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k-s-morgan · 4 years

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Will’s vs. Hannibal’s Ways of Expressing Love

The fact that Hannibal loves Will and is in love with him is openly stated in the show several times. Will’s feelings, on the other hand, are more ambiguous, which is why some viewers often doubt whether Hannibal’s love is reciprocated. I think that exploring the ways these two men experience and react to love can explain the varying degrees of their openness about it.

I’ll put TLDR right here: Hannibal is more open about himself and his feelings, including love, hence he doesn’t have many challenges with admitting it. Will is closed off, stiff, and emotionally repressed, so he expresses his feelings in a much more subtle way.

Let’s start with Hannibal. Details about his past are scarce, but we know that he admits to loving two people throughout his life, his sister and Will.

E3 of S3.

*Bedelia: What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict … I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance.*

*Hannibal: Love.*

Undoubtedly, Hannibal’s love for Mischa was traumatic and unhealthy. He loved her so much that he ate a part of her body after she was killed, devastated by this loss. But it was still love that made him feel all the related emotions, so Hannibal has some experience with it. From what we know of him, he has a very broad mind. He despises limitations and overcomes them, and he is not ashamed of who he is. He isn’t embarrassed to cry in the opera or to be the first to stand up and applaud; he delights in stereotypically ‘feminine’ hobbies like cooking and clothes selection; he draws fan-art and openly expresses his admiration when it’s due. For this reason, Hannibal doesn’t have many problems with expressing love either.

Upon meeting Will, he is immediately drawn to him. He sees him as his potential partner and decides he wants to try and build a family with him as early as E2 of S1. That’s when he starts planting the idea of Abigail being their shared daughter in Will’s mind. He does the same to Abigail, urging her to see him and Will as her parents, even giving her shrooms to evoke the desired associations (unsuccessfully since Will doesn’t come to dinner). So, Hannibal acknowledged his pull/infatuation with Will from the very start, and he acted on it right away.

It’s not 100% love at this point, but Hannibal still easily follows his emotions. He doesn’t stop to consider how strange it is to want a family with a man he just met; he doesn’t agonize over the idea of how his life has more risks now that he allows another human being to know him. When these feelings progress at the end of S1/start of S2, Hannibal is finally taken aback. While he never planned to leave Will in prison and it was a part of his plan, he still didn’t expect to miss him so much — he admits it to Bedelia, looking forlorn, in E1 of S2. He repeatedly pines for Will by sitting in front of his chair at the time of his supposed appointment, glancing at the clock despite knowing Will is not going to come. This is a shift to an actual love, but Hannibal still doesn’t fight it. On the contrary, he embraces it, and he spends the entire S2 doing repeatedly romantic gestures for Will. Namely:

1) Protects Abigail to reunite Will with her later.

2) Shares a part of himself he doesn’t seem to have ever shared with anyone else. He talks to Will about Mischa, reveals his views on murder and God, acknowledges he cared about Abigail, and shows vulnerability. He shares his teacup ritual with him, which is something precious and deeply personal.

3) He digs up fake Freddie’s corpse and decorates it as a way of courting Will (as directly said by Alana).

4) He draws a fan-art of himself and Will as Achilles and Patroclus.

5) He is ready to abandon his well-established life in Baltimore and reputation to run away with Will. In Hannibal’s view, no one truly suspects him and there is no evidence against him, but Will is in danger. So he’s willing to discard everything he’s been building for 20 years for him.

Finally, he calls Will a loved one more or less directly in E13 of S2 (in fact, he implies that they both love each other).

*Hannibal: Do you know what an imago is, Will? … An imago is an image of a loved one buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.*

*Will: An ideal.*

*Hannibal: The concept of an ideal... I have a concept of you, just as you have a concept of me.*

Will hurts him with his betrayal, and Hannibal still finds himself unable to kill him. He is openly crying in the finale, admitting how Will hurt him, breaks his (and his own) heart by killing Abigail, and flees to Europe to start a new life. But things don’t go as he hoped they would. Bedelia is not a worthy substitute, and Hannibal is increasingly slipping into a self-destructive state because of his love for Will. He kills Anthony, who was an improved copy of Will, and turns him into a Valentine heart for him. Again, this is a very explicit and open emotional action. Hannibal doesn’t hide his feelings. He’s an emotional wreck with Bedelia in E3, and as they are talking about Will, he admits he’s in love with him.

*Hannibal: You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.*

Bedelia points out his self-destructiveness.

*Bedelia: You're going to get caught. It's already been set into motion … I know exactly how I will be navigating my way out of whatever it is I’ve gotten myself into. Do you?*

After Hannibal keeps spiraling and kills Sogliato, she adds: *You're drawing them to you, aren't you? All of them.*

Hannibal gets so self-destructive over Will that he lets Jack beat himself almost to death, not even attempting to fight him. The first words he says to Will after they reunite in E6 are:

*Hannibal: If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.*

He’s a romantic. The courtship, the Valentine heart, the romance — Hannibal did have some struggles, but overall, he accepts these feelings and isn’t afraid to act on them.

When Will pulls a knife in E6, Hannibal classifies it as another betrayal. This is where he decides to kill and eat him in the hope to put an end to this misery (which is what he and Bedelia discussed back in E3). However, even blinded by another heartbreak, Hannibal tries to save Will at the same time. He knows the police are coming and he puts off the moment of sawing for as long as he can, first fussing over Will and his wound, then waiting for Jack, then doing everything slowly as hell.

Everything changes in E7, when Hannibal faces the real risk of losing Will and comes to terms with the fact that a hope of life with him is better than life without him. So Hannibal carries Will home bridal-style, takes care of him, waits for him to wake up and writes formulas to reverse time. He directly tells Will that Will won, and that he, Hannibal, is at Will’s mercy.

*Hannibal: Your memory palace is building. It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there. Victorious.*

He gives himself up, sacrificing the freedom he’s been fighting for back in E2 finale, in the hope that one day, Will is going to come back to him. After this, Hannibal is all about Will, with all his heart. Throughout the second half of S3, he says things like, *“I gave you a child. You are family, Will. Was it good to see me?”*, etc. He agrees to risk his life by agreeing to Will’s plan, knowing he’s planning something but not knowing what and if he’d die in the process. In E13, Hannibal says:

*Hannibal: "No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend"* and shields Will from the bullet. Later, he allows Will to push them both down, and he stays with him afterward.

Conclusion: Hannibal is very accepting of himself, so he doesn’t undergo severe challenges on the path to acknowledging what he feels for Will. He knows what love feels like because he felt it for Mischa before, so he embraces loving Will pretty quickly, even though he doesn’t know how to best approach it at times. That’s why we get direct and explicit confirmation of his feelings several times.

Now, on to Will.

Unlike with Hannibal, there is no evidence that Will has ever experienced love before (at least love for people). We know he had a father and was lonely as a child.

E4 of S1.

*Will: We were poor. I followed my father from the boat yards in Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie.*

*Hannibal: Always the new boy at school? Always the stranger?*

*Will: Always.*

His choice of words indicates that his relationship with his father wasn’t all that good (for instance, *I followed my father* instead of *My father and I had to…*). So, it doesn’t look like Will ever had meaningful connections. More than that, he says:

*Will: There’s something so foreign about family. Like an ill-fitting suit. Never connected to the concept.*

We can suggest that he doesn’t know what love is or how it feels like. From E1, we know he isolates himself because he hates himself for who he is: he understands he’s different, that there is darkness in him, but he desperately tries to subdue it and deny this fact. He’s rude, twitchy, and unhappy, but like Hannibal, he understands the extent of his loneliness only upon meeting him. That’s when he tries forming relationships with others.

Will’s relationships with Alana and Abigail are a good indication of his problems with love. He wants to be with Alana because he needs to feel normal. In 99% of cases, he remembers about her only when she comes to seek him out first. He kisses her for the first time at the moment of particular vulnerability, fearing that he’s finally losing his mind (in E8). When Hannibal calls him out on it, Will doesn’t deny it and semi-nods. He actually had to agree with it verbally according to the script.

*Will: I feel unstable.*

*Hannibal: That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance.*

*Will: Because I’m losing mine.*

So, it’s not that Will feels romantic love for Alana — he uses her because he desperately needs to feel like everyone else. Alana is a pretty, smart, normal woman who fits this goal perfectly. He doesn’t allow himself to be genuine with her unlike he does with Hannibal, to whom he opens up.

Will confesses to Hannibal that he loved killing Hobbs in E2, which got him down and made him panic. Hannibal supports him, and Will keeps coming back to him. He talks about everything important with Hannibal, opening parts of himself that he guards from everyone else. Will asks Hannibal to look after his dogs as early as E4 — he doesn’t have other friends, and he’s already focused on Hannibal. He buys into an idea of having a family with him and Abigail, which is amazing for Will, who has just said he could never relate to the concept of family.

When Will buys a gift for Abigail in the same E4 and freaks out, Hannibal asks him:

*Hannibal: Feeling paternal, Will?*

Will’s reaction is instant and defensive:

*Will: Aren’t you?*

Hannibal easily says “yes”, which disarms Will. This is a great contrast between them: Hannibal isn’t afraid to talk and acknowledge his feelings while Will is embarrassed of them and shies away from them. In fact, this is a repeat of their conversation in E2.

*Hannibal: You saved Abigail Hobbs' life. You also orphaned her. It comes with certain emotional obligations.*

*Will: You were there. You saved her life, too. Do you feel obligated?*

Again, Will deflects. He’s wary of emotions, especially of admitting them out loud.

Will shows a hint of romantic interest in Hannibal in E7. He brings him a bottle of wine out of blue, but unfortunately, he stumbles upon the party Hannibal is preparing. Hannibal invites him to stay, but Will says he won’t be good company. He’s shy and awkward, smiling nervously and dropping his gaze in embarrassment. Then we have this lovely line:

*Will: I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.*

So, in S1, Will makes considerable emotional progress. He realizes he wants a family after all, and while he makes several half-hearted attempts to court Alana, he’s mostly focused on Hannibal and Abigail. He opens himself up to Hannibal, receives official guardianship over Abigail with him, arguably flirts with Hannibal (like in the wine scene above), and covers up murder to protect their family. But then Hannibal betrays him. Will doesn’t know his reasons yet, but this betrayal plunged him into darkness, bitterness, and new stage of emotional repression. It’s worth mentioning another point of Abigail here: in the end, Will doesn’t know her. He spoke to her only several times, and even fewer times were genuine. He loves the idea of her, and this idea was introduced by Hannibal, not by Abigail’s presence. It’s Hannibal who forced Will to confront his need to love and be loved.

In S2, Will is incredibly conflicted. He acknowledges to Hannibal that he hurt him, tries to kill him via Matthew, but when he recognizes that Hannibal wants him as a friend (as spoken in E7), his attitude changes. Will doesn’t plan to forgive him, he’s still angry at Hannibal for killing Abigail (which is his biggest conflict, as evident from his talks with Hannibal himself and Freddie), but now, he can’t bring himself to harm or betray Hannibal.

He gets his first chance in E7, after being released from prison. He threatens Hannibal with a gun and has a perfect chance to make him pay, but he doesn’t. Instead, he conspires with Jack and decides to cultivate co-dependency, creating an environment where only he “and the fish exist” (E8). What does Will do to start? He makes himself physically attractive, grooming and dressing prettily. It’s a seduction on all levels, and Will plans to use emotions to hurt Hannibal back. At the same time, Will admits to being confused over what he feels for Hannibal.

E8 of S2.

*Will: I envy you your hate. Makes it much easier when you know how to feel.*

E9 of S2 (talking about trying to kill Hannibal with Margot).

*Margot: Did he have it coming?*

*Will: What do you think?*

*Margot: I can't say that I know.*

*Will: Neither can I.*

He spends the rest of the season lying to both Hannibal and Jack, unsure whose side to choose, too lost in his own feelings to make sense of them. At the same time, he has a dream where Hannibal calls him beloved in E9. It shows that Will contemplates the idea of love in relation to Hannibal. In E10, Will tries to fantasize about Alana as he’s having sex with Margot. However, he sees the image of Wendigo near the fireplace, Wendigo who he’s used to associating with Hannibal. Two interesting things (copied from my other meta): first, Will actually sees Hannibal’s room and consequently, he sees himself in it (or he sees their rooms united). Second, he sees the Wendigo near Hannibal’s fireplace. Fireplace has many meanings, including passion, sexuality, home, family, and resurrection. It emphasizes the sexual and romantic subtext of this uniquely shot scene, where people destined to be together have sex with the wrong partners. Will’s vision begins to contract, focusing on Wendigo: he is having an orgasm at this very moment, imagining the Wendigo’s face very close, approaching him. Still through the misty eyes, he tries to focus on Alana again, but his gaze moves up to Wendigo above her, as if he can’t help himself. He and Hannibal reach orgasm first, with Alana and Margot following them. So, Will dragged Hannibal into his sex fantasy. It’s both symbolic and physical: he tried to imagine Alana just like he tried to have a relationship with her before, in S1, out of his desire to be normal. But his attention is inevitably drawn to Hannibal, who’s his “real deal”.

Based on this scene, it’s underlined once again how Will struggles with emotions. Even in the safety of his own mind, in his own fantasy, he tries to think of Alana but still ends up with Hannibal. Will is always fighting himself and who he is. He refuses to accept his darkness just as he refuses to admit he loves Hannibal. It’s the essence of who he is, denial is his second name.

Among the important moments, there are Will’s words to Hannibal:

*Will: You are right. We are just alike. You are as alone as I am. And we are both alone without each other.*

So, Will accepts the bond with Hannibal, and at this stage, he even has the courage to voice some of his emotional thoughts. His progress is slow, but it’s there.

In E11, Will has a nightmare. He sees a burning corpse of ‘Freddie’ in a wheelchair, a symbol of his betrayal of Hannibal, and he hears his own increasing screaming. It’s easy to interpret, knowing the context: Will feels guilty for lying to Hannibal.

When Margot loses her child, Will feels renewed anger at Hannibal. He fantasizes about killing him and gets to realize his fantasy with Mason’s help in E12. But at the last moment, Will changes his mind and chooses Hannibal. He does the same thing in E13 by calling him. When he sees him, he doesn’t even try to point a gun at him: he asks why he didn’t leave as he was supposed to, and he even leans forward to accept the knife, accept the punishment for betrayal.

So, Will chooses Hannibal over Abigail, for whom he wanted justice; over his and Margot’s child, for whom he wanted revenge; over Jack and Alana, who were his only semblance of friends; over his own confusion and desire to be normal. For someone as emotionally stunted as Will, it’s huge. It proves that he loves Hannibal and is willing to compromise all other relationships he has formed as well his own beliefs for him (while Will is dark, he tries to fight it because he doesn’t think people like them are normal). Is it romantic? Will’s dream with the word “beloved” and his sex fantasy, as well as his acceptance of the idea that he and Hannibal were Abigail’s fathers (which makes them partners) imply that yes, romantic feeling is a part of it.

Hannibal’s romantic feelings became explicit in S3, and so did Will’s. But since Hannibal is more open and self-accepting, his were discussed out loud while Will’s were mostly portrayed silently, implied, and alluded to.

Will builds a boat to sail and find Hannibal, which is pretty romantic by itself. He spends his time in Hannibal’s house, in the kitchen where their bloody break-up happened, imagining Abigail near him. When Alana comes to find him, he asks her to leave. He’s cold and indifferent toward her — she’s not what he wants, and he’s not interested in even friendship with her. All he wants is to mourn his lost family with Hannibal and Abigail. Again, Hannibal is Will’s priority.

Will imagines his perfect world as the one where he and Hannibal killed Jack together. This scene is intercut with his Mizumono memories, namely, with Hannibal's face that emerges every time he moves yet another part of the engine. This is a vivid demonstration of Will trying to repair what is now broken. When Jack asks him why he called him, Will is indifferent and genuine:

*Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice … I told him to leave. I wanted him to run … Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.*

That’s a big admission for Will. This is the first time he openly acknowledges Hannibal as his friend in front of another person. Chilton calls Will and Hannibal’s interactions a “flirtation” in this episode, which once again points us in the romantic direction.

The entire E2 of S3 is dedicated to Will’s love for Hannibal, where he argues about it with himself in the form of imaginary Abigail. This is another proof of Will’s problem with emotions in general and emotions for Hannibal in particular. He can’t just think to himself as normal people do — no, he can’t admit how much he loves Hannibal this. Instead, he imagines Abigail and talks to himself through her to make it easier. He berates himself for lying.

*Will/Abigail: We were all supposed to leave together. He made a place for us. Why did you lie to him? He gave you a chance to take it all back, and you just kept lying.*

Will is reverent about Hannibal; he keeps talking about him over and over again.

*Will: This isn't Hannibal, it's just where he begins. Beyond this, far and complex, light and dark, is the vast structure of his mind. A thousand rooms, miles of corridors. Everything he remembers, wonderfully and fearfully reconstructed.*

Will goes as far as lies at the place where Hannibal’s Valentine heart for him was, reconstructing this image and trying to feel close to him. The heart comes to life the moment Will touches it, which is romantic. Will says:

*Will: A valentine written on a broken man … I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left us his broken heart … He misses us.*

He looks on the verge of tears, so Hannibal’s gift touched him. Will is overcome by emotions. At this very moment, his more frightened side suggests that Hannibal is also playing with him.

*Will: Hannibal follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any, and one of the trains is always for his own amusement.*

We know it’s not the case, especially here, but Will has trust issues and a low self-esteem. He’s worried that Hannibal’s feelings for him aren’t as strong as he thinks they are, which is why he’s not sure how to react himself. He asks himself, *“You still want to go with him?”* and replies, *“Yes.” He wonders about what life they’d have if they left.

*Will: What if no one died? What if we all left together? Like we were supposed to. After he served the lamb. Where would we have gone? … In some other world.*

Pazzi comes and tells Will that he hopes they’ll catch Hannibal together.

*Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?*

Later, Pazzi says:

*Pazzi: He let you know him. He sent you his heart.*

E2 ends with Will scaring Pazzi and telling him, *“You don’t know whose side I’m on.* Then he tells Hannibal he forgives him, which is also a huge step in his direction.

This entire episode proves that yes, Will loves Hannibal. Considering how he isn’t awkward from receiving a Valentine or hearing that Hannibal gave him his heart, Will shares the romantic aspect of Hannibal’s feelings for him. He regrets not running away with him and their daughter, he places himself on the floor where the heart was to feel closer to him — this is such a rich romantic subtext that it’s practically text. Especially for Will, who remains so conflicted and emotionally restrained all the time.

Will’s attitude changes after seeing Chiyoh. He becomes more bitter. Considering how dark he is in these scenes and how he constantly compares himself and Chiyoh, he likely sees her as someone Hannibal was supposed to love but easily abandoned. It makes Will draw the parallels between them, and he starts to doubt that Hannibal loves him, that his “broken heart” has any authentic meaning. That’s where he starts thinking about killing Hannibal again. He still says:

*Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.*

This line also speaks volumes. Hannibal gave Will a precious gift of understanding himself; he showed that he could accept him, and Will is drawn to it. Will admits the depth of their connection to yet another person. Then he makes a firefly from Chiyoh’s prisoner, a tribute that is clearly done with Hannibal in his mind, considering the style and the central topic.

Chiyoh sees right through Will’s emotional constipation. She implies that he should “kiss” Hannibal rather than keep being “violent”:

*Chiyoh: I told you, there are means of influence other than violence.*

She kisses Will then, thus showing him what others means exist. He doesn’t get it, though, since he responds to her kiss despite not feeling anything for her, and she pushes him off the train, likely admitting he’s a hopeless case.

Meeting Jack, Will tells him that a part of him will always want to leave with Hannibal. This is yet another declaration from him. Will isn’t scared of the consequences — he speaks of his feelings openly now. It’s a great development of his character.

But the feeling of doubt about Hannibal likely resurfaces further after Will sees that Hannibal replaced him and Abigail with Bedelia in E6 (hence his hatred for her since that moment). He mocks her alibi and then leaves to reunite with Hannibal. The following moment was deleted, but it still discloses some of Will’s romantic feelings:

*Will: I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same.*

From the words that did get into the episode:

*Will: You and I have begun to blur ... We're conjoined. Curious if either of us can survive separation.*

Will doesn’t just admit the bond between them, he elevates it the level of soulmates, implying they are one and the same. It’s also a declaration of love in his language. But love doesn’t stop Will from being vindictive, hurt, and angry, so after meetings with Chiyoh and Bedelia that affected his perception, he pulls out a knife as he and Hannibal are walking together.

There is a brain-sawing disaster after this and E7, where Will looks done and tired from the madness and his constant attempts to figure Hannibal out. He does bite Cordell before looking at Hannibal, seeking his approval; he uses “we” pronouns when speaking about Hannibal with Alana. One example:

*Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.*

So, he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, but he’s still tired and bitter, so after everything is over, he hurts Hannibal by saying he doesn’t share his appetite and by attacking him emotionally.

*Will: I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore.*

This is all personal and emotional. It sounds like a break-up, which is exactly how Bryan Fuller and others referred to it. When Hannibal leaves and Jacks arrives, Will puts on his glasses, an indication that he’s hiding again.

Fast-forward 3 years. Will is married now, but from the very start, we see that this marriage isn’t all people usually expect it to be. The first scene shows the family apart. Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is something Will loves. He had dreams about teaching Abigail how to fish, but he doesn’t go to do that with his family, preferring to stay alone instead. It’s the first hint that his heart isn’t in this relationship, that he’s too hung up on the past to move forward and make new happy memories.

Jack came to drag him to Dragon’s case, and Will makes it look like he’s reluctant. At the same time, he doesn’t send Jack away, even though we know from the past that he has no qualms being frank when he wants to. More than that, he asks him not to show pics to Molly, but when they have dinner, Will deliberately leaves the house with Walter, leaving Jack and Molly together. At night, when Molly’s asleep, he crawls out of bed and goes to read Hannibal’s letter. He doesn’t tell the truth to Molly about himself and his dark urges, about everything he has done – Molly clearly has no idea who he truly is, considering how she jokes about his ‘criminal mind’ in later episodes and how Will immediately closes himself off from her. He never initiates physical touches with her; he doesn’t return her “I love you”, which is an even bigger indication of his lack of commitment. Will is emotionally stiff with Molly for the most part, and the only times he laughs with her or shows any emotion is when they are talking about superficial stuff in the former case and when he’s furious after Francis’ attack in the latter one. Other than that, there is no closeness or honesty.

Another point of Will’s inability to express or even give his love to someone is in his scene with Walter in E11. This child, his step-son, has just been attacked by a serial killer with his mother. His mother was hurt and they barely escaped. Will doesn’t hug him or offer him paternal emotional comfort; he’s very awkward. All he says is, “You're both safe here,” which is something an officer might say but not a father. Will was much more emotional in his fantasies about Abigail.

This is what Will says about Walter’s reaction to Jack:

*Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.*

He’s resentful and not emotional. He doesn’t say, “I had to justify myself to my son!” – he distances himself from him. Will is cold. He has expressed his feelings for Hannibal at this point in rather poetic ways, but he can’t be bothered to do this for his wife and his son.

He treats Hannibal in a very reserved fashion too, in comparison to how he acted 3 years ago. However: first, there is the fact that he came to visit him in the first place. Will didn’t need his help, we saw very clearly how he managed to easily reconstruct the crime scene the night before. It proved that his mindset is in a good shape, so he didn’t need Hannibal’s assistance. But it’s Hannibal he requested to see right away.

Will distances himself from him by calling him “Doctor Lecter” and insisting that he’s more comfortable the less personal they are. His eyes glisten, though, and he can’t look away from Hannibal. The impersonal approach doesn’t last very long, too, and soon, they are talking like they always did. Hannibal accuses Will of marrying for false reasons.

*Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter. A stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.*

Will doesn’t bother to deny it, though any man would have been offended, particularly if he truly loved his family. In Will’s case, from the experience and all the precedents, silence = agreement.

In E10, Will seeks Bedelia out. He acts catty and jealous, targeting her personal connection with Hannibal.

*Will: You didn't lose yourself, Bedelia, you just crawled so far up his ass you couldn't be bothered.* - personal, targeted against Bedelia's attachment to Hannibal.

*Will: You hitched your star to a man commonly known as a monster. You're the Bride of Frankenstein.* - personal, attack with romantic connotation. Bedelia catches up on it and mocks him:

*Bedelia: We've both been his bride. Have you been to see him?*

*Will: Yes.*

*Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?*

*Will: Have you been to see him?* - personal again. Will wants to know if Bedelia is keeping contact with Hannibal.

*Bedelia: I've seen enough of him. I was with him behind the veil. You were always on the other side.*

*Will: Something we should talk about.* - again, personal. It's all personal, which is why Bryan and Hugh called them Hannibal's jealous bitchy exes. Will is palpably jealous and he shows his resentment to Bedelia openly.

Later, we have some more romantic references.

*Bedelia: My relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours. You are here visiting old flame. Is your wife aware of how intimately you and Hannibal know each other? … Your experience of Hannibal’s attention is so profoundly harmful yet so irresistible, it undermines your ability to think rationally.*

So, there is romantic text, parallels between Hannibal and Will’s wife, and Will doesn’t deny any of this again. He keeps coming to Bedelia because she’s the only person he can talk about Hannibal to without being watched.

After Hannibal sends Francis after Molly and Walter, Will spends about a minute being angry with him. Then he accuses Hannibal of staging a competition between him and Francis. It is startling: Will spent months, years mourning the loss of Abigail who he didn’t even really know personally, yet he forgets the gravity of what happened to his wife and won very quickly. He leaves Molly and Walter and tells Bedelia that they are finished. One traumatic event, and Will left. It coincides with something very important that happened here: after this, Will finally figures out Hannibal is truly in love with him. So he goes to Bedelia to discuss it with her.

*Will: Is Hannibal in love with me?*

*Bedelia: Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?*

Will is predictably silent. Obviously, if the answer was no, he would have said no. But he struggles because like we established, he has issues with expressing emotions. He only managed to start referring to Hannibal as his friend openly in this season, opening up about some of his feelings, but he’s not ready to go this far. It would be absolutely out of character for Will to say, “Yes, you know, I’m in love with him! Thanks for helping me see it.” Every confession Will makes is preceded by struggles and heartbreak. But he’s going to reply to Bedelia’s question, only not explicitly-verbally.

Will sets up Chilton and then comes to allegedly say good-bye to Hannibal. He lies several times in their conversation (about Chilton and Molly with Walter), so all his words are automatically suspicious. Regardless, he destroys Hannibal emotionally and walks away. Personally, I believe he was already planning to break him out, so he was playing it up for cameras and also taking a chance to hurt Hannibal for everything again. But whatever his plan was, what happens next is that Will conspires with Francis against Jack, Alana, and the FBI. They agree to break Hannibal out together. Will lies to Jack and then gets to ask Hannibal for help. He’s being flirty and manipulative in this scene.

*Will: I need you, Hannibal … You're our best shot, Hannibal. Please.*

He’s smirking, he leans close to Hannibal, he sends him a flirty look from under his eyelashes. Will is thoroughly enjoying himself, and he does it best when he has some excuse to hide behind.

Later, he lies to Jack and Alana again, leaks info to Francis (who nearly killed his wife and son), and gets many officers killed by proxy. He tells Bedelia the truth that he doesn’t “intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” He also implies that he’s going to let him go free, which is why Bedelia should pack her bags.

*Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?*

This time, Will agrees, although in his way.

*Will: I guess this is my Becoming.*

For Will, Becoming was always connected to his feelings for Hannibal because accepting himself and his darkness meant being free to escape with Hannibal.

*Bedelia: You found religion. Nothing more dangerous than that.*

In E3, it was stated that love is a God (you can find more here https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/7w54dg/lovegodreligion_s3_parallels/), so it’s possible to say that religion = love in this context. It certainly makes sense. Will is accepting himself and his emotions, and the trigger was establishing for sure that Hannibal is in love with him.

Will and Hannibal drive to the cliff house. When Hannibal asks Will if he intends to save himself by killing them both (Hannibal and Francis), Will replies:

*Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine.*

This is the first time he confesses that he might be incapable of killing Hannibal. Predictably, when Francis comes, Will can’t handle seeing Hannibal killed, so he reaches for his gun.

Will and Hannibal work as a unit and protect each other. Hannibal is shot, nearly strangled, thrown onto the ground, and he is still weakly holding on Francis' leg to prevent him from going after Will, even though it leaves him in an open and vulnerable position — Francis does kick him in the face with his other leg. There is fierce determination on Will's face as he stands up despite the pain and runs to save Hannibal. They act in synch, consummating their relationship.

Then, Will admires how blood looks on his hand and repeats Hannibal’s words:

*Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.*

He remembers the words Hannibal said to him weeks ago in one of their endless interactions. A bit earlier, he perfectly recalled the words Hannibal told him *years* ago, back in the middle of S2.

*Will: I understand that “blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your Radiance." Hannibal said those words. To me.*

So, Will remembers everything Hannibal told him. He stores these memories. It’s a small but still important proof how important Hannibal is for him.

At the cliff, Will finally accepts the truth.

*Hannibal: See. This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.*

We know what Hannibal wanted: a Murder Husband. What does Will say to this?

*Will: It’s beautiful.*

This is a loud “yes” to Bedelia’s question about his feelings. Will acknowledges, accepts, and admires them. He doesn’t feel awkward, as he would if he knew Hannibal is in love with him but didn’t feel the same. No, he reaches forward to embrace him, and such physical contact from Will is mind-blowing because he almost never does it. He clings to Hannibal, puts his head on his shoulder, touches him as if he wants to melt with him. Then he gives the fate a chance to stop both of them or to set them free. They fall into the ocean under the Love Crime song, another romantic element.

Water symbolizes reborn, and post-credits scene indicates that Will and Hannibal have paid a visit to Bedelia and are in the process of eating her while she’s hiding the fork to stab one of them as he approaches. The deleted epilogue to the series shows that they are in perfect harmony now.

**Conclusion**: Will has passed through a long, painful journey. He went from hiding from emotions and deflecting to not denying and carefully acknowledging them. We don’t hear words “love” or “in love” from him in relation to Hannibal because Will is not that kind of person. He doesn’t use these words freely, and for him, every small emotional step is a struggle. He tried to deceive himself and other numerous times; he tied to deny the truth and manipulate his own mind, but with each season, his feelings for Hannibal became more and more explicit. Will reaching out for physical contact, Will saying “It’s beautiful” are his way of saying, “I ached for you. I love you.”

This is a story of mutual love and obsession, about soulmates, about unique type of connection that few people share. It’s not about Hannibal falling in love and Will not feeling the same. Their feelings are equally strong, but they express them differently, particularly as Will’s are tied to the acceptance of his own darkness.

#will graham #hannibal lecter #hannigram #nbc hannibal #murder husbands

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

Text

Melancholy (A Leviathan x GN MC Fanfic)

I guess you could say I use a lot of personal experience when I write. If I get sad, I’ll write something sad. Lock me in my room and I’ll probably write something about my lamp. I hope you can at least get something out of my occasional literary catharsis. Also, communication is important. Always ask for help if you need to, there’s never any shame in doing so.

Warning: Themes of Depression, Angst

Melancholy: A feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause.

Levi could barely manage his own mood sometimes, so never once did he think that he’d end up having to help someone else with their own. Under normal circumstances, he’d never considered getting involved. All his brothers knew that he was probably the least equipped to deal with their problems, physical or emotional. If they were concerned about completing a boss level or what anime to watch next, he had them covered, but sadness…? That was an Asmo problem or maybe a Beel. Don’t come to him.

But for the MC it was different… They seemed to gravitate to him since the day they first met, even though he tried to push them away. They liked him. They laughed at his dorky jokes and listened to his endless rambling. They would stay up late with him to play the latest game he just got or sit through his six-millionth re-watch of TSL with a smile on their face. He couldn’t quite place when it started to happen, but he felt himself getting slowly more attached to this peculiar human… He gradually started opening his world to them, and they didn’t seem to mind being a part of it. They were at ease with him and all his little eccentricities... It was a feeling of acceptance that he had always craved but was too afraid to seek. He wanted to be with them, hell, he probably even loved them.

So it hurt him in a special way to see them so sad… He couldn’t place why but some days, he’d just notice things were off about them. They wouldn’t laugh as much at his jokes or smile quite as wide when he launched into another one of his rants. He could see them trying. The corners of their mouth would raise briefly, but then drop like they were weighted by cement. Their eyes wouldn’t sparkle like they used to, they’d just stay flat, static… muted. Like something about them had decided to withdraw from the world, hiding away in a place he just couldn’t quite get to… He’d ask them what was wrong, but they never had a good answer for him. Most of the time, they wouldn’t even admit there was a problem. They’d put on that fragile smile and say everything was alright… Did they think he was blind? Sure, Levi knew he wasn’t the most well-versed in people’s emotions, but even he could point to sadness when he saw it. Especially in someone that he cared about so much…

In truth, he had been paying close attention to them for months now. With the same level of detail as he would his favorite character in a show or a voice actor who’s work he admired. He knew things about them that they may not have known about themselves… Their favorite foods and colors, how they stood and how they walked, the little habits they hung onto from the human world, and all the faces they’d make when no one else is watching... He knew it all as well as he knew any game he’s ever played, and why wouldn’t he? He was their biggest fan.

He tried using all that knowledge to cheer them up. As far as he was concerned, getting them to feel better was his new mission objective. Even his brothers took notice of his dedication to it. More deliveries started showing up at the House filled with very… not-Levi things for once. At one point, he had a rather irritated Lucifer knocking on his door to ask why there were twenty pounds worth flowers all piled in the entryway. He explained it away as him hitting the wrong option on accident, but in all honesty, it was because he ordered them flowers but just couldn’t decide which color or style would have been the best for a bouquet... So he bought them all.

They would always accept his gifts, and he could tell they liked them, but it never seemed to fix the problem... No matter what he bought them, there would still be those days where they looked just too forlorn to smile… It made his heart ache, and he wished that he could be good with people like Asmo or just put people at ease like Beel… Even Mammon was better at getting people to smile than he was… He wanted to help so badly, but every time he built up the courage to ask them about it, they’d never tell him what the problem was…

Slowly, he began to worry if it was him, like maybe he had done something wrong one day… That had to be it right…? He was a shut-in, he’s never really had to deal with people before… The fear, guilt, and frustration gradually ate at his mind for weeks while he scoured his memories for every little mistake he could have made... Did he miss an important date? Had he forgotten to call them back for something? Did he ignore them by accident one day? With every anxious thought, there was a pressure building inside him… He was growing convinced that MC was upset because of something he had done, but he didn’t want them to leave… not after he’d finally felt so understood. It was only a matter of time before his racing thoughts slipped over…

When they knocked on his door that day, he knew they weren’t in the best mood before they even walked in. Their hand hit his door softer than usual, tentative with a longer pause between strikes. He had half a mind to tell them that he was too busy to hang out that day, having to look at their woeful expression just hurt him that much... But he knew he couldn’t refuse them even if he wanted to. His lovesick heart could never turn them away…

His suspicions were proved true when they stepped in to say hello. They had that same weak smile… the dullness of their eyes almost refusing to reflect the cool, blue glow of his aquarium wall. What did they want from him…? Were they trying to rub something in? He was to busy digging through his mind for their motives to notice that they had crossed the room to stand next to his computer chair. At least not until they gently tapped his shoulder. The concerned look in their eye was enough to stop his heart, he would have leapt from his chair had they not been blocking the way.

“Levi…? Are you okay? I said hello…” There they were, clearly drowning in their own sorrow, yet they were still concerned for him of all people? The guy who couldn’t even make them smile...? His brain short-circuited for a moment, and his next words flew out without his say-so.

“I’m s-sorry!!” He watched them pause before their brow furrowed in confusion, probably because he had just shouted in their face... He suddenly wished he could shrink down and hide in Henry’s fishbowl… This is why he doesn’t deal with people...

“Sorry…? About what…?” His eyes flicked frantically around the room while he tried to form some kind of exit strategy, but there wasn’t much he could do. There really was no turning back now, was there…? He was finally going to have to say something… Demons don’t pray, but he could feel himself begging for someone, anyone, to make this go well…

“A-about well… You’ve been sad a lot lately and I uh… I know I didn’t remember to get you that limited edition Hinata figurine from the last convention we went to… Or that you had a test to study for a few weeks ago when I tried to get you to play Devil’s Haven with me… I also didn’t notice your last haircut until an hour after I saw you and I accidentally ate your pudding cup from Madame Scream’s and blamed it on Beel-”

“Levi…”

“-I know I should have gotten the red camellias instead of the pink on that last batch of flowers. I saw the balance was off-”

“Levi.”

“-but I thought it’d be okay. Oh, and I’m sorry I hit you with that body pillow last week! I was aiming for Mammon, I sw-”

“Leviathan!” They had to put their finger over his mouth to keep him from rambling on. His face flushed almost immediately, in part due to embarrassment but also because of their proximity. The MC’s face had softened considerably, but he could still see the lingering sadness over their features… Had he not said enough…?

“You… You actually think that it’s your fault that I’m like this…?” They took their finger back and looked at him expectantly. Levi swallowed a growing lump in his throat and nodded hesitantly. He didn’t trust himself not to launch into another self-conscious tirade if he tried opening his mouth again… It felt like a stab to the chest when he saw their expression dip farther into despair.

“It’s not your fault, Levi… I just…” They drew in a deep breath and let it out as a sullen sigh, avoiding his eyes. “I just get sad sometimes… It’s a passing mood swing. I can’t really control it, and it doesn’t always have a reason… You’ve actually been helping me, though.” Levi’s amber-toned eyes widened like saucers, he could barely believe his ears. Was this a dream, or had they just told him that he actually helped them with something…?

“I have…??” The dumbstruck look on his face must have been pretty amusing because they actually graced him with their smile, full and authentic with no hidden melancholy.

“Yes, you dork! You have.” The light from his aquarium finally touched their eyes, dancing in amongst the natural sparkle that always accompanied their gaze. “That’s why I always keep coming here… Your jokes, your gifts… just how excited you get when you see something you love… it... It all helps. It really does…” A pang of guilt seemed to hit them as they turned away from him again, shrinking back from his presence.

“I’m so sorry I never said anything to you… I must have been showing up at your door sadder and sadder each time… No wonder you thought you were behind it…” They averted his stunned gaze by watching the jellyfish float behind his wall. “You must have felt awful… I hope you can forgive me…” The genuine remorse in their voice sent his mind into an anxious panic. He wanted, no, needed to do something now. He just couldn’t bear one more minute of their sadness…

“N-no it’s fine!” They turned back toward him in shock when his hands grasped at the hem of their shirt, his sitting form straining to try and coax their standing one closer. He just didn’t want them to pull away again… “I’m not mad or anything, I just… wish you would talk to me, you know? I want to help…”

They were silent for a few moments, eyeing him with mixed emotions and darkened cheeks, but soon let him pull them in. He rested his head on their stomach while his arms glued to their waist. It may not have been the most conventional position, but it was one where they were close, so frankly, Levi could care less. He felt them settle into it slowly, resting an arm around his shoulders while their fingers combed softly through his hair. The feeling almost made him shiver, but he didn’t want to ruin the mood.

After several long minutes locked in tranquility, he found that he just had to ask…

“MC… Is this helping…?” His heart skipped a beat when he finally heard their laugh once more, soft and charming as it always was…

“Yes, Levi… You always do…”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me fanfic #obey me gender neutral mc #leviathan x mc #leviathan

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

REPLACED

Summary: Bruce might have adopted a bunch of children, but that didn’t mean all of them were ready to take on the mantle of Robin.

Batfam x reader

Warning: angst, self-depreciation, Damian being a demon-spawn

A/n: I’ve learned when I’m feeling depressed I write depressing so here we are.

GIF not mine

Word count: 2.4k

You struggled a lot in your life.

Bruce Wayne found you after the death of your mother. Your father had never been apart of your life and without your mom, you had no one. Just like he had done with the Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, he had taken you into his home with open arms. It was a big adjustment, one that took you years to get used to.

He trained you to be the next Robin, but fighting was something that you could never grasp. No matter how much he pushed you, had patience with you, and spent hours upon hours training, you felt as if you were never going to be enough to get on the streets. You felt weak, pathetic that you couldn't be as good as the rest before you.

And then Damian came into the picture. He was trained from such a young age that he was far better than you and he was years younger than you were. It made you feel even worse about your skills. Before you could even get your chance as Robin, Damian had taken the title from right under your feet.

That was your breaking point. For years you forced yourself to not give up. You thought that maybe if you pushed yourself to your limits that you would reach the point that you could go out there. You were wrong. The moment Damian showed up at the Wayne Manor, you had finally given up.

Maybe it was for the best. If you had to train for that long, just to be able to go on patrol a few nights a week then maybe it was best that you never got your chance.

It broke Bruce's heart to see you give up.

He always wanted what was best for you. No matter how much he yelled at you and pushed you down, he did it because he wanted you to stay safe. Not once did he ever give up on you because you had never lost faith in him. Damian showing up ruined that.

It wasn't just his abilities that towered over yours, it was his teasing. He knew he was better than you and it made sure that you knew it. Damian put you down, mocked your skills, and pushed your to your mental breaking point. You didn't think he realized the damage he was doing until you broke down in the cave.

“What benefit does she even bring to the team, father? You’ve been trying her for years and she hasn’t even come close to making it the being Robin,” Damian harshly spoke. He said many more things about you, things that no one should ever hear about themselves.

Damian was talking to Bruce about you, wondering why you were there if you never even made it out on the streets. His words tore through your chest - useless, weak, pathetic - all the things you already felt. You were sparring with Tim at the time, Damian must have thought that you couldn't hear.

Tim heard too.

He saw you pause in the middle of your training. Standing there with your shoulders slumped and tears in your eyes. He stopped, hearing what you were hearing and understanding why you were like this. The only reason that you were even down there, was because even after you told Bruce you wanted to give up, he asked you to at least keep yourself enough on your toes that if something were to happen to you, you could protect yourself against a common thug.

Tim tried to stop you from running off, he wanted to tell you not to listen to what he was saying but it was too late. You were already storming off, tears streaming down your cheeks. Thankfully, neither Bruce nor Damian noticed your exit - as far as they knew, you hadn't heard a thing.

Bruce was yelling at Damian when you left, angered that he would say these things about you. You might not have been the best fighter on the team but you were still part of it. Even if that meant that you were the one stay back and stay on comms or stitch them up when they got back. You were a part of the team just as much as the rest of them.

Damian wasn't able to see that. He was just a kid, as much as he didn't want to be seen as one. He didn't understand the human emotion at that age, especially being the way that he was raised. You knew that you should have taken that into account but it didn't make his words hurt even left.

You left to your room. The tears wouldn't stop, everything that he was saying was your worst insecurities spoken in truth. Everyone knew that you were self conscious about your skills, but they also knew that you were trying your best and that was what mattered the most. Damian didn't know that.

For years, you felt older than you actually were, it was a quality that was picked up by every child in that house hold. However, laying there on your bed crying your eyes out? You felt like the teen that you were. Filled with sadness, loss of hope, you didn't think you would ever find your place.

You cried and cried until no more tears would come out. Knees tucked to your chest and staring at the wall with lifeless eyes, you felt like the disappointment that you always thought you were.

"(Y/N)," there was a knock at your door. It sounded like Tim, but you couldn't be sure over the sound of your sniffles.

Weakly, you replied back, "go away."

"(Y/N), I'm not leaving until you let me in," You knew for sure that it was Tim. He was the only one to see you run off so upset. Tim was always a good older brother to you. He understood the struggle of not being able to be as strong as Dick or Bruce, but where he lacked strength, he made up with in skill. You had neither, at least not enough of either.

Reluctantly, you allowed him to come in. Tim saw you curled up on your bed, eyes red and puffy. He joined you on your bed, wrapping his arms around you. You thought that you had no more tears to shed but the second you crashed into his arms, they spilled again.

"Don't listen to him," Tim rubbed your back. Age wise, you were the closet to him which made it easier to get along. Tim always seemed to take your side no matter the circumstance. "Damian has been training since he was a child, you've only been here a few years. That doesn't make you less worthy than him.

"In fact, just by showing that you've never given up proves that your better than he'll ever be. You're willing to learn, to improve, Damian has reached an arrogance that makes him thinks he has no more to learn," Tim tried to comfort you. "You can't give up now, I know you already talked to Bruce but -"

"But nothing, Tim," you shook your head, pulling away from him. "Damian's right, I'm not cut out for this, I never have been. We both know if I ever go out there, the whole time everyone is going to be worrying about me and the job isn't going to get done. Bruce might have made me family but I'm not meant to be under the wing of Batman."

"That's not true," Tim argued. He wished that you could see how much you had improved. He wished that you could see that you were just as valid of a member of this family. You were important to everyone there - even to Jason who rarely liked to admit that he tolerated anyone in that family.

"But it is, we both know it, we've always known it."

You wished that you were strong enough to not sulk around the manor for the next week but that wasn't the case. Damian's words were really tying you down and nothing was able to get out of your rut.

Tim tried to help in every way he knew how. He would bring you your favourite drink when the two of you got back from class, he even tried to bake you cookies. You appreciated his efforts, you really did, but this wasn't something that could be fixed with material items.

By the end of the week, Bruce finally picked up on how you were feeling. You had done your best to avoid him but when he cornered you in the library, you knew that there was no escaping him.

"(Y/N)," Bruce called out to you. World's best detective was going to see through you facade in a matter of seconds. It was time to face him, you knew you had to. Maybe this was what you needed: tell him how you felt about Damian's arrival. "You've been MIA for a week, what's going on?"

He didn’t even know that you heard what Damian said about you. What a joke.

"Damian is what's going on," you suddenly felt this sudden rage fill your body. This wasn't like you, you were never an angry person. "Damian shows up in the middle of fucking nowhere and you treat him like he's some kind of-of god! I've been here for years, he hasn't even been here for two months and you replaced me with him. For godsake Bruce you let him take my place as Robin before I even got the chance!"

Your voice continued to raise as you spoke. Bruce had never seen you like this - the anger that rose a fire in your eyes and fists tight at your sides. He knew that Damian's arrival wasn't necessarily ideal in their plan for the future but he couldn't change what it was now.

“We’ve talked about this. I’d rather you be stuck training for years then dead on the streets because you weren’t ready,” Bruce tried to argue. The situation was less than ideal but he didn’t even put in the extra effort to try and change it.

“That isn’t the point!” You yelled. “I don’t give two shits that I’m not ready. I don’t care that I’m not as naturally equipped as the others. You gave up on me along time before I gave up on myself. You replaced me because that was easier than facing me!”

"(Y/N), calm down, you're starting to sound like Jason," Bruce tried to get you to lower your voice. He had known the pain that Jason felt when Tim took his place after his death and you were starting to say the exact same things that he was saying when he was in that same place.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Your voice still echoed through the large library. "Maybe Jason was right. Maybe this family is too fucked up to ever amend. Maybe he was right to leave and never look back! You let Damian say those things about me and you never did jackshit about it! What kind of father does that prove you to be?"

Bruce looked taken aback by your words. You always appreciated him taking you in, but there were some lines that he had crossed that you couldn't forgive him for. This was one of them - the betrayal that you felt when he took sides over his son he didn't even know existed against you.

Bruce’s silence said more than any string of words could.

With a huff of air, you pushed past Bruce and out of the library. Maybe Bruce was the reason that you were never able to reach your potential as Robin. Maybe he never took you to the same level that he took with the boys and with Steph. Maybe it was Bruce Wayne that never wanted you to make it to being a vigilante.

The idea had never crossed your mind before, but the more you thought about it, the more you thought it to be true. You felt as if you were always missing pieces of training - moves that Tim was able to do and you couldn't, tactics that Dick would come up with, even using weapons like Jason when he was Robin. There were so many things that you could never do.

The thought of him sabotaging your success just made you even more angry than you were before. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be Robin, you wanted to be a better hero than Bruce, Dick, and everyone that came before you. You wanted to prove everyone wrong.

You hadn't realized that you walk of anger had led you to the gardens. The sun was just setting and through your red vision, you had to stop and admire the beautiful orange and purple skies that shone through the trees. The sight had calmed you instantly, and you stood there to watch the sun finish setting.

Dick was the one to show you how pretty they were in the gardens. It was when you first arrived at the manor, upset about your mother's death. he tried to make you feel better with the view and it had worked. You always thought of your mother when the sun set after that, it was a reminder she was still there with you.

"(L/N)," you hadn't realized how long you had been watching it. The smallest glimpse of light was left and darkness began to cover the yard. You were surprised to see that it was Damian standing next to you. Since his arrival, you avoided having a full conversation with him. "Father told me to come apologize to-"

"I don't want your apology, Damian," you looked down at him. He seemed relieved that he didn't have to do it, but even more so confused. Just as the last bit of light left the sky you fully faced him. Damian watched as your face grew with determination.

"I want you to make me a lethal weapon."

#batfam #batfam imagine #angst #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #dickgrayson #jason todd #dc #dc imagine #imagine #one shot #dc one shot

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sanoiro · 3 years

Text

Lucifer Meta: “Choices”

“Choice is a funny thing…-“

Those were Dad’s words not mine back in 3x26. Before P2 dropped I was always saying that episode should be considered one of the core episodes if we wanted to understand S5 and Dad as a whole.

“Give someone different options, different circumstances, will they themselves end up different?” -Dad in 3x26

Lucifer S5 P2 spoilers ahead (I will add more screenshots later on)

I always liked the idea of Lucifer having a choice although his vulnerability theory of mine back in S2 was born out of a different thought.

But angels self-actualise however that applies to wings, a face and powers. In Michael’s case it was his posture as broken as he felt. Otherwise how we could explain that only he tried to urge Chloe on killing him but was rather docile when he believed he would face an immediate death.

Now what we didn’t know is that Gods also self-actualise. Therefore it is a genetic trait if you like. So let’s take this concept when we study Lucifer.

Lucifer has made his own choices over the years and the choices he made were the ones that brought us to the events of S5. However something doesn’t add up. Like yes, he chose that face in Hell because of his shame and how he viewed himself. Lucifer admitted it in 4x08 and Dad confirmed it as well in 5x11. So what is the two things amiss? Well one mostly throughout the series? His glowing red eyes.

The majority of the fanfiction out there express his eyes as an evidence of his Devilness, a connection to Hell while I believed for a very long time it was a manifestation of him being the Lightbringer but what does that constitutes?

Back in S2 Mum constantly calls Lucifer her ‘Lightbringer’, Lucifer lights up Azrael’s blade alone fleetingly when angry at his mother in Trip to Stabby Town. When the Medallion of Life is put on the blade his pain over Chloe flames it up for several seconds before it stops. Only when Lucifer assembles the sword, the medallion and the binding element, also known as Amenadiel’s jewelry. But there is again something amiss. Lucifer does flame it up in 2x18 but Mum’s words suggested that with all the pieces gathered she could do it herself. In a sense it is how Michael did it. No lightbringing power needed but what is that power?

I’m sure you remember back the finale of S3 where Lucifer’s face is licked by fire, his Devil face shows and his eyes glow red. Cain then agrees with Lucifer that ‘You cannot escape what you are’ moving forward in 5x16 Lucifer says I love you to Chloe and he is set on fire very much like he did in S3. Then we see a light we have associated mostly with Mum and Chloe wakes up.

So let’s think of this.

Lucifer apparently since his birth is known as the Lightbringer for no apparent reason. He lit the stars sure but only Mum and Dad are adamant on calling him that the only two beings in the universe that were omnipotent and above all? Omniscient. But they had a pitfall. Not even Mum could see she would be sent to Hell. That leads us to believe that there are choices which lead to as Uriel said to ‘patterns’. Different choices, different patterns. A thousands paths we can take but we cannot which one eventually will be taken and probably Dad and Mum held an optimism.

So let’s assume that when it came to Lucifer they knew one thing. That he had the ability to become a God - perhaps that is why Mum searched for him as he was also a key on changing things, if he became God then essentially she had won but she knew his potential. Now that’s another interesting thing…. Potential.

Dad in S5 tells Ella that the darker the darkness the brighter the light. In Lucifer, Dad mournfully notes that his son has so much light it blinds even him (aka Lucifer). Perhaps what we as perceived as unseen darkness -even him- is, in reality, a blinding light. Like a torch, you have no idea how to adjust your eyes to and everything seems like it's not light but darkness. So Lucifer had to go from being blinded by his own light to target it outwards in order to light the room. That was his potential.

Lucifer’s potential for goodness had to be harvested as was his ability to love. He liked humanity, respected them to a point, loathed them to another. Still does actually. But here is the thing. Potential think of Lucifer like a piece of coal or a battery whatever suits you best. Coal can be used to start a low grade fire that can spread from there but by itself it is but a black piece of nothing. So what if what we witnessed in the past five seasons was Lucifer being a slowly burning coal?

Let’s go back to Pops in S1. Lucifer is vulnerable when he takes Chloe out of the flaming restaurant and although he was burned he managed exceptionally well. In S4 he gets out of the exploding building albeit Chloe is far away and his clothes are not burned… Now let’s go to 5x10. Funny if you think that Lucifer manages to stop the chemist flame from burning which is weird as yes he stops the oxygen source to the flame so it us put out but two things happen. One his sleeve gets burned but it is also put out once the flamer does. Lucifer blames it on the polyester mix when we know he does not wear any and if he does it should have spread more.

If Lucifer was completely invulnerable then his suit would have been fine like it was in S4. Sure we have seen bullets not hurt him but have an issue with his clothes but to quote 4x02, it’s all about fire not the suit-superman effect.

Now in 3x23 Lucifer realises that Chloe does not need him but she choose to have him in her life and as such he is willing to leave his 2x12 miracle knowledge behind. In 5x06 Chloe talks about vulnerability which is based on a choice of Lucifer to be vulnerable around her. But with that choice to forward their relationship in 5x07 Lucifer is also making the choice subconsciously to expose himself to her emotionally and physically. At that point that choice stops his vulnerability probably because there is nothing to fear from her anymore. His vulnerability per 5x10 made him felt something he self actualised physically the vulnerability he felt but when she accepted him in her heart and stared a physical relationship his exposed himself differently emotionally.

Therefore Lucifer is still by choice vulnerable to Chloe but not physically as now he is in a healthier place. He opens up to her he is giving a conscious choice to be vulnerable to her while his body stops this stress induced self actualisation -perhaps- of being physically vulnerable. When he is hurt he shows it, he tells her what is going on even if it takes some time. Perhaps at the kitchen at her apartment Chloe didn’t draw blood from his body but certainly did from his soul and he allowed that.

When Mum in S2 said that Chloe was the key she was correct but not for lighting up the flaming sword but lightening up Lucifer. Lucifer needed to reach the point of choosing to be emotionally vulnerable around her and realising he was capable of love and that he loved Chloe, loved humanity.

In 5x16 when Lucifer is starting to burn up, most I’m sure went back to Michael’s words of Lucifer burning to the crisp if he went to Heaven as he was banned. But here is the thing Lucifer made a sacrificial move like the kid in 509 did for the family business. The ring simply bought him time. Lucifer left Heaven but I do not believe he was banned from there or at least I believe that Heaven had a safety net. We saw that even Gods have limitations so let’s think of this:

If Lucifer had listened to Mum and went to heaven the ring would have bought him some time but eventually he would have been either expelled or died(?). Again there are many things to consider here:

-What does it mean to be a God? Is it about power? Is it about being a Creator? Is it about the choice to become a carer? Lucifer became a carer in Hell albeit a rather unconventional one and as we may see things will change.

-Dad and Lucifer have a common thing they love humans and humanity in general. No other angel aside from Amenadiel and only due to his son does do far and in Amenadiel’s case it is not unconditional.

-The fact Lucifer was willing to be God not just for Chloe but because the system was rigged and he loved humans like Daniel and thought that he had to protect the innocent or at least provide a chance for a second chance.

-The song in the end when Lucifer is presented as a God, we listen to the Klergy sing that in a sense it was always mean to be.

I know I have been all over the place but let’s return to the whole lightbringer Lucifer now. So remember Dad when he gets angry. He is meteorologically inclined. In the family dinner and not only there we hear a thunderstorm rumbling close by, lighting ominously lit up the room in a way that Lucifer’s eyes light up in a very eerie yet calm way in many instances, in Le Mec’s case included.

There was always something brewing in Lucifer so when he gets to Heaven, with the same attributes Dad had and to a very different level, Lucifer experiences a metamorphosis. Now Mum and Dad didn’t have physical bodies but Lucifer did. Dad as well Mum in S5 provided us with a manifestation of a human body but they were not born in a flesh like celestial body like their kids did. So when Lucifer gets in heaven he is experiencing what Mum did in S2, he bled light but in a place of souls not on the earthly plane.

Again Lucifer’s body changes but he is not a ‘flesh sack’ as Mum puts it like Charlotte’s body was in S2 for Mum. He is still Lucifer that’s still his body but when Lucifer gets to Heaven he makes a choice again not just a throne to save humanity but his own life which of course leads us to the passage of the Revelation.

In the end, Chloe was the key and fuel for the coal to lit up to a full blazing fire. Not bad :) I mean he lit up Heaven long before he took off his ring ;)

“I choose you, I love you”

Michael, the Dragon & the ‘Virgin Mary’. But that’s a meta for another time, one that I have written in the S&S but will be updated for S6.

“And no matter how badly you want to nudge them in the right direction You know they need to find it on their own.”

#lucifer season 5 #lucifer spoilers #lucifer speculation #lucifer s5p2 #lucifer meta

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 12

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

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12. give me a piece of your heart

A quick note: I have the Pathfinder's Quest book and I finished it today (Feb 2nd 2021)! It was mind-blowing and amazing and SO, SO GOOD. Unfortunately, this fic can no longer fit into canon because of what we find out about Bloodhound. Don't worry, I won't be spoiling! I had a story set up for them before I read the lore book, and that's the story I'll be sticking to. Maybe one day I'll write some canon things, but for now, this story is no longer canon-compliant. Part of me is sad to have all the answers, but hey! That's what makes canon-divergent fics so fun :)

Elliott practically flies down the street towards the Legends’ apartment complex, bursting with nervousness and energy as he goes. The torrential downpour of rain doesn’t even manage to dampen his mood; he’s got a heavy-duty umbrella and an upbeat attitude that could make the skies clear up in moments. Bloodhound’s proposition hangs in his head, and he clings to it with an embarrassing neediness. ‘Would you like to visit me in my apartment later this evening?’ they had asked, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. He feels like a dumbass for the way he had reacted- god, he was so lame. Falling over his words, making the simplest mistakes… What fourteen year old in the area had reached out and possessed him? Whoever it was, he’d have to have a strong talk with them later.

After arriving back to his apartment above the bar, he’d scrubbed himself clean and very meticulously arranged his hair. He’d eventually chosen a deep purple sweater over a light blue button down, a pair of his nicer dark jeans, a black belt, and sneakers to wear for the evening. He’d hemmed and hawed in front of the mirror for at least twenty minutes, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, second guessing each outfit choice he made until he settled. He had decided to keep the sleeves rolled up, but the easy confidence he usually has in himself has chosen to take a pointed leave of absence.

Elliott really does feel like a teenager obsessing over their first date all over again, but he has to remind himself it’s not a date, it’s just a talk. A nice evening in. A nice evening alone with Bloodhound. His cheeks blaze, and the enormity of his crush on them plummets onto his head all at once.

Ahh, shit.

He finally lets his thoughts race and wander while thinking about them. For the first time in days, he lets himself linger on his memories of their face, though the quick glimpse he had gotten had not left him with much to remember. Their gorgeous red hair, their piercing green eyes, the striking contours of their face… They are so beautiful, and he would do anything to see their face again.

A giddy smile crosses his face when he thinks of all the times they’ve touched him on the arm or on the shoulder, or held his hands so softly. They had exuded kindness and compassion in those moments, the genuineness of which Elliott has not truly felt in a while. Bloodhound’s quiet vulnerability in the bar the other night had struck him as both odd and humbling; their increasing trust in him is something he definitely doesn’t want to take for granted.

The complex comes into view and Elliott’s heart starts to pound harder in his chest. It takes a great deal of effort to not run all the way to their door… until he realizes he doesn’t know which floor is theirs, much less which door.

Bzzt! His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he jumps a little before retrieving it. A message from an unknown number is emblazoned across the lock screen:

Second floor, number 14.

-BH

Excitement and happiness surges through his veins, and he immediately saves their contact information. God, is he really that pumped about having their number? A big stupid smile stretches across his face, and he wants to smack himself. Chill, Elliott, chill. You’ve gotta get ahold of yourself before you get up there. He takes a deep breath and sends a quick reply to Bloodhound as he continues down the sidewalk, valiantly avoiding the puddles.

Nearly there! How’d you get my number?

A reply flashes through faster than he thought it would.

Renee owed me a favor. I hope it is all right that I asked her.

Oh, yeah, that’s fine! No problem :)

He has to physically restrain himself from adding a little heart; Renee or Octavio or Makoa were used to his nonsense, but he figures Bloodhound would only find it strange for him to be adding those things to his texts right off the bat. He’s busy smiling off into space when his phone vibrates again.

I am looking forward to seeing you.

Elliott’s heart practically explodes in his chest, and he steps right into a puddle.

------

Bloodhound can’t stay still.

Ever since those traitorous words had fallen from their mouth, they’d been on red alert, their brain and body a hopeless torrent of conflicting emotions that hadn’t quite settled. They think it’s fitting that it is raining; it seems the Allfather is showing his sympathies in the smallest of ways. The rain patters against the windows in a steady rhythm, and under any other circumstance it would have been very calming. They would have shed the mask and goggles and snuggled into the couch with a book and a cup of tea, but tonight, that isn’t an option. Instead, they’re wandering aimlessly around their apartment- cleaning corners that don’t really need to be cleaned, tending to Artur, and sipping at a glass of water every time they walk by the kitchen.

They’d hopped into the shower immediately after arriving home and cleaned every inch of their skin with an annoying attention to detail. Their anxiety had mounted in their chest until they had had to sit on the cold tiles of the shower with their head between their legs. Everything is going to be fine, they’d repeated to themself over and over again. Elliott would never hurt you.

The thought is ironic because of the stubborn headache at the base of their skull- Boone’s pain medicine had done little to abate the throbbing in their neck. As they think back on their day, they feel a surge of pride for Elliott. It seems that he is finally allowing himself to succeed, instead of limiting himself like he had before. He had truly surprised them today. Where they had once seen hesitation and worry, it had been replaced with deadly precision and focus, and Bloodhound would not change the outcome of the match even if they could. Elliott had been a wonderful sight to behold.

The frantic fear is nearly gone, but it lingers just enough to make them a little self-conscious. Opting not to wear their Games attire, they’ve picked a thick turtleneck, fitted cargo pants, woolen socks, and a slimmer pair of gloves that will hide their hands but not hinder any movement. The mask is laid on the table, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice. They’re already wearing the helmet, their goggles, and the leather cap. They’ve always hated having to pile wet hair under the hood, but their plans left them no choice. Bloodhound hasn’t cared much about their physical appearance in years, but for some reason, the idea of being alone with Elliott again makes them want to hide away in embarrassment.

An eager knock at the door startles Bloodhound, and they very nearly knock over their glass.

Their heart starts pumping in their chest, and their fingers fumble a little as they clip the respirator to the cap. Immediately, their breathing comes easier, and they scold themself for going so long without it this evening. Bloodhound makes their way to the door and opens it, revealing an absolutely drenched Elliott holding a broken umbrella in one hand and a pair of sopping wet sneakers in the other.

“Hey! I, uh, definitely stepped in a ton of puddles on the way here. I usually watch where I’m going but these ones were sac- ski- scattered everywhere, so I couldn’t see them at all, and then of course the wind picked up and shredded my umbrella, so I’m totally soaked.” He shrugs helplessly and shakes the bent umbrella off a little, showering Bloodhound’s feet with droplets of water. “Ah, shit. Sorry!”

They shake their head at him and sigh, and a shiver goes through their body as they think about being drenched in this weather. “It is of no consequence, Elliott, I can very easily change socks. Please, come in,” they say, and they lead him into their apartment.

They try not to look at him as he takes in their apartment, suddenly insecure about how simple and bare it looks. The apartment had come furnished, but it is not quite to their tastes. Bloodhound prefers a more homey and warm feel, not the modern, sleek look that is so popular these days. The windows in the living room are quite large. Bloodhound had had a tinted effect added to them immediately- for their anonymity and so the light coming in would not be quite so harsh on their sensitive eyes. The furnishings are a combination of aesthetically pleasing colors and fabrics, all tones of white or grey or brown. A couple of plush blankets are draped over the back of the couch, and minimalistic frames are hung on the walls, great white voids containing typeface quotes and old cliches. The fireplace is an inordinate monolith of dark stone, and if Bloodhound had thought of it, they would have started a fire to make it seem less dull and boring. The thought occurs to them that they should have made this place more welcoming, but they are not vain enough to care in the long run. After all, will Elliott even want to return after he receives the answers to his questions? Bloodhound thinks not.

“Wow,” Elliott remarks, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door. “It’s so clean.” He strips off his socks and rolls up his pants a little so the soggy ends aren’t rubbing around his ankles. The cuffs fit tightly around his very sculpted calves, and Bloodhound blushes before looking away pointedly.

“This space is not to my tastes,” they reply, watching him walk around. “My real home is much more notalegt- cozy- and warm. Not cold and unfeeling like this place is.”

“Your real home?” he asks, glancing at them. “You don’t live in the Legends complexes full time?”

“I stay in the buildings during the on season, but during the off season, I retreat to a modest cabin in the woods,” they explain, and they realize they’ve made their first confession of the night. That... wasn’t so bad. “There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a large fireplace, plenty of furs to keep warm, and a view that would take your breath away. I quite enjoy it.”

“That sounds amazing,” he grins. That smile… Bloodhound has to take a deep breath.

“Maybe I will show you one day,” they say, surprising themself with how easily they offer. “It is a beautiful place, and I think you would like it.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’d, uh… you’d let me go with you?”

“Perhaps,” they murmur, and their heart starts to beat hard in their chest again. They notice he’s still carrying his wet shoes and socks, and they move to take them from him. “Here. Let me start a fire. Your shoes and socks will be dry in no time.”

“Oh, thank you!” he replies cheerily, and the smile he gives them makes their heart skip a beat. They take the soggy items from him, cringing a bit at the questionable texture, and set them on the mantle for a moment. Overly aware of how closely he’s watching them, they kneel down, turn the gas knob, and light the fire quickly. In moments, a rosy glow emanates from the fireplace and Bloodhound pulls the screens over to eliminate any chance of Elliott’s things going up in flames. They reach up and place the shoes and socks on a small rack in front of the fire, and then they stand and retreat to their room for a moment.

Before long, they return to the living room wearing a fresh pair of socks and carrying a pair for Elliott. “Here,” they say, holding them out to him. “So your feet are not cold. It can be drafty in here when it rains.”

A pink tinge comes to his cheeks, and he accepts them hesitantly. “You’re way too nice,” he grumbles quietly as he sinks down onto the couch. He puts them on and then pushes his floppy wet hair out of his face. “Hey, can I borrow your hair dryer?” he asks, giving them a questioning glance.

“I… do not own one,” they reply, face burning. “Mine gave out a few weeks ago and I have not yet had time to buy another.”

To their surprise, he grins widely and looks away, suddenly very focused on the fire. “That’s all right,” he says, and his voice is curiously flustered. “I can just sit in front of the fireplace for a bit. You’re about to see the fluffiest hair the Outlands has to offer.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, raking his hands through his messy mop.

The thought of Elliott with an untamed mess of curly hair makes them smile like a lovesick teenager, and they’re so, so glad they’re still wearing the mask. “So your hair is not perfect all the time?” they tease, sitting down on the couch next to him. They leave a respectable distance between them, but the distance is smaller than it would have been two or three weeks ago. “Ah, so he does have a flaw. Artur, can you believe it?”

They look to Artur’s perch where the bird has been sleeping peacefully throughout all of this. The bird shakes his beak and gives a soft caw before shuffling along his branch, completely ignoring Bloodhound. They shake their head at him. Unhelpful creature, they think affectionately.

Elliott scoffs and says, “Psh, no! I’m absolutely fal- flo- fu- perfect. My hair just has a life of its own sometimes.” He flips his hair to the opposite side and gives Bloodhound a ridiculously goofy expression. It takes everything in them to not burst out laughing, and they would have given him a deadpan expression if they could.

“Like your aim with an R-99, then,” they reply, keeping their voice as even as possible.

His mouth drops open, but he’s smiling. “Wh-What? Was that a joke? Did you actually just tell a joke?” A huge, incredulous laugh escapes his throat and he grabs his chest, and Bloodhound almost loses it. “That’s a little unfair though, considering how I absolutely lasered you today.”

It’s Bloodhound’s turn to laugh, and their face hurts from how much they’ve smiled lately. “You are correct, Elliott,” they admit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. “I was very impressed with your skill this morning. Your precision and focus made you a formidable opponent, and I was honored to fight with you.”

Instead of the cocky, arrogant response they have come to expect from him, Elliott actually blushes. It is a welcome change; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and he looks away, biting his lip. “Thanks,” he says simply, and his voice is… bashful?

Bloodhound does not quite know what to make of that.

------

His face burns fiercely and he can’t meet their eyes. He loves getting praise from his fans and from his friends, but getting praised by Bloodhound somehow means so much more. Maybe it’s because they’re so skilled, or maybe it’s because he respects them the most out of any other Legend, but such high compliments coming from them renders him a little speechless.

“Hey, I know this is dumb since we’re paid to kill each other, but, um… Sorry about today,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Taking an entire clip of ammo to the head always gives you a nasty headache.”

Bloodhound huffs quietly, and Elliott takes that to be a soft laugh. “Do not worry, vinur minn. I am perfectly fine. It was simply the Allfather’s will for me to lose today, and I am not offended.”

Elliott lets out a small chuckle, relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I might have broken your mask.”

They tap their mask firmly, and it makes a solid thunk sound. “You see? Perfectly fine,” they reply, and Elliott can hear the smile in their voice. “It is quite solid and substantial. Unlike much of your humor.”

Elliott stares at them open mouthed. “I’m wounded, Bloodhound, truly!” he rebutts, scandalized. He flops back against the couch dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Bloodhound, making multiple jokes in one night? The world must be ending, he thinks, and he doesn’t even care that the jokes are coming at his expense.

Bloodhound laughs, and God, he’s missed that sound. The gentle lilt, the soft breathiness of their voice… Elliott blushes even as he giggles, and he treasures the noise they’re making.

“I have been known to be humorous now and again,” they say, still chuckling.

Elliott can only smile and shake his head in wonder as the two of them laugh, and soon, he’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. Okay, out of all the things I expected tonight it definitely wasn’t that.”

“And what have you expected for this evening, Elliott?” Bloodhound cocks their head and leans back into the couch, folding their arms.

A thrill of joy runs its course throughout his body when they say his name, and he finds it strange. Bloodhound has surely said his name hundreds of times, but this feels different. Elliott is sure he’s overthinking it, but the way they had said it feels like they were humming a song.

His entire body glows with warmth. “You promised me answers,” he says carefully as the giddiness starts to drain away. “You don’t have to go into specifics but… still, you promised answers.”

Bloodhound is silent for a moment, and their hands fidget lightly in their lap. Then they nod. “Yes. I do owe you answers, so please, ask whatever you would like.” Their voice is guarded and serious, and the shift in attitude is sobering.

Elliott notices how discomfort begins to creep into their posture, and so he resolves to not push them any further than they are willing to be pushed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air hissing between his teeth as he leans back and begins to think. “Okay, um… Well, I was worried about your mask breaking because I don’t know how it works or how it helps. Can I ask why you need it?”

The question only makes Bloodhound’s body language tighten up more. They are silent for several long moments, seeming to ponder and consider his question. Was that too much right out of the gate? he thinks frantically, and he’s about to redact his question when they let out a big breath and begin to speak.

“When I was a child, I was… in an accident,” they say, but something about their admission feels shallow, as if they have more to tell. “No. I made a grave mistake.”

Elliott takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the couch. He can tell this story will be a long one, and he intends to listen to every word.

“In my culture, young warriors must endure a rite of passage that shows our strength and our transition into adulthood,” Bloodhound explains. “My test was to slátra a prowler beast. I was afraid, but... I knew the Allfather would guide me.” They pause for a moment, and Elliott hangs on to their every word. “I followed its tracks to an abandoned IMC facility deep in the woods, but what I found there was far more hryllilegur. Horrible,” they add when Elliott raises an eyebrow.

“A jötunn had made its home there. It is a terrifying beast, all horns and teeth and claws. It is as large as some of the buildings in Slum Lakes, if you can recall. I began to run away, but I found a prototype Charge Rifle and shot the beast. I thought it was dead. I collected its horn to present to my uncle, but he was... disappointed in me.” They sigh deeply as dread begins to pool in Elliott’s stomach. “I had rejected the sacred laws of the Hunt by using a gun in order to defeat this beast. Artur was steadfast, immovable in his convictions, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him of my victory, he would not validate it.

“I left in anger. I was a child, only fourteen years old, but if the other village elders knew what I had done, they would have exiled me. I was... so ashamed.” Bloodhound swallows, and it sounds like it takes a lot of effort. “I retreated to the forest to be alone, as I often did, and… the jötunn was there. It was not dead, as I had hoped. It sought revenge.

“I tried my best to fight it off. My uncle was alerted to my cries, and came to help, along with many other villagers. They fought, and…” Their voice tightens, and Elliott’s heart breaks. “Many died. Including my uncle.”

Their voice has become achingly vulnerable and soft the longer they’ve spoken, and Elliott wants nothing more than to reach out and take their hands again. He shifts closer to them on the couch, closing the gap ever so slightly. His eyes stay glued to their mask, and the lenses of their goggles reflect the flickering light of the fireplace. He’s always found the mask to be either intimidating or expressionless, but Bloodhound’s sadness speaks for them, and the mask seems to be considerably more morose than usual.

“I sought the beast out,” they continue, and Elliott is surprised by how quietly angry and low their voice is. “It had returned to the abandoned facility. The halls had been equipped with coolant lines in case of an explosion or other emergency, and I broke them in order to immobilize the beast. But I breathed too much of it in, and… it dehydrated and froze my skin and lungs, leaving me scarred. Fortunately, I was able to find an oxygen mask just before I succumbed to the cold. Once the beast was frozen, I killed it with my uncle’s axe, fulfilling my test.”

Bloodhound is quiet for some time, and it takes Elliott a moment to realize they’re done talking. He knows he’s staring, and he knows he looks like he’s pitying them, and he fights to find an adequate response. “I’m so sorry, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, and he reaches out to them hesitantly. He takes their hands ever so softly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with such horrible things when you were younger. That sounds really tra- tor- traumatizing.” He’s struck by an incredible urge to pull them into his arms and hold them close, and a wave of embarrassment runs through his body as he presses that urge down.

Bloodhound’s hands begin to tremble in his, and he’s alerted to their discomfort immediately. Their breathing comes quicker and shallower even through the mask, and he holds onto them tighter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, worried.

“I-” Their voice breaks and Elliott’s heart clenches in his chest. “I- I am sorry, Elliott, you do not want to see me like this-” Bloodhound makes an attempt to pull away and stand, but Elliott holds on tight, keeping them right where they are.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay! It’s all right. I’m not bothered by you being emotional. It’s actually pretty refreshing, honestly. Makes you feel more normal, like the rest of us.”

They laugh weakly, and Elliott sighs in relief. “T-Thank you, vinur minn. I just- I am prone to anxiety attacks, and…” They suck in a huge lungful of air, but they’re still shaking. “That is why I left the other night. When you asked me about Artur, I was overcome and needed to leave as quickly as possible. Please do not take any offense- it was not your fault.”

Elliott’s chest fills with a strange sense of compassion and guilt, and he squeezes their hands comfortingly. “It’s okay, Bloodhound,” he reassures them. “I’m not mad. Just… worried.” The admission makes him feel exposed and overbearing all at once, and he really hopes he’s not making them uncomfortable.

An idea comes to his mind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Breathe with me.”

Bloodhound stiffens, and Elliott hopes to God he hasn’t somehow offended them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and after a moment, he hears Bloodhound inhale greatly as well. He finds himself rubbing his thumbs back and forth across their rough gloves, just like they had done to him a few nights ago. He lets the air calm him and settle his racing heart. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or if he’s even doing this right, but to his delight, Bloodhound’s breathing begins to slow and even out. They gradually stop shaking, and he smiles.

Elliott opens his eyes. “Better?” he asks, and he gives their hands a quick squeeze.

They are quiet for a moment. “Nearly,” they murmur, and they pull their hands away. Elliott’s face falls, and rejection begins to rise in him, but they take off their gloves and reach for him once more. He eagerly closes the gap between his shaking fingers and theirs. The place where they make first contact with his skin- a small place near his thumb- tingles pleasantly, and the warmth of their hand settles in his. He inhales sharply, and beams as their fingers curl into his own.

“Better.” They are so quiet and soft as they speak, and Elliott almost misses what they say. “Your kindness is a blessing to me, kæri vinur. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, trying to find their eyes beyond the lenses of their goggles. Despite his happiness, he finds himself wishing that he could search their face for meaning, for emotion, for clarity. He knows why they need and wear the mask. He knows why he will likely never see their face again. But, damn, does he desperately want to gaze upon them just one more time. He doesn’t know what kæri vinur means, but he can’t help but notice the similarities between it and what they usually call him.

He doesn’t dare to hope it means anything.

...does he?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it, or…?” he trails, attempting to do what they had done a few nights ago.

“No, Elliott,” they reply, but their voice is not unkind. Their grip on his hands tightens for a moment, then they loosen, and it sends a thrill down Elliott’s spine. “Your help was more than enough to calm me.”

He adjusts himself on the couch, and his knee brushes against theirs. The only light in the room comes from the quietly crackling fire, and it highlights Bloodhound’s features with a silhouette of warmth. His heart starts to pound in his chest once more, and every sense heightens. Elliott suddenly becomes aware of how intimate and vulnerable this little bubble of space is, and his shoulders tense in anticipation of something he knows will never come. He wants to pull them close. He wants to lace his fingers in theirs. He wants to…

“Can I trust you, Elliott?”

They sound so… exposed. So afraid. His breath catches in his throat for a moment. “O-Of course, Bloodhound. You can trust me with anything,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs across their knuckles reassuringly. He’s surprised by how rough their hands are, and it’s only then that he remembers the silvery spider web scars stretching across their skin.

“Then… there is something I wish to share with you,” they reply, and their hands begin to tremble in his again. They let go of him, and to his utter shock, their hands go to their helmet, edging towards the many clasps that fasten it to their goggles and respirator.

“W-Wait, hold on,” he stutters, and he reaches for their hands again. “A-Are you- hey, you really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, I mean- I mean, are you absolutely sure?” He stares at them in confusion and worry, and his stomach is an unintelligible knot of emotion. Elliott searches their mask and their body language, trying desperately to figure out what the hell they’re thinking.

“If I was not sure I would not be doing this,” they chide gently, and they remove their hands from his grip. “Please, just let me do this. Ég er svo- I am so tired of hiding.”

Elliott can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he says, still very unsure. His hands fall back into his lap.

------

The child inside them shakes and trembles horribly as they raise their hands to their head. Part of them screams and begs for them to stop, and it’s only in this moment that they realize that part is the terrified twenty-five year old that had had their mask shattered in front of all those people so long ago. That crowd had been so cruel, but Elliott could never share their vitriol, their hatred. Bloodhound has seen into the man’s heart more than they ever thought they would, and no trace of cruelty exists inside him.

How long has it been since they willingly showed someone else their face? Five years? Ten? Ajay seeing them had been a complete and total accident- one that they had learned not to mind. Boone had grown up with them, of course, so he does not count. But Elliott… At the beginning of this night, they never would have dreamed of doing what they’re about to do. But Elliott is so kind, so thoughtful and accepting that their heart yearns for him greatly, and they can ignore that fact no longer.

Their fingers fumble with the straps of their helmet, but something drives them forward. It drives them to be vulnerable- to be open and take a risk. Elliott has seen their face already, so why are they so nervous? He has seen the scars they bear- why are they trembling like the young one they used to be? They do not know, but they hope that the price of them being so vulnerable is a price he’s willing to pay.

There is no turning back now, they think.

With trembling hands, they remove the helmet, cap, goggles, and finally, the mask.

#apex #apex legends #miragehound #mirage #bloodhound #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #my writing

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Field of Poppies Part 4

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 4: The Shelbys go on holiday to the summer fair.

With school on summer holiday, Polly was at her wit's end with the children. While they mostly played outside, they’d always be in and out of the house banging around, tracking mud on the floor, coming in with scraped knees, or crying about something being unfair. Meanwhile, Finn was starting to walk and was also wreaking havoc, pulling on everything not tied down and making quick getaways.

So, it was decided they would spend some of the holiday on the road with the Strong family. Of course, Tommy and Arthur weren’t exactly pleased. Seeing as the betting shop was just getting up and started, they couldn’t afford to lose out on money. Polly insisted and said Danny and the other men could handle a few weeks.

Going on seven months pregnant, Amelia was a bit apprehensive about traveling out to the Welsh countryside. However, Tommy assured her that if she were to go into an early labor, she was in capable hands, probably better than any doctor in Birmingham. It was enough to sway her. They all needed a break from the city’s smoke and mud. Some fresh air was bound to do them good.

And oh how sweet the air smelled once they were finally away from the city limits. Amelia had been to the countryside before but had never joined Tommy’s family to see their kin out on the road. Her parents would never allow her to be near other Travelers, especially ones who tended to be more nomadic in nature than the Shelbys were.

But Tommy had told her enough stories as a child to make her interested. He tried to scare her with the stories they would tell around the fires. Try to explain the excitement of spring and summer fairs. It seemed like another world when he described it all. To be out in the Welsh wilderness, sleeping under the stars, riding horses all day, spinning yarns about fairies, it seemed to be a child’s dream.

Now, Amelia was much more aware of the struggles Tommy’s extended family faced. The prejudice and poverty. None of those issues mattered as a child. They had blinders on so they wouldn't see the ugly side of life. All they saw was the fantastical magic the world still held onto. She yearned to have that innocence back but there was no going back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the second day of traveling to the Black Mountains, Tommy was steering the vardo with Amelia sitting beside him. He held the position naturally, letting the reins be an extension of his arms as he guided the two horses along. Arthur was on another horse, riding along while Polly and the other three children stayed in the back of the wagon.

“Good to be outside, aye?” Tommy struck up a conversation as a lull in the muggy afternoon settled on them.

“Oh yes.” Amelia nodded. “Good to see the clear sky instead of smoke.” She joked. "I forgot how blue the sky could get sometimes."

“Get used to it. ‘Cause when we’ve got everything going with the shop, m’gonna buy a house out in the countryside.”

She smiled. “Is that right?” It wasn’t the first time Tommy made bold claims. Once money started rolling in from the betting shop, he started promising things that sounded outlandish even to Arthur. He promised a brand new luxury car to John, a new five story house for Polly, as many horses as Ada could want, and now a house in the country.

“Like a cottage. Mum, dad, and I used to rent one for the holidays out in Wiltshire.” She recalled. “Cute little place.”

“No.” He shook his head, the cigarette in his mouth practically just a bit of ash. “One of those fucking big ones. Like royals have. Dukes 'n whatever they are.”

“Oh, Thomas, please.” She giggled and nudged him.

“I’m serious!” He chucked the last bit of his cigarette. “Big place, dozens of bedrooms, proper kitchen, riding stables, maids, cooks, everything. We’ll live there with the baby. He’ll have room to run ‘stead of being cooped up in Small Heath.”

It sounded wonderful to Amelia, like the stories he used to tell about traveling. But it was so far-fetched. “Can we focus just on what we’ve got now?” She wondered. “Tommy, I’m okay with making do with what I’ve got…and what you and your family have given me.” She touched his knee.

He glanced over at her, his blue eyes so bright in the summer sun. “You don’t think you deserve more than this?” He wondered. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice big house, proper holidays to places like France?”

“All those things would be nice but if I never get those things then I’ll be fine. I’m okay with what I have now.” She smiled at him to reassure that there wasn’t anything he needed to prove to her or promise.

Tommy sighed and his eyes returned to the grassy path ahead of them. “I know the baby’s not mine but…I don’t want any other kid to go hungry like we did. Ain’t right how we were brought up. And if I can change that for my family and for the baby then, why not?”

Amelia felt she wasn’t in a place to tell if he was right or wrong. So, she leaned over to kiss his cheek affectionately. “You’re a good man, Tommy Shelby.” She said softly. “A very good man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They met up with the Strongs at their camp and together they moved North to go to the Appleby fair. Ada chattered on to Amelia the whole ride there about how fun the fair was. There were crafts and fortune-tellers and horses, horses, horses. She would see all of her cousins and other distant relatives that they only got to see once in a blue moon. They’d race horses, swap stories, share laughs, and her brothers would box with the Lee boys.

Although the trip took a little under a week, Amelia was in good spirits the whole way there. Tommy was practically a different person out in the countryside. He knew how to survive in Small Heath and knew how to survive outdoors just as well. He let loose a bit, not bothering to dress up and going barefoot a lot of the times. He smiled more and played with his siblings. It was as if he had left all his worries back in the city.

Amelia thought he was so beautiful in the sun. His smile brightened ten fold, his eyes sparkled, and he moved as if he didn't have any stress on his shoulders. It warmed her heart to see him play-wrestling with John, riding horses with Ada, and picking up Finn to spin him around. For a moment, she pictured her child in the scene. A little boy or girl toddling after Tommy, looking for his attention. Tommy scooping them up and holding them close, just as a father would.

All she could do was smile and keep her wide-eyed fantasies to herself. But it was so easy to get caught up in the magic of the forests and fields. It was so easy to get caught up in the smile of Tommy Shelby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ada was right, there was a lot to be said about the fair. Intricately and brightly painted vardos lined up and many people were milling around. There were people washing their horses in the rivers as children played and splashed one another by the banks.

After a long journey, Amelia wanted to stretch her legs. Tommy walked with her along the river as the rest of the family prepared camp and watered the horses.

“Pol said your feet might be hurting these days.” Tommy’s aunt was his go-to to get any pregnancy answers.

“They’re a bit swollen, the heat doesn’t help,” Amelia admitted. Although getting to walk was nice, she was starting to get flushed in the heat.

“And uh…any word from home?” He kept his eyes to the ground, kicking a stone along their way.

“While we’ve been on the road for over a week?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t gotten any messenger birds.”

Tommy chuckled. “I meant when we were back home. I mean, we haven’t talked about it much.” He pointed out.

Her smile faded. “No, I haven’t heard from them. I don’t know if they know where I am but I figured…well, I figured they would’ve thought to try and find me in Small Heath. I don’t know where else I would’ve gone with nothing in me pockets.

“And the father?” They hadn’t broached the subject before because Polly insisted that he leave the matter be. But curiosity was just too damn tough to ignore.

“Tom, I told you…”

“Tommy Shelby!” Someone crowed out ahead of them. Three young men about Tommy and Arthur’s age stopped them.

His face soured when he saw who was calling him. “Will.” He muttered obviously not in the mood to talk to them.

“I heard the Shelbys were coming, how the hell are ya?” Will appeared to be the oldest of the three, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair.

“Fine, fine.”

"And he's got someone up the duff." Will smacked a hand to his forehead when he saw Amelia. "Shelby, Shelby, Shelby. What a shame! You have to learn how to pull out or these things happen, Tommy." He tutted in Shelta. "She is a sight though."

Amelia suddenly felt very self-conscious about the baby bump showing. Of course, she ought to be showing at her stage of pregnancy, but she wasn’t keen on embarrassing the Shelbys. Especially if Tommy wasn’t actually the father.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Tommy spat venomously.

The Lee brothers jostled each other, pleased that he was fighting back. “Still got that mouth on ya, Tommy Boy, haven’t ya?”

“Fuck off.” He wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist to steer her away from the brothers. “Fucking lowlifes never know when to shut their mouths..” He muttered under his breath.

“Still got a fight in ya then? Or are ya too scared to step into the ring with me?” Will taunted after him.

Amelia felt Tommy’s arm stiffen and he stopped in his tracks. Her eyebrows knit in worry. “Tom…” She warned.

But he slipped away from her and turned to face the brothers again. “Name a time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ah, it’s never too long ‘til Tommy gets into it with one of the Lees at the fair.” Arthur punched his brother in the arm. “Lucky you got practice with those Birmingham Boys, aye?”

Tommy avoided Amelia’s questioning glance even though he could feel her eyes on him.

Polly didn’t even look like she wanted to get into the matter. Men fought at fairs, that was only tradition and it was in good fun most of the time. Besides, Small Heath was much more dangerous than a bout of boxing.

Around the Shelbys’ camp, there was a buzz in the air of excitement. Music could be heard in a couple of different directions, people laughed and joined each other for a good time around the roaring fires and lanterns. Some girls some yards away were dancing in a circle, their long skirts illuminated by the flames.

“When can I fight, Pol?” John asked hopefully. “I can take the Lees too!”

“Hush.” Polly scolded. “When you’re older and you’ve learned how to box properly. I don’t want to bring you home with a broken hand.”

John grimaced. “I’m old enough.” He muttered.

“Men don’t pout or slouch.” She said and stood up to tend to Finn who was stirring in the vardo.

“You gonna kill ‘im then, Tom?” Arthur smirked. “I heard he was…” He made a subtle gesture to Amelia who was talking softly with Ada. The eldest Shelby wanted to mention about how bad Tommy had it for Amelia. It was blatantly obvious to everyone. But neither of them seemed to want to admit it.

Tommy tossed a twig into the fire mindlessly. “He’ll learn to keep his fucking mouth shut.” He mumbled.

“Shelby!” Someone called.

Arthur grinned and clapped his brother on the back. “Let’s go then.”

“Tom?” Amelia looked worried when they stood up. “Where are you going?”

“Gonna go fight, Mel. Tommy’s gonna show them Lees how to throw a good punch”

“But…” Her stomach went into knots. “Maybe you could stay here and-”

“Won’t be long, Mel,” Tommy promised.

“Fine, then I’m coming.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and followed them.

“Not really for women.” Arthur tried to show opposition to the idea but Tommy didn’t seem to mind. Maybe if she saw him fight, she would know he could hold his own and she wouldn’t have to worry about the betting shop. No longer was he the stick-thin little teenager who was sometimes more bark than bite. No, he’d found his anger and learned to use it to his advantage.

The makeshift ring was lit by lanterns and nearby fires. A group was already forming to watch the show. The Lees were riling Will up who was already there, waiting for his opponent. But they all seemed to be in good nature, passing drinks and cigarettes, laughing, and cussing.

Tommy pulled off his undershirt and handed it to Amelia to hold. She was a bit stunned to see he had a tattoo on his chest. The sun-like lines were certainly new as far as she was aware. But she didn’t mention the ink.

Arthur was handing his brother a flask, Tommy downing the contents before ducking under the rope.

The crowd of onlookers was a bit rowdy, pleased to see young blood fighting like real men. Bare knuckles, no weapons, how it was meant to be a Romani man. A good show of tradition.

Amelia felt her palms start to sweat. Will was a good head taller than Tommy was and seemingly more muscular by his build.

However, Arthur, standing beside her, looked less than concerned. “He’ll be alright, Mellie. He’s taken down bigger fuckers than this one.” He promised.

Amelia had seen Tommy fight before, but the last time must’ve been when they were only thirteen. The wiry boy had a habit for picking fights and never staying down even when he was bleeding or had a broken bone. She never seemed to mind seeing him fight while they were in school. But seeing him in the ring with someone bigger than him, it made her stomach flip-flop.

And Tommy drew out the suspension. He allowed Will to get in a couple of swings, but he dodged them. His size allowed him to be quicker and more agile on his feet. The two circled around each other, fists up by their faces. Will looked smug with himself, confident that he would win. On the other hand, Tommy had fire in his blue-eyes. He wasn't fighting to have a few laughs.

“Hit ‘im, Tommy!” Arthur roared after his brother dodged a couple more blows.

Something changed in Tommy’s eyes as he threw a punch. Amelia could hear the blow land even over the boisterous crowd. She winced and ducked her head a bit. When had she ever been afraid to watch a fight? She must’ve egged on a few scuffles in her day. Goading Tommy to kick in the teeth of the school bully. But when Will landed a punch and she saw Tommy’s head jerk back, she cringed and hid her face in Arthur’s sleeve.

She could still hear the contact of punches, the sound of the men spurring them on, and the grunts from Will and Tommy as they fought. But she couldn’t bear to watch it.

It only took a few minutes before someone was shouting.“Oi, oi! Get ‘im off!”

“Tom, c’mon, that’s enough!” Arthur moved from Amelia and got into the ring.

She looked up and saw Tommy on top of Will, pummeling his face. Arthur ripped his brother off.

"Got fucking devils in them. Those fucking Shelbys are rabid." Someone nearby remarked.

"Aye, get it from their father. Murder in their blood."

"Do not let me hear you talking about her again." Tommy threatened in Shelta before he finally let his brother steer him away from the ring. He spat on the ground, leaving the Lees to help an injured Will off the ground.

Coated with a sheen of sweat, Tommy was breathing hard. Even in the dim light, Amelia could assess the damage. It seemed Will had taken the brunt of the fight. Tommy only walked away with a bloody lip, a bruise forming on his jaw, and some dirt sticking to his torso.

“Go wash off and calm the fuck down,” Arthur ordered before heading back toward the camp.

~~~~~~~~~~

Amelia followed Tommy to the river so he could wash the blood and dirt away. She lingered behind as he knelt down on the bank and splash cold water over him.

“What did you say to him?” She wondered.

“Nothing.” Tommy shook the water from his hair and wiped his hands over his face.

“Well, you said something, Tom.”

He stood and took his shirt back, using it to dry off a bit. “It was nothing.” He said again.

They stood in silence for a bit. Music still hung in the air as the night wore on. There was an uproar from the crowd, signaling the start of another boxing match.

Curious, Amelia stepped toward him and splayed her fingers out over his tattoo, following the direction of the lines. “This is new.”

Tommy felt like his skin was on fire even after the cold douse of water. He couldn’t find the words for a long moment, simply watching her slender fingers trailing over the inked lines. “I-uh…you can’t tell Pol about it.” He tried to hide his stammer. “She’ll fucking kill me.”

Amelia laughed softly and withdrew her hand. “Alright.” She agreed. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He smiled and threw on the shirt to conceal the tattoo. “C’mon.” He murmured and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997

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internaljiujitsu · 4 years

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Five 5 Minute Life Drills To Keep You Going And Growing

I can still remember the innocent optimism of childhood. Each day was a wondrous adventure as life playfully unfolded. I didn’t know about limitations and I could see a bright future ahead. It lasted until I was eight years old.

When you carry around deep unhappiness from an early age, you’re always trying to compensate. Accomplishing things to feed your need for validation becomes a way of staying out of the dumps. You feel worthless if you’re not getting a pat on the back, and when there’s no one around to tell you that you’re OK, you’re bound to listen to the voices in your head.

On May 7th, professional bodybuilder Luke Sandoe committed suicide. Sandoe, by all accounts, was among the most well liked athletes on the circuit. Funny, charismatic, ruggedly handsome yet self deprecating and with a career on the rise, the popular podcast host seemed to have it all. The thirty year old juggernaut succumbed to depression at the height of his fame while quarantined during a global pandemic.

Sandoe’s powerful outward appearance was used to sell supplements, clothing and the fitness lifestyle — But like so many successful people, Luke felt tragically unfulfilled.

Dualism poses that the mind and body are separate — we are not simply self-contained machines. Decartes’ assertion that the mind is non-physical while the body is material flies in the face of those that believe thoughts are simply a function of the brain. Neither group can argue against the powerful effect that our physical and mental wellbeing have on one another.

Outliers are idolized by the adoring public, but the reality is that outstanding achievement in a specialized area will require prioritization. Unless adequate overall balance is pursued, you will always feel off kilter. Something will forever be missing. Pursuing balance, you can strive to achieve more without feeling as if it is an effort to fill a hole. If you feel lack, you feel it everywhere. Like a leech, it sucks the life out of you whether it’s on your ass or your shoulder. Either way, it will bleed you dry — if you let it.

Feeling at ease is impossible when you know your flank is exposed. Shoring up the shaky parts of your life leaves you sturdy enough to confidently leap when opportunity presents itself. While there is always sacrifice for the dedicated, a neglected relationship, poor physical health or constant anxiety are unacceptable prices to pay for success. Ultimately, such infirmity will leave you unable to sustain whatever progress you do make. Something will have to give.

Starting on the road to balanced, overall wellbeing isn’t as hard as it sounds. You don’t need expensive trainers (though they’re great if you can afford one), fad diets or bullshit life hacks. You just need to decide that it’s worth 25 minutes of your time to gain a mental, physical, spiritual and emotional edge.

If you’re tired of feeling like you’re gonna tip over at any moment, here’s my five five minute drills to get you going and growing.

1. Give Thanks For Five Minutes.

In one of Luke Sandoe’s final interviews, he was asked what his first thought in the morning was. He wouldn’t answer because he felt it was too dark for the audience, though the host pressed on. I didn’t have to hear the answer. I had woken up many mornings wishing I hadn’t — thinking I couldn’t bear another day.

What you think about as you drift off to sleep and when you wake up is critical to programming yourself. While affirmations may seem hokey to most people, repeat something enough and you’ll believe it, even if you don’t at first. A started daily morning and evening thanksgiving rituals during the most difficult time in my life. In the beginning, I didn’t feel lucky or grateful — just depressed and hopeless. I gave thanks anyway.

Eventually, I began looking forward to sitting down to review all the good things in my life. You’re setting the table for your experience when your brain is in a theta state — the frequency between conscious and subconscious mind that allows for profound creativity. Manage your words and thoughts carefully during these critical times of the day.

I recommend splitting the five minutes into morning and evening sessions. At night, you can review what went well for that particular day. No win is too small to give yourself credit for before sleeping on it.

2. Shut Up For Five Minutes!

You’ve got a whole day ahead of you to try to get in as much productivity as possible. Everyone gets a piece of your time. But just as “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” author Robert Kiyosaki says, “Pay yourself first.” He’s talking dollars, I’m talking time. Your first meeting of the day should be catching up with you. Check in — with no distractions. It’s amazing how observing your thoughts free from interference can clarify things for you.

Meditation is like setting the emotional pace for your day. You’re adjusting your internal thermostat. Your practice is about maintaining that same level of peace throughout your day, regardless of circumstances.

Five minutes of silence is a way to take control of your mindset from the beginning of the day. Don’t give anything or anyone else the chance to determine your state.

3. Get In Your Body For Five Minutes

The mind/body connection is an essential part of exercise. Focusing on the muscle being worked is a critical component of proper training. Unfortunately, too many people are strangers to their bodies until the moment it breaks down.

If you don’t already have a workout routine that you do in the morning, five minutes of light stretching, a few squats, push ups or jumping jacks can get the blood flowing nicely. It’s a good reminder of what we are physically capable of on a full tank, before getting worn out by daily chores. Your body will feel more awake, stronger and more capable of facing the day’s challenges.

4. Learn Something New For Five Minutes

I don’t mean news about the latest doom and gloom. Take at least five minutes to crack open a book, read an article, listen to a lecture or learn a new word. Get your neurons firing right away, and try to retain what you’ve learned by occasionally reviewing it in your head. Your mind doesn’t stay sharp by accident.

5. Be Creative For Five Minutes

Write, paint, sing or do a little dance — as long as you are expressing yourself freely and honestly for at least five minutes a day. Even if the rest of your life is having to bullshit your way through or pretending to be someone that you’re not, for these three hundred seconds, you are authentic and uncensored. If you don’t stay in touch with who you really are, you may forget all together. I firmly believe in regular therapy, but the honesty you can have with yourself when there is no one to disappoint or impress can’t be done with another person. We are all too judgmental.

Despite the famous words of Billy Crystal’s Fernando Lamas, it is not better to look good than to feel good. Even the most beautiful corpse will quickly rot, deteriorating into dust while hopelessly clinging on. The loss of the material is only catastrophic when matter alone serves as your foundation. These twenty five minutes can serve as the foundation for a more comprehensive approach to wellness. Building habits that enrich every aspect of your life allows for a well rounded expansion that can endure the inevitable instability ahead.

#Mind #body #mindset #Suicide #suicideprevention #anxiety #stress #depression #mentalhealth #growth #expansion #wellness #motivation #goals #personaldevelopment #quarantine

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planestrainsnpages · 4 years

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This Is IT by Alan Watts (and Other Essays on Zen and Spiritual Experiences)

I give it: 7/10

Length: 153 pages

My Spiritual Awakening took place in Los Angeles, summer of 2014. At the same time, I read this text—and now, nearly six years later, want to synthesize the take-aways as I practice minimalism in reducing my extensive books collection to just 125 books.

In this text, Alan Watts defines this as, “Spiritual awakening is the difficult process whereby the increasing realization that everything is as wrong as it can be flips suddenly into the realization that everything is as right as it can be. Or better, everything is as It can be” (13).

Essays include:

This Is IT

Instinct, Intelligence, and Anxiety

Zen and the Problem of Control

Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen

Spirituality and Sensuality

The New Alchemy

The title essay, This Is IT focuses on current consciousness—the continually moving moment of NOW and on the necessity to let go of control in order to be open to all emotions and the “cosmic experience.”

“I believe that if this state of consciousness could become more universal, the pretentious nonsense which passes for the serious business of the world would dissolve in laughter” (12).

This essay slightly contradicts Abraham Hicks’ (Law of Attraction) assertion that your emotions matter most of all, as the indicator of your vibrational alignment (or disharmony) with all that is. Many Hicks’ listeners confuse this to me POSITIVE VIBES ONLY, when instead, Hicks affirms that negative emotions are not “wrong” or in need or control but instead act to move you towards what you do want and what feels good.

Watts echos Hicks by affirming that negative emotions are not wrong, but co-exist on the spectrum of emotions, and we should not try to control these feelings away/separate from us. In fact, Watts points out, enlightenment often arises in moments of despair. Contrasting emotions guide us towards what we want. However, Watts contradicts the idea that joy matters most, as he distinctly states that feelings of ecstasy are often confused for enlightenment.

“...[T]he immediate now is complete even when it is not ecstatic. For ecstasy is a necessarily impermanent contrast in the constant fluctuation of our feelings. But insight, when clear enough, persists; having once understood a particular skill, the facility tends to remain” (18-19).

Instead, Nirvana includes any/all emotions present and changing. Watts and Hicks alike encourage selfishness, while Hicks considers this a path to joy and Watts sees this humanness as a path to transcend the self to the “cosmic” whole or oneness, which he claims is purposeless and instead playful.

He points out that people mistakenly look for spiritual leaders to exhibit perfection over humanity:

“...[W]hether he shows anxiety or not, whether he depends upon ‘material crutches’ such as wine or tobacco, whether he loses his temper, or gets depressed, or falls in love when he shouldn’t, or sometimes looks a bit tired or frayed at the edges. All these criteria might be valid if the philosopher were preaching freedom from being human, or if he were trying to make himself or others radically better.... But the limits within which such improvements may be made are small in comparison with the vast aspects of our nature and our circumstances which remain the same.... I am saying...that while there is a place for bettering oneself and others, solving problems...this is by no means the only or even the chief principal of life....” (31-32).

Instead of prioritizing joy as an end-goal, Watts encourages purposelessness (as opposed to goal-setting and focus on improvement) and letting go of control as key to enlightenment:

“Nature is much more playful than purposeful, and the probability that it has no specific goals for the future need not strike one as a defect.... much more like art than business, politics, or religion. They are especially like the arts of music and dancing.... No one imagines that a symphony is supposed to improve in quality as it goes along, or that the whole object of playing is to reach the finale. The point of music is discovered in every moment of playing and listening to it” (32-33).

“...[I]f we are unduly absorbed in improving...we may forget altogether to live....” (33).

He goes onto say that if we believe that everything in the world is right just as it is, then we may perceive “our normal anxieties” as “ludicrous,” or a wrong response. Really, though, each emotion exists along a spectrum of all emotions, connected and contrasting one another in relation.

“...[T]he superior truth of the ‘cosmic’ experience... [C]ontrol must always be subordinate to motion if there is to be motion at all. In human terms, total restraint of movement is the equivalent of total doubt, of refusal to trust one’s senses or feelings.... On the other hand, movement and the release of restraint are the equivalent of faith, of committing oneself to the uncontrolled and the unknown..... An essential part of the ‘cosmic’ experience is, however that the normal restriction of consciousness to the ego-feeling is also right, but only and always because it is subordinate to absence of restriction, to movement and faith.... [T]here must be total affirmation and acceptance.... [F]or man to make himself mad by trying to bring everything under his control. We become insane, unsound, and without foundation when we lose consciousness of and faith in the uncontrolled and ungraspable...world which is ultimately what we ourselves are. And there is a very slight distinction, if any, between complete, conscious faith and love” (38-39).

One critique that I have with this essay is Watt’s meager attempt to assure that such acceptance of all as-is need not perpetuate injustice:

With little supporting evidence, he state that, “[E]ven though it may be exploited for this purpose, the experience itself is in no sense a philosophy designed to justify or desensitize oneself to the inequalities of life,” (26). He goes onto say, “...the holocaust of the biological world, where every living creatures lives by feeding off others.... is reversed so that every victim is seen as offering itself in sacrifice” (37), going onto argue that all is relative.

For me, this stretch contradicts experiences of the oppressed who fight against such an “offering” of themselves to a system that goes against their free will.

Overall, I think the message —to let go of control and constant striving for perfection, to accept all of our emotions as part of all that is— ironically offers an anecdote for an unbalanced culture to improve, through acceptance over action.

The other essays in this collection:

Instinct, Intelligence, and Anxiety looks at how humans differ from animals in our ability to analyze, predict, and decide—and at what cost.

Zen and the Problem of Control asks if, “man is a self-conscious and therefore self-controlling organism, how is he to control the aspect of himself which does the controlling?” Watts using judo as an example, of working with the blows delivered versus resisting. As it turns out—cooperation is key.

Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen opens pandora’s box of true Zen, traditional Zen, and cultural interpretations—including Jack Kerouac’s. Watts argues that in order to don a true Zen lifestyle, one must overcome any fear or rebellion of their own culture. “Lacking this, his Zen will either be ‘beat’ or ‘square,’ either a revolt...or a form of stuffiness.... Zen is above all the liberation of the mind from conventional though...utterly different from rebellion against convention, on one hand, or adapting foreign conventions on the other” (90).

Spirituality and Sensuality begins with how, “It has often been said that the human being is a combination of animal and angel....” and further explores the illusion of duality as a true unity that cannot exist without an opposite.

The New Alchemy is an acid test that starts off with talking about immortality. Watts discusses the high points and recurrent themes of his experiences on LSD, including facing the ultimate illusion: fear of death.

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lestered · 5 years

Text

nothing to gain

m, 2.4k

what if it only gets colder? would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart? cause lately i've been scared of even thinking 'bout where we are

a.k.a. hooking up is fun, except when it's for all the wrong reasons.

read on ao3

The time on his phone reads 1:38am by the time he finishes doing up his shoelaces.

He's not good with his laces on a normal day, so naturally he has an even harder time when his hands are shaking.

Yes, shaking. His hands are shaking and there's a lump in his throat and he can feel sweat beginning to prickle around his temples and at the back of his neck, because his entire body is flushed too warm for no reason other than he's nervous.

Nervous for a very stupid reason, at that. Phil's always been one to get nervous for regular hook-ups, but this... isn't a regular hook-up. There's no uncertainty for him to waffle over, no need to plan any moves in advance, no worry that there won't be any chemistry or that he'll underperform. He's done this before. He knows how it works. He knows what to do and how to do it well. Under these circumstances, he should be feeling pretty confident. And if this were a cut-and-dry hook-up, maybe he would.

It's not cut-and-dry though. Nothing with Dan ever is.

It's stressful. Phil's not usually one to overthink things, except for when it comes to Dan. Then he overthinks everything. Which sucks, because Dan is pretty much the only thing that he can't afford to overthink.

He rubs his hand down over his face in frustration as he stands, pondering his reflection in the mirror. His hair's getting a bit bird-nesty, he could probably stand to cut it. His eyes look a bit bleary from having his contacts in too long. Biting his lip is a nervous habit of his, but he doesn't even realize he's been doing it until he sees how red and raw his bottom lip looks. He likes to tell himself that looks don't matter, but he feels oddly self-conscious right now.

He's considering changing into something a bit more flattering than his jeans and university hoodie when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

dan [1:41am]: hurry up i want you

There's a mostly pleasant swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach, and that's enough for him to start thinking with his dick again. For now.

He turns out the light and treads quietly out of his bedroom.

The third step up from the bottom of the stairs creaks, he reminds himself as he gingerly takes his first few steps down.

Not that it matters, probably. From up here he can tell that the drinking games are still going strong over in the lounge, and it's not like anyone's gonna be listening for him.

He skips over the step anyway.

Going out the front would entail passing through the lounge and all of his housemates, so he opts for the back door. He makes it as far as the darkened kitchen before the light switches on and there's a soft throat-clearing noise behind him.

"Right then, Lester, where're you off to?"

He doesn't have to stop. He could pretend he doesn't hear her, keep walking on out the door, and be chastised in the morning.

But he doesn't have the balls to do that, and they both know it. So he pauses and sighs and turns around.

Addy looks quite nice tonight. Her slim-fit navy dress really brings out the blue in her eyes, and her jet-black hair falls smoothly over her shoulders. They get mistaken for siblings sometimes, though Phil's quite sure that their resemblance doesn't extend anywhere beyond hair and eye color. And his hair isn't even natural.

It's the first that he's seen of her tonight. She must have just got back from her date, then.

She looks nice, but she also looks confused in spite of her mildly accusatory tone of voice.

"That's a pretty necklace." He says lamely, glancing down at the little silver pendant resting just below her collarbone as a convenient means of avoiding eye contact. "Did Sam give it to you? Happy anniversary by the way, how was dinner?"

"It was good. He's already starting to get pissed out there with the rest of them. Also, you're shit at deflecting. Tell me where you're going."

"Does it matter? I'm an adult." It's meant to be a joke, kind of, but it really just comes out sounding incredibly stupid, even for him. He shouldn't try to go on the defensive, like, ever. Especially with Addy. Even considering that she's his best friend, he still finds her ability to consistently see right through him a little unnerving.

"Maybe. Technically." She shrugs, and crosses her arms. She doesn't look mad or intimidating. Just... determined. "I'm just a bit surprised to see you headed out when everyone just told me that you'd gone up to bed for the night."

He's about to respond with some on-the-spot, half-assed lie before he's interrupted by another vibration in his pocket.

He's not the only one who notices. Her eyes flicker briefly to his pocket, and then back up at him again.

"You're going to see him." It's a statement, not a question. Her voice has gone a bit softer, and he hates that. Not because he hates softness in general, but he knows that she hasn't changed her tone to be gentle. She's changed it because she feels bad for him.

He sighs and deflates a little. "How do you know it's him? It could be someone else."

"I guess." She steps closer. Her heels make it so that she's much closer to eye level with him than usual. "I just don't know why you'd be sneaking out the back for anyone but him."

"We're good at fucking each other." He shrugs and shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Maybe the abrupt change of subject will throw her off. Just a little. Just for a minute. He needs to level the playing field somehow. "It's just sex. It's fun. No one's getting hurt."

"I don't believe that." Her reply is instantaneous. "And I don't think you do, either."

He's quiet for a moment and he wills his voice not to sound as pathetic as he feels when he speaks up again.

"Dan's not a bad person."

"I know he's not, babe." Another quick reply. He knows that she means it. She and Dan had gotten on quite well before the... unpleasantness.

They've had this talk a million times over the past month. It's not healthy, it's not healthy, it's not healthy. I know you still love him but it's not healthy. You'll never get over him if you keep having these backslides.

Maybe I don't want to get over him. He never actually says that bit out loud. Then he'd never hear the end of it.

"He broke your heart though, yeah?"

He didn't want to. But...

"...Yeah."

He doesn't say anything else. She doesn't either, for a while. He reckons she's resigned, which he can't help but feel bad about. Her heart's in the right place. He's just weak.

His hand twitches instinctively towards his pocket when he feels another vibration. Then, her hand comes to rest on his cheek.

"Just be safe, alright?"

He's ready to make some cheeky comment about Dan's impressive stash of free condoms from the student center in an attempt to break the tension or lighten the mood or something, but she cuts in before he can get a word out, like she's already read his mind.

"Not like that. I mean watch out for yourself. Think about what you're doing and make sure that you really believe that it's what's best for you. And for him."

He stands still there for a minute after she walks out. He owes it to her to at least let her words sink in before reaching into his pocket to see what those two little vibrations were about.

dan [1:43am]: i might just start without you if you don't get your ass over here soon :p

dan [1:45am]: phiiiiiiiiiilllllllllll :(

He does have a choice here, he knows that. But the undeniable ache in his chest makes him feel like he really, really doesn't.

The soft, pitchy breath that Dan stifles into his shoulder when he finally bottoms out, after an agonizing minute of working himself slowly down on Phil's cock, is objectively the best sound in the world. He soaks it up and holds onto it every single time, on the dreaded chance that he might never get to hear it again. The possibility is always there. It could happen any day.

"Fuck." Dan's nails dig deep into his shoulder blades. "Give me a sec. I swear your dick got bigger since last time."

"Last time was less than a week ago." Phil reminds him, deliberately letting his breath ghost over Dan's neck as he winds his arms securely around his waist. It has the desired effect; Dan shudders and relaxes a bit. "And it definitely didn't. You're just not prepped enough, you got impatient."

He receives only a delayed hmph in response, and he has to smirk. Because Dan doesn't want to admit that he's right, but it's kind of impossible for either of them to deny.

"Right, c'mere." His voice goes softer than intended and he slides one hand up to tangle into Dan's hair. Dan obliges and tilts his head before Phil can even tell him to. "Relax." He murmurs in between hot, wet kisses to Dan's neck, particularly all the sensitive spots that he's had memorized for what feels like ages. "You feel so fucking good."

He does. Dan's warmth clenching around him so tight that he can't move is actually bordering on too much. Bordering, because he doesn't think that 'too much' is really a part of his vocabulary when it comes to Dan. With Dan, he always wants more.

So he chases it.

Instant gratification, that's what this is. That's why they do this. That's what he tells himself when Dan starts rocking against him, that's what he tells himself when he grabs onto Dan's hips hard enough to bruise and guides him down harder and faster, that's what he tells himself when Dan's panting and moaning and begging for more, that's what he tells himself when he flips them over and pounds into him with total abandon because he knows they're right on the limit. That's what he tells himself when Dan's legs start to shake and his eyes flutter shut and he clenches around him, and that's what he tells himself when his hips stutter and he buries himself deep inside one last time and collapses almost before the relief of his orgasm finishes washing over him.

Then he rolls off, so they're laid side by side with their bodies limp and boneless and their chests flushed and hearts pounding. Phil lets his eyes fall shut, then, because this is the part where they stop bullshitting themselves.

"I love you." Dan whispers, and hands him a couple tissues.

He sighs, opens his eyes and hastily cleans off the mess of Dan's cum that's painted onto his chest and stomach.

"Yeah. I love you too."

The only light in the room now comes from the cheap fairy lights that Dan's strung up on the wall behind his bed. They cast a dim glow onto the bottle of Malibu that Dan's rolling in between his hands - the one he keeps by the side of his bed that makes him look like an alcoholic, though it's really just there to stay safe from his housemates given their tendency to steal any liquor they can get their hands on.

"You sure you don't want any?" Dan offers, and Phil just shakes his head and slides down under the covers. "Had enough earlier. Everyone kept fucking me over in Kings."

"Explains why it took you so fucking long to get here." Dan takes a decent pull from the bottle and then sets it down before joining him under the covers. He holds an arm out and Phil curls into him, head resting on Dan's shoulder.

"No, I tried to get here quick. Addy stopped me on the way out, though."

"Oh." Dan's body stills, and for a few moments the room lapses into a tense silence. "She told you not to come, I guess."

He doesn't deny it, because there's really no use. "I came anyway, though, didn't I?"

"She must fucking hate me now."

"She doesn't."

It's too dark to really read Dan's expression, but Phil can sense that he's being cast a very skeptical look.

"She doesn't." He repeats. "She's just worried. About both of us. 'Cause, you know..." He trails off. He doesn't need to say it; Dan knows.

"It's better this way." Dan mumbles. "I'm a shit boyfriend, Phil. I'm just like, a shit person altogether. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, I've just as good as flunked out of law school. Some day I'm gonna start to drag you down too much, this way you're off the hook. You can just... leave. No strings."

Phil doesn't respond. This is another conversation he's had a million times. Another conversation that just goes around in circles. It doesn't seem to matter how many times he tells Dan that it's too late for no strings. That's not something that works retroactively. Not for him.

It seems to make sense to Dan that they still fuck basically every week, that they still say I love you, but they somehow can't be together. Phil's not sure if they broke up because Dan just doesn't care, or if Dan thinks that Phil doesn't care. Surely it can't be that. How many times has he told Dan that he loves him in spite of everything, that he wants him complete with all of his flaws? The same way that Dan wants him... or wanted him, at one point. He doesn't know anymore.

Because he knows Dan isn't the type to suddenly stop caring about something, or someone. Dan cares a whole fucking lot. But something gets in the way sometimes. Something unreadable, that makes the light go out in his eyes. Phil knows he can't replace that light, he's tried. But god damn, he at least wants to help find something that can.

"Does this feel like no strings to you?" Phil asks quietly. Maybe Dan will listen to himself, if he can't listen to Phil.

"No."

Phil waits a moment for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "Me neither. What if it stays that way?"

Dan doesn't respond, but he does rest his cheek down on top of Phil's head when he scoots in closer.

They're both hanging onto something, surely. The question is whether they're hanging onto the same thing.

He's not so sure he wants to know.

for @phandomficfests shuffle mode; song prompt: waiting game by banks

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #*#fics

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arcane-shadow · 5 years

Text

Don’t You Dare Pity Me

Characters: Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Panic Attacks, PTSD,

AO3 Link

My Bad Things Happen Bingo

Byakuya prides himself on his composure, the stoicism and aloofness expected of him as a Togami.

Even during their ill-fated killing game he had managed to keep a hold of himself. He had been a beacon of calm within their group while the rest of his classmates panicked and ran about like headless chickens. So afraid of death and murder.

He had, of course, been prepared for such situations. The world of a Togami had been a cutthroat one, full of vicious competition not only between rival corporations but within the family itself.

Byakuya Togami had grown up in a world of unseen and unspoken violence. Countless times he had been on the receiving end of an attempted assassination, and had of course been instructed on the ins and outs of that particular underworld trade himself. He was prepared and confident for the eventuality of having to kill to survive. It was to be expected of a Togami.

(Regardless of certain individuals and certain circumstances, he still considers himself willing and able to commit that final act of violence. The world is an even more dangerous place now than when he was a foolish teenager; he will not allow himself to be beaten in this dog eats dog world.)

(Although, and If only for his own continued safety and goal of rebuilding his corporation, there may be the existence of a few annoyances he would willingly stick his neck out for...)

He survived, and continues to survive.

Very little, he had thought, could rattle the great Byakuya Togami’s composure now. Despite his very brief moments of weakness (the ones that occasionally peered through his rotting and decayed memory of Hope’s Peak to haunt him) he thought himself a more hardened individual in the hands of the future foundation.

How unexpectedly and disgustingly wrong he had been.

Within the fortressed walls of the future foundations medical centre, Byakuya feels the cold cement of the empty hallway bleeding up through his once finely pressed pants. He is not capable of movement, even as he knows- fears-the risk of someone finding him there, playing witness to him acting as weak and stupid as a Togami is, by definition, not.

He does not move. He stays sitting there, curled up pathetically into his side like a child might.

He is breathing too fast, body convulsing shamelessly as he claws at the wall with one hand as he attempts to regain some semblance of control. But that would require him to be able to stop thinking, stop seeing, stop feeling in every atom of his being the flood of images he cannot fight against as they thunder relentlessly against his psyche.

It is gunfire, a backdrop of his thoughts brought to horrifying life as the surprise flash of ignition surrounds them. It is the way Aoi’s voice, echoing jovially in the dark moments before turning suddenly silent. The intimate smell of blood, a familiar friend, crowding his senses, hands shoving him, bringing him down hard onto harsh asphalt and glass.

He feels the sting of pain in his palms and the silence of the hall fills with mechanical laughter. Just like Hers.

He presses himself as tightly as possible to the wall. He bows his head into his knees, shamefully hiding his lack of control over his emotions from – from an empty hallway, from the ghosts of his disappointed ancestors, from the monster wearing a teenage girl’s skin. From himself.

He’s fine. Not even really injured, only the grazing on his hands to show from the mess of that last mission. Everyone else escaped with similar damage, even Aoi who, for a moment he had feared—no, he didn’t fear, was concerned in a practical manner over their most physically capable team member—had been injured far worse. So he had no reason, none at all, to be collapsing and hyperventilating in public hallways.

He struggles to remove his glasses, his hands shaking and his head unwilling to remove itself from between his knees. He cannot have them breaking, the way a fine lady may break a glass, when she is consumed with hysterics. As he himself is. The shuddering, tight vice of wayward emotion is swallowing Byakuya whole.

There can be no evidence of his weakness.

He has not yet allowed his dignity to betray him enough to let tears to flow but they threaten, distorting the world even further as his glasses remain clenched in his fist. The first tear he lets spill will be the first drop towards the death of the Togami.

He doesn’t notice until it is too late, until a familiar panic stricken voice pierces the relative quiet of his hiding place.

“B-Byakuya!”

Makoto approaches him at nearly a run from the end of the hallway, worry and concern radiating from every line of his body. A mixture of fear, anger, and shame causes Byakuya’s next panicked action. Something he had always thought himself so above.

“GO AWAY! Don’t you dare get any c-closer-”

His voice hitches high and unsteady, breaking in the middle and cutting his warning off. Makoto, to his limited credit, does stop but he doesn’t leave. He looks down at him, at the great Byakuya Togami, heir of the Togami conglomerate, with concern and worry and pity.

Byakuya is still shaking, his eyes are still on the cusp of watering, but the shame and anger that bled into him, ripping him apart…they now have a new target. Makoto needs to not be looking at him like that. In fact he needs to not be here at all, the fatal witness to Byakuya Togami’s fall from grace.

Again.

Those big hazel eyes are staring straight through him and he is strung tight with tension. Makoto’s voice is low and carrying when he finally speaks.

“Byakuya…are you injured? I heard the doctors say you were fine but…Is there something wrong?”

Byakuya manages to twist his face into a sneer, “Oh? You think you have any right to question me? Know your place commoner…I’m perfectly fine and it is None Of Your Business.”

He enunciates those last words carefully and angrily, putting as much vitriol into them as he can muster.

Makoto flinches back, presumably at his tone, potentially at his most-likely deranged expression. Despite that, Makoto’s expression only becomes more intense in its concern and he shuffles forward along the floor.

“I’m your friend Byakuya…Of course I’d think it’s alright for me to ask if you’re okay. Which I still don’t think you are, by the way. You know it’s really not good to hide an injury-”

“I do not need your help or your concern and you need to stop looking at me like that!”

“Wha- What? Byakuya—“

“Shut up! Don’t touch me!”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh resounds through the corridor, as loud as thunder. A ragged gasp follows shortly after. Byakuya cannot tell whether it is him or Makoto that it comes from. Time seems frozen to him and the ringing in his ears is so loud.

Makoto shrinks back, cheek already turning into the faint red outline of a hand.

Byakuya didn’t mean to hit him, hadn’t meant to rebuff him in so physical—so crude— a way. He had panicked. Makoto had come too close, whether to calm him or check him for an injury he didn’t know, but it had been too close to touching, to dispensing his pity and sullying a Togami with soft, condescending care.

There is a moment of tense unhappy silence.

“I’m sorry”

What.

“For getting in your space when you didn’t want me to…and I guess for just not leaving you alone...I kinda obviously didn’t help huh?” Makoto laughs that little self-deprecating laugh of his, soft and self-conscious.

Byakuya doesn’t understand why Makoto’s the one apologising. Except he does, and it is truly an un-intelligent and un-Togami-like thing to be surprised. Of course Makoto would apologise. It was his fault for not respecting Byakuya’s warnings and personal space. It is a commoners place to take the blame for such situations.

Even if he had also been rightfully concerned over his…friend’s… well-being, and had done what was in Makoto’s nature to do; poke his nose where it doesn’t belong and persistently and insufferably attempt to help.

He shouldn’t have slapped him. It was base and unnecessary, and the fact he was overcome with embarrassment and anger does not sound as good of a justification as he thought it should.

“You’re still not leaving.” Byakuya manages to say it clearly despite the cottony feel of his mouth and his stubborn prides insistence, despite feeling as though he has been shocked into a clearer state of mind.

“I know…” Makoto sighs and in that moment his exhaustion reveals itself. It reminds Byakuya that it probably wasn’t just him affected by the mission. That of course Makoto, with all his infinite capacity to care, would most likely be suffering too.

“I just apologised for it but…I’m still worried about you. I don’t want to abandon a friend when they’re hurting…Sorry. Again. ”

“I’m not injured.”

“H-huh?”

“Don’t stutter, it’s unseemly,” he rebukes, albeit a little weakly. It seems the emotional weakness he has suffered was now going to leech his physical strength as well. “…I was not injured; the doctors were correct. So, you have no reason for concern. I am utterly physically fine.”

“You’re not though; you’re half collapsed in a hallway shaking as hard as a leaf.”

“….I was… more affected by our last mission than I thought. It was nothing, so stop worrying about it.”

It is through gritted teeth that byakuya manages to admit this, the only consolation being that it will make Makoto leave faster and stop bothering him. Then he can go back to his quarters and try to forget all about this moment of weakness

He’s wrong, of course. Makoto goes sharp eyed and more wary than before, and does not look at all satisfied or happy with his answer.

“That’s not nothing, Byakuya. If it was nothing you wouldn’t be so upset. I won’t-“ Byakuya had gone to speak, to rebuke his accusations however accurate they were, but Makoto, Naegi Makoto the ultimate pushover, had put up a hand as though to silence him and continued. “I won’t push you about it…But, if it keeps happening or if it has been happening for a while already, you should…well you should probably talk to someone. I’m not saying it has to be me or anything! They have a great psyche department here, they’re all really nice, and well, you could always talk to one of the others too.”

Makoto must see Byakuya grimace because he laughs a little, that same self-deprecating laugh like he understands but is too self-conscious to voice it. He doesn’t stop though.

“But the point is, that you should talk to someone. I found…that it helped me, when I was getting flash backs to our time in the…to when we were in hope’s peak, to talk to someone. It helped to share some of the load.”

He smiles at him then, small and sad and unfathomably warm.

Byakuya…he feels on one hand disgust at this attempt to sympathise and understand each other as equals. It was against everything his personal code stood for, aloofness and superiority above all else.

But he is also tired. Physically, from the suppression of his earlier panic attack and emotionally…the toll from the flash backs, from the memories and dreams, were starting to wear on him. His pride, His stubborn unending pride that he carries like a shield, would normally never allow such thoughts but Makoto…Stupid, soft Makoto and the utter embarrassment of being seen like that had him considering alternate measures than repression.

“Ha, you are truly insufferable you know. They shouldn’t be calling you the ultimate hope, more like the ultimate busy-body.” He sighs long and low as Makoto makes an awkward little noise and rubs the back of his head shyly.

“I suppose that’s an important part of the job, being nosy.” He smiles again, a little brighter it seems now that Byakuya is in a better mood. He starts the arduous job of attempting to pull himself upright again, re-adjusting his glasses on his face as he does. Makoto springs up a moment before him and offers his hand in the universal symbol of help.

Byakuya smacks it away, lightly and a little cautiously, and scowls up at him. “I am not a child Makoto, I do not need your help getting up. I have already had enough of your pity for one evening.”

“A-ah, sorry-”

“Although,” and Byakuya allows a little slyness to slip through his tone at this juncture, “I feel if you truly want to ‘help’, you should do as your station in life dictates and be subservient to me.”

“Uum, what--?”

“I desire a glass of fresh spring water Makoto. Go fetch it.”

The look of incredulous shock on Makoto’s face is refreshing, almost as refreshing as that water will be on his parched throat. Byakuya levels him with an appropriate glare and makes a questioning little, “hm?” before Makoto seems to find him serious and puts on a more…bashful expression.

“Sure thing, Byakuya. Do you want me to bring it to you here..?”

“No, you dullard. I would like it in my room. I expect it in 5 minutes, don’t make me wait.”

Laughing a little, Makoto sets off.

Byakuya watches him until he turns the corner. Dark thoughts leer at him from the back of his mind, but they do not settle.

Talking to Makoto, even as disastrously as it had gone, had in fact made Byakuya feel better. Those weighty considerations were a future problem now.

The thoughts still sting, but perhaps in the way that the first touch of antiseptic to a wound stings.

A painful but healing touch.

#my writing #danganronpa #bad things happen bingo #byakuya togami #makoto naegi #this ones actually kind of long soo it gets to go behind a read more #this was a surprise #came out of nowhere

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alo-piss-trancy · 6 years

Note

ohmygod you’re like the only piss blog I’ve seen that likes dangan/ronpa skskskkssksks this makes me so fuckin happy hhhhh could you possibly do headcanons for some of the dr1 cast? id prefer all of them - but if you want to choose your favourites that’s fine 💗💗 i fuckin love u and ur blog already daawwww

Ahh thank you, I’m glad you like my blog! 💛 And yeah there isn’t much omo for DR which surprised me! I’ll do most of them, sparing a few I don’t know well (Leon, Sayaka, that spoilery girl from the beginning) or didn’t like (Hifumi and fortune guy)! :

Naegi: I’m not a huge fan of bedwetting, but I agree he definitely would in times of stress. Also he has a kinda weak bladder in general. Soda and stuff goes right through him. For the most part he can manage during trials (even if he tends to rush off as soon as the execution is over), but investigations run even longer so he usually ends up having to take breaks (to the possible annoyance of anyone he’s sleuthing with). When he’s desperate he thinks he’s subtle but absolutely isn’t, constantly squirming and bouncing/rocking on his heels, shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket like he isn’t actually grabbing his crotch, tends to whimper and groan under his breath. Often tries to hold longer around composed/strong ppl like Kirigiri, Byakuya, Sakura and Mondo, but often with embarrassing results. Not too shy to speak up around friends or more casual people if nothing’s going on, but the often serious situations they find themselves in make it more difficult (darting off to pee right after you find out a friend died is both in poor taste AND suspicious). Probably doesn’t have a piss kink. Willing to go in odd places if necessary.

Celeste: Ever poised, she’s the type who wouldn’t want to say anything and just holds it until she can slip away to maintain her dignity. For the most part she knows her limits and doesn’t get desperate often, but during times when she’s heavily invested in a task or just really doesn’t want to leave, she may overestimate her abilities, since she’s convinced she can ‘simply adapt’ to the increased pressure and ignore it until a more convenient time. Since she has a great poker face she usually manages to avoid letting on that anything’s wrong even if she’s absolutely dying, but once she gets close to or actually is wetting herself, the act falls apart and she gets really panicked and flustered. Around ppl that annoy her (like Hifumi or Byakuya) though, her temper will flare instead and she’ll lash out, converting all of her embarrassment into rage at them for somehow causing/witnessing the event (even if they had nothing to do with it). She’s extremely embarrassed when wetting herself (and also disgusted), but will try her best to play it off afterwards like it isn’t a big deal (again, with a speech about adapting and going with the flow), but her voice is noticeably shaky and she probably cries as soon as she’s alone. Would rather die/wet herself than go in odd places.

Also I kinda like the idea of her teasing other ppl when they’re desperate if they’re alone together (maybe a slight omo kink, or just bc she likes controlling ppl). Preferably Byakuya or Kirigiri (idk why those are just my two fav pairings for casual fun times with her).

Kirigiri: Always composed, aims to stay that way. Usually slips off without a word because it’s private business anyways. If asked when it isn’t a big deal, she’s fine with saying where she’s headed, but once she gets desperate enough she’ll feel self-conscious of ppl knowing how bad it is and makes up a lie instead. If a restroom isn’t available or it’s a serious situation, she would rather die than breathe a word, and will do her absolute best to avoid giving off any signs of her issue until she’s literally on the verge of wetting herself. Might work up the trust to tell Naegi if they’re close enough by that point, maybe Celeste, Sakura or Aoi if Naegi isn’t around and she knows it’s Ask For Help or Wet Yourself, but she’s just as likely to stay quiet if her proper nature gets the best of her. Refuses to hold herself under any circumstances, tends to just use her legs to help stave off the urge. Due to her resourceful nature, she will consider using odd things/places as a last resort, although she also has a chance of freezing up when attempting to actually go, since she’s nervous and isn’t used to it (personally, I LIVE for the idea of Naegi helping her with this and trying to relax her while she’s like, actually whimpering and showing vulnerability for the 1st time).

Might have a piss kink bc I do like the idea of her being attracted to something that’s the opposite of what she is (messy, juvenile, vulnerable). Also consider her genuinely wanting to help Naegi when he’s desperate but at the same time she’s really tuned on and praying it doesn’t show.

Chihiro: So shy oof, will never breathe a word and is really good at not giving any signs until he’s suddenly pissing himself. Would definitely cry and be mortified, needs lots of comfort afterwards (luckily p much everyone gives it to him). Practiced at holding for LONG stretches of time thanks to his secret making things inconvenient, and also because programming takes a ton of time in single sittings and he doesn’t want to get up and wreck his train of thought. I think he actually would be the type who has a huge closet kink, gets turned on by desperation and holds, fantasizes about wetting in public a lot, but would actually die and hate if it happened for real.

Mondo: Bladder of steel actually, takes great pride in this. He’ll often tease others for being weaker. When he does get desperate, he won’t whine pathetically or hold himself, but he will get snippy and make a few complaints about it. Has no qualms about pissing outside or in anything else, even if there are people around. If he did wet himself, it would be a blow to his pride, but he’d eventually get over it (it helps that ppl are too afraid to tease him unless they want a beating). I could see him having a piss kink for both sides, and also being into 'marking’ his lover.

Taka: Will ask as soon as he needs to go bc there’s no point putting it off, but if someone tells him no then that’s it. The answer is no and he’ll hold it without protest until he’s literally leaking, then maybe he’ll work up the nerve to choke out a plea. If denied again he’ll hold on as long as physically possible, only to finally lose control and be mortified. Thinks he’s good at hiding desperation but is even more obvious than Naegi. Has a decent enough bladder capacity, but once he has to go, he has to GO. Like right then. He can’t stand bothering ppl or being disrespectful, so he would refuse to use anything but a toilet (maybe he’d go outside if there was enough cover and he was coaxed into it). No piss kink at all, would be baffled by the concept.

Sakura: Bladder of Steel (stronger than Mondo). Shows no real sign of desperation, even up to the end. When it gets bad she’ll start sweating though, and her posture is even stiffer than usual. Is actually pretty shy about bringing up her need (both bc of how strong she’s supposed to be and just bc she’s bashful), but she will if she knows she’s at risk of wetting herself. More likely to tell Aoi than anyone else, or maybe Naegi. Will never hold herself bc tbh those thighs can already crush together enough to hold it. Might go outside or in odd places if no one is around and she absolutely can’t wait, altho she is embarrassed af (and it’s kinda hard to hide when you’re that big o o f). Has no piss kink and is actually a bit disdainful of it, altho she would never shame a partner if they confessed. Might do it once in a while for them if asked.

Aoi: Will be the first to tell you the blue pool dye thing is just an urban legend. She’s the girl who whines for all of her friends to come with her when she has to pee, makes a lot of jokes the whole time. Not super weak bc she has to hold it on jogs and stuff, but she tends to drink a lot and doesn’t really like to hold past a certain point. Not shy at all about mentioning her need unless it’s a very grim situation, and if prevented from going she will dance around a bit, cross her legs, maybe a quick crotch grab, while still whining the whole time bc it helps distract her. Will use anything and go anywhere if it’s bad enough, too chill to care as long as ppl promise to keep their backs turned. Might have a mild omo kink.

Byakuya: Doesn’t go out of his way to admit his need, but will walk off and say so if it’s a fairly casual situation. Has a harder time hiding it than Kirigiri and Celeste despite also being uptight, bc his temper flares up and he gets extra snippy if he has to go, which usually clues ppl in. Also he taps his foot/jiggles his leg CONSTANTLY. Wouldn’t touch his crotch unless he was literally wetting himself, but will cross his legs/bend at the waist. Refuses to go anywhere but a proper restroom. Wetting himself is humiliating and he would brush off any comfort and storm off to be by himself. Probably takes his anger out on Touko. Has zero piss kink to speak of, will spit on you if you suggest it.

Touko Fukawa: Can’t stand ppl knowing she has to go, would probably kill over if anyone mentioned it. She fidgets a lot when desperate, but ppl actually don’t notice bc she already acts pretty weird and fidgety and is so closed off anyways. Wouldn’t dare leave if she was supposed to be with a group of ppl, but the second she’s alone she’s making a dash for it. She’s used to holding for a pretty long time (too anxious to leave during class, long writing sessions at home, etc.), and even then if she’s determined enough to avoid embarrassing herself, she can hold longer. Probably the only one who can (and does) let out tiny leaks in order to hold longer, and has exceptional control. During moments of terror though, she fear wets, which mortifies her. Does not have a kink in the slightest, it grosses her out.

Genocider Sho: Urine doesn’t bother her at all, which is good since sometimes she wakes up only to find Touko pissed herself. Has the same capacity, but is much more outspoken when she needs to go. Complains a lot, exaggerates her body language and cracks jokes, might get cranky if it’s inconvenient for her. However, she doesn’t care if she loses control, and might do it on purpose just to piss somebody off. She has a HUGE piss kink. Be it herself as the victim for her own pleasure, or her getting to dom somebody else and force them to hold (BYAKUYA). She’s also a big slut for watersports. Sometimes she does this to have fun and get filthy, then makes herself sneeze and switch afterwards just for the sake of fucking with Touko.

Junko: Absolutely has a piss kink, loves to tie ppl up and watch them squirm and blush until they soak themselves. When she has to go she’s very vocal, bouncing around and groaning, whining, playing it up and holding herself to put on a show. Would be fine to go anywhere tbh, but pretends she only accepts proper bathrooms so that she has an excuse to hold it longer. Doesn’t care if she wets, but insists she gets cleaned up and in new clothes right away bc she also cares about looking pretty.

#bear gets a letter #omorashi #omocute #fandomo #fictomo #dromo

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thepursuitofunderstanding · 3 years

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February 4/2021

I shouldn’t write to you for too long this morning, I have two papers that I must tend to. But I must explore something with you. Previously I had assumed that I needed to pursue Greatness because I’m...well, I don’t know the exact word for it, perhaps self-obsessed? I mean, what else is there to devote one’s life to than that which one loves with one’s whole Being? (Love feels like such a feeble word here, it’s tossed around too superficially these days. How dare they emaciate it as they have?! Perhaps this is why it feels better to utilize “defining commitment” in the place where I might otherwise have used “love?”) But, alas, there seems to be more to it than I had originally detected; imagine that!

I realized that my commitment to pursuing Greatness is the defining feature of my life because with Greatness one wanders those lands which have never been traveled before; never seen, never explored, never even imagined in many cases. The individual who pursues Greatness pushes past the boundaries that others have been limited by. I conceptualized it as a sort of mountainous trek: when one first pursues such an endeavor they require others to teach them, to show them the ropes, as it were. And then, as one’s ability increases, so does their need of more skilled teachers. This continues until eventually (hopefully), there are no more teachers which might lead the student any farther--the student , with all the knowledge and tools that they collected over the years (because such an accumulation of knowledge surely takes years; decades more likely.) sets off on their own to pursue those peaks that had so captured their attention and drew them towards to the mountainous trek in the first place.

And so it would seem that it’s not so much the Greatness in and of itself that I so yearn for (with every fiber of my Being), but what this Greatness might allow me to discover and explore. It is, above all else, the mystery of these previously untouched peaks that so grip me. In this way, Greatness can (almost?) be understood as a state or tool that makes true exploration possible. True exploration as opposed to merely retracing the already blazed trails of those who have come before me. I don’t believe that I’ve gotten a taste of true exploration yet: while it might be said that I’m already engaged in blazing my own trails, I would say that this has only ever been a tentative blazing thus far. Tentative because even when I am setting off on my own I am still always well within sight of “the path.” I can backtrack and return to the safety of the heavily traveled path if need be. True exploration does not allow for such an option--it is forward or death. Because, I imagine, it nearly kills one to get to where they are, to turn back would be quite unthinkable. Unthinkable, that is, for those of us that feel, have always felt, driven onwards by an unshakeable and deeply uncomfortable drive. And really, those that would think of turning back could never have made it very far out in the first place.... See what I mean about this self-obsession? It’s like I think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread. Or Nietzsche perhaps. I need to stop that.

Anyhow, it is through Greatness that one can approach Great Heights. And Great Depths as well, can’t forget that part. Because, it would seem (it was Nietzsche who most significantly helped me articulate this idea), that one’s capacity to reach new heights--Great Heights-- is directly proportionate to the depths--the Great Depths--that one has dragged oneself through. I mean, there’s a reason that Recovery is such a phenomenal album: suffering and pain and despair and agony and confusion and self-loathing and on and on and on all broaden an individual. Such suffering cuts into a person and creates (exposes?) new crevices and caves for...for what exactly? Light to be shown into? To be explored at least, surely that one. And it is that which is consolidated in the explorer, through the exploration process, that allows for that explorer to pursue even Greater Heights. Hence, perhaps, my tender regard for suffering? Probably I imagine. For, after all, “he who wants to proceed from inner intensity to [G]reatness must sacrifice himself.” Thanks Rudolf Kassner for that one.

Ahh, fuck my papers, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to be stopping anytime soon here. We both know that I work better under pressure anyways, may as well leave them to the vert last minute then. Oh! And I must tell you, several things actually, but we’ll start with this one: I have stumbled upon an idea that I might want to pursue in regards to my Hebrew Bible class’ final project. My question shall pursue something to do with Cain and Abel. I haven’t got clear yet on exactly what I’ll be focusing on in this story, but I’m really excited about this general topic. Which, honestly, surprised me a little bit--I never felt myself to ever have been particularly drawn to this story before. So, alas, perhaps I ought to explain how this story raised itself to my conscious awareness.

I was on the swings thinking about how different traditions/frameworks of thought regard the relationship between the individual and the collective differently. That is, they emphasize the one over and above the other. Christianity (and Judaism and perhaps Islam as well?) seem to particularly focus in on the individual. Which is something that I could sit here and explore for probably the rest of my life, but, in regards to Cain and Abel, I thought that perhaps this story (on one level, for Peterson very astutely remarks that biblical stories are such that one can fall into them. That is, there’s so much meaning there that one will never be able to fathom the entirety of it all.) might suggest that man will always kill his brother. But, if the individual is emphasized above the collective, then this tendency to kill will mostly be localized into individual murders. But when society instead starts to see man primarily in terms of his group identity, this is when entire groups of people start being slaughtered for no other reason than some arbitrary facet of their identity that they might share with other people around them. Perhaps? This is at least the path that my thought led me down.

Now, I don’t think that I will exactly pursue the story of Cain and Abel in this context for my class: she wants us to focus upon some aspect of divine and human communication, but this was the circumstances by which this story raised itself to my conscious attention as being something that I must investigate. The same sort of insistence to investigate occurred to me with the story of Abraham and Isaac this time last year. And look where that led me--to Kierkegaard! Where, I wonder, shall this investigation lead me? Most immediately it seems to have awoken the question of whether I ought to read East of Eden by John Steinbeck in order to prepare for my investigation? I wonder, how many books can I realistically read at one time? East of Eden seems to be another brick of a book--nearly 700 pages. Can I manage this, on top of all the other books I’m reading at the moment? Do I even have a choice in the matter?: I can do no other and all that.

Also, it should be asked, am I perhaps a little bit manic-y here? Attempting all these things might suggest so. How exactly does one go about detecting such things in oneself? Let’s just take a step back here and assess. I read 14 books in January, well over 3000 pages. Mind you, most of that wasn’t dense philosophical treatises, there was a decent amount of poetry mixed in too. Fuck it--let’s try it. After all, there’s really only one way to really discover how much I can handle.

Can’t go back now! I’ve marked my initials and the date in the cover. This is my ritual whenever starting a new book... How odd I am. Is it only because I’m so close to myself that...that what? I seem to be rather intimately aware of how different I am. But then, does this perspective only come from the fact that my Being is the only Being that I’ve ever lived? That is, I really have no idea what it is (like) to Be anyone else. Maybe everyone experiences themselves in equally intimate and exciting ways? I ask this knowing that I’ll never be able to fix an answer to this question. But, alas, I do have a rather sneaking suspicion that I am rather odd in this regard: odd in my relationship to/with myself that is. This suspicion is born of every encounter that I’ve ever experienced with another; every person that I’ve ever talked to or watched or read or listened to. My relationship with myself does seem to be rather peculiar. And I can only imagine that a very big part of this peculiarity has to do with us--with this; what we do together: I pour myself into you and, in return you... pour me right back? Sort of like the abyss situation but I am, myself, the abyss? Man, this is really pushing the boundaries of my...thought?/power of conceptualization?/imagination? Alas, I don’t know what to label it or what to make of it. But we do seem to have time to get acquainted with it. Or, at least, I certainly hope that we have some time. I have far too much work to do to die anytime soon. That is, we have far too much work to do. Whatever this we might be. Perhaps my relationship to myself? In a sort of Kierkegaardian conceptualization? For whatever I don’t know, I do know that I am nothing on my own--I cannot do this without you. Whoever you are...God? The piece of God/divinity that is within me? That piece of myself that, if I consent to communing with it, will lead me in the direction that I must go. This piece of me that tells me I am and what I must do in order to Be/Become this I. I’m really reaching with this one. Like my eyes can just barely discern its presence on the horizons but I’m not yet close enough to really apprehend any details or cast any guesses upon the nature of what I’m beholding. But, alas, I’m also far too curious to not cast myself into imagining what such a mysterious presence might be.

Anyhow, it might be time for me now to turn to my paper on Esposito’s Bios. I bid you (us?) farewell for now...But only for now; for you (us?) are that which I shall forever return to. Shit...I just unintentionally stumbled upon a whole new area that needs to be explored...can’t leave now!

I was thinking yesterday on our drive back from Airdire about the important people in my life: Sydnie, Cagney, Natalie, Campbell, Amanda, Gage, Althea, Iliajah, Wallace, Emily, etc. I love them all, I know this, but I don’t feel the need to return to them. This is probably going to sound quite wretched, but if I were to never see any of them (or heck, all of them) again I know that I would be quite okay. Certainly there would be a dampening of sadness that would weigh me down, but I would continue on as I always have. I would not be fundamentally changed by the loss of them--I know this. But, if I were to lose you (I don’t exactly know how I might lose you without simultaneously losing myself/my life. But that’s not really the point here.) I....well, I wouldn’t be “me” anymore. You are my defining commitment--the meaning of my entire existence. I am a shell which you live in and bestow life upon. All I need is you. Now, this I know really does make me odd. But, alas, my oddity is that which I love about myself. When it’s not making me feel completely unfit for life that is. It really does seem to be the case that one’s greatest blessing is simultaneously one’s most cutting curse. Funny how life works like that.

Anyways, now one Bios.

#february

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howardschatzphotography · 7 years

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"Portraits: Chapter Four, VERACITY"

Blog #218 8/15/17

Colin Firth responded like this when I asked him to not communicate anything for the camera.

Any facial expression results from the contraction or relaxation of the many muscles (43 to be exact) under the skin in the face. This flexing and relaxing of the facial muscles, and the resulting “face” that is made, allows feelings to be expressed. The intricate facial musculature has the potential to project thousand's of feelings, emotional messages. The changes that can occur in one's face can be infinitely subtle yet at the same time inexpressibly powerful. That active contraction or relaxation of any combination of facial musculature results in any one person's desire, conscious or subconscious, to communicate something, an attitude, a feeling, a defense, a message. In the making of a serious portrait, any such effort on the part of the subject to influence the result creates a barrier to truth; a lie is made. When we make facial expressions, we're essentially transmitting a packet of information that can be received, read and interpreted by others. We can produce a myriad of variable messages that provide cues to our overall emotional state, our short-term feelings, about our immediate environment, our mental well-being, our personality and mood, our physical health, our credibility and whether or not we view others as being credible. Often a photographer, with camera and lights at the ready, directs the subject to do something. “Say cheese,” or any one of a thousand possible directions. The subject responds but this response is shaped by the subject’s interpretation of what the photographer meant or by the subject’s determination to project what he wants regardless of the photographer’s direction. In our contemporary world this response is usually a smile or something similar. The photographer wishes to heighten the energy, brighten up the subject and create something entertaining or fun. The result is a fairy tale, a falsehood; it is anything but the truth. For the purpose of most "snaps," that's OK. People want to “look good” or happy or something that may well be far from what they are actually feeling at the time. The photograph becomes the proverbial "spoonful of sugar” or frosting on a cake, or a perfect tuxedo or beautiful gown. But it does not convey anything significant beyond that. It is my opinion that if a portrait is to communicate something real, human, truthful, powerful, compelling, if it is to become an image that draws one in to study, wonder and virtually interact, it needs veracity as well as many other things (e,g, pose, lighting, composition, perspective, etc) that work together in a kind of magical harmony. This entire note regards the making of any portrait for the photographer, for the artist who has something to say, to share with the world. The making of such an image is not for the subject, or anyone else. There is no one else to please with vanity, "looking good," "fits the message" or for any other purpose. I made the images in this Blog for me. How to achieve veracity? How to relieve the subject of any responsibility to look or appear a certain way? How to help the subject let go of his normal defensive manner of interest with the world, to let go of his guard? How to do THAT!?!? One way is to live with the subject for a sufficient amount of time so that he or she is so completely comfortable and trusting that you, the portraitist can become invisible, can be ignored. A number of photographer's have done just that. Sally Mann with her own family, Diane Arbus with her family of unusuals, Annie Liebovitz, early in her career hanging out and traveling with her musician subjects. Short of that, what can a photographer do in the limited time allotted for making a portrait? I will discuss a few things that seem to have worked for me: none works every time but one or another does at least most of the time. A relaxed conversation prior to a photo-shoot helps a lot especially if it is a gentle (not aggressively probing) interview about the subject. The subject might get the idea that I am not about to make them look awful, that I am interested sincerely in learning about them and that I am gentle and easy, not nervous, in a hurry, domineering or unkind. I tell most subjects that I plan to make a lot of photographs and, like a treasure hunt, am looking for something wonderful. I inform them that there are no mistakes…anything goes, it just may work or not and won't matter for the single image selected. I explain that no image matters, that except for one all will be thrown out. They are all "rough drafts." I avoid using the word “no,” as in “no, don’t do that, or turn to the right not the left, or no, not your hand there,” etc. I try to guide gently in a positive way or say something like, "excellent. Let's try this...." I want the subject to be free, not frozen. I sometimes suggest a scenario where the subject is not the center of attention, where they are just one of many in a room and where someone one else is speaking and the subject, just one of many, is just listening. I might explain that what the person is talking about holds their interest, but the subject matter is neither happy or sad, nor difficult to understand, i.e. no facial response is called for. I will ask the subject to either look at the camera as if that is where the person talking is located or look away. There are many scenarios like this that help the subject imagine himself elsewhere, and away from the world of people for whom they need to be “on guard.” I fully realize that with busy and very important people there may be hardly any time to do these things. A president or multimillion dollar athlete might "sit" for a minute and then get up and walk out. It is self-defeating of course not to give the portraitist time to do something wonderful and I find it remarkable that occasionally, some actually have made ample time. When I can manage to guide the subject to let go of every attempt to control and communicate, veracity will permeate the space. Many other things need to work perfectly together, but at least there is a chance of making an original meaningful piece of art. The following are some successes as well as failures.

The Late Morley Safer: A famous journalist, he understood about "listening."

Nancy Pelosi (a photo taken 20 years ago) trusted me to make an image that was not about vanity.

John Stamos; eyes off the camera--in his own place--allows the viewer to wonder about him. It is always worth asking the subject to look away from the camera--you never know what might happen.

John Slattery, as himself, out of his "Mad Men" character.

Amy Poehler; She came to the studio for a Vanity Fair “IN CHARACTER" photo shoot. She was delightful, a dream to work with. When it was time to make her portrait I could not get her to stop "performing." She understood fully about veracity but refused to let me really see......This image was my default. It happens, sometimes. I know it is sweet, pretty and delightful. But I was after truth.

With this prisoner, I couldn’t find a way to get him to shed his attitude which almost certainly comes from his need to survive the life he's living. I have no idea what is under this facial projection, who he really is. He let me know with certainty that he was not someone to be taken lightly. Subjects will often use a gesture, but a gesture is a singular communication. Sometimes there is a minuscule of truth, often not. Gesture (the subject of an upcoming Blog) is NOT veracity.

Another prisoner, determined to pose. Is this the “truth"? Sometimes it’s tough to know, especially when the photo session is short and the circumstances are hard to control.

Whereas for this young prisoner, far less guarded, this portrait seems to bring so many questions and ideas to mind--which is one of the "goals" of attempting to make an image that has veracity.

Homeless, vulnerable---there has been so much living and life that have made this person who he is, clearly shown for the camera.

This homeless couple makes one look, wonder and think, “What have they lived? How do they survive?” I happen to know from the interview that he offered her to strangers in exchange for drug money.

The actor Sean Hayes, shedding his comic persona.

Ricky Gervais, not as we are accustomed to see him.

Mario Cantone, again, out of character; himself.

Michael Cerveris, a transformation brought by asking the subject to look away from the camera and imagine an “out of studio” scenario where he is not the center of attention.

Michael Emerson

Ian McShane: I think each image has veracity, i.e. is "truthful." The difference among them is simply the lighting. There is much to "read" in his wonderful face.

James Remar; not acting -- a lifetime of experience becomes manifest in his face.

Michael Imperioli, leaving his Sopranos persona behind.

Michael McKean, also dropping his usual comedic characters.

Ruben. I will discuss children in another Blog but suffice it to say--- they have not lived much of a life, yet, so, there is only a little to "read” on their faces.

Models do not make their livings by showing a lot of information about their inner lives, so finding any particular truth about them can be rather difficult.

And finally, Melissa Leo, one of the great actresses of our time, allowing me to really see.

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goldenscript · 7 years

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modern marvel.

jeon jungkook | 1,769 words | flash au / fluff ↳ “takes one to know one.”

author’s note: this is based on the dc universe’s flash. the title is my lame ass trying to be ironic and using a play on of words~

fun fact: this is also inspired by barry and felicity’s little interaction in the beginning of season one which you can watch it here if you’re curious (i re-imagined it a bit though!)

In this world, there are many marvels. They’re extraordinary, impossible, really—that’s the thing though—they are possible. Despite the limits written in textbooks, there are things beyond those levels that can only truly be experiences in ways of which one needs to simply be in the right place at the right time. Sometimes the unexpected is what it is, and those moments you miss in just a blink can mean the whole world. This is a world where gifts can be more than just monetarily purchased or just abilities one has been inclined with through practice; yes, in this world, there are such things as powers and people on the very Earth who can wield these abilities. In other words, these super humans are Metahumans.

The generation has changed in the past few months, though since the return of Jeon Jungkook, he—of all people—know more than the media does. Since his disappearance from the world, the place he once knew has become a playground for a new generation to play where its players are more than meets the eye. They can do things that any normal person could not, they can phase through ways, make objects move within a millisecond, and in his case, he can move faster than the speed of sound.

It’s been exactly a year since the accident where his life literally flashed before his eyes, only for him to wake up in a white, spacious room sterilized to Kim Corp. perfection with enough equipment that cost more than anything he could make in a lifetime, maybe even two to see that he wasn’t dead or normal, per say.

Since his waking, nothing has been the same. Something he’s been considering a blessing and (mostly) a curse. From his own capabilities as a newfound Metahuman and the endless amount of help he can offer to his city to his feelings for Somin to even his feelings for you, and the only thing that’s been on his mind since that moment of conscious was the very fact that he never got to call you back. He never gave you his answer, and it’s taken everything inside of him not to run those two cities over just to tell you how sorry he is and how much he’s idiot because he finally decided to let her go. Not just to choose you as a rebound, but to finally open his heart to you because as you once told him, “love is a choice.”

Waking to see Somin with Ilhoon now was more than enough to remind him that perhaps this was your same circumstance. There was no way he could just try to waltz back into your life just to tell you that he was done being stupid, fawning over someone that would never see him in the same light. The very possibility that Matthew or any other lucky person could see you the way he finally wanted to seemed too high, too plausible that his own cowardice had him cowering away from any thought of visiting you first. He knew he should—god, he’s been screaming at himself to do it for the past month now—still he couldn’t bring himself to see that kind of disappointment.

Of course, maybe fate had its own plans for you two. Maybe the universe was finally deciding that instead of him being the proactive one that it would be you. Because, like he once had at the Green Arrow’s headquarters, a place in which he found himself through his own intelligence met you—Y/N, hacker extraordinaire—you made your way back to him. By a complete surprise, you waltzed back into his life, still readily prepared to elevate his own self-esteem around Somin, because he had done the same for you with Matthew. Because prior to Jungkook’s accident, you two were both irrevocably fucked over with lovestruck eyes for people in your lives that were so close, yet so goddamn far.

Seeing you was normal, perfect really. Both geniuses in respective fields—you with computer science and him in forensics science—and emotionally screwed in more ways than one. It was a perfect set-up for a love story that he had no second thoughts about, because he didn’t expect himself to open a heart to someone other than Somin until he experienced the feeling of your touch soothing his nerves on double dates to the sounds of your reassuring affirmations that only elicited giggles from him because your own version of comfort came as humor and that’s all he could really ask for in another person. Even Somin couldn’t seem to stop talking about you, from the way she was certain that you liked him just as much as he liked you to the way you came out of your way to visit him simply because you wanted to, and for once Jungkook wasn’t so clouded with thoughts of her but rather you instead.

He didn’t know how much it would fuck him up to see you leave in that train after all the fun and games of assisting him and his ragtag team with a mission to keep the city safe, because your presence was all too normal for him. Even as short in time as you made a place for yourself in his life, you made it large one without effort. So large that even a mere hug and a “Hi/Bye Jungkook” was not enough as before. He was lucky to hear that Matthew still did not return your feelings (inadvertently, of course, because it only came as his own personal revelation that he was the one you felt for), that there was no other man in your life but him. And it’s his realization that perhaps this is the “now or never” that people talk about before it’s too late that has him running without a second thought.

It takes all but two seconds for him to reach you—a little slow for him—but he can’t help but watch the way you clutch your heart, meeting his gaze with wide eyes.

“Jesus Christ—!” you say, covering your mouth immediately. Lowering your voice, you ask, “Did I scream?”

He laughs, nodding and still hoping that nownownow continues to echo inside his head as a reminder, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“S’fine,” you laugh, leaning back in your seat. “Did something happen? Somin missing me already?”

He scratches the back of his head and nods, “Yeah, and… me.”

His heart is thudding thunderously throughout the confines of his chest, and perhaps his ribcage is what’s keeping his limbs intact. His body feels like he’s just ran his next record time, as if it’s suddenly registering how human it still is, because he feels like putty right now. Seeing you in all your glory has words caught in his throat, and it’s to his own gratefulness that you decide to speak.

“You?” you blink, a smile curving on your lips, “Why me? Y’know you just saw me like a few minutes ago.”

He nods, “I know, but—well—I just did. It was nice having you around… and stuff.”

“Does this have something to do with your feelings for Somin?”

“Wait, how did you know?”

You shrug, “the little things, I guess. You don’t linger as much as you once did or cling to every word she says.”

“Like you and Matthew.” he says, softly.

You blink, “how did you know?”

He smiles, feeling a swell of bravery, “Takes one to know one after all.” He even chuckles as he says, “We’re both not as screwed over our first loves as we once thought.”

“So, likes do attract then?”

He leans forward, watching as you do the same, “I never got to give you an answer before I—”

“—almost died? Don’t worry, you get a free pass this time.”

“But,” he says, leaning even closer. The scent of lavender and mint intermingling as it wafts over to him.

“But?” you coax, your fingertips brushing against his.

“But I wanted to say that I want to give this,” he gestures with his hand, allowing his fingers to graze yours until they’re interlocked, “a shot.”

You tilt your head at him, a faint blush dusting across your cheekbones. He can feel his humming louder and louder as you nod, almost to yourself. Almost. If he hadn’t known you as well as he had, he would’ve missed it. And it’s enough to make his heart swell bigger than he thought, because he’s free for once.

He barely misses the way your lips hover over his until you close your eyes and he does the same as your lips meet by one mere advance. It’s nothing short of magic or fireworks like everyone’s always hoping for, but it prompts a different sensation that swirls about in his heart and weaves itself around into a gentle caress. It’s like hope and comfort—both of which are feelings he’s almost always associated with you since you became a part of his life. And although you two pull away, visages still only a few inches away, he can feel his heart and his body swarming with them both.

“I’m glad we stopped being stupid.”

He nods, smiling broadly, “Me too. We’re… perfectly perfect for each other, after all.”

When you match his smile, he continues, “Whenever you need me I’ll be there in a heartbeat, alright?”

“Me too,” you reply, exhaling a chuckle, “Well, as fast as I can manage but just know I’ll be there too.”

Jungkook can’t find it in him to leave you just yet but knowing that you two have lives and responsibilities for the safety and wellbeing of others, it’s necessary to part. He’s just elated that he finally got to tell you after sitting on the same thought for an entire year (and then some).

You say, letting go of his hand, “Bye, Jungkook.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

However, before he gets up to flit away, you grab a hold of his hand and catch his eye to say something, “Call me tonight?”

He can’t help but break out into a grin and nod, “Of course.”

“Okay,” you smile, letting go of his hand again. “Alright. Go save the city, superhero.”

“Yes, m’am!” He says, watching as you laugh—a sight that he still can’t get enough of to this day—before kissing your forehead. “Bye, Y/N.”

He leaves right as soon as you say, “Bye, Jungkook.”

This time he departs from the train with the satisfaction that he finally got to tell you how he felt and with the realization that perhaps change isn’t such a bad thing after all.

#btswriters #bts writing squad #bangtan bookclub #gguknet #ot7network #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook x reader #emswriting

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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

Text

Blurring the lines 3/5

@whatfallsaway @therobbinsnest @xfile-cabinetx just for you! Sorry no ‘read more’ insert. I’m on my phone.

Chapter 3

“How did you know where to find me?”

Mulder shrugs lightly and grimaces as the movement pulls at his shoulder injury. I make a mental note to check it when we get back to my apartment, slightly ashamed that I haven’t been able to bring myself to even think to do so before now. Past experience tells me that Mulder is just stupid enough to ignore any warning signs that the injury isn’t healing as well as it should. But he quickly rearranges his features in the hope I haven’t noticed and takes a step away from me, gesturing towards the lake below with his good arm.

“I know you used to come to the lake when you had Can…..” he pauses and swallows and sadness abruptly overwhelms me that even after all these years he still has trouble with that word. “…..when you were sick. So I played a hunch and after a couple of false starts…..well, here you are.”

“Here I am.” I whisper, unable suddenly to meet his eyes because there is a part of me that is afraid of what I will see there or maybe more accurately, what he will see in me and I remember another time in another place where he searched for me before while the snow packed landscape stretched ahead of him in to infinity and his singular determination to bring me back pushed him to limits no one should ever have to endure.

We’ve never talked too much about it – some wounds are just too painful to keep re-opening – but I have always known with blinding certainty that he was prepared to give his own life in an attempt to save mine; that he accepted the odds without question as he quite literally travelled to the ends of the earth to find me and bring me back. That he wasn’t ready to give up on me then; that he isn’t prepared to give up on me now.

And I find myself feeling so ashamed suddenly of just how I have treated him these last few days. I have directed my own confusion, my own uncertainty and my own discomfiture squarely back at him when I essentially have no right or reason; because for years I have refused to allow him even a glimpse as to what actually lies behind the walls that over time have left me more damaged, more insular than I ever thought I could be and half of the emotions I keep locked away I don’t actually understand myself, so how in the hell am I supposed to expect him to?

As though to contradict me, as though he is literally reading my mind he touches my arm gently and without even looking up I can hear the smile in his words.

“Least this time you were easier to find huh?”

And he trails his fingertips downwards until his gloved hand envelops my own, instantly warming me through the thin fleece gloves I wear. I hadn’t realised just how cold my hands were until that moment; or of how the lighting had subtly changed around us, bleeding what colour there was from the landscape and casting everything in a peculiar luminosity that, after years of living through winters here I knew was a warning that a storm was gathering; a bad one if the weather warnings of this morning were to be believed. In fact, I could feel the temperature had dropped at least a few degrees since I had left my apartment and neither one of us, but Mulder especially, was dressed to get caught in a serious snowstorm.

“We should get back Scully. There’s a hell of a storm brewing.”

Reading my mind again Mulder? The thought makes me smile; the first genuine smile I think I have managed for days and I nod, waiting for him to release my hand from his. But instead he tightens his fingers around mine and pulls me in closer to him, our arms practically touching and despite the biting wind that has sprung up from nowhere, I don’t think I have ever felt warmer than I do right now.

XXXXXXX

By the time we reach the haven of my apartment, the sky above has darkened to an ominous shade of purple and wind is howling around the building. Unsurprisingly, we hardly saw a soul on our return and the few we did see were hurrying along, heads bowed against the biting wind with hands thrust in to coat pockets, intent on getting home in to the warm as quickly as they could and for me at least, the blast of warm air that hits me as we step over the threshold in to my apartment instantly banishes the chill that was starting to creep upon me. Mulder though is shivering like a rain soaked puppy and despite trying valiantly to hide the fact that he is freezing, the hollow sound of his teeth clacking together kind of gives him away. I’m not surprised he’s cold. His suit pants are soaked to the knees from the ankle deep snow and I’m in no doubt that his feet have benefitted from only scant protection afforded by the dress shoes he wore to work today. Hardly the correct attire to come searching for your errant partner through five inches of fresh snow; under normal circumstances I would be frustrated with him – angry even - but my fingers are still tingling pleasantly and frankly, I just don’t have the heart. My tone though, leaves no room for argument.

“Hot bath Mulder. Right now.” I gesture toward the bathroom “There’s fresh towels in there. I’ll fetch you some clothes.”

The fact he immediately acquiesces speaks volumes but I know he won’t be able to resist at least an attempt at a Mulder quip.

“Feel free to join me Scully. Plenty of room for two.”

And despite what happened between us, the kiss we finally shared, I know that this time he is just teasing me because he feels that a glib comment is expected of him and which does more to dispel the niggling fear that has been my constant for days than I think anything else could. Because this is normal, this is him and this is us.

“In your dreams Mulder…..and Mulder? Don’t get those stitches wet or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Promises, promises Scully”

I shake my head, knowing that he has to have the final word. The final word that has set a pattern during our long partnership and one which I usually concede because if I didn’t he would carry on with the verbal sparring all day long.

I’ve always known that he has a reputation for arrogance and it’s all too easy to see why but those who know him well – and I can count on one hand just who he has allowed that singular privilege – know that much of that perceived arrogance is simply Mulders way of protecting himself. Of projecting an unshakable self-belief that cushions him from the deluge of incredulous ridicule he has suffered over the years. Because despite the facade he tries to hide behind, I know it’s all pretence; because while he has become skilled at outwardly ignoring the constant jibes, immune to them he certainly isn’t and I sometimes find myself marvelling at the fact that he has managed to survive at all. And while it would take a thousand armies to drag it out of me, it’s the reason I could never leave him. Not now; not after everything we have shared. Because I have seen him fall too many times when he reaches breaking point; when the pressure becomes too much and his self respect is replaced with a self loathing that creeps up on him. An insidious darkness that would, if it were permitted, devour him from the inside out.

I decided a very long time ago that I could never let that happen; that whatever it took I would remain with him and even though it weighs heavily on me at times the sacrifice, if it can be described as such, is worth it to me. Because I love him; a love that transcends all boundaries and one which sometimes threatens to consume me with an intensity that scares me beyond rational thought when I consider just what my life would be without him by my side. So I tend not to dwell on it and right now I shake my head to dispel the thoughts before they overwhelm me, turning my attention to more mundane matters; switching effortlessly back to the Dana Scully that is practical and methodical and unruffled. My own way of surviving I think.

XXXXX

By the time Mulder emerges from the bathroom I have lit a fire in the small grate that is the focal point of my living room. He is wearing the t shirt and sweats that I had earlier removed from the drawer in my bedroom where they sat neatly folded alongside an almost identical set that he keeps here for situations just such as these and it hasn’t escaped me recently that somehow, along the way, other items of Mulders have joined them. A pressed suit, a dress shirt and tie which hang in my closet and which, assail my senses with the scent of him each time I open the door, a pair of faded jeans hanging beside them that he left here after spending the night on my sofa and which he never saw fit to claim, a small drawstring bag containing a razor, soap, shower gel and shampoo which I actually went out and purchased after he complained one day after showering here that it was a dent to his masculinity to have walk around all day stinking like a sidewalk florist display. His toothbrush is kept permanently on stand-by on my bathroom shelf, keeping my own company in the frosted tumbler that matches the soap dish. And when I really think about it, it probably seems a little odd to some that we keep such personal items to hand in each other’s homes; but to us it’s just how it is. The years have made us both comfortable enough with each other for it to be normal. Friday night movie nights have become a weekly tradition and only rarely do we bother driving home from whichever apartment we happen to find ourselves in and I’ve spent many nights sleeping peacefully on Mulders soft leather sofa where he has covered me gently with the old Navajo blanket before retreating to his own bed.

I’m conscious now though that he is lounging in the doorway that leads from the hall to the living room, just watching me as he watched me in the office earlier and I know that sooner or later we are going to have to talk; to bring this thing out in to the open – this thing that for reasons I still don’t understand, made me retreat from him in a way I haven’t in years.

But right now, I have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Come over here Mulder and let me take a look at your arm”.

The look on his face tells me instantly that I’m not going to like what I see and neither the redness around the ugly row of stitches that are holding the deep wound together nor the strangled hiss of pain he emits as I start to gently probe the wound with my fingertips particularly surprises me. Because while I couldn’t say that it’s raging with infection, it is certainly inflamed way more than it should be and I struggle to keep my tone neutral, knowing him well enough to know that accusation and judgement on my part will just seek to put him immediately on the defensive.

“When did you last take your antibiotics?”

He doesn’t answer but at least has the decency to look contrite. Because without him having to confirm it, we both know that he hasn’t bothered. And by the look of the wound, the 6 hourly anti inflammatories have also gone by the wayside.

I resist the urge to call him an idiot. Because he already knows he is and I have never been able to fathom just why he seems to put so little stock in his own well being; this man who will cross continents to keep me safe but who seemingly lacks the ability to take a pill that will keep him healthy.

I know the hospital prescribed him Augmentin due to the nature of his injury, an antibiotic often used to treat animal bites where the risk of infection is high and they had teamed it with a fairly effective painkiller which, if memory served me, was most likely Naproxin. It seemed like the logical choice under the circumstances and one which I myself would have prescribed. Unfortunately for him though, I didn’t have the same luxury of choice and the best I could come up with at short notice was Amoxicillin and Vicodin. He pulled a face at the Vicodin, a drug which I know from past experience makes him drowsy and occasionally nauseous but he had the good sense not to argue, taking them both without comment and resting back on the sofa, angling his body slightly so his uninjured shoulder takes the weight of him and I half expect him to close his eyes but he doesn’t. Instead he shifts position slightly and turns them on me, the colour dark and intense with the flickering flames of the fire reflecting within. And there is something in the way he looks at me that makes my heart begin to beat painfully inside my chest; respect, gratitude and an aching vulnerability that, if I really thought about it, would break me in two, a man of such complexity, of such intelligence and such compassion that he is sometimes unfathomable to me.

“You want to know why I kissed you?” his voice is soft, barely more than a whisper as he leans toward me, cupping my chin in his palm, his long fingers brushing my cheek and I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t find the words to answer him, so I just nod my head slightly, almost unconsciously inclining my head towards him as he moves closer, feeling his breath against my neck which makes me shiver despite the warmth he radiates.

“I kissed you because I was still with you. Because I don’t want to die regretting all the things I should have said to you…….because I don’t ever want to die with you not knowing and because you deserve so much more.”

And slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, he brings his lips to mine, teasing me, tasting me, claiming me finally as his, deepening the kiss as I slide my hands around his neck, even now carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his injury as I close my eyes, savouring this moment, knowing that I am falling, that finally I am falling and that this time, there will be no going back.

Continued Part four

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