. It radiated Bdubs in an overpowering way, one that might turn a gear of the heart—one he didn’t have, of course. Etho’s lines are neat, rigid, conforming to his perfect mental map. 

He lets down his section of dust, drifting over to the dispenser system. He pushes a line further into place, brushing dust back from the side. Further on, where the line crosses, he readjusts it, he smooths them from start to end of line. His hands work where his mind recalculates, looking for errors along the redstone already laid out by Bdubs. Programs bubble up to assist; he dismisses a message, and another as he works. The line straightens from source to sink. 

As he passes, searching for another correction, he hears someone above him. In the corner of his vision, another message notification pings: from Bdubs.

They’re all from Bdubs, actually, now that he notices in full. He blinks, mouth twisting into a frown. Whoops.

He hears someone—Bdubs, he realizes, as he notes the fall of his feet, and the sigh he hops down from his horse, the shuffle of said horse, hooves on grass—clear their throat. Bdubs shuffles around as Etho moves back over to his finished redstone, dusting his hands on the sides of his pants. He lifts the small bag of dust, twisting the tie shut around his fingers as he travels back up the line to recheck the connections. 

“Etho?” Bdubs calls. Etho straightens, just on instinct alone, glancing up at the stretch of sky he can see. It’s bright blue, barely dotted with clouds, and the grass looks warm with sun. He fixes where the dust starts as he sections off the end, tossing the rest of the redstone over to his sling bag.

“Under the hill!”

Bdubs leans over the edge, tilting his head at Etho as he peers into the dark. It takes him a moment to find Etho’s face, partially obscured by black fabric and the fluff of wool around his collar. Etho tilts his head, raising his eyebrows.

“Did you need something?” he asks, arm hanging loosely by his side. Bdubs frowns, too, watching Etho’s expression. As his eyes seem to adjust to the dark, his gaze falls on the lines of redstone. He pauses there for a long moment. In that moment, Etho feels something in his chest grind, almost to a noticeable ache. If he could pull in a breath to settle it, he might have, but the sensation and minute sound passes as soon as he moves his hand to press flat against his regulator. Bdubs is gone when he looks up, reappearing only as he drops into the cavern, catching himself on the wall. He readjusts his cloak around his shoulders, shuffling into the low-light.

“Etho,” he says, still frowning. Etho looks him over. He watches Bdubs set his hands on his hips, but his heart rate stays even and his temperature level. The only thing that changes is the tone of his voice, fluctuating with a pattern Etho recognizes as forcing something. Bdubs takes a long breath in and lets it out. Etho’s eyes find the twitch of his fingers as he folds his arms, rather than the sharp curve of his mouth.

“Yes?” Etho asks. He feels his pump work a little harder. It kind of hurts still, whatever’s stopped working in his chest. He flicks his eyes, recalling a diagnostic, setting it to run in the background as he closes out of the overlays and the world returns to yellowish-grey. Bdubs is still frowning.

“You mind tellin’ me what’s wrong with this redstone?”

Etho blinks. The diagnostic comes up clear.

“What do you mean?” he says, his expression shifting into something copying amusement. He’s trying. He’s at least trying to mimic the emotions he sees. Soon enough it’ll feel natural, he’s certain. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bdubs snorts, which turns into a laugh, which turns into Etho smiling a bit wider, a bit more confusion lingering in his expression as he leans around Bdubs to check his meticulously placed line. Bdubs turns away from him, facing the system, the clock that linked the start gates to the timer below.

“What’s—” Bdubs scoffs, shaking his head. “What’s wrong with it? Etho—” he holds out his hand, waving Etho over. Etho lingers at his shoulder as he steps forward, peering over the curve of it and the moss and small leaves and flowers draped over his neck. “It’s too perfect.”

Etho makes a sound like a scoff now, a caught sound in his vocal unit, a stuttering start to his sentence that doesn’t form right away. He’s trying for surprise, the pitch of his voice rising unexpectedly.

“It’s too perfect?” he asks. 

Bdubs nods. After a moment, Etho thinks he sees his expression shift, the high of his cheek rising. When Bdubs turns his head to look at him, just for a second, Bdubs is smiling.

“Bdubs,” Etho says, sighing, turning away from him, to his bag on the far side of the room. He shakes his head. That something-nothing in his chest flutters and fades and disappears all at once, instead replaced with the urge to smile back. Bdubs laughs, and Etho can imagine him tipping his head back, mouth curved up as he giggles to himself. Etho shakes his head. As he starts to pull away from Bdubs, he feels him catch his sleeve, holding fast to his elbow.

“Etho, wait—” Bdubs giggles. “It looks really good.”

Etho raises his eyebrows. Caught in Bdubs grasp, all he can do is look at him, head tilted, trying not to let the amusement show on his face. Bdubs giggles, face breaking again as he does.

“Etho…” he tries again, fighting back a smile. Etho tilts his head the other way, as if to prompt him further, looking for anything. He stays silent. Bdubs hand lowers slowly, that smile faltering just a fraction. Maybe he thinks Etho’s upset with him. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “You gonna say anythin’? Or you just gonna stand there?”

Etho smiles, finally. He shrugs a little, glancing over at the fixed lines of redstone.

“I fixed your redstone,” he says cooly, sticking his free hand in his pocket. Bdubs blinks. He jerks away as Etho’s smile grows, shoving him hard in his shoulder. Etho wobbles for a moment, smiling to himself, scrunching up his face as Bdubs’ expression morphs. He does laugh, after a beat, poking Etho in the shoulder as he does. Etho hopes he can see the smile in his eyes. He saves, logs, keeps this moment. He’s sure in the low light that his LED spins yellow for a moment. It feels right. If there’s any feeling to catalog.

Bdubs huffs. Etho thinks he hears him say something under his breath. It sounds a lot like thank you.

It’s out of habit, rather than obligation, that Etho finds himself back at the horse course. Of course he ends up here, his feet moving him about as if his brain-not-brain had no thoughts of its own. Man. Some days, it really felt human.

He wanders across the plain, eyes lingering on fully-built buildings, knowing the schematics and plans, watching as those plans-now-buildings stretched higher above his head, where they nearly threatened to pop the sky wide open. 

Bdubs had sat down with him earlier that week, papers spread out between them. He’d stopped by, actually—worked his way up the mountain to the base Etho had finally finished, papers in hand, looking like he was on the verge of collapse. He’d dropped the blueprints on the largest table Etho had managed to clear, spreading out the designs for huge, complex buildings. Etho watched him explain, listened for the inflection of when to offer suggestions, heard the way Bdubs’ voice grew quieter, almost conspiratorial, as he explained his palette. There was something methodical in the way Bdubs spoke, not only in the approach to his colors, but to his style. As much as it seemed eclectic and strange, he watched the pieces fall together as Bdubs spoke of his gradients. There was something deeper there, a precision that Etho, all of a sudden, in that room, craved to emulate. To write to disk. To save. To do more than just copy. 

He’d built the horse stable first—all to his own specifications. It was Bdubs later who came in to detail, tilling up the dirt around to plant grass and flowers, sectioning off parts of the empty stable. It was almost difficult to compartmentalize that Bdubs was finished with it now. That they’d worked each line of the redstone and Etho had supervised the first steps of building, and now he could look up and see the very top, or almost, if he were to strain, of the spikes above the buildings. 

And in just a few weeks, Bdubs was onto another project. Etho smiles to himself. He can’t help it. There was something rather comforting about that. Something about Bdubs dragging him along to help, pointing him toward the thing he was good at, and asking for help. Bdubs showing up at his door with plans. Bdubs cracking jokes with him, and looking for a laugh Etho couldn’t replicate yet. It’s like something clicked. Or was just on the breach of it. And Etho liked it.

Etho clears his field of view, taking in, instead, the stretch of sky where it met the ocean, along the line of hills and grass and flowers, and further still, to the smudge that looked like Bdubs. He blends in too well—the green of his coat barely noticeable against the field of grass that splayed out from the side of his build. There were still materials strewn about—chests half opened, shulkers stacked waist high. 

Bdubs stands to the side of a dark grey and white horse, one hand placed on its nose, the other digging through his bag. Etho watches for a moment. Bdubs fishes around for that entire second that he lingers, searching for something, until he pulls out an apple. Another falls to the ground, rolling away from him. He holds out the fruit for the horse as Etho clears his throat. 

“Hiya, Bdubs—” he says as Bdubs startles, twisting around to see him. He huffs, an immediate frown coming to his face. Bdubs turns to fetch the dropped apple, holding it high above his head as the grey horse nudges its nose into his empty hand. He pats it instead.

“Etho,” he says, tone thin. He sighs, shaking his head. “Scared the life outta me, you know that? You gotta make some noise when you’re walkin’ around.”

Etho smiles, a nice and easy reaction to the annoyance in Bdubs’ voice. It’s getting easier. At least a bit. The smiling part, that is. The inflection that comes with being happy.

��I’ll try next time,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. His hands find his pockets as he looks around, eyes following the path around the buildings. He’s sure the pollen and moss will be stuck to his clothes for days before he gets them out.

“Mm,” Bdubs hums, unconvinced. “I’m sure you will. Now, what’re you doin’ here? You don’t have anything better to do?”

“That’s a good question,” Etho says.

Bdubs turns back to him for a second, just a glance over his shoulder as he cocks his head to the side. He raises his eyebrows before he turns back to the horse, who’s started to nose at his bag. He drags his hand down its nose.

“You’re tellin’ me you don’t have an objective right now?”

“I never have an objective, Bdubs.”

Bdubs snorts again . Etho steps over, slow, minding the horse. It sniffs as Etho holds out his hand, nosing his gloved palm. He pats the horse's nose, somewhat stilted, smoothing over the soft bridge of his nose.

“Right,” Bdubs hums. When Etho glances over to him, Bdubs glances away, as if he’d lingered as Etho stepped over. He’s not moved from Etho’s side, which. Makes something fit into Etho’s chest in a way he isn’t expecting. He rests his hand on the horse's head, looking over at Bdubs in full.

“I can’t come see how the horse course is looking, now that you’re done?” he asks. Bdubs makes an embarrassed sounding noise, watching the rise of the buildings to their left. The horse sniffs, and Etho lifts his hand away, letting it fall to his side.

“I—I got excited about it,” Bdubs mutters. If Etho leans enough, he can see the beginnings of a flush creep over his cheeks, up the shell of his ear. Something about that, too. Etho looks beyond him, though, studying the rise of the buildings as Bdubs does. He nods to himself.

“I can tell,” he says, amusement slipping into his voice, almost naturally. Immediately, Bdubs whips around again, face twisted in offense.

“Hey!” he snaps. “You makin’ fun of me?”

Etho shakes his head, spreading his hands out in front of him as he does.

“No, no. Not at all,” he says, hoping the smile he’s giving is reaching his eyes. “I’m saying we make a pretty good team.”

Bdubs makes a little huff of a sound, but his posture and expression softens. Etho studies it from the moment it appears, trying to place the emotion behind it. He seems upset—but not from anything Etho said. He almost looks guilty.

“We’ve always made a good team,” Bdubs mumbles. Etho blinks.

“Since when have we been a team?”

“Since—s…” Bdubs blurts, then backtracks, folding his arms over his chest. “Well we’re a team now!”

Etho raises his eyebrows, stepping away from the horse and more around Bdubs’ side. He leans in a bit as he stands by his side, bumping their shoulders together. Bdubs doesn’t recoil. Instead, he pushes back, just for a moment, and they jostle. Bdubs hums, sighing through his nose.

“Are we?” Etho asks. Bdubs nods, short and firm.

“Mhm! ‘Cause I said so.”

Etho nods with him. There’s that thing again, a turning, jostling, in some part of his chest that really shouldn’t turn or jostle. He can feel his temperature tick up just a few degrees, a fan kicking on to settle the temperature, thirium sludging warm to cold through his limbs. A team, huh? He couldn’t beat Bdubs’ conviction, that’s for sure. Maybe it was a bit of guilt, then. Maybe something in Bdubs had realized Etho was much more of a help than a hindrance. Maybe Bdubs wanted a friend. Maybe he just felt bad and the feeling bad got to a point where he had to just do something about it. Etho didn’t know. He didn’t live inside Bdubs’ brain. And picking at Bdubs’ every emotion was a task enough to drive his processor into the ground. He could already feel another spike in temperature, LED glowing yellow-blue. Maybe it wasn’t all bad. Etho sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I’d like that,” he says, finally pushing out the words as his programming jumps into gear, “What’s our next project then?”

Bdubs goes back to jostling him before he turns away, moving from Etho’s side to collect his horse. Gathering the horse's reins in his hands, Bdubs pauses.

“Ooh…” he says, frowning a little. Etho watches the little furrow of his eyebrows—thinking. Bdubs is turning the idea over in his head. Bdubs steps back over with the horse in tow, already walking in the direction of the horse stable. Etho jolts forward, taking several big steps to match Bdubs’ pace. “Well why don’t you come back to the clock and we can talk about it, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

Bdubs makes an affirmative sound, leading the horse around and into the stable. Etho watches him unlatch the gate, ushering the horse into the pen.

“I can put the kettle on and everything,” Bdubs says. He lifts the bridle out of the horse’s mouth, running his hand along the length of the horse’s nose. Etho doesn’t mean to watch him as he does, but the action is so purposeful. There’s a moment where Bdubs’ expression is unreadable—unreadable as in Etho simply can’t place anything on it. Unreadable in the amount it changes—something softer than he’s seen, something far away. Bdubs’ whole demeanor seems to shift as he stands still for a moment. Etho isn’t sure what to do with himself. He’s just standing in straw and dirt and stones, all of which he can feel under his shoes. He shuffles a bit, back and forth, to make his presence known, before he says:

“You know I can’t drink anything, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs rolls his eyes, squinting over at him, stepping away from the horse to hop the gate.

“Well you can at least fake it,” he grumbles. He folds his arms again, wrinkling his nose at Bdubs as Bdubs leads him out of the pen and into the open field around the horse course. The shadow of the buildings above them hasn’t changed, yet. The sun is still high and warm in the sky.

Etho laughs. At least, he makes a sound that he thinks passes as a laugh. Bdubs laughs too, though, so it must sound pretty convincing. He nods, the smile on his face feeling much more natural than he ever could have expected. 

“I could fake it,” he laughs. “Sure.”

Bdubs grins at him. It’s nice. It makes the walk back to his base a little more bearable.

By the time Etho gets his invitation to the life game, he’s grown accustomed to being at Bdubs’ side again. He wanders around Bdubs’ base like he knows it, makes it a spot he chooses to map, to memorize. Bdubs checks in on him when he isn’t around as much—asks him how his builds are going, wonders if he needs help. Bdubs lingers in his spaces too, like a plant trying to root, gives himself reasons to stand in doorways just a bit longer, just enough to extend their goodbyes. It feels right—in a way that almost gives reason to Etho’s deviation. Maybe, deep down, from their first introduction, Etho had decided to glue himself to Bdubs’ side and not become unstuck. Maybe he’d simply put that decision, his first ever decision, into motion that day. It didn’t matter much as to why anymore.

When Etho gets his letter, he doesn’t open it. He holds it between two fingers, turning it over and over. He doesn’t need to read it to know what it says. There’s a dark red seal on the back, shaped like a heart. He makes a little sound, some sort of click in the back of his mouth, before he stuffs the letter in his pocket, half-folded.

He finds Bdubs exactly where he expects. Bdubs is sitting cross-legged in his garden, hands in the dirt, when Etho arrives at the crescent moon base. If he looks closely enough, Etho can still tell that Bdubs’ own letter sits on his window sill in the kitchen, unopened. But he’s really squinting to notice, so he writes it off for now as a flaw in his own sight. 

Bdubs turns to him as he walks up. His hair is pushed back away from his face with his bandana, and his hands are covered in dirt, and he’s got a streak of black soil across his forehead that Etho tries not to look at for too long. Bdubs shoots him a toothy grin, going back to his bright orange tulips. If Etho looks long enough, he could probably guess the soil mixture, and tell him if it's good enough to be planting orange tulips in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes to stand behind him and Bdubs hums in greeting.

“Etho,” he says, looking up again, wiping the dirt from his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Etho says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He forgets who he picked the gesture up from, but it’s become part of his natural body language patterns now, so he won’t be stopping it anytime soon. “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“How I was doin’, huh?” Bdubs asks, amusement trickling into his voice. Etho smiles, feeling his face pull.

“Mhm,” he says. “That’s right. I can’t come and check up on a friend?”

Bdubs laughs, sticking his spade in the dirt.

“Oh, we’re friends now?” he says, still giggling as he turns around. “I thought we were just a team.”

Etho watches him lean back on his hands, legs coming out from under him. He tries to read Bdubs’ expression and voice for any note of insincerity, or play, or teasing, but doesn’t find anything he normally associates with Bdubs. This just feels true.

“I mean, I figured with how much we’ve been working together…” Etho starts, to which Bdubs startles, waving his hands.

“No, no!” Bdubs yelps. “Etho, I thought the same thing! I just wasn’t expectin’ it from you.”

Etho blinks. It feels owlish, small, almost a wrong reaction to hearing Bdubs say something like that. But it’s what immediately happens, before he tries to open his mouth, and no sound comes out. He waits for a moment. He assumes his LED spins, maybe even red, as Bdubs watches him, face paling.

“Oh,” Etho says quietly.

“We’re friends,” Bdubs says, voice much smaller than Etho’s ever heard it. “‘S that alright with you?”

Etho feels like the proper response would be to laugh, if he could really feel anything at all besides every gear in his chest halting and restarting themselves. He makes a noise that sounds almost like a cough.

“Mhm,” he says. He watches Bdubs’ shoulders relax and finds that his own posture sinks with it. 

“Good,” Bdubs says, nodding along. “Was there anything else you wanted to scare me with?”

Etho knows this tone—playful. Teasing. He works up a smile and fishes the letter from his pocket, slightly bent. Bdubs’ eyes flick right to it, right to the red seal pressed into the paper. Immediately, he scrambles up, reaching for the note in Etho’s hands. Etho lets him grab it in his dirt-covered fingers, even as Bdubs tries frantically to dust off his hands as he notices. Bdubs turns it over itself, glancing up at Etho.

“It’s for you?”

Etho nods.

“It was on my doorstep this morning,” he says. “I can see you’ve got one in your window?”

Bdubs snorts, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I haven’t opened the damn thing. I’m excited up until the point I’m not, ‘cause I know I’m gonna lose again.”

Etho hums. As Bdubs hands him back the letter, Etho rests his hand on his shoulder, giving it a hesitant, light squeeze. Bdubs looks quickly down at it, before he’s back to staring at Etho’s face.

“Don’t worry, Bdubs,” he says, hoping his voice is full of amusement and affection like he feels like it is. “You’ll have me there this time!”

And Bdubs laughs, full and warm in his chest, and Etho jostles him around as he does, until Bdubs is smacking his shoulder and wiggling free. He picks up his fallen hat and his tools, and Etho follows him around the side of the house as he puts things away. As he shuts one of the chest, Bdubs says:

“You mean that, though? You wanna be on a team?”

Etho smiles, feeling his eyes squint, forces every ounce of new feeling into his words when he says:

“I don’t think I wanna team with anyone else, Bdubs.”

And Bdubs’ grin in excitement is more than enough to convince him he’s made the right choice.

It’ll be a long two weeks until the death game starts. When he returns home later that night, Bdubs’ plans for success turning over in his brain, recording for later, Etho reads over the letter enough to commit the page to memory. He keeps it safe internally as the letter finds its way to his bookshelf, half-sealed. Through him, like it’s just under the skin, runs an emotion he’s not yet familiar with. He hopes it's a good one, at the very least. He hopes so, as much as an android, a machine, someone just now familiar with the idea of free will, can hope. 

It feels good, though. And something makes him think that everything will turn out just fine.

[addictedtostorytelling]

thoughts

a short fic-ish in honor of the twentieth anniversary of er episode 06x14 “all in the family,” which took place (within the universe of the show) on february 14th and 15th, 2000 and forever broke my heart.

canon. a recounting of the episode, mostly about lucy. not shippy, per se, though there is some mention of her relationship with carter, both the good and the bad. the pov is, uh, a take on second person. ~2,100 words.

here be angst and major character death cw.

how do i still have so many feelings about this fictional character going on twenty years and counting? rest in peace, baby girl. 

_________

do you ever think about how when she died, lucy knight was only twenty-five years old, certifiably an adult but unarguably a young one, in many ways still ostensibly a kid, just trying to carve out her place in the world?

if you think about how young she was---about how she still sometimes wore butterfly clips in her hair---then do you also think about how, even though she was young, she already knew that what she wanted to do with the rest of her life was to help people, to heal them? 

does it ever hit you how, just before she died, she had recently started to come into her own at the hospital---that for a year and half, she’d been the odd girl out, always struggling to catch her breath, but now she had finally begun to get the hang of things, to know herself and her job, and to form some connections? do you think about how she was going to graduate in june and become a psychiatrist? do you think about how good she might have been and about how many people she could have healed, had she a full lifetime (eighty years as opposed to just twenty-five) in which to work?

---and then does it occur to you that she never got the chance to be any of those things (a med school graduate, a psychiatrist, good at her work) before she was brutally stabbed by someone she’d spent all day advocating for? 

do you ever think about how lucy probably knew, from the moment paul sobriki pulled the knife out of her gut, that even if someone were by some miracle to find her before she bled out on the exam room floor, her injuries were too severe, and she was beyond saving? (that was how the speech they had taught her to say went, wasn’t it? “ms. knight, we’re so sorry. we worked very hard to save your daughter. we exhausted all of our capabilities, but despite our best efforts—”?) 

have you ever considered lucy’s simultaneous desperate hope and abject terror as she saw the light from the hallway pour into the room from where she was lying, helpless, in an ever-widening lake of her own blood? do you think about how she knew all the while that paul sobriki was still lurking and still armed? do you think about her pleading with the universe that maybe whoever had stepped into exam #3 could overpower sobriki and then find her in time to at least give her a fighting chance? do you think about how she probably also despaired that they might not notice the danger in the shadows until it was too late? do you think she was scared to death that her would-be savior might end up just like she had, in a broken heap on the ground? 

do you think about how lucy had to have realized before he even fell to the floor that this new person—this new victim—was carter? do you think about how she probably recognized his shoes as he bent down to pick up yoshi’s valentine off of the tile? or do you believe she could tell it was him right away, maybe by the way that he walked or how he breathed? (because, she supposed she could admit to herself now, the truth so much harder to resist as she pushed up against the brink of her consciousness, that she had always paid too much attention to carter, in one way or another, seeking his approval, his friendship, possibly even more—?) 

do you think about how she probably wanted to cry out in warning but couldn’t because her throat had been slashed? can you imagine what she felt like, watching sobriki charge out from the corner and hearing carter give that strangled yelp—“somebody!”—and then clatter onto the instrument table before falling astride from her under the bed? 

do you think about how, as she struggled to stay awake for just a few seconds longer, lucy probably wanted so badly to tell carter that she was sorry? (for all of it: for not being able to save him; for the fact that they were going to die together on a cold, linoleum floor; for how their last conversation had been a fight; for how now their last conversation would always be a fight; for the fear that she could, at that moment, as he rolled over to face her, see in his eyes, bright though the room were otherwise black?) 

do you think about how the last thing lucy heard before she faded out was him, stuttering out her name like a foxhole prayer through the darkness? 

do you think about how the next time lucy awakened, surfacing from beneath the deep waves of her heavy anesthesia, that momentarily she forgot what had happened to her? do you wonder if it were only as her nerves roused and a lacerating, sawed-down pain tore through her that she began to remember that she’d been stabbed—that she was dying? do you think that, briefly, she considered that she might already be dead—that this pain and this darkness perhaps signified the end?

do you think about how when she first opened her eyes, lucy was alone? do you think about how only after she started to stir—to try to speak (something stopped her throat); to try to move (everything hurt, as if she had been ripped in two)—did someone come over to her, not a stranger, but someone she didn’t know well—something, something—the surgical nurse—kit? do you think about how confused she must have been and about how much she must have wanted her mom then, unashamedly, like a child? 

can you imagine the horror of her conversation with elizabeth? can you imagine how the medical jargon, the thoracotomies and tracheotomies and splenectomies, which just that morning she would have found fascinating, suddenly made her sick to her stomach? do you suppose that she thought to herself this can’t be real, only she knew that it was real—and knew that, despite that litany of procedures that elizabeth had just rattled off to her, there was no stopping what was coming next, no matter how frightened she was? 

doesn’t it track that by that point in her medical training, lucy had probably seen enough lost causes to recognize herself as one? do you think, fleetingly, she remembered back to last spring, to those teenagers who’d gotten in a fiery car wreck on their way to the prom? do you suppose she thought about the burned boy, travis, who, as he had slowly and painfully succumbed to his injuries, had offered his parents an understatement on the phone in order to comfort them? do you think his words echoed in her ears: “i don’t think i’m gonna make it out to the lake this summer”? 

though she had been touched enough by his bravery back then, do you think she better understood, now that she was herself dying, how what he had done for them had also been a kind of mercy? a reprieve? a grace? 

do you think that’s why lucy asked elizabeth to plug her trach? do you think that’s why she whispered only gratitude with what little breath she had left to her? do you think she hoped that maybe in the days and weeks after she was gone that this final benediction (this gift) would allow elizabeth to sleep---would absolve any errant guilt, because of course elizabeth had done everything possible—they’d all done everything possible—and she knew as much, and she was thankful to them now in a way that just hours ago, before this nightmare had unfolded, she wouldn’t have been able to fully comprehend? 

do you think lucy understood that somehow the death they were helping her toward, the kind of death they were trying to offer, with this second’s pause to collect herself before the inevitable end, was also itself a gift (so much better than the cold floor where she would otherwise have perished)?

do you think, just as elizabeth rose to leave, that lucy may have actually felt an instant of peace before a sudden knot formed in her lungs, and breathing (even with the tube) became impossible? do you think that the differential diagnosis—pulmonary embolism—leaped into her mind before she could stop the thought? do you think she knew the statistics? do you think she knew that she was fucked before they even wheeled her to the scan? 

can you imagine what she was thinking as corday and romano allowed themselves to be overly optimistic about her chances with the filter? do you think she was aware enough to know that they were kidding themselves but experienced enough to realize that they had to kid themselves, because they needed the hope in order to do their jobs—because good doctors work on hope---because maybe, were she not about to die, she would have herself been a good doctor someday, too? 

do you think that was when the truth of everything really hit her—the reality, the senselessness, the fear—because even though she had already known that she was dying, now she was to the point where she was right up against the precipice, and though she was surrounded by many people in a crowded room, she suddenly felt more alone than she had ever felt before? 

do you suppose she thought, then, of carter, wondering if he was dying, as well, or already dead, because no one had told her what had happened to him or if he had even made it out of the exam room alive? 

do you suppose at that moment she yearned sharply for her mother and for her childhood bedroom? do you think she struggled and writhed and raged inside of herself, because, goddammit, she was just a kid, and she didn’t want to die, and she wasn’t ready—she wasn’t!—and she was going to do things and say things and be things—keep being someone—and she had plans!---but now everything that was her was going to cease, and she knew as much, and she felt scared, she felt so scared, scared of the blackness creeping up in her brain, of her synapses misfiring, as she could already feel them doing, her past and her present blurring together, until she wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over her whole self to stay safe from the ravening beyond? 

do you think that in her swirl of memories she found herself in her grandparents’ kitchen, suddenly a toddler again, playing underneath the table, adult legs and adult voices towering above her? do you think all at once she snapped back to being twenty-five again and on a table, crying? do you think that’s why, when elizabeth explained the versed to her, she so adamantly refused—because she knew that the next time she went under, she would never surface again, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye?

do you think that as she lied there, with romano making that tasteless (but also stubborn and human and hopeful) joke about how they’d put too much time and energy into her training to lose her, she had one final instant of consciousness and clarity? 

do you think that, in that instant, blood wet in her hair and tears salting her cheeks, she saw in her mind’s eye what might have been if she had only had more time---graduation, practicing medicine, finding her place and her purpose, falling in love, being happy, surrounding herself with family and friends and people who knew her---truly knew her? 

do you suppose she was thinking, just before the light in her eyes went out, how, in that moment, she wished she could tell them---corday and romano, kit and the other nurses, everyone in the er, carter if he were still alive---everything there was to know about her, everything that made her a person, just so someone would remember, so she would remain in some form present, if only for a little while longer?

can you hear her listing to herself the only vitals that mattered anymore: her hometown, her middle name, her first kiss, that even in her fourth year of medical school she still phoned her mother at least once a day (no matter how busy her schedule), that she had almost ranked emergency medicine over psychiatry on her match application, how grateful she was for everything, how much in this last second before the crash of the wave she missed and loved everyone and everything, all of it, just being---?

_________

he still thinks of her, of course, every valentine’s day, and whispers her name into the darkness like a foxhole prayer.

she would have been forty-five years old.

there are a lot of things she would have been.

[i-heart-danchou]

Deserving

Okay!  This is for @bottomerwinweek​, prompt 1, Reunion/Reincarnation AU This ended up being a million words long (well, 6k), so I’m sorry about that.  I also switch between Levi and Erwin’s POV which will be differentiated using different fonts.  I hope you enjoy it! ------------------------- For as long as Erwin could remember, he had been harboring a secret.  It had started when he was a small child; he would wake up in the night screaming about titans and monsters and dangerous governments, and his father would cradle him to his chest and promise him, promise him, that he was safe in his bed.  It got worse over time- he had memories which weren’t his, visions of a world and a life that had never and could never have happened.  His parents had sent him to a school psychiatrist a number of times and the diagnosis often wavered between ‘wanting more attention’ and ‘severely mentally ill.’ He learned rapidly to hide his dreams, his memories, the pain of loss which he felt every day.  It was easier to make friends that way, to do well in school, to be bright and successful like everyone seemed to envision for him.  His parents were glad; it was just a phase, then.  Imaginary friends, he’d grown out of it. Over time he learned that virtually no one else in the world experienced life as he did.  His friends at school weren’t born yearning for a face in their dreams, and certainly none of them had lived through the downfall of civilization, a military coup, nor been sentenced to death by hanging.  He assumed he was unwell, and after trying a number of different mood altering medications had determined that he wasn’t going to get any better. It would have been fine if it weren’t for Levi.  Dreams and delusions were easy enough to get past, but for as long as he could remember, Erwin Smith had been in love with another human being, one which (in this lifetime, at least) he had never even laid eyes on.  It was more challenging as he went through puberty, as his friends were discovering porn on the internet and their love for large breasts, Erwin found himself unable to get past this surly man in his mind. 

He was teased for being a prude, but it didn’t bother him.  The Levi in his heart was worth waiting for, and he couldn’t really imagine finding happiness with anyone else.  He had a few flings of course, short people with sharp eyes but… There was no one in this world who could hold a candle to what he’d shared with Levi— an odd mix of passion, trust, respect, and absolute devotion to one another.  Even the memories with Levi where things had been grim, dangerous or terse were precious to him.  

He smiled even now when he recalled Levi threatening to break his legs, how they’d fought hand to hand in those difficult beginnings… how Levi had swallowed his feelings and put Erwin first, telling him to give up on his dream in those last crucial moments.  

**

Erwin tried to find Levi in any way he could— searching for his name on social media, using the internet to see if there was anyone, anyone else in this world who had lived a past life like Erwin had.  That was how he connected with Mike, and the relief at knowing that he wasn’t crazy was almost impossible to describe.

They agreed to meet at a nice gastro-pub near Erwin’s work, and idly Erwin wondered if this was too good to be true.  He and Mike had been so close… and yet, he held himself responsible for Mike’s death.  It was likely that Mike resented him, blamed him, hated him now.  It might also just be a scam; a con artist online taking advantage of desperate people like Erwin.

He needn’t have worried though.  From under his umbrella Mike spotted him across the street and knew him immediately.  It wasn’t often Erwin was swept off his feet in an embrace, but he found himself actively reciprocating and burying his face into the warm crook of Mike’s neck.  “Erwin.”  He whispered, taking deep, long breaths in through his nose.  “It’s you.  It’s you.  I thought I was mad.”

Erwin squeezed tight, his heart racing in his chest.  He looked the same, he sounded the same, he smelled the same.   Fuck, it was real.  Levi was probably real.  He pulled away and looked into Mike’s eyes, his eyes crinkled with joy and relief.  He was almost too happy to speak.  

“You ah… you wanna grab an overpriced cocktail and some avocado based appetizer that probably won’t be served on plates?”  Mike managed eventually, his hands perched on Erwin’s shoulders.  

“I’d like that.”  Erwin nudged Mike’s body with his elbow and they walked in together.  

Erwin was all questions— have you always felt like this?  Have you found anyone else?  Nanaba?  Do you hide it?  Do you remember how you died?  Why is this happening?  Who are we?  Who were we?

Mike smirked, apparently glad that some things never changed.  Erwin’s inquisitive and brilliant mind was as sharp as it ever was.  “Yes, no, no, yes, no, I don’t know, I don’t know, and I don’t know.”  He said without much emotion in his voice.  

Erwin nodded.  “It’s funny.  I can’t remember how I died either.  I was leading the charge against the beast titan and... that’s where it ends.”  He swirled his drink around in the glass with his straw, watching the ice cubes dance.  “My whole life I’ve been researching alternate realities, parallel universes… trying to find evidence of these titans, of the walls… I haven’t found any.”  He looked wistful.  “I imagine we’re not the only ones.  A whole world can’t have disappeared into nothing.”

“I wonder.”  Mike mused.  “You might be onto something with parallel universes.  Wormholes, old souls, that kind of thing.”  He shrugged.  “I’m glad we found each other.”  

Erwin nodded.  “Me too.”  He could see it on Mike’s face; the man was searching for someone too.  A face in his dreams that consumed his heart and most of his thoughts.  He had a hole in his heart and only a faint memory guiding him towards fulfillment.  

**

By the time Erwin was approaching his thirty-fifth birthday, he had more or less given up on finding Levi again.  Or, that’s what he told himself anyway.  He’d tried to function in a romantic relationship a number of times, but nothing had ever quite clicked.  He was too aloof, maybe, not good enough at displaying his feelings.  He was never… there, in an emotional sense.  

Gone where the days when Erwin had browsed teashops, underground fighting rings, cleaning supply stores in hopes of finding Levi again.  Mike in that time had found Nanaba, and Erwin was truly happy for them both.  It was difficult to give up hope, he supposed, but hope was making it difficult to function.  In the other world his depression had consumed him, had damaged the lives of the people around him.  He didn’t want to make his parents worry, after all.  They had done so much for him.  

Despite his resolve, Erwin still found himself always keeping an eye out for Levi wherever he went.  He never used headphones in case he missed Levi’s voice calling out, he tended not to stare at his phone for a similar reason.  At night, he’d look through obituaries, death announcements, anything to just… prove that Levi existed.  That it was okay to give up on finding him.  

Nothing ever panned out, of course, so on his birthday he decided to treat himself.  He took the Monday off to give himself a nice three day weekend at the beach.  Living in the city as he did he very rarely got to get out and see nature, and… well, the ocean carried a lot of significance for him.   He’d always, always dreamed of seeing it with Levi one day.  

It wasn’t very difficult to rent a cottage by the beach in the middle of October, and he spent the better part of the weekend huddled up inside next to the quaint little fireplace.  The weather was awful, the winds were roaring, and he was glad he had a bit of privacy here.  He filled a solitary glass of wine and watched the watched the beautiful full moon break through the clouds and dance on the surface of the water.

**

The weather broke on his birthday, at least enough for him to stroll up and down the coast and get some fresh air.  He ignored the notifications on his phone and shoved it in his pocket.  Aging was hard.  Perhaps harder still now that he knew he was approaching the age when he’d died in that other world.  That Erwin Smith had accomplished so much in that time and… although this Erwin was successful by virtually all measures, he felt he had accomplished nothing. Thirty five years of looking for a ghost.  Thirty five years alone and desperate.  Happy fucking birthday, commander.  

He snuggled up against his thick woolly scarf and made his way down the pebbly shore.  The wind was harsh and angry, but at least the sun was vaguely trying to make itself known.  It wasn’t pleasant, but the ocean spray in his hair was making him feel alive.  There was something haunting and beautiful about the vast expanse of the sea, and he found himself looking across the horizon and wondering where… wondering where Levi was.  If he was even alive at all.

Possibly he needn’t have worried so much.  Off in the distance he heard a soft ‘fuck.’  

His ears pricked up, his eyes widened, and he scanned the beach.  Maybe a hundred yards away there was a slight man standing at the edge of the water, staring right back at him.  His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed, a shock of black hair blowing in the wind around his eyes.  His clothes were worn but clean, he looked healthy.  

Levi.  Erwin’s mind was racing— it was Levi, it was Levi, he was certain of it—yet he hadn’t considered the possibility that Levi might not know him, might not remember or recognize him, might not want anything to do with him— shit. His heart ached with how much he adored this man, and it took everything he had to keep himself restrained and not throw himself at Levi.

He took a calming breath and started to approach, as it was apparent Levi was not going to come up to him first.  Each step closer hardened his resolve; it was Levi, he knew his face, he knew his stance, he knew this man.  Thirty five years of searching, it was him, it was him. 

“Levi?”   He called tentatively, carefully… as a young man, Levi had been so skittish and mistrusting.  Who knew how old he was now?  What his life had been like, if he had any reason to be wary of strange men calling out to him on the beach.  

There was something difficult in Levi’s expression— pain, certainly, worry, confusion, heartache… a touch of excitement, disbelief, joy too… but… pain was the predominating feature.  “Erwin.”  He said at last.  “Of all the fucking beaches in all the fucking world.”

They didn’t run to meet each other in the sand and hug, they didn’t kiss, they didn’t cry.  That interaction answered a few questions, actually.  Levi knew him.  Levi had at least some of his memories from the past.  Levi likely had met someone else from their world, or he would have been much, much more surprised to see him.  And… Levi had been actively avoiding him all this time.

Erwin hesitated for a moment, trying to plan how best to proceed.  “It… it’s been a while.”  

Levi’s expression fell into something detached and cynical, a more typical look for him to be sure.  “Yeah.”

“I rented a little cottage by the water.”  Erwin said, forcing a plastic smile to his lips.  “Do you want to come in so we can catch up?”

A war raged in Levi’s eyes.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  He muttered, and started turning his back on Erwin.  

“Levi.”  Erwin said softly, the vulnerability and hurt was obvious in his voice.  “Please don’t walk away from me again.  I’ve been searching my whole life for you.  Only you.  Please.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a small groan.  “Fine.  It better not be a long walk.”

**

They were both silent as they walked to the cabin, the soft crunch of the sand beneath their feet and the soft roar of the waves as they hit the shore were the only real sounds.  Erwin kept a respectful distance from Levi, but he noticed that although Levi was keeping his eyes in front of him, on occasion he snuck a little glance up at Erwin.  He smiled then.  It was such a Levi thing to do that it made his heart sing.

“Make yourself at home.”  Erwin said pleasantly when they arrived, tossing a log onto the dying embers in the fireplace.  

“You kept the place clean.”  Levi remarked with no small amount of surprise.  His fingers ran along one of the wooden surfaces, coming up dust free.  “Not bad.”

Erwin chuckled.  “My whole life I’ve been looking for you, Levi.  I got into the habit of keeping a clean home just in case.”  

Levi cocked an eyebrow.  “Gay.”  He decided, inviting himself into the kitchen so he could brew them both some nice tea.  

The swell of love that Erwin felt was almost indescribable.  His face ached from smiling, and it was all he could do to stop himself from hugging Levi from behind, from kissing his neck up and down, from running to the bedroom and just… seeing where the day took him.  

But he didn’t do that.  “I suppose so.”  He tried to swallow his smile.  “How have you been, Levi?  Tell me about—“

“What do you remember?”  Levi demanded, his eyes sharp and desperate.  “From before.”

Erwin swallowed.  “I remember titans.  I remember a world crushed from the outside by disgusting monsters who threatened to destroy everything.  I remember losing my father to my own stupidity, and I remember being in the army.  I found a young man in the underground who changed my life, a man so brilliant and talented that I believed he and I could save the world together.  He was my right hand, and he stood beside me and supported me through all my crazy ideas.  I was in love with him, and he knew me better than I knew myself.”

He paused there, watching Levi carefully.  He’d always been good at coaching his expressions, and he was difficult to read, but… the pain in his face was escalating, and the tips of his ears were red.  “We did everything together.  People seldom saw me without him— without you.  You supported me through losing my arm, through the coup, you helped me chase my dream and… and when everything was falling around us, you stood beside me and helped me lead the final charge.  I died proud, I died as the man I wanted to be.  I died knowing you would finish what I started.”  He reached over and took Levi’s hand.  “You were in my heart as I faced the beast titan.  The greatest love of my life.”

Levi’s face was grey and ashen.  He pulled his hand away from Erwin and licked his lips.  “Do you want to know what was in the basement?”

Erwin narrowed his eyes for a moment.  “Yes.”  

“You were right.”   Levi said, putting on his coat as he headed to the door.  “You were right about everything.”

**

Letting Erwin die had been the hardest thing Levi had ever done.  Leaving him alone in that cottage, that desperately lonely look in his eyes, was certainly a close second.  His whole life he’d been dreaming of Erwin, wondering where he was, what his life had ended up like.  He seemed put together, at least.  Well dressed, wealthy, nice car, nice watch… good.  He’d done well in this life, he was probably happy, had friends… this was fine.  

Levi hastily texted Hanji before he got on his bike.  ‘Meet me at the bar.  Some bullshit happened.’

He had come to the ocean for the same reason Erwin had, dammit.  He’d wanted to be close to him on his birthday, he wanted to honor the commander in one of the only ways he could think of.  He didn’t fucking like the ocean, it was cold and polluted and fish fucked in it.  …besides, the ocean had always been a sore point for him.  It reminded him of Armin.  It reminded him of he day he’d let Erwin rest.  

He hated the ocean, but he often did things he hated out of respect for Erwin.  He hadn’t expected to actually find the piece of shit, with his stupid gorgeous face and his hopeful eyes and god dammit why was this happening?  He was never supposed to see him again.  Erwin deserved better.

Despite his helmet and hood Levi had ended up soaked by the time he peddled up to the bar.  “Levi you look like a drowned squirrel!   So cute.”  She patted him dry with some questionable bar napkins and Levi slapped her hand away.  

“Fuck off, Hanji.  I’m not in the mood.” He went behind the bar and poured them both some whiskey.  

She rolled her eyes.  “What, did you find Erwin or something?”

He shot her a glare so withering and severe that she actually flinched.  “Oh.  Jesus Levi.  I had no idea, I’m so sorry.”  She put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged her away.  “Did… you talk to him?”

“Yeah.  He remembers the old world.  He remembers me.”  Levi swallowed.  “He doesn’t know how he died.  Hanji I can’t—“

“I know.”  She said gently.  “And you know that I’m going to tell you that he’s not going to be angry with you. You must have been wondering, right?  All these years— where he’s been, who he’s become, if he dreamed of you like you dreamed of him?  Finding me was one in a million, Levi!  Finding both of us was one in a billion!  Don’t fuck this one up because of your hangups.  Look at me.”  She forced him to make eye contact by clutching his cheeks.  “Erwin will love you no matter what.  Don’t fucking do this.”

Levi had reconnected with Hanji a few years earlier, purportedly by chance but he now suspected she had tracked him down on her own.  Her whole life had been marred with difficulty, as the memories of her past life had caused her nothing but trouble.  She had refused to hide her ‘mental impairment’ and it had cost her dearly.  When she had finally found Levi, she had broken down and sobbed.  

On Levi’s end, he had spent his whole life wondering if he was insane— cursing himself every time a tall blond man made him turn his head.  Meeting Hanji, confirming that it wasn’t all in his mind had been extremely liberating but… that meant Erwin was real too.

He’d been able to avoid tracking him down for a while, as Hanji was highly motivated to find Moblit first.  After an exhaustive search they found him at last, as the subject of a gofundme page for a young man with leukemia.  According to the last update, Moblit had died about two years prior, surrounded by family and loved ones.  Hanji didn’t speak about him much, but knowing Erwin was out there, that Levi was squandering this chance was probably killing her.

But it didn’t matter.  Levi had allowed Erwin to die.  He had snatched his last chance at life away, and ensured his dream would never come true.  Beyond that, he had failed to kill the beast titan.  Levi Ackerman had spent the last decades of his life crippled and useless, unable to join the final fray, unable to keep his vow.  Levi had survived all of them.  Little by little his world became empty, and he wasted away to nothing.  His penance had been a life of solitude and reflection, and that wasn’t about to change now.  

He had robbed the world of Erwin Smith, he didn’t deserve to find happiness with him now.  Erwin fucking deserved better.

**

Erwin had stood for a good long while staring at the door after Levi left.  He thought about following, about grabbing Levi’s arm and forcing him to stay but it just wasn’t the way Erwin operated.  He’d watched through the window as Levi had cycled off and covered his eyes with his hand.  

He could have followed, but he didn’t.  If Levi didn’t want anything to do with him, he had to respect that.  Perhaps it was enough to know that Levi was alive and well, that he was well, not happy exactly but… functional.  Fuck.  

He wondered what might have transpired in their old world to have gotten Levi to turn on him so completely.  Maybe in his last moments, Erwin had betrayed humanity, let them all down, disappointed Levi beyond measure.  Maybe Levi had reconsidered all of the deaths Erwin had been responsible for, maybe he blamed him and thought him a monster now.  Maybe he’d lived a long happy life in a titan free world, settled down with a nice man and felt disloyal to consider the love of another?

Erwin had never entertained the possibility that Levi would reject him if they were ever reunited.  He’d taken their love for granted, and now he was paying the emotional price.  Idly, he wondered if he would ever recover from such a blow.  

He called in sick to work for the rest of the week, and extended his lease on the cottage.  He was in no shape to work right now, and he needed some time to heal and plan his life from now on.  Levi was not an option anymore, and he had the rest of his life to think about.  Maybe he could get married now, give his parents some grandchildren.  Maybe he could fake his way through the rest of his life, and die knowing his soulmate had moved on long ago.  

It was fine.  He was fine.

He sunk into the plush little armchair which sat beside the fireplace.  His head fell into his hands and he took some deep, solid breaths as he tried to calm the miserable anxiety coiling in the pit of his stomach.  Depression had destroyed commander Smith once before.  He wondered if loneliness might do it this time.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket and of course he ignored it.  That is, until the buzzing became incessant, annoying, and worrying in its urgency.  An unknown number was calling, and he sent it straight to voice mail.  Immediately following was a series of texts.

‘Erwin, it’s Hanji, I found your number online.  I know Levi met up with you, I know everything is fucked up right now.  Can we talk?’

**

Levi examined the glass he was holding against the warm yellow light of the bar.  Spotless.  Just how he liked it.  His heart was aching and he swallowed it down, deftly placing the glass in line with its siblings.  Had it always been this monotonous?  In a strange way, it reminded him of what life had been like immediately after Erwin had died.  The world was darker, music seemed muted, everything moved slower.  

It had been an awful part of his life the first time it had happened.  He’d staggered through life, his face unchanging, having to hear the snickers and whispers of those who blamed him for letting Erwin go.  What a fool that Levi was, he’s doomed us all, and that Erwin Smith, what a monster, what a villain, the two of them deserved each other.  Levi had silently borne it all.  He owed no one an explanation, and he felt he deserved some retribution for what he’d done.  It had been the right call, but it was hard to convince himself of that sometimes.  

Eren and his cohort had scarcely noticed a difference in Levi after Erwin died, and he wasn’t surprised.  They got to their fucking ocean, and the world kept spinning like Erwin had never mattered.  The fucking shitshow that followed was another story entirely but… fuck, what was wrong with him?  Levi never reminisced like this, it was pathetic.  

He’d seen Erwin for less than an hour yesterday, and his whole life had been turned upside down once more.  The man had a strange and terrible power, that’s for sure.  He shut his eyes and tried to banish Erwin from his mind, but as was often the case his beautiful gentle smile came to the forefront of his thoughts and made his heart clench.  

He’d spent the last decades of his first life praying for a chance like this… to be with Erwin again, unencumbered, free, living a life where happiness was a real possibility but… he’d let Erwin die, he’d broken his promise.  Erwin deserved better.  

The bell above the door chimed cheerfully as a customer allowed himself into the bar.  Levi glanced up, started offering to take the guy’s order when he saw it was Erwin.  His eyes widened and his jaw clenched.  “What the hell are you doing here?  You followed me?”

Erwin shook his head.  “Hanji called me.  She told me I would find you here.”  He sat down at the bar.  “I’d like a beer, please.”

Levi poured him one of the microbrew special crafted IPA bullshit beers he had on tap and set the glass down in front of him.  

“Thank you, Levi.”  

Levi’s heart clenched and he felt like he might be sick.  

Erwin was silent for a moment as he sipped his beer.  He carefully placed the glass on a coaster and looked started watching Levi with those impossible beautiful eyes of his.  Levi knew he looked pained, nervous, highly strung, and defensive.  He hesitated, not sure what to say.

Erwin broke the silence, then.  “I’d like to speak with you, Levi.  I’d like you to listen to what I have to say, and if at the end of that you still don’t want me to be a part of your life, I’ll accept it and I won’t bother you again.”

Levi met his eyes and nodded his consent.  How?  How could he still be under this man’s spell after a lifetime and a universe apart?

“I spent the final years of that other life loving you.  Wishing that we had the luxury of security and simplicity so we could just find happiness together.  Wishing for a world just like this one.  I loved that you were able to prioritize our mission, I loved how passionate we were, and I loved how I could be myself around you.  I’ve spent this entire life yearning for you and searching for you.  I never stopped loving you.”

Levi kept how moved he was off his face.  He kept his expression hard and cold. “You don’t understand.”  He muttered.  “You just don’t—“

“Hanji told me how I died.”  Erwin interjected, and Levi’s blood ran cold.  

“I don’t resent you for that, Levi.  She didn’t understand why you did what you did, but I do.”  He reached over and offered his hand for Levi to take.  His palm was warm and inviting looking, but Levi resisted taking it.  “You did it out of love.  It was a gift, an act of mercy.  You let me die with my humanity, my dreams, my sense of self intact.  I can’t forgive you, Levi.”  Levi’s heart dropped.   “…because there’s nothing for me to forgive.  You were right to let me go then.  I was ready to end it, I was at peace for once in my life.  It never would have ended up like this world, not in our lifetimes.  We never would have been happy.”  Erwin looked so tired, so hurt.  “We have this chance now.   A chance to carve a beautiful, peaceful life for ourselves.  I love you and I want to be with you.  Please, please don’t send me away.”

Levi recalled when Erwin had died.  How the news had hit him like a punch in the gut, how all at once the light had been snuffed from his life.  The way he’d crumpled into himself, picked up the pieces of his heart, and forced himself to keep standing.  Letting Erwin go was a choice he had to live with, one that he told himself he’d never regret, but… it had killed him.  His soul had died with Erwin, and that moment of intense, visceral pain hadn’t left him even now.  

He came out from behind the bar and hugged Erwin as tightly as he could.  His eyes screwed shut, the vague threat of tears at the back of his mind, he squeezed Erwin nice and hard and his breath hitched when he felt those strong arms envelop him.  “I missed you.”  Levi said simply.  “All this time, I thought of you.  I never stopped fighting for you, Erwin.  I never let you go, not really.”

“I know.”  Erwin’s voice was deep and soothing as ever, and Levi found himself smiling as Erwin nuzzled his hair.  

**

Erwin had often wondered what his first time with this world’s Levi would be like.  He sort of imagined someone getting slammed into a wall, fists raking through hair, more biting than kissing… a marathon of desperate animal sex which one might find in the deepest caves of the internet.  But it wasn’t like that at all.

Levi had closed the bar early and taken Erwin’s hand, and they’d walked to his little apartment in blissful, almost giddy silence.  Erwin followed Levi to his bedroom and sat down beside him on the mattress.  A comfortable beat of silence passed between them, and Levi made the first move.  

He crawled into Erwin’s lap and kissed him up and down his face, deft fingers working his shirt open, breathing in the soft skin beneath the fabric.  Levi was soft, tender, reverent even, and it made Erwin’s heart sing.  

Erwin cupped Levi’s face and drew him in for a kiss, urging him out of his clothes too.  Levi yielded, presented his neck, started rubbing himself along Erwin’s warm arousal.  He could see Levi wanted to be submissive, perhaps a show of apology for… everything, but it wasn’t exactly what Erwin had in mind.

In letting Erwin die, Levi likely felt he’d betrayed Erwin’s trust.  Like he’d been trusted with a precious jewel and he’d thrown it away without a thought.  Levi probably wanted to make things right, to spend the rest of his life apologizing and worrying that Erwin loathed him for his act of love and mercy.  Erwin didn’t want that.  They had this second chance, and he didn’t want to waste another second lamenting over a world filled with monsters and angry teenagers.

Levi began to prepare himself and Erwin gently caught his wrist with his hand.  “Not today.”  He said peacefully, his eyes hooded with affection.  Erwin leaned back on the bed and coyly spread his legs, an act of love and trust which he would do for no other.  “I want you.”  He informed Levi.  “I love you and I’ve never stopped loving you.  I always, always want to be with you.”

Levi’s expression relaxed into something trusting and warm, the little wrinkle between his eyebrows diminished and he licked his lips.  “You might regret that.”  He said, a light tease in his voice.  “You might not realize this, but I’m a cranky, fastidious, miserable little asshole.”

Erwin laughed and the mattress vibrated beneath him.  “I think I can probably handle that.  I’m a manipulative, emotionally distant, megalomaniacal bastard.”

“Not much has changed then, old man.”  Levi’s eyes were warm, a cautious joy threatening to mar his facial features.  He took his time prepping Erwin, kissing his temple and cheeks as he worked.  Every touch was tender, and the whole room was heavy with love and affection.  Erwin was glad to take Levi like this, and he shut his eyes against the pleasure he felt as he was filled.  

Yes.  Everything about this was right.  

The sex itself was over quicker than might be desirable, but perhaps that was to be expected considering how long they’d both wanted this.  It didn’t really matter; they were both satisfied, fulfilled, and drunk on each other.  Levi insisted on washing up before they cuddled, but as soon as they’d rinsed off Levi found his usual spot nestled up against Erwin’s chest.  

“I never thought this would happen.”  Levi admitted.  “I never imagined we could get time like this.  To just… be together.  Nothing hanging over our heads.  It’s not bad.”

Erwin smiled and stroked his shoulder.  “Not bad at all.”  He agreed.  “The rest of our lives is going to be like this.  I never want to be apart from you again.”  He kissed the top of Levi’s head.  “Move in with me?”

“Fuck, Erwin.  You move fast.  This wasn’t even a proper first date.”

“Oh goodness, you’re right.  I barely wined and dined you at all.  Your friends are going to think I’m terribly cheap.”

“Guess you could make it up to me by going for another round?”  Levi was smiling.  

“Levi, I’m sorry, but I’m just not the type of man who has sex twice on the first date.  I have to have some boundaries.”  Erwin was smiling too.

“You’re such a loser.”  Levi grumbled affectionately, wrapping his arms around Erwin’s neck and kissing him all over his face.  “You’d think I’d have developed better taste in men by now.”

“Mm, can’t argue with that.”  Erwin flipped him over and pinned him to the bed.  “You never said if you’d move in with me or not.”

Levi looked up at him, his eyes sparkling as he pushed Erwin’s hair out of his forehead and back into place.  “Duh.”  

**

Life fell into a pleasant routine after that.  Erwin sold his shares in his company and used the profits to buy a quaint little tea shop in a cozy village by the sea.  He loved his life with Levi, the simple pleasures that came with living a normal existence.  He was getting better at baking, and Levi seemed truly content.

Each night they’d make some time for each other, even if it was just snuggling up together while they both dicked around on their phones, or doing chores together, just… simple, gentle time.  

Sometimes they’d reminisce about the old world, or wonder about how the universes were connected, about the metaphysical implications of past lives or wormholes or… it didn’t matter.  Erwin sometimes surprised himself by not obsessing over that life anymore— the basement, even held only a small appeal now that there was no war to be won, no ghosts to avenge.  

Still.  It was in his nature to be curious.

“Levi?”  He asked one night, resting his head on Levi’s thigh as they both sprawled out on the couch together.  “So… after the basement, what happened next?”  He wiggled his eyebrows.  “Didja miss me?”

Levi flicked his forehead and let out an exasperated but affectionate sigh.  “Don’t even go there, Erwin.  The whole thing was a fucking shitshow and you should be thanking me that you weren’t there for it.  Teen angst everywhere.”

Erwin laughed and snuggled into the warm flesh of Levi’s leg.  “Mm.  We should have gotten a spinoff.” “Two old men bantering in the woods.  Dunno if it has any real market appeal, commander.”

Erwin just shut his eyes.  “We just need a media strategist.  I bet it’d be very popular.  I’ve never been wrong before.”  

Levi smiled and stroked Erwin’s hair.  “That’s true.”  His voice was gentle.  

Erwin found it so easy to fall asleep like this.  The couch was warm and comfortable, Levi’s body was soft and smelled amazing, and the gentle hand in his hair was soothing beyond words.  He drifted off with a smile on his face, wondering what Levi would mumble now that he was sure Erwin wouldn’t hear him.

“I love you, you bastard.”  The words were soft and reverent.  

Erwin wondered what he’d done to deserve such happiness.  

[sciencespies]

Researchers are figuring out why some people can 'hear' the voices of the dead

https://sciencespies.com/humans/researchers-are-figuring-out-why-some-people-can-hear-the-voices-of-the-dead/

Researchers are figuring out why some people can 'hear' the voices of the dead

Scientists have identified the traits that may make a person more likely to claim they hear the voices of the dead.

According to research published earlier this year, a predisposition to high levels of absorption in tasks, unusual auditory experiences in childhood, and a high susceptibility to auditory hallucinations all occur more strongly in self-described clairaudient mediums than the general population.

The finding could help us to better understand the upsetting auditory hallucinations that accompany mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, the researchers say.

The Spiritualist experiences of clairvoyance and clairaudience – the experience of seeing or hearing something in the absence of an external stimulus, and attributed to the spirits of the dead – is of great scientific interest, both for anthropologists studying religious and spiritual experiences, and scientists studying pathological hallucinatory experiences.

In particular, researchers would like to better understand why some people with auditory experiences report a Spiritualist experience, while others find them more distressing, and receive a mental health diagnosis.

“Spiritualists tend to report unusual auditory experiences which are positive, start early in life and which they are often then able to control,” explained psychologist Peter Moseley of Northumbria University in the UK when the study first came out.

“Understanding how these develop is important because it could help us understand more about distressing or non-controllable experiences of hearing voices too.”

He and his colleague psychologist Adam Powell of Durham University in the UK recruited and surveyed 65 clairaudient mediums from the UK’s Spiritualists’ National Union, and 143 members of the general population recruited through social media, to determine what differentiated Spiritualists from the general public, who don’t (usually) report hearing the voices of the dead.

Overall, 44.6 percent of the Spiritualists reported hearing voices daily, and 79 percent said the experiences were part of their daily lives. And while most reported hearing the voices inside their head, 31.7 percent reported that the voices were external, too.

The results of the survey were striking.

Compared to the general population, the Spiritualists reported much higher belief in the paranormal and were less likely to care what other people thought of them.

The Spiritualists on the whole had their first auditory experience young, at an average age of 21.7 years, and reported a high level of absorption. That’s a term that describes total immersion in mental tasks and activities or altered states, and how effective the individual is at tuning out the world around them.

In addition, they reported that they were more prone to hallucination-like experiences. The researchers noted that they hadn’t usually heard of Spiritualism prior to their experiences; rather, they had come across it while looking for answers.

In the general population, high levels of absorption were also strongly correlated with belief in the paranormal – but little or no susceptibility to auditory hallucinations. And in both groups, there were no differences in the levels of belief in the paranormal and susceptibility to visual hallucinations.

These results, the researchers say, suggest that experiencing the ‘voices of the dead’ is therefore unlikely to be a result of peer pressure, a positive social context, or suggestibility due to belief in the paranormal. Instead, these individuals adopt Spiritualism because it aligns with their experience and is personally meaningful to them.

“Our findings say a lot about ‘learning and yearning’. For our participants, the tenets of Spiritualism seem to make sense of both extraordinary childhood experiences as well as the frequent auditory phenomena they experience as practicing mediums,” Powell said when the study was published.

“But all of those experiences may result more from having certain tendencies or early abilities than from simply believing in the possibility of contacting the dead if one tries hard enough.”

Future research, they concluded, should explore a variety of cultural contexts to better understand the relationship between absorption, belief, and the strange, spiritual experience of ghosts whispering in one’s ear.

The research has been published in Mental Health, Religion and Culture.

A version of this article was first published in January 2021.

#Humans

[wildheartcoach]

The last shaman (movie review)

The Last Shaman is a documentary that follows a young man, in his early 20’s, who is suffering from severe depression. He has reached a point in his diagnosis that labels him as “incurable” and the only way out, that he can see, is suicide. But in a last-ditch effort, he has decided to try the healing efforts of a shaman. See the trailer here:

You can watch the full movie on Netflix streaming.

Born into affluence to two physicians who work at Mass General Hospital in Boston, James, the young man, has had all of the opportunities that many of us would yearn for. He goes to the best private school (Phillips Academy in Andover, MA) and one of the most expensive private colleges (Middlebury College, in Middlebury, VT). James is handsome, smart and driven to succeed. 

But something is drastically wrong. James falls into a depression that robs him of his joy of living, his emotions, and an ability to connect. What later becomes apparent in the documentary, is that he was given the message by both parents that his value as a person is defined by outward-looking success. Success seen as your academic achievement, your relationships with the opposite sex, your grades and talent and financial wealth. With both parents being physicians, it is no wonder that this young man has had to live up to an impossibly high standard. 

The goal of the documentary seems to be to offer an alternative to using the recommended therapies and prescriptions as provided by the mental health industry. It is also a commentary on the commercialism of healing practices. As we know, the mental health industry is far from perfect. Doctors readily admit, there is so much more to know about the human brain and we’re only just now beginning to scratch the surface. Prescription therapy, behavioral therapy and even shock-therapy have not cured James. He is actually worse off, he says, than before he began taking the drugs and therapies. He claims the drugs have altered him irreparably. 

Within this playing field, James feels lost and unsupported. A sensitive young man, who truly cares and wants to be the best person he can be, doing all his parents have asked him to do, he feels let down. He is able to finally articulate that after he has undergone some shamanic healing.

James goes to Peru, to where shamans are a part of village culture but whose practice is now turning into a form of commercialized tourism. There is much money to be made by tourists coming there to be healed. Like anywhere else in the world, there are charlatans and scammers. But there are also a few authentic healers who don’t heal for money, but because it’s what they do. 

The first shaman James finds seems authentic, but during his time there, a man dies while under the shaman’s watch. No recompense seems to be demanded by the family and this shaman continues to work. In fact, he builds a new compound to grow his practice. James leaves to find another shaman. This time he finds an American who has been living in Peru for many years. This shaman doesn’t hide his background as a high school dropout, an ex-convict, and a user of illegal drugs. He likes to engage in weekend “cock fights,” a local custom, in which roosters fight each other to the death. But as a shaman, he’s apparently healing visitors. 

James decides to trust this American shaman — the man speaks English and James thinks that will help him to better understand what's going on — and goes through a cleansing process. It becomes the first experience he has with the ritualistic herbal drink, called ayahuasca. This drug creates hallucinations and causes vomiting. Because James was on anti-depressants, he must first wean himself off those drugs before he can begin. We see the shaman chanting, blowing smoke, drinking something in James’ presence. After the experience, James seems lighter, more in touch with himself, but then he’s told by the shaman that he won’t be able to continue to help heal James, because he’s working on a new building project. So James leaves.

On his way to his third and last shaman (hence, the title of the movie), James begins to open up about his feelings. He’s asked if he’s happy now and gets furious with the question. He explains that all he wants is to feel. To be human again. He is angry when he thinks  and talks about his father. The pressure put on him, even if it was out of love, caused James to lose sight of who he really is, what makes him James.

The last shaman, Pepe, is a true village shaman who practices his healing for free. He agrees to take on James, and for over 100 days, James goes through a complete immersion into the cure, which involves purging, drinking lots of the ayahuasca, and smoking some kind of weed (it’s not clear if this is marijuana or some other kind of drug). At the end of the 100 or so days, it’s time for James to be “reborn.” The shaman places a shroud around James' body that he can breathe through, digs a shallow grave in the jungle and puts James in that hole. He is covered with dirt, all except his nose, so he can continue to breathe. He is left in the ground for 7 hours.

When James comes out, he seems disoriented. But you begin to see a more whole person emerge. He is able to differentiate what he had gone through, his trials in his earlier life, and to look upon those who steered him so far from himself with compassion and forgiveness. He sees the connection that we all have with nature, with plants, with mother Earth. He seems to be filled with peace.

He does not claim to be cured, but says he is healing. This is a journey that he will be on for a while. He plays soccer with the children in the village, a sport he used to play all the time when he was younger, but gave up to focus on his grades. 

A twist occurs at that point that makes the story a bit difficult to fully believe. The shaman Pepe is forced out of the village when an NGO, that is intent on setting up tourism based on commercializing shamanic healing and ayahuasca, discovers that Pepe is offering these to tourists for free. He is seen as too much competition for other shamans and must leave and give up his practice. We later see Pepe working at a mechanic’s shop in the city, although James claims that no one knows where Pepe has gone. Whether done for special affect, or to sell us on the title of the movie, it’s not clear. It seems odd that the one healer who actually helped James is the one ostracized, while the other two men with dubious motives, are allowed to continue their work as shamans, as if nothing is wrong.

The final scenes are with James who has returned to college in Middlebury, attempting to patch things up with his parents, and working on himself as he tries to retain his connection to nature through gardening. Maybe, he says, he’ll use his knowledge of medicinal plants to heal others, following somewhat in his parents’ footsteps as a doctor.

my perspective

I enjoyed the movie, despite the strange special effects the director used to show the hallucinations that James goes through. I could also forgive the somewhat forced ending. But I would have loved to have learned more about what James got out of the experience. We see him smiling more, we see him eating dinner with this parents, we see him back in college, but what was the lesson he learned? What is the “aha!” to take away from this movie?

I would’ve been fine if this was a rant against the mental health establishment, the pharmaceutical industry, but then the story of James might get lost in that angle. I would have preferred, I think, to have learned more about the experience from James’ point of view. What does he think can be done about depression now that he’s gone through that unique experience? Are there other examples of people who have had severe depression and were “cured?” Can a person be cured of depression? There are so many other questions that remain unanswered. 

The other piece of the puzzle that remains unclear is: what exactly is a shaman’s role and how does a shaman's work help people restore their mental health? Shamanic styles of healing go back to ancient Africa, thousands of years ago. If you look up the definition of shamanism, you learn that a shaman is someone who opens up the two worlds, the materialistic and the spiritual worlds, so that you can find divine allies, helpers or guides that manifest healing and restore your imbalances. Shamans believe we are all one, all connected, and that you dream up the world.

"I do think this movie is a good starting off point for a unique conversation. "

What is depression?

The fact that we don’t really understand what causes depression, what cures depression, or even if there is a cure for it, is still a huge issue. As a coach, I have learned a lot about psychology and spirituality. With the limited amount of knowledge I have, what stands out for me is that when you lose your connection to yourself, your true nature, the part of you that is your soul, your spirit, it feels like depression. I have no idea if clinical depression is the same thing. 

What is clear to me is that mental health professionals and coaches look at humans in opposite ways. The coach sees a human as containing all the internal tools and elements a human needs to be whole and healthy, and only needs assistance to access those tools and elements within themselves, therefor they believe you treat the whole person — while a doctor sees a human with poor mental health as flawed, as “missing” essential tools or elements that create a healthy and whole person, so they believe you only treat the symptom or the area that is afflicted. This is why doctors prescribe medications that are meant to provide you with some of those missing elements. 

So it makes me wonder, when a person sees themselves as “flawed” or “broken,” how likely are they going to feel the confidence they need to be the best version of themselves that they can be? How affective is giving medication to a depressed person, when they are essentially told they need that medicine to feel “normal?" And if the meds don't make you feel normal, but worse, what does that say about you? That's exactly where James was lead, and to the brink of suicide.

Certainly biology plays a part in depression, but I also know that you can trigger your own chemicals, through mindfulness exercises and other behavioral practices. Smiling actually releases neurotransmitters such as serotonin, endorphins and dopamine.

Is it possible that if James had had someone like a coach to work him through his struggles before he got to severe depression, he would’ve been able to stay whole and healthy, without falling into depression? What is depression really, if not a dysfunctional manifestation of self-hatred? If the coach can open up your perspective and help you see things that you were unable to see about yourself because of that lost connection to soul, and can help you to accept and even love all parts of you, could depression be avoided?

Yes, there is so much we don’t know. 

[sciencespies]

Scientists are figuring out why some people can 'hear' the voices of the dead

https://sciencespies.com/humans/scientists-are-figuring-out-why-some-people-can-hear-the-voices-of-the-dead/

Scientists are figuring out why some people can 'hear' the voices of the dead

Scientists have identified the traits that may make a person more likely to claim they hear the voices of the dead.

According to new research, a predisposition to high levels of absorption in tasks, unusual auditory experiences in childhood, and a high susceptibility to auditory hallucinations all occur more strongly in self-described clairaudient mediums than the general population.

The finding could help us to better understand the upsetting auditory hallucinations that accompany mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, the researchers say.

The Spiritualist experiences of clairvoyance and clairaudience – the experience of seeing or hearing something in the absence of an external stimulus, and attributed to the spirits of the dead – is of great scientific interest, both for anthropologists studying religious and spiritual experiences, and scientists studying pathological hallucinatory experiences.

In particular, researchers would like to better understand why some people with auditory experiences report a Spiritualist experience, while others find them more distressing, and receive a mental health diagnosis.

“Spiritualists tend to report unusual auditory experiences which are positive, start early in life and which they are often then able to control,” explained psychologist Peter Moseley of Northumbria University in the UK.

“Understanding how these develop is important because it could help us understand more about distressing or non-controllable experiences of hearing voices too.”

He and his colleague psychologist Adam Powell of Durham University in the UK recruited and surveyed 65 clairaudient mediums from the UK’s Spiritualists’ National Union, and 143 members of the general population recruited through social media, to determine what differentiated Spiritualists from the general public, who don’t (usually) report hearing the voices of the dead.

Overall, 44.6 percent of the Spiritualists reported hearing voices daily, and 79 percent said the experiences were part of their daily lives. And while most reported hearing the voices inside their head, 31.7 percent reported that the voices were external, too.

The results of the survey were striking.

Compared to the general population, the Spiritualists reported much higher belief in the paranormal, and were less likely to care what other people thought of them.

The Spiritualists on the whole had their first auditory experience young, at an average age of 21.7 years, and reported a high level of absorption. That’s a term that describes total immersion in mental tasks and activities or altered states, and how effective the individual is at tuning out the world around them.

In addition, they reported that they were more prone to hallucination-like experiences. The researchers noted that they hadn’t usually heard of Spiritualism prior to their experiences; rather, they had come across it while looking for answers.

In the general population, high levels of absorption were also strongly correlated with belief in the paranormal – but little or no susceptibility to auditory hallucinations. And in both groups, there were no differences in the levels of belief in the paranormal and susceptibility to visual hallucinations.

These results, the researchers say, suggest that experiencing the ‘voices of the dead’ is therefore unlikely to be a result of peer pressure, a positive social context, or suggestibility due to belief in the paranormal. Instead, these individuals adopt Spiritualism because it aligns with their experience and is personally meaningful to them.

“Our findings say a lot about ‘learning and yearning’. For our participants, the tenets of Spiritualism seem to make sense of both extraordinary childhood experiences as well as the frequent auditory phenomena they experience as practising mediums,” Powell said.

“But all of those experiences may result more from having certain tendencies or early abilities than from simply believing in the possibility of contacting the dead if one tries hard enough.”

Future research, they concluded, should explore a variety of cultural context to better understand the relationship between absorption, belief, and the strange, spiritual experience of ghosts whispering in one’s ear.

The research has been published in Mental Health, Religion and Culture.

#Humans