#I wouldn’t say that anyone because I’m in healthcare and that just feels wrong to me idc what the next person does but I find it funny

[veone]

I’m in a petty mood ignore me but I’d never tell someone to kill themselves for saying I wasn’t black or something stupid 🤷🏾‍♀️. It ain’t that deep. You don’t gotta fight ya case to no one.

[identitty-dickruption]

mad for life

It's been six months since I started meeting with a social worker. I like him. He’s a transman. Autistic and has ADHD. Openly a recovering addict. He’s the kind of guy I can see myself growing up to become. It’s been six months, and I finally feel comfortable enough to tell him about me. Once I finish talking, he just looks at me for a second, and I can’t breathe. “I can help you get a mental healthcare plan. The government will pay for ten sessions a year”. I barely manage to suppress laughter. Me? On a mental healthcare plan? Me? The person so bad at being a patient that I’ve never lasted longer than four out-patient sessions? Yeah, right. 

Four sessions. She tells me a metaphor about a chair, where she makes it clear that I have a leg missing. She doesn’t say it exactly like that though. “Sometimes we become unstable if one of our four pillars is missing”. I fight the urge to tell her that she’s mixing her metaphors. I fight even harder to not ask her, “but what if I’m not a chair? What if I’m a perfectly good stool or tricycle or some other three-part object?”. There is no room for questions here. There is only room for repeating the same metaphor until it’s drilled into my head. There’s no room for perfectly good stools. There’s only room for unstable chairs.

Two sessions. He asks me what I mean when I say that I think there’s something deeply and profoundly wrong with me, but I can see in his face that he knows what I mean. He asks me what I think being a good person looks like when I say that I think there’s something truly evil within me. I can’t give him a good answer. I think about the fact that I was conceived the weekend my mum was freed from the psych ward. I think about the fact that she was admitted voluntarily, meaning that the doctor told her he’d call the police if she said “no”. I think about the fact that she still screams if anyone other than my dad touches her. He tells me he wouldn’t call the police, even if I admitted that I was evil. I don’t believe him.

One session. Three hours long. I’m not sure if I’m even allowed a bathroom break, and I don’t know how to ask. She closes the door. She takes me through something she’s calling a “personality inventory”. I’m smart enough to lie at all the key questions. No, I’ve never felt so happy I felt invincible. No, I’ve never been so depressed I considered killing myself. No, I don’t hear voices or see visions or wake up screaming without knowing why. I’m here to get enough of a diagnosis that my university will give me the resources I need to get my degree. I’m not here to get the kind of diagnosis that will end with them dragging me kicking and screaming back to the place where university is seen as a silly unattainable goal. 

After this session, I tell my dad I’m worried that she thinks I’m a bad person. I have a 39 page report full of detailed analysis about how I’m broken, deranged, wrong, despite showing “no signs of past trauma”. My dad looks at me, his head cocked slightly. “She doesn’t think you’re a bad person, because this isn’t a person-person relationship, it’s a psychiatrist-patient relationship”. And in that second, everything starts to click together in my head. I’ll never be a person to these so-called professionals. I’m an unstable chair, an unruly client, a bad patient, but never a person. Why should I be? Afterall, I’m just another lunatic. 

One session. 50 minutes long. I tell him that I’ve been suicidal in the past, but that I’m not anymore. He tells me that I don’t seem distressed. I tell him I have a diagnosis of OCD. I tell him that I can’t sleep until I’ve checked that everyone in my family is alive. I tell him that I cross myself every time I have a bad thought. I tell him that I can’t stop imagining myself hurting everyone I love. He slowly explains to me that the DSM has a distress criteria for all diagnoses, so maybe I don’t actually have OCD. He’s right, I’m not distressed. I leave the appointment ten minutes early. 

Zero sessions with the woman who won’t stop calling me to ask if I’m ever going to reschedule the appointment I never showed up to. 

It's been eight months since I started meeting with a social worker. I show up drunk, because that’s how I show up to everything at the moment. He asks me if I followed up on the doctor’s appointment we talked about, and I shake my head. “I’ve decided that medication isn’t for me”. He gives me that long look again. “The only difference between taking medication and living the way you live is that medication is safe”. I give him my own long look. Before I allow myself to yell and scream, I stand up and walk out. I never see him again. There goes my longest ever streak of being in the crazy system.

[variousqueerthings]

I saw a sticker yesterday on a busstop that went something like “no child is born in the wrong body” which I’m going to take a wild swing was transphobic, however did make me think, as I often do, about how fascinatingly/frustratingly out of touch and lazy transphobes are with actually engaging with trans politics + philosophies + cultural talking points, because they’re not actually interested in learning anything about what trans people/activists/academics/professionals in their various fields are saying

And in this case of course I’m referring to the fact that “born in the wrong body” while still a perfectly fine and understandable way to discuss your own relationship with your trans identity, has not been Thee single way that trans people relate to body-and-mind-and-expression-and-feeling etc. for a number of years (if it ever was!), and that “dysphoria diagnosis” was itself a compromise that had to be made with the medical community in order to access healthcare-which-became-directly-linked-to-all-kinds-of-basic-rights in the first place, so like... it came from having to limit ourselves to cis people --

not that it’s not, again, a perfectly fine descriptor, and if one actually talked more with anyone who used that as a basis for relating their experiences, you would also find a million different ways this descriptor fits to individuals stories, but that would assume that transphobes do anything in good faith and aren’t in fact just looking for the easy repeatable talking point 

transphobia is transphobes saying “wouldn’t it be bad if...” and other transphobes going “oh yeah that would be terrible, how dare the trans community do that!��� and then publishing a million op-eds and “articles” that don’t actually ask a single trans person if any of what’s being written about is true, or if it’s (as it is in fact) disingenuous and simplistic at best or outright lying at worst --

and then not asking whether some of the issues that are real genuine issues are caused by -- dingdingding -- transphobia (for example, having to “prove that you were born in the wrong body”) and are being discussed and challenged most openly by... the flipping trans community!!!

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so, my dad had some doctors appointments yesterday so we can just kinda see where he’s at with all of this and what the next step is and i felt pretty confident based on everything we’d been seeing and everything i’d heard from my therapist as well as reading about this that the next step was going to be to order in home hospice care but apparently!!!

we’re doing physical therapy

i guess we’re...gonna see if he can get a little stronger, maybe then see if he can do some more infusions i guess and just go from there?

i dunno

i just feel confused and maybe this is just like...his denial about the whole thing powering him through this because i’m looking through the list of “what it looks like when someone with cancer is dying” and he’s checking several of the boxes but instead of preparing for that i guess we’re just going to push it to the absolute limit, i guess ??

and it sucks because i was just seeing on facebook someone from high school who’s also going through this with a parent and like...hers is at the point where her mom is having to have fluid drained off her lungs every week and she’s absolutely miserable and it’s just awful for everyone involved, especially her mom, but like....i get why she’s trying to power through it, because she’s still fairly young

my dad turns 77 this year

and we’ve asked him over and over again, “is there anything else you want to do before it’s time? any trips? visit with anyone? anything?” nope!!

he’s already done everything he’s wanted and lived a wonderful life

and by no means am i saying, “okay, great, so get the fuck out of here, then!!!” but like...he’s said over and over again he wants to keep his dignity intact and not have it be a miserable march to the end and i can’t help but feel like that’s what we’re signing up for here

i know my mom said emotionally she’s not ready for this to happen right now and i think he’s in denial as well, but like...guys, that’s not going to make it stop, i’m so genuinely sorry about it

and it sucks because it’s at the point where this 24/7 caretaking is taking its toll on my mom (and me, but to a much lesser extent) and it’s like...she goes back to work in a few weeks and i’m the one who’s having to pose the question, “are we at least going to consider getting home healthcare to come in to help him while you’re at work or am i supposed to do it?” and there’s no plan of action for that, but yeah, let’s have a dying man push his body physically and i guess that’ll magically fix everything? 

it won’t

i’m not saying it won’t be nice for him to at least be able to walk by himself (because he can’t right now) or that it wouldn’t be of any benefit for him to do a few arm curls with a 5 pound dumbbell but it just feels like denial is winning the war on reality and i’m the one person who sees it and it’s making this whole thing even more confusing and frustrating

maybe i’m wrong, maybe this will help and he’ll get strong enough to go back on his infusions and then he’ll go back to how he was before which was yeah, still stuck with this shit unfortunately, but like...more or less “normal” and able to like....walk from one side of the room to the other without immediately needing his oxygen and an inhaler and a breathing treatment, y’know?

i dunno.

i guess we’ll just see what happens and figure something out as far as getting him help, because regardless i just don’t feel comfortable being the only person here to watch him while she’s gone

i’m not a nurse and i have a physical disability; if he were to have some sort of medical emergency or fall down i don’t know what i would do and i think the closest medical facility that has an emergent department is at least 30 minutes away so like...i would really prefer having someone here who could help with that

literally the other day he asked me to hand him one of his medicines to take and like...i don’t know what the fuck this shit is or what it does or what can mix with what and fortunately my mom was there to be like, “hang on a second, you don’t need this right now; this is going to do such and such” and had to explain to him that it would cause him more problems than what it would have fixed so like...i almost wrecked his whole fucking day and he asked me to!!!! he didn’t know, but neither did i so like....please

we’re supposed to have a family friend and his wife that are going to move their camper onto our property so they’ll be close by if we need extra help, but they both have jobs as well and ones that take them outside the house and one of the friends has already offered to amend his work schedule and cut back his hours just to help us so there’s that, but still, neither of them have the medical know-how to help with this and one of them has serious health issues herself so she doesn’t need to be stressing herself out because she could literally die so like...yeah

it’s just a lot and i love my dad, i do, god fucking knows i am torn up about the possibility of losing him, but at the same time it’s like...we have something many people (and in my own history especially) don’t get which is the gift of time and awareness

we know that this is happening and we can prepare for it because we know

i didn’t have a chance with Ashley, but i get a chance to prepare for this one and accept it with as much peace and grace as possible while also doing everything in my power to help him go the way he wants to with his dignity and in as little pain as possible and yet it’s like....mmmm, no Anna, everything’s fine, we’re just going to continue on!!!

like okay, but....he’s never going to go back to the way he was before. even with treatments, even with physical therapy, i can see it. even if no one else can or wants to, i can see it. quite frankly, i can smell it, too. it’s not strong and i know the man showers, i’m not saying “ew, he stinks!” but like...death does indeed have a smell and when i get next to him or hug him i can smell it

maybe i’m wrong, maybe he’ll make a miraculous turnaround and kick stage four lung cancer/COPD/emphysema in the ass and live for another ten years!!!!

but i don’t think i am and i really, really need everyone else to get on board with me and accept that because the sooner they do, the easier this will be even if it’s still the hardest thing in the fucking world

i’m sure at some point i’ll have to do what i always do and play the role of truth coming out of her well to beg everyone around me to accept reality and there will be the resistance that there usually is and i’ll be told i’m wrong like i usually am and then when things play out almost exactly the way i said they would and we end up almost exactly where i said we would we’ll have the exact same conversation of, “you were right and you tried to tell me” once again but i’d love if it we could skip that part and just....all get on the same page because i am so fucking tired of carrying grief by myself

it’s like that one quote about how pain gets passed around a family until someone is finally ready to feel it

i’m usually that someone and i think Ashley was that someone before me but neither of us has to be and i hope to god that’s not the case here 

all of that said, my therapy is indeed paying for itself because i am taking care of me today

i slept in pretty decent, i went and got some yummy food and a fun drink and dessert and i’ve just taken some good edibles and will make my way out to the pool in a little bit

today’s a self care day and i will continue to if nothing else prioritize my mental health and physical well being and lean into those who support me and are there for me and will accept reality even if i fucking hate it because i’m taking care of me and i think i kinda like me a little bit so there’s that !!

also, i finally have a week off coming up soon which is my first vacation in like 8 months that i won’t be dog sick during so whatever happens i will at least not have to worry about clocking in and out and goddamn referrals and stupid emails and whatever else!!

hope if you’re reading this you’re having a good weekend and doing something nice for yourself today <3

[0nlinejournal]

My tolerance for what I can handle on a day-to-day basis decreases substantially every year. Without access to healthcare I don’t know how many more years are left until I have 0 tolerance for anything at all. I am so tired of feeling this way. I am so tired of feeling like a little brat who is being a stupid fucking whiny baby about having to do literally *anything* when other people can do everything and thrive.

I know something is wrong. I’ve known something is wrong since freshman year of high school when I begged my mom for therapy. I thought it was just depression back then, or maybe a mood disorder, but my mother said I was fine and it was just hormones. But I knew the intensity in which I was feeling my negative thoughts was not at the same intensity of my peers. Now I don’t think it’s just depression, I think there’s an underlying issue that depression is a comorbidity of, but I can’t quite land on one in particular.

The last time I threw one of the options out there to a therapist (for the last year that I was still on my father’s health insurance) she immediately dismissed the suggestion saying I couldn’t have that because I wouldn’t have been able to do my job at the time.

I do all of my jobs for around 2 years and then I quit. I don’t know how I’ll ever have an “adult” job. I know that I’ll end up hating hit just after a couple of years, and then what’s the point in all the time, money, and effort I put into acquiring the skills for that “adult” job? How will I ever afford to exist in the world? How can I?

I’m upset with my parents. There’s so much weird shit I did as a kid that cumulatively should have been looked into. I still can’t fall asleep without literally rocking myself to sleep. I have to (gently) bang my head against the headrest if I’m a passenger in a car. I got in trouble for talking every single day in grade school, I cried every single day in grade school. I was smart academically but nearly failed every test I took. I harmed myself! WHY was I not taken to ANYONE?

I did shrooms for the first time this past year, and it was a generally awful emotional experience for me. I was reverted to a literal child. I cried the entire time. I felt so small. I felt like a toddler walking unbelievably slow around my apartment. Second time I tried to take a minuscule amount to see how that would feel, but I still took a bit too much. And that time I realized that the feeling that was laced throughout my body that made me feel like a child, was fear. I remembered how scared I was of everything as a child. I would lie awake at night crying until I fell asleep. Every night, I silently cried until I slept. Until eventually my dad suggested I get a small box fan for white noise at night. Life changing. But that was only one aspect. On this small unwanted shroom trip I realized that the feeling I felt in my body as a child was anxiety. That fear was pent up anxiety trapped within my bones. And only now as an adult I can recognize it. I cried so much. To think, I was so anxious.

I’m sorry, I needed to rant. I’m going to stop here.

[b4tasquad]

i sure ass hell wouldn’t wish what i, and many young people of colour have gone through here, on anyone else. it’s shit.

i’m not poc so i can’t really say anything about how i grew up, but i know this place fucking sucks socially

a lot of people think that we’re so accepting and loving, but that is far from the truth. damn like last year or smth this guy shot up a gay bar in oslo, only 2 people died but so many people were hurt ?? also 22 of july ?? this place honestly sucks, besides the fact that we have money and a good government. sure, we have good healthcare but omd this country’s population is horrible

i never experienced racism (obviously,) but i witnessed A LOT when growing up. people just say the n-word with no hesitation, and also gays? they have gotten like assaulted on the street. i remember one of my friends came out as gay to me, and then the word got out to the rest of our class (i didn’t say a word) and he was beat up, severely. he had to change schoolsz

i hope we get better at accepting people tbh. i don’t see much racism or homophobia currently, but that’s because i’m around more mature people and not teenage boys. teenage boys are the worst people ever. some of them did shit i don’t even wanna think about anymore

hopefully next generations are gonna be better, cause i feel sorry for everyone who had to experience all that hate. that goes for u too abby, i’m so sorry for everything that happened to u. i hope things aren’t as bad now for u <3

i’m so glad that you acknowledge the continuous racism in norway even if you personally haven’t experienced it. what happened in Oslo last year was such an eye opener for many about how fucked up people in norway can be to minorities (in that case gay people) it’s so disheartening to know that no one outside this country sees the people struggling because norway is disguised as a country that does “ no wrong”

i’m so sick to my stomach because what happened to your friend is so sad and it just keeps happening. it literally needs to stop wtf?

but like you said, it mostly comes from teenage boys and older people who can’t adapt to the world we live in rn. the people and atmosphere im around now is less toxic, and i’ve learnt to stand up for myself ( thank the lord for that)😭

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Uh... maybe some of the Healthcare boys surprising one of the others (Time, maybe???l on his birthday?

Time sighed heavily, glaring at his computer. He could finish this charting tomorrow, but he hated leaving work unfinished. Glancing at the clock, he tried to ignore the guilty pang in his gut. He should have been home two hours ago.

Malon was going to kill him.

Scrolling through a surgical resident’s note, he edited and added a few extra tidbits of information and signed it. Well, that left… eight more.

It wasn’t like Time had planned for this to happen. Several emergent cases came up, knocking out what little free time he had to chart, eat, drink, anything. That was the nature of his particular specialty.

Time’s phone buzzed. Glancing at it, he saw several text messages from multiple people.

From Malon, a gentle reminder: Please get home before midnight, fairy boy. You promised me a dinner date, remember?

From Wind, an excited prompt: Hey, it’s so pretty outside, you gotta get out of the hospital and enjoy it!!

From Warriors, a loving but stern remark: You’d better not still be in the hospital by now, old man. You promised you’d hang out with us for drinks.

From Four, a self care note: Please make sure you take a break when you can.

From Twilight, a bunch of messages garnering confusion:

Hey ol

you shoulgure

ahdic

SORRY Wild can’t keep his grubby hands off the phone!! Just wondering when you were coming home.

From Wild: Get your sorry butt home >:( Twi keeps pacing and you’re not being very timely ;))

Time chuckled at the conglomeration, but he also felt the slightest twinge of pain. Because today was a very special day, but the only one who had bothered wishing him a happy birthday was Malon this morning.

It was silly to expect birthday wishes from the others. Time wasn’t even sure he’d told anyone it was his birthday. But it still stung a little.

Taking his first sip of water all day, he looked back at the computer when his phone buzzed again. He was tempted to ignore it, but the messages made him smile. Looking, he saw that it was from Sky.

Please come home. I don’t feel good.

Time swallowed. Read the text again. Felt his nerves prickle and his stomach churn uncomfortably. Sky never reported if he felt bad. It was part of the reason everyone had to be so alert around him.

What was wrong that he’d actually admit he didn’t feel well?

Sky, what’s wrong? He asked.

There was an agonizing thirty seconds where Sky didn’t reply, and Time swapped over to the chat with Malon, hastily asking if Sky was home and what was happening when the boy replied.

I just need you to come home.

Time looked at his computer. Then his phone. Then his computer again.

He logged out.

I’m on my way, Sky.

Time tried calling him a couple times but the young pilot wouldn’t answer. He didn’t say a word after Time said he was coming.

Time spent the next twenty minutes running different scenarios in his head and trying to call anyone, but suddenly nobody was answering their phones. It made him even more anxious, but he drove at a steady pace and tried not to let it overwhelm him.

When he got home, he hastily unlocked the door and was confused when all the lights were off. Was Sky somewhere in the dark?

The lights came on all of a sudden, and Time blinked.

“Surprise!” everyone shouted, surrounded by confetti and balloons with a banner that said “Happy Birthday!” hanging on the wall. Time traced over all the faces, settling in Sky’s gentle smile, and he leaned heavily against the wall.

“You could have given me a heart attack,” he remarked, relieved and happy but still jittery from the scare.

Legend snorted. “I mean you are old now, so none of us would be surprised.”

“Besides, we could all take care of you,” Hyrule added helpfully with a smile.

Chuckling, Time stepped forward and was engulfed in a gigantic hug from eight young men as Malon smiled gently at him in the background.

“Happy birthday, fairy boy,” she said with a wink.

[nothere-notthere-nowhere]

Long Nights

Word Count: 1883

Genre: Fluff I guess? A little angst if you squint?

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Request:  Hi! How are you? I loved so much Oblivious and Your Wanda, they are both so amazing and I was wondering if I could request a fic? a romantic Wanda x femreader, something like Wanda recently joined the team and she doesn't like y/n because she thinks y/n goes clubbing too much with Bucky but the truth is that she was a winter soldier like him, so Bucky goes out with y/n at night to help her redeem herself and then Wanda finds out? Thank you so much and I love your writing!! - Anonymous

A/N: First request done! Thank you for reading and I hope this is what you wanted :)

“Long night?” Natasha smirked at your yawn, using two hands to hold her mug.

“Something like that,” you joked back, grabbing the freshly brewed coffee from her hand and taking a sip. You heard a light scoff and turned to see Wanda regarding you with an annoyed look in her eye.

“Sorry, did she make this for you?” You asked. You had a habit to just take things from the older redhead.

Instead of a response, Wanda rolled her eyes before making her way out of the kitchen.

“Did I do something?” You asked Natasha, who was still staring at the coffee you’d stolen from her. 

“I don’t know, she’s probably just filled with teen angst still.” Natasha grumbled, grabbing a new mug.

“C’mon, Tash, that’s not really fair.” You told her. “She just lost everything. And she’s not a teen.” 

“We’ve all lost everything, Y/N.” Natasha deadpans. “Twenty-two is basically a teenager, by the way.”

“Cut her some slack,” You laughed. “She’s probably still getting used to this place.”

“Whatever,” Natasha dismissed. “Steal my coffee again, and you’re gonna lose a finger.”

“You say that every time.” You laugh.

---------

“Buck, you ready to go?” You asked him, walking out to the common area. You were dressed in your signature black leather jacket and ripped up skinny jeans. Your staple, in a sense.

“Yeah, let me grab a jacket.” He clapped you on the back as he walked past.

“You’re going out again?” Wanda’s voice nearly startled you. She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed.

“Uh, yeah?” Your response came out as more of a question.

“Figures.” She rolled her eyes, turning to head back in the direction of her room.

“Okay, why is she so upset with me?” You ask Bucky when after she leaves.

“How should I know?” He laughs. “Come on, we better go.”

It was a long night, trying to make amends for all of your crimes was difficult. Bucky understood, he’d been through pretty much the same thing. But that didn’t make it any easier for you to relive the awful things you’d done to people. 

Especially when you arrived at the house of a frail old woman, who’s only son you’d ruthlessly murdered. He was her caretaker. So, Bucky helped you to do small things for her, paying for a nurse and grocery shopping. But tonight, the nurse looked at you with sadness in her eyes. 

“She doesn’t have much time left.” She told you. “She keeps asking for him. I don’t know what to tell her anymore.”

The poor old woman had a multitude of illnesses, the most prominent being her dementia. So, hearing the old woman calling out for her dead son…. You weren’t exactly sure what to do with yourself.

“It’s my fault, Buck.” Your voice broke on the walk back home. “He’s the one thing she can remember and he’s fucking dead because of me.”

Bucky knew better than to interrupt. You didn’t see reason in times like these.

“I’m a monster.” You continued. “No matter how many people I help, it can’t erase the past!”

“No, you can’t.” He told you, knocking you out of your rant. “You can’t erase the past. That’s why you’re trying to make up for it. Paying for an old woman’s healthcare won’t bring back her son, you’re right. But it counts for something.”

“I feel awful.” You tell him. “I can’t get them out of my head, sometimes. Does it ever go away?”

“I don’t know.” His somber tone reminds you that he, too, is struggling with this. 

“You can go back,” you clear your throat, “I’m going to take a walk.”

“You sure? It’s late.”

“Yeah, I won’t be long.”

Bucky squeezes your shoulder comfortingly before walking off in the direction of the tower. 

You’re not sure how much longer you were out. But eventually, the crisp air was drying the tears on your cheeks and you knew it was time to get back to the tower. There was no point wallowing in guilt in the middle of the city.

“Back so soon?” Wanda’s bitter words stopped you in your tracks. She was standing by the sink, glass of water in hand.

“Not-” Your voice cracked. “Not tonight, okay?”

Wanda’s face falls briefly, her mouth opening like she wanted to ask what was wrong. But you were out of the kitchen before she could speak.

-------

You rolled out of bed late the next morning, cursing under your breath as you searched for some clothes to throw on.

“You’re late,” Natasha walked into your room, extra coffee in hand.

“I’m aware.” You threw your hair up into a ponytail, throwing on running shorts while Nat lounged on your bed.

“Clint’s already waiting for you.” She informed, picking up a book from your bedside table.

“Better not keep him waiting then, huh?” You mutter, taking the mug of coffee as you made your way out of the room. 

“Bucky said you were out later than normal last night.” She said, giving you a pointed look.

“Natasha,” you warned. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Her eyes are soft, face full of genuine concern.

“Yeah, Tash, I know.” You give her a small smile to soothe any worries.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Clint teased, tossing you a baton. Natasha squeezed your shoulder briefly before walking over to where Wanda was waiting for her on another mat. 

The morning passed slowly, Clint getting the better of you more than not. You were tired and slow. The older man teased you relentlessly, poking fun and putting you on your ass.

But, at some point, as you picked up your leg to kick Clint in the side, you forgot to hold back your strength, sending the blond man flying to the side.

“Oh my god!” You heard Wanda exclaim as you ran over to Clint.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Hawk,” you rushed out. “I wasn’t paying attention! I’ve just been so tired. Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’m okay.” He chuckled, groaning a little as he moved to stand up. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“Yeah, kid, I’ve handled worse.” He limped off the mat, leaving you to roll your eyes at his term of endearment. You were easily fifty years older than the man, but you still looked to be in your early twenties, which Clint loved to call attention to.

You heard a light scoff and glanced over to see Wanda glaring in your direction.

“Okay, what’s up?” You ask her. The attitude was getting old.

“You’re lucky this was just training! What if this was a mission?” She all but exploded on you. “You value a night out at some shitty club with who knows how many girls more than the safety of your team!”

“Leave her alone, Maximoff.�� Natasha cut in from nearby.

“Why should I?” Wanda spits. “She clearly doesn’t care about anyone but herself!”

Natasha steps between the two of you, the only thing stopping her from defending your honor being your hand on her shoulder and a gentle “Tasha” as you pull her away from the brunette.

“You’re right, Wanda.” You nod. “There’s no excuse for causing harm to a teammate. That’s on me.”

Wanda simply rolls her eyes bitterly and leaves, muttering something about checking on Clint.

“Why do you let her believe that?” Natasha asks, exasperated.

“She’s right, Tash, there’s no excuse for hurting a member of the team.” You tell her.

“There’s a reason you’re out so late most nights.” The shorter woman reminds you.

 “And Wanda doesn’t need to know.” You respond in the same tone. “Besides, she’s just being protective of Clint. You know how close they’ve gotten since Sokovia.”

Natasha just shook her head.

-------

“You’re seriously going out again?” Wanda’s jaw is clenched as she stands, arms crossed, by the door.

“Uh,” You stutter, “Yeah?”

“Unbelievable.” She storms off.

“She’s kinda cute when she's angry like that.” You joke with Bucky.

“You like her, don't you?” Bucky elbows you lightly.

“What?”

“That’s why you won’t tell her where you go.” He nods, putting it together in his head as he speaks. “You like her.”

“Hey, man, I don’t know about all that. She doesn’t like me though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You grab his arm to stop him as you walk on the sidewalk.

“Why else would she care so much about you going ‘clubbing?’ She’s jealous.” He tells you like it was obvious.

“You think so?”

--------

When the two of you return to the tower, Wanda approaches you. She’s fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip in that cute way she does when she gets nervous. Bucky claps you on the back, wishing you a good night, though the look on his face says ‘good luck.’

“Can I talk to you?” Wanda asks.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You nod, expecting her attitude.

“Natasha told me.” She says.

“Fuck-” 

“I’m so sorry for judging you.” She cuts you off, her words rushed. “Even if you were out clubbing, it was none of my business. I just.. I was so angry that I was so drawn to this person who didn’t seem to care.” 

“You’re drawn to me?” You smirk at her.

 “Unfortunately.” She jokes. “Please tell me you got more out of that.”

“Yeah,” You laugh, “I’m sorry for not telling you. I just… If I’m honest, I didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

“Have you forgotten where I came from? I don’t think I have the right to think badly about anyone’s past.” 

“True,” you laugh again, “But I don’t want pity either, you know?” 

“I don’t pity you.” Wanda says, her hand resting on your arm. “I admire what you’re doing. The way you’re righting your wrongs.”

“It's the least I can do for the pain I caused these people.” You tell her, dropping the eye contact.

 “Well, it’s admirable.” 

“Back to this drawn to me thing-” you start.

“Absolutely not.” She pushes your shoulder gently, face burning as she does.

“You said it!” 

“And we’re not going to revisit it.” 

“I’m drawn to you too, if that helps.” Your hands find her waist, pulling her close to you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.” She remarks.

“We don’t have to.” You shrug, savoring the feeling of her hands on your shoulders, her touch light, almost hesitant.

“So what?” 

“So, if you're drawn to me, I’m drawn to you… I think we both know what we should do now that doesn’t involve any talking.”

Wanda’s breath hitches at your words, her face mere inches from your own. 

“And what would that be?” Her voice is quiet, eyes glancing at your lips.

“Well,” You start to lean in. “This whole drawing metaphor, I’ll go get some paper. You grab the pens.”

“You’re infuriating.” She giggles at your response. 

“You like it though.” You tell her, finally leaning in. Your lips catch hers and she all but melts under your touch. Her lips are soft, plump. You can faintly taste her chapstick. She pulls back after a moment, resting your foreheads together.

“You’re right.” She giggles. “I do like it.”

[wolf-queer-discourse]

Adventures in Aphobia #1

So I was scrolling through Tumblr the other day (a regrettable mistake as always), and I had the great pleasure of seeing this joyous post.

*deep breath*

Not gonna lie, posts like this make me real pissed. Pissed because the person who posted this exists in a space where they feel comfortable enough to post this online. Pissed because these posts are so common and often face little backlash. And pissed because there’s nothing better than allosexuals condescendingly explaining to asexual people why they’re dirty attention whores who invent their own oppression. Ace people deserve to be defended against this horseshit. Young people see these posts, and it’s extremely damaging to have your identity be nothing more than fuel for people in discourse to mock you and demand you bled in order for them to notice your pain.

Anger aside, many people do not see why this post is wrong, so why is it? Let’s unpack this clusterfuck of bigotry:

“would love to see substantive evidence of systematic “aphobia” that isn’t actually just misogyny, toxic masculinity, or rpe culture.”

God damn, we are not mincing our words here XD. A few things: systematic in bold, which tells you if you do not make a blood sacrifice on the altar of queer pain you will not be taken seriously. Potential nitpick, but systemic and systematic are not the same thing. I believe systemic is the word they’re looking for. Systematic implies a lot more intentionality that can be hard to prove. Systemic merely means that systems, in their current state, do aphobic things, which they absolutely do.

“Aphobia” in quotes is absolutely rich. Not only will this person refuse to acknowledge systemic aphobia, which is only one type, but this poster casts clear doubt upon the mere concept of aphobia in and of itself. We love to see it.

There’s a lot to unpack here. The statement, as clearly condescending as intended, is sort of correct, though it doesn’t mean a whole lot. Systemic oppression is about the systems in a society (government, healthcare, etc) discriminating against people. Systemic oppression is not bigotry faced on a person-to-person level. In short, systematic oppression is something a person experiences in their overall life, while personal discrimination is experienced on a personal level by people who are not singularly in control of the systems. This post boils down the negative comments ace people face into being called “weird”, which is an understatement for sure, but calling a gay person weird isn’t systemic oppression either.

It’s still bad and discriminatory.

This is such a snotty way to dismiss aphobia as some mere, insignificant comment with no meaning as if it doesn’t reinforce society’s painful aphobic views in the same way casual homophobic comments reinforce heteronormativity and society’s hostility toward gay people.

Ace people face discrimination in healthcare, most notably, which is systemic discrimination, but the systemic discrimination of asexuals really ought to be its own post if I’m to nosedive into it. Even if ace people faced no systemic discrimination, it wouldn’t make this point anymore correct. Discrimination is a perfectly valid reason to feel disregarded by society, and often only ace people are denied the right to feel this way and are instead gaslit into admitting what they face is no big deal and they’re just making it up for attention.

The experience of being pressured to have sex when you’re allo vs ace is very different. The vast majority of allo people do not plan to be celibate their whole lives. Many ace people do not want to have sex, ever. “Waiting for sex” in much of western society and in Christianity is seen as pure and honorable. Yet being asexual and never wanting sex is seen as a deviant disorder and people are accused of robbing their partner of sex forever.

There’s really a specific flavor of sexual pressure that is unique to ace people. Sex being to “fix” someone or because they “just need to try it”.

In this respect, aphobic sexual pressure is better compared to that faced by gay people and lesbians. Lesbians especially often can face this same struggle, men pressuring them to have sex because they think lesbians just need to “try it” or to “fix them”. I can imagine this poster would have no issue acknowledging lesbophobia being the root of lesbians coerced into sex with men, yet she does not give ace people the same.

Imagine if someone said (and knowing our fucked world, someone probably has): “Lesbophobia doesn’t exist. It’s just misogyny. Straight women are coerced into sex too!”

It’d be pathetic bullshit. Toxic masculinity, misogyny and many other issues can all tangle into combined messes with other forms of bigotry. Lesbophobia is an experience that deserves to be recognized apart from misogyny, even if the two are linked. Please stop erasing ace people’s experiences with this when it’s not the same thing.

Honestly, though, this post, as trashy as it is, if anything, is perhaps, really asking: Is there any type of aphobic experience that’s inherently exclusive to ace people?

I still wager to go say, yes, yes there is, but I must make an important point first:

Most experiences of queer discrimination are not limited to queer people.

Homophobia and transphobia are both experienced by cishets in certain instances. Feminine straight men can be victims of homophobic harassment. This does not disprove the fact that it’s homophobia just because a straight man is the victim of it. A tall cis woman with broad shoulders and a lower voice may be the victim of transphobic remarks or comments. The basis of these comments is rooted in transphobia, however, so the fact that the victim is cis does not erase the transphobia.

People who argue that experiences ace people complain about can be experienced by allosexuals are not poking a legitimate hole in doing this. Certain experiences related to aphobia can and are experienced by allosexuals. If you do not acknowledge this, then homophobia and transphobia aren’t real because cishet people have sometimes experienced them.

Despite cishets sometimes experiencing queerphobia, most of us acknowledge that their experience of that bigotry, however unfortunate, is not the same as that experienced by actual queer people. It’d be quite homophobic for a feminine straight man to claim he knew just as much about the gay experience as an actual gay man. Similarly, when allosexual people relate experiences that were rooted in aphobia, it’s overstepping a line when they claim asexual discrimination isn’t real because they experienced elements of it too.

Cishet (cishet including allosexuals) people do not experience their doctors telling them their sexuality might be a disorder or caused by trauma. Allo queer people can experience this with their sexualities too.

“using sex appeal to sell products is misogyny, it is not engineered to gross sex-repulsed people, it is meant to objectify women.”

This is a strawman thinner than my last nerve. Uh, what? What ace people are you seeing that literally think sex appeal was engineered to gross-out sex-repulsed people?? I don’t think this is a core argument??

Yes, sex-repulsed ace people sometimes complain about sex appeal in media being uncomfortable. But that’s it. Every time an ace person shares a discomfort of theirs doesn’t mean it’s the entire basis of their oppression. For the love of God, let ace people discuss their experiences without being blow-torched over not being oppressed enough with an individual discomfort. 

BONUS ROUND

(This was in the tags)

“Completely vilifies celibate individuals” 

...no…? What…? Huh…? 

The most charitable interpretation of this vague accusation is that the poster means celibate people face aphobia as well, due to not wanting to have sex. I have no idea how this “vilifies” anyone, but that aside, as said before: people who are not queer can face aphobia. Also worth noting that society treats celibate people way better than ace people, which is really another example of aphobia. Celibate people can be told they’re missing out (which could be at very least related to aphobic ideals), but they’re rarely called broken. Celibacy is seen more as a respected, controlled ideal in allo people, but when ace people want to do it, they’re just mentally ill.

Anyway, the post was aphobic trash, and it needs to be debunked more often. Mocking ace people online is not a good look anymore, guys. Don't be ugly.

[writingsonawall]

Falling, fallen chapter 3

Pairings: Spencer Reid x OFC

Story summary:  Spencer randomly meets Leah at the library and their first encounter was supposed to be just that; a random one-time occurance. When an unsub lands Spencer in the very same hospital she works at, she feels obligated to take care of him. But what happens when his team notices her everlooming presence and theorises that perhaps she could be the unsub they’re looking for?

Chapter summary: The BAU start developing a profile which leads them to investigate Leah. 

Warnings: Recalling a violent incident, bit of blood but not too bad. 

Wordcount: 12,6 k

A/N: This chapter is written from Emily’s POV just to get a different perspective on the story. 

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

Emily shot Reid a knowing look as she stepped through the door before turning her head slightly to watch the nurse shuffle down the corridor. She was pretty, that much was for certain and she knew Reid thought so, too. She took a seat by his bed, dropping the bag to the floor. She had just gotten back from his apartment, finally having had the time to collect the things he’d asked for earlier that same morning. She decided not to comment on the nurse any further as the three of them went back to work, trying to piece together a profile with the mess of details they had. 

“What if we’re looking for two unsubs?” The first break came about an hour after Emily had returned to Reid’s room and they all peaked up at Rossi’s suggestion. 

“What makes you say that?” Morgan’s voice sounded through Garcia’s phone now and Emily wondered the same thing. 

“Look at the bruisings around Anita Thorne’s throat. That’s pretty large hands, don’t you think? Probably from a man. But the stabwounds on Gomez’ body were hesitant and shallow, not a lot of force behind them,” Rossi explained his thinking and Emily followed easily while she flipped through her files. 

“So, you’re thinking whoever killed Gomez was a woman?” J.J. spoke up this time. Morgan didn’t even give Rossi time to answer.

“But the stabbing was all over the place and brutal. It was overkill. Do you really think a woman would be capable of doing that?” 

“Maybe our unsub was hesitant about killing Gomez? Not knowing what to do or how to do it correctly? Maybe he was trying to establish a MO?” Reid spoke up now and his words surprised Emily. Anita Thorne had been killed a week and half before Gomez, so if the unsub was the same person then he was definitely accustomed to killing. It made no sense for him to brutally strangle Thorne, then hesitate when it came to Gomez. Unless there was a connection between Gomez and the unsub which they hadn’t made yet. That seemed unlikely since there was no sign of the unsub’s remorse anywhere on the body or at the crimescene. It didn’t feel personal. 

Emily voiced her thoughts and the team agreed with her. She got a little concerned about Reid. He seemed to have gotten confused by such a simple thing as the timelines of the different victims. That was the kind of mistake Reid would never do. She was afraid he wasn’t in the right headspace to be working this case, but she didn’t speak her concern just yet. 

“Typically in a killer-duo one part to be more dominant and the other more submissive. We shouldn’t assume that the female is the submissive one just because she’s the weaker sex. In fact we should assume the opposite, especially if we still regard our previous theory that at least one of them has some sort of medicaltraining. Healthcare is widely dominated by females after all,” Reid rambled on in his usual manner, but something still seemed… Off about him. Like he was trying to hide his privous slip up. 

“So, you think we’re looking for a man and woman, and that the woman is the dominant person here?” Rossi asked. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. In traditional gender roles the man is depicted as the dominant type, when it in reality is the female who holds all the power. She controlls access to sex, decides what’s for dinner, has the most influence over the kids… Even though men typically are physically stronger than women, it’s still the women who control them, so I wouldn’t say it’s odd,” Reid explained further and by the way he was fiddling in the bed Emily could tell he had a lot more to say on the matter. 

“Well, it fits,” J.J. butted in. “If the woman is dominant we can only assume she decides who gets to live and who doesn’t.” 

“But how does she decide that?” Emily asked out loud. 

“Garcia’s already looked through all the workers in both hospitals and no one crossrefranses,” Morgan interjected. 

“I sure have, Sweetcheeks,” Garcia spoke up. 

“There’s got to be something here that we’re missing,” Morgan mumbled. 

“Garcia, start off by looking into hospitalemployees who might match our profile who’ve had contact with more than one of our victims. The dominant would be meticulous, so look for anyone with a clean record, we can also assume she’s reserved with few sosial contacts. We still don’t know how she decides who dies so look for anyone who stands out, employees who pay close attention to the victims, who check on them more than necessary, anything that screams unnatural behavior.” Hotch said and at that last bit Garcia’s fingers paused over the keyboard. Emily knew what she was thinking, because she was thinking the exact same thing. 

“Does that mean employees who’s worked with Reid as well?” Garcia sounded guilty as she spoke and Emily noted that she gave Reid an apologetic look. 

“What have you got Garcia?” Hotch’s answer fell to deaf ears because Reid lashed out. 

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong!” He all but yelled. 

“Spence!” J.J. sounded concerned, but she too was ignored. 

“She didn’t do this. I know her and she didn’t do this.” Emily almost felt bad for him. The nurse had seemed like a sweet girl and either she’d played him like a fool or they were wrongfully accusing her of being a killer. There was no way she’d come good out of this one. 

“Hold on! Who are we talking about?” Morgan asked at the same time as someone, Emily couldn’t tell who, asked “What do you mean you know her?” It was silent after that, this kind of silence that was just waiting for someone to break it. Emily realized then that she was staring blankly at Reid, still not used to him lashing out like that. 

“I met her last night at the library,” Reid finally said after a reluctant sigh. That made Emily’s eyes go wide. Why hadn’t he said something before? “And I know what you’re all thinking, but it wasn’t her. She left way before I was shot. Garcia can probably verify that with an easy search, she got to work before 10 P.M. I know how bad that looks, but I’m telling you it’s not her. Hotch…” Reid’s voice was almost pleading towards the end and now Emily felt really bad for him. He wanted so desperately to believe it wasn’t her that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. Even though Emily hadn’t spent that much time at the hospital she had reacted to the nurse, feeling like there was something... off about her. She hadn’t even thought that the young woman might be the unsub, but when she thought it now; it just fit. 

“What’s her name?” Hotch asked, his tone of voice unreadable. Emily wondered what he was thinking. 

“Leah Clarewater,” Reid sighed, probably knowing he’d lost the battle. If he hadn’t said anything, Garcia would’ve found out anyway.

“Alright. Garcia, run her and see what pops up.” Hotch almost didn’t have the time to speak because Reid interrupted him. 

“Get out,” He spoke, his voice quiet but his words were harsh. 

“Reid,” Emily reached forward to lay a hand on his arm but he shied away from her. 

“I said, get out. I’m not even on this case and I’m telling you it’s not her, but no one’s listening. I don’t want to hear anymore, so please… just get out.” He sounded almost completely broken, as if his whole life had just been flipped upsidedown and it made Emily frown. 

“Garcia, Prentiss… You heard him.” Hotch’s voice was clear and Garcia sat there frozen for a second before quickly gathering her stuff and rising from her chair. 

“Reid,” Emily tried again. 

“What, Emily?” He snapped at her. “I’m telling you it’s not her, and it’s not just something I want to believe; it’s something I know for a fact. And when you eventually realize that you’re all wrong I am the one who’s gonna have to look her in the eyes and live with that guilt. So no, I don’t want to hear what you find out when you do a search on her, because it’s not my place to know unless she tells me herself.” He was almost panting with rage when he finished his rambling and the room once more fell in an awkward silence so thick it could practically be cut through with a knife. His words were laced with venom and she then realized that this wasn’t all about the nurse. Most it was, sure, but he was obviously still not over everything that happened with Emily and Doyle. She had felt horrible about lying to him and the rest of the team like that, but she had thought they had all worked through it by now. Reid obviously hadn’t, because that lash out was a whole lot of unresolved tension. 

Emily escorted Garcia out of the room without another word. They found a secluded area in the waitingroom outside of the ICU and Garcia seemed a little reluctant about continuing.

“Sir. I must say that this doesn’t feel right,” she mumbled, the rest of the team still on the phone even though they had gone silent after Reid’s blow up. 

“I know, Garcia, but just see what you can find out,” Hotch said. 

“Is someone gonna tell me who we’re talking about now?” Morgan asked and that made Emily smile. Of course he hadn't picked up on who they were talking about yet. He was a damn good agent, but sometimes he could be slow. 

“The nurse who came to get us when Reid woke up this morning,” Emily replied, leaning a little closer to her phone. 

“Oh, the ho-” Morgan stopped himself before he could finish his sentence. Emily tried to hide her snicker because she knew he was about to say ‘hot one’, but that would be highly inappropriate. 

“She seemed like a good kid,” Rossi interjected. 

“Oh, but she’s anything but!” Garcia finally spoke up again. This was the first time Emily felt a little disgusted by how excited she sounded. She knew that Garcia couldn’t always help it. She was stuck in her office all day while the rest of the team were out in the field. She loved having things to do and whenever she found something that could help, she always took that win personally. Still, this time Emily couldn’t quite feel it. Reid obviously had a thing for this girl; attraction, admiration or whatever it was… And now Garica might have found something to shatter his precious fantasy of the girl. 

“What have you got?” Hotch asked. 

“Well… Leah Singer Clarewater, born and raised in The Bronx, New York. Apparently she ran in a bad crowd in her younger years. Several of her friends were picked up on drugcharges in high school. She doesn’t really have a record herself, but we can only assume she was just as bad as her friends since, you know, they were friends… Anyway, when she was eighteen her eight year old brother disappeared without a trace and he was never found. Leah was apparently with him when it happened. Police investigated, but never found out what happened. Two years later her mother died of, oh, let’s see… Cancer and after that it seems that she and her father drifted off. I can’t see that they have any contact now and she doesn’t seem to have many friends. No social media, I mean zip zero, no Facebook, Twitter, not even YouTube. Nada. She’s basically a loner.” 

“That does fit the profile,” J.J. mumbled. Emily agreed. And the story about family could’ve been a stressor. 

“Look, guys… We have to be absolutely certain about this,” Morgan spoke up, probably feeling just what Emily was. 

“Well, she has a good medical education,” Garcia said. “I mean, like really good. She’s taken a lot of extra courses and addons to her Bachelor of Science in Nursing. She’d basically just need a few hours of mandatory training and she’d be certified as a paramedic.” 

“So, she has a lot of medical knowledge?” Rossi asked. 

“That she sure does,” Garcia nodded as she spoke, even though it was just Emily there to see her. “And- Oh! Oh…” Garcia trailed off, a sad look crossing her features. Emily wondered what she had just found out. 

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She has a registered .45,” she whispered. Reid, and the other victims, had been shot with a .45. Oh, how Emily hated this. She had almost hoped for Reid’s sake that they had just jumped to conclusions and that they wouldn’t find anything on her. Now everything was pointing towards her. 

“That’s more than enough for a probable cause,” Hotch sighed into the phone, sounding just as defeated as Emily felt. “Morgan and J.J., go to her address. Rossi, I want you back at the hospital. We still don’t know if she is or who she might be working with. If she knows we’re onto her, she might come after Reid. Until we find her and question her, I don’t want Reid to be left unattended. Stand outside of his room if he doesn’t want visitors, but no one comes into that room without anyone of us knowing what happens. And I mean no one, no nurses, doctors, not even the janitor or cleaning crew. Got it?” Hotch’s message was clear and everyone agreed verbally before ending the call. Emily decided to let Garica work for a little bit and went back to Reid’s room. She knocked softly on the door before opening it. Reid met her eyes with a fierceness in his. 

“Look,” she said, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear and I’ll spare you the details… But this looks bad for her. We don’t know who she might be working with, so Hotch is adamant that we don’t leave you unattended. You may not like it and that’s fine. If you wanna be alone, then that’s fine too, I’ll just stay outside the door.” Emily had decided to just be frank with him. “In the mean time, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” She asked, still not able to shake the tension between them. 

“You’re still wrong about her.” Reid’s reply left no room for argument on that subject. 

“I mean about whatever vendetta you have against me,” she clarified. Reid narrowed his eyes at her. 

“No offense, Emily, but not everything is about you. On the contrary to popular belief I don’t carry grudges. My problem isn’t with you personally, it’s with all of you. I tell you that it’s not her, and you don’t believe me. I know her and my word, my credibility still means nothing to you.” He was getting agitated and she finally understood why. This wasn’t just about protecting the nurse, it was also about the team not trusting his judgement. Emily sighed. 

“You’ve known her for how long? Less than a day? What if you’re wrong, Reid? Just what if?” 

“I’m not.” His reply came not even a heartbeat later and his voice was certain. It was still too similar to a childish game, him not wanting to admit he might be wrong. 

“Okay, I’ll bite… Say you’re right, there’s still things you don’t know about her. She’s not this amazing person you think she is. She’s got baggage, possibly more than you can imagine. She’s trouble, Reid, whether she’s the unsub or not.” Emily had no idea how much Reid knew about her, but she somehow figured out that if he knew everything then he would be more logical about this. 

“She’s the best person I’ve met,” Reid said and she looked at him for a moment. Did he really mean that? Did she really have him so tightly twisted around her finger that he believed his own words to be the truth? By the confident look on his face, she guessed on yes to both questions. “But you’re right about one thing; I do want to be alone. Please, close the door behind you.” That was a clear sign that this discussion was over. Emily decided not to say anything else as she slipped out of the room. 

She could only begin to imagine what Reid was going through. Emily didn’t have any relatives she spoke to, no friends outside of work. Her colleagues were her family, she loved them all dearly. If any of them got implicated for murder she probably would have lost her shit as well. Still, that got her to wonder what was going on between Reid and that nurse. She had seemed professional enough the few times she’d seen her, except for the time she’d caught her hanging out in Reid’s room for the better part of half an hour before she went home. What had that been about? Reid obviously didn’t know her that well, seeing as he claimed to have met her the night before. Maybe he felt attracted to her; she was pretty after all. But then again she wouldn’t take Reid for the guy to fall head over heels for a woman he’d barely met. This couldn’t possibly be love, she must have found a way to manipulate him. 

“How’s the kid?” Rossi greeted Emily as he walked down the corridor twenty minutes later. Emily sighed heavily as he came to a stop next to her. 

“Understandably upset,” she told him with a small shrug. “He’s… He’s actually pretty mad,” she said. 

“He’ll get over it,” Rossi tried to assure her, but she could only shake her head. 

“I’m afraid this could be a breakingpoint for him. No matter what happens from now on, Reid loses. Either this girl is a killer who’s managed to wrap him around her finger or she’s not… And I’m not sure which of them is worse,” she sighed as she spoke, not knowing how to feel about all of this. 

“You don’t think it’s her?” Rossi asked, his voice slow as if he was being careful with what he said. 

“It all fits,” Emily nodded. “But there’s some questions that need answers. This case is just all over the place and when one of our own is involved it just makes it… harder, you know?” She glanced up at the older man, finding him looking back with sympathetic eyes. 

“Now you know how we felt last time you were involved.” He gave her a sad smile then and it made Emily’s stomach drop. She had realized that the whole thing with Doyle had been hard on the team, but that it had felt like this? 

“I just hope Reid’s gonna be okay,” she mumbled. 

“He’s a smart kid. He’ll pull through.” Rossi bumped his shoulder into hers, a small sign of comfort. Emily couldn’t exactly say that it helped, but she appreciated the gesture all the same. Just then her phone started blaring and she pulled it out of her pocket, noticing that it was Hotch. 

“I’ve got Rossi here with me,” she spoke up after accepting the call. 

“Morgan and J.J. came up empty-handed,” Hotch informed them, getting right to business. “They’re already headed back to the hospital. We can only assume that she didn’t leave at all or that she’s waiting for a chance to get to Reid. I’ve already called in reinforcement to guard his room, but in the meantime have Garcia on watchout. I want the two of you to do a sweep of the hospital, try to see if you can locate her. We have a warrant out for her arrest and I’m bringing it over as we speak,” he told them and that made Emily’s stomach tighten just a little more. They had enough probable cause to arrest her now. Before they could even agree to his orders he hung up the phone. Emily sighed, dropping the phone into her pocket again. She leaned forward a little, putting her hands on her knees as she tried to make sense of it all. She wasn’t in doubt that they had the right person, but something still felt… off. She couldn’t tell if it was the profile or just Reid’s feelings involved. 

“Do you need a minute?” Rossi asked, his voice hushed next to her. 

“Yeah, probably,” she nodded as a hand was placed on her hunched over back. 

“I’ll go get Garcia,” he informed her before he disappeared down the corridor. Emily took a few minutes to collect her thoughts, push all doubt so far into the back of her mind that it couldn’t possibly bother her anymore. If she started doubting, she’d make mistakes and mistakes couldn’t be tolerated, especially not on a case involving one of her own. She owed it up to Reid to make this go as smoothly as possible. 

Rossi returned with Garcia who they placed on a chair outside of Reid’s room. They didn’t dare ask him if she could sit in his room with him, so for right now they’d just have to make it work that way. Rossi and Emily started by talking to the nurse who was on call, simply asking if she happened to know when the unsub was coming back to work. She informed them that she wasn’t scheduled to work until the eveningshift the next day, and that she was supposed to work at the post operative unit instead of the ICU. Emily asked if that was normal, to work at two different units, to which the nurse only laughed saying something along the lines of “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a permanent full-time position as a nurse? Most of us work in two different units, at least.” 

They went down to the post operative unit next, just to make sure she hadn’t clocked in almost 24 hours earlier than when her shift started. They came up empty there as well. For the next fifteen minutes they did a quick search of three other units, asking different personnel if they’d seen her. Most people had no idea who she even was, which didn’t surprise Emily. It was a big hospital after all. 

“Hang on a second.” Emily stopped Rossi’s pace as she glanced over at the doctor who was standing and talking to the officeworker by the lobby. She could vaguely remember seeing the unsub talk to him earlier that morning by the nursingstation in the ICU. The two had seemed close, as if they were friends or close colleagues at the very least. 

“Excuse me.” Rossi must have noticed her train of thoughts because he approached the man. “Dr. Ruiz,” Rossi said once he was close enough to read the print of his lapcoat. “I’m Agent Rossi, this is my partner SSA Prentiss.” Rossi pulled out his badge and showed it to the man. 

“We’re looking for Leah Clarewater, but we’re having a hard time locating her. Have you seen her?” Emily asked. She was surprised by the doctor’s reaction. More times than not, people would get nervous or upset when they came asking about friends and family. This man seemed… happy? Relieved? 

“Well, that was quickly!” He exclaimed. “She’s down in the ER. I’m headed that way myself, so I can walk you down,” he told them. Emily gave Rossi a look, silently asking if he was noticing the strangeness as well. He only shrugged, so they followed the doctor. 

“I saw you this morning. Have you been on call for long?” Emily found herself asking as they walked down a corridor. 

“It was chaos here last night, masscollision on the highway. I got called in as an extra set of hands. I usually work in post op. but when it’s all hands on deck, it’s… Well, all hands on deck,” he laughed. 

“Did Leah get called in as well?” Rossi asked as they reached the elevator. 

“Yeah,” he told them, pressing the button which said -1. “Typically we don’t call in nurses, but Leah has a lot of extra training and she’s really good at what she does. Always handy to have around, you know?” 

“She works in the post operative unit as well. Have you known her for long?” Emily asked as they stepped out of the elevator. Dr. Ruiz nodded. 

“Yeah… For the good part… Three years, is it, now? Wow, how time flies. She’s one of the best I’ve ever seen, to be honest. Cares a lot about her patients, you know? And she’s really good at her job so she’s a thrill to be working with,” he told them. He clearly thought highly of her, just like Reid. This woman had managed to fool not only one, but two doctors. She almost deserved a medal for that. 

“Good evening, Dr. Ruiz!” A petite blonde greeted as they made it to the ER. “Are you gonna be working here today?” 

“Yeah, no… Not today, Cindy. I’m just looking for Leah, is she still here?” The doctor asked. Emily stood beside Rossi a few steps away from them, just watching the interaction. 

“Yeah, she’s down there,” Cindy answered, pointing towards the end of the giant room where a shutter had been closed all the way. “She still refuses to go up to neuro, though. Dr. Charles insisted, but she refuses,” the nurse huffed a little, as if she was annoyed. What she said made Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dr. Ruiz said and Emily noted the awardwinning smile he gave the nurse. He then turned towards herself and Rossi. “I’ll just need to check some files and then I’ll be over. You can talk to her if you want,” he informed them before walking over to the nursestation in the middle of the room. Emily shrugged at Rossi and started walking towards where the nurse had pointed earlier. She dragged the curtains open, revealing the blonde woman who was sitting at the end of the bed, feet dangling back and forth, head buried in her hands and what looked to be an icepack pressed to her forehead. 

“Leah Singer Clarewater?” Emily asked, a little uncertain about what exactly was going on. The woman slowly lifted her head, looking up at the agents. She blinked a couple of times, even the movements of her eyelids slow and sluggish and now that Emily could see her face she got even more confused. Her nose was swollen and obviously broken by the way it was leaning towards the right. She had cottonballs sticking out of each nostril, the tips of them stained with blood. She was sporting a massive bruise on her left cheek, the skin there already turned a deep purple which matched bruising around her eyes. She also had a deep gash across her forehead which had a few badges over it to keep it shut. Her throat looked red and Emily could see the indications of handprints developing there. She looked like hell, to say the least. 

“You’re… uhm, Dr. Reid’s friends,” she finally spoke up. Her voice sounded hoarse and nasal at the same time. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, as if the light was hurting, before opening them. She seemed to have a hard time focusing on the people in front of her. 

“We are,” Rossi simply stated, probably as confused as Emily was. He glanced at her, and Emily could only shake her head because the sight in front of her was not what she had expected to find.  

“Look,” the nurse said slowly. “I’m off duty right now, and as you can see I’m in no shape to get back to work at the moment. Whatever he needs, there’s other nurses on call now who can help him.” Her voice was still slightly slurred as she spoke, as if she was drugged down or drunk. Emily assumed they had given her a cocktail of drugs for whatever pain she was in. 

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you,” Emily pursed her lips together, not knowing how to handle the situation. This woman was still a suspect, but now might not be the best time to have this conversation. They still had a warrant for her arrest, but they couldn’t possibly arrest her right now when she looked like that. There was a lot of information missing here. 

“You were with Reid the other night?” Rossi spoke up and that seemed to confuse her. Her eyes were even narrowed than they had been a second ago. 

“Oh, right… Right, at the library,” she said as the memories seemed to come back to her. Emily wasn’t a doctor, but she could clearly tell that this woman was seriously concussed. She was in no condition to be having this conversation. 

“We just want the stories straight, that’s all,” Emily said, leaving out the part of them thinking she was actually a serial killer. “But we can talk to you later if you’re not up for it right now,” she assured her. 

“Later might be a good time,” Dr. Ruiz spoke up, startling Emily a little. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching. “Leah, we’re taking you up to neuro.” 

“No, I’m fine,” she waved her hand dismissively and dropped the ice pack. She seemed to have sobered up a little bit since Emily and Rossi had walked in. “I just wanna go home, but I can talk now. Is this gonna take long?” She asked, pushing the doctors hands away as he tried to touch her. 

“Leah, seriously,” The doctor tried to make her stay still, but she pushed him off yet again. 

“Ruiz, I’m fine,” She jumped off from the bed, leaning down, probably to try to get her bag which was laying on the floor, and then collapsed forward. Emily was about to rush forward on instinct, but the doctor just barely managed to grab a hold of her. She still ended up sprawled out on the floor, but Dr. Ruiz had managed to lighten the fall so she didn’t smack right down. 

“Can you give me some space, please?” The doctor asked looking up at Emily and Rossi. He was sitting on his knees besides Clarewater, one hand supporting the back of her head while the other one was pressed against her chest. Rossi and Emily immediately took a step back. They couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch as he pulled a small flashlight out if coat, forcing one of the nurse’s eyes open to check the reflexes. 

“Fuck me, that’s bright!” She groaned, clearly not unconscious. She battled his hand away. 

“Yeah, you’re totally fine.” Emily could almost hear him roll his eyes at her. He was so done with her bullshit, and in any other situation the two of them might have been adorable. He obviously cared about her, even though she probably annoyed him at times. 

“It’s just a BP-drop,” the nurse scoffed. “Is it me or you who’s the doctor here?” 

“It’s me, and that’s why you’re going up to neuro.” His voice was stern even as he helped her up on her feet. He gently sat her down on the bed, pushing on her shoulders until she reluctantly laid down. She made small noises of discontent all the time until she closed her eyes against the blinding overheadlight. “Leah, I’ll strap you to the bed if I have to. I have two federal agents here to back me up. We’re taking that trip to neuro whether you like it or not. Doctor’s orders.” That left no room for argument and Emily felt a small smile tug on the corner of her lips, despite the seriousness of the situation. They were like a pair of siblings or an old married couple fighting. 

“Is it okay if one of us tags along so we can talk to her once she’s checked out?” Rossi asked once the scene in front of them calmed down. 

“Be my guest,” the doctor said, waving another man forward, probably a porter. He picked up the bag from the floor and placed it on Clarewater’s stomach. He unlocked the breaks from the bed and the other man stepped forward, taking his place on the other side. “neuro’s a few floors up and I’ve already called ahead for a CT and MRI, so it might take some time. But if you wanna stick around, then that should be alright.” He informed them as the two men started pushing the bed forward. 

“You go. I’ll call Hotch and tell him what’s happened,” Rossi told Emily who only nodded and moved forward to follow the moving bed down the corridors. She decided to stay silent as they traveled around the hospital. She waited outside of the room where the CT was placed, taking a seat in the chair. When the suspect, and yes she wanted to use the word suspect now since she had no idea how to read the situation anymore, was placed safely in the machine the doctor stepped out again. Emily offered him a smile as he took a seat next to her. 

“Is she gonna be okay?” Emily asked. 

“Leah? Yeah, sure,” Dr. Ruiz laughed. “She’s gotten a few blows to the head, so we’re just ruling out serious brain trauma. It’s probably just a bad concussion, but we have to make sure it’s not something more, you know?” 

“I hope it’s not anything worse,” Emily offered her concern.

“Well, it’s Leah so she’ll be fine. She always is,” Dr. Ruiz shrugged. “Sorry you had to see that back there. She’s a really nice girl, but she can be stubborn. She’s this kind of person who always gives 110 percent, you know? I constantly have to remind her to take breaks, because she refuses. Says she hates breaks because she feels like she’s useless when she’s not doing anything. I always try to sneak some treats into her pockets, like proteinbars or something, because I know if I don’t then she’ll be running on adrenaline and coffee the entire day.” 

“She seems invested in her work then,” Emily hummed. “You seem to really care about her.” She glanced up at him to see his reaction. He just smiled fondly. 

“She’s the best, honestly. She’s kinda like my workwife,” he laughed. 

“Oh, really?” Emily couldn’t help but chuckle herself. 

“Yeah, whenever we work together things just flow so smoothly, you know what I’m talking about? I mean, she annoys me to death sometimes… mostly because she refuses to look out for herself, but she’s damn good at her job. And she’s a lot of fun to be around and we work really well together. The others down at post op. call us ‘dream team’ because of that,” he laughed again. 

“Well, I can only imagine.” Emily felt a little bad about hearing him talk so highly of her when she was a suspect in a murderinvestigation. “So, you know her well then?” 

“Not as well as I’d like to,” he muttered, a little sadness lacing his tone now. “I think she buries herself in work. I mean, we were both supposed to be on the morning shift for today, but I switched things around so I could get the eveningshift instead since I had to work the night. Leah is the kind of person who prefers to work doubles. I do that occasionally, too and let me tell you this; it drains you. I think she thrives on it, the more work she has to do, the more content she is, you know? But I think it takes a toll on her social life.” He cocked his head to the side with a little shrug. Emily nodded her head slowly to his words. She had nothing to say to that, because she didn’t know what to say. 

“Do you know what happened to her?” She decided to ask instead, wondering what happened in order to give Leah those not so lovely bruises. She had her theories, but right now she had little to nothing to go on. 

“No one really knows,” Dr. Ruiz shrugged. “Another employee was headed home and found her by her car in the garage. From what I heard she was unconscious and they brought her up to the ER to get checked out. I haven’t really had the chance to talk to her yet. I was headed down to see her when I ran into you guys.” 

“Okay,” Emily nodded along and the doctor stood up from his seat. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“Are you a colleague of that federal agent who was admitted last night?” He asked. Emily nodded. 

“Yes, and we’re investigating the case. That’s why we want to talk to your colleague, get the full picture,” she told him, leaving out the parts he didn’t need to know. 

“Do you think the same person who shot your agent came after Leah?” He asked with a frown on his face. That thought had just crossed Emily’s mind as well, but she still couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the other unsub had lashed out on her. Dominant and submissive partnerships like that hardly ever worked out, especially if the dominant didn’t include the submissive in the whole process. Or if the submissive felt too subjected. 

“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Emily offered him her best tight lipped smile. 

“You know… We worked on him when he was rushed in, before he went into surgery. She probably doesn’t want to admit it, but she was pretty shaken up about it,” he told her. This time it was Emily’s turn to frown. 

“Shaken up how?” She asked. This was news to her. 

“You know, just upset I guess,” he tried to explain, but it didn’t bring any clarity. He must have noticed that Emily needed more because he continued. “Leah… she beats herself up over… pretty much anything. I mean, if she loses a patient on her watch she takes that personally, even though it’s not her fault or responsibility. That’s her only flaw, I guess. She cares so much, too much sometimes. And when stuff like this happens, the wheels keep turning. I guess she blames herself? For not being there. She said stuff like if she hadn’t got called in then maybe she would’ve left at the same time as your agent, and maybe he wouldn’t have gotten shot. I tried to tell her to forget about it, but I guess some things you just can’t leave alone,” he shrugged his shoulders. Emily could only offer him a sad smile. She understood it a little more. If this was the kind of person Clarewater made everyone believe she was then it wasn’t weird that she had Reid fooled. But the more she thought about it, the more it made her doubt that maybe this woman wasn’t putting on an act after all. But she couldn’t go there just yet. They still needed to see this through before they could even concidder dropping her as a suspect.

The doctor bid his farewell after that, telling her he had to get back to work. She offered her gratitude before he left, to which he simply replied to with a smile. As Emily waited for their suspect to be done with her check up, she called up Garcia, gave her a heads up about what was going on and told her to see if there was any surveillance by the employee parking. If Clarewater had been attacked there then maybe the cameras had captured her assailant on video. She was just about to call Hotch to let him know as well when she spotted him at the end of the hall. Morgan and J.J. were at his side so she waved them over. 

“Dave told us what happened,” Hotch said as he approached. “Where is she?” 

“They’re doing a few tests to rule out braininjury,” Emily said as she nodded her head towards the closed door. “She looked pretty beat up so I think it’s gonna take a while until we get to interview her.” 

“Garcia just texted me and said she was attacked by her car?” Hotch asked and Emily nodded. 

“That’s where she was found,” she confirmed. “Listen, Hotch… I just gotta say… there’s something off about all of this.” 

“Yeah, I feel it too.” J.J. said. 

“Everyone I’ve talked to so far today says she’s a good girl, has her traumas, sure, but the way they describe her… I just don’t think she’s the one we’re after.” Emily felt the need to be honest with her coworkers. There were times when they’d uprehend the wrong suspect or they had their profile all wrong, and no one liked those moments. But they still needed to play this right. “Could we have made a rushed decision here?” They all looked at Hotch to hear what he had to say. He looked a little uncertain as if he too had no idea what right move was. 

“Morgan, I want you and Prentiss to head down to the garage. See if there’s anything there that might help us. J.J., I want you to check on Reid, see if Garcia might need a break. I’m taking Dave with me to the coroner’s. They’ve just re-exhumed Anthony Garland’s body to see if they can determine the cause of death. It appears it might take some time for Leah Clarewater to be ready to talk, but when she is, I want you to do it, Prentiss. You’ve talked to her coworkers, see if there’s anything that doesn’t add up with their stories versus hers. Take the garage first, though. I’ll let the doctors know we want to talk to her before she gets discharged.” Hotch’s message was clear and they all nodded their agreement. 

Emily followed Morgan to the parkingstructure next to the hospital. When they got there local authorities and CSI were already on scene. Wow, these people worked fast. They flashed their badge and gave the unit chief a runthrough of why they were there. The floor which Clarewater’s car was parked on was surprisingly empty so it wasn’t strange that no one had seen what had gone down. Including Clarewater’s Emily could spot about fifteen cars when there was probably space for closer to a hundred. 

“We think she was assaulted over here,” the unit chief said, pointing to the ground next to the driver’s side of the car. “We think the suspect came up behind her, smashed her head into the car a couple of times before throwing her to the ground,” he informed them and that seemed to be a pretty adequate guess. There was a dent on the edge by the roof of her car and some traces of blood. On the ground there were scuffmarks and a few smaller pools of blood. 

“Sir.?” A voice from the other side of the car called their attention. “Found it in the glovecompartment.” The man who spoke was standing in the space between the open passangerdoor and the car itself. He had a gun hanging from the tips of his glovecovered fingers. 

“What caliber is that?” Emily asked. 

“It appears to be .45,” the man told her. Emily turned to look at Morgan. 

“Our missing gun,” he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Chief, we have a murderinvestigation going on. Can you rush a ballisticstest on that gun to see if it matches?” 

“Sure can do,” he told them. “But that gun’s probably the victim’s, though, since it was found in her car.” 

“We’re aware,” Emily countered back, not offering any more information. He gave her a strange look, but didn’t say anything else on the matter. There wasn’t really much to do around the crime-scene, so Emily and Morgan decided not to hover for very long. They’d seen what they needed to and until they’d get the results from the various tests they had little to go on. They stopped by the cafeteria on their way, both in desperate need of fuel. They had been running different errands since the morning and Emily hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. They used half an hour or so for their break, briefing the rest of their team on their findings while eating. 

“Do you think it was that nurse?” Morgan asked once they finally had some peace and quiet, even with noise of other people around them. 

“Do you?” Emily countered back. She was still a little reluctant about sharing her thoughts. 

“I mean, part of me wants to just so we have the right suspect. If it’s not her, then we’re not making any headway,” he shrugged. “But I have this… feeling, like something isn’t adding up.” 

“It never really adds up, though,” Emily said. It was true, even when they were 100% certain they’d caught the right guy, there was always a minor detail or two which didn’t make sense to them. It usually always made sense to the unsub, but their logic wasn’t always rational. 

“True, but still.” Morgan huffed before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“I don’t think it’s her either,” Emily finally said, offering some sort of comfort in telling him he wasn’t the only one who experienced doubt in that moment. “She could be really manipulative with the people around her, but that doctor I talked to earlier… He said that she’d been really worried about Reid. And you can’t fake concern like that.”

“She could be worried about getting caught,” Morgan countered. This conversation really wasn’t going anywhere. They were just throwing out suggestions and the other one shooting them down. It wasn’t because none of them were right or wrong, it was just because none of them really had any idea if Clarewater was the unsub or not. And when they didn’t know for certain, no suggestion was right nor wrong. It was kind of like Schrodinger’s cat which Reid had once told her about. 

“I just feel bad for Reid,” she mumbled, followed by a sigh. 

“He’ll live,” Morgan shrugged nonchalantly, even though she knew he was just as concerned. “It’s Reid, he’ll pull through.” 

“I sure hope so,” Emily said, staring at a blank spot over Morgan’s head as she absentmindly started picking at her cuticles. 

“Hey, stop that now!” He scolded at her. “You’ll talk to her later and then you’ll know for sure. I trust your instinct. You can get the vibe whether a person is good or bad within a five minute conversation. If you think she’s the one, then she’s probably the one. If you don’t think she’s the one, then she’s probably not the one. Okay? Easy as that.” He put his hand on top of hers and she was grateful for the small gesture. It did sound awfully easy when he put it like that. 

“Okay.” She nodded, offering him a smile to tell him she was good. “They haven’t called yet, so do you wanna head up and check on Reid?” Morgan’s smile brightened at that and he agreed. They put their mostly empty trays of food away, but grabbed their still full coffeecups on the way. When they got back to the ICU Emily noted that Anderson, another federal agent, had arrived and stood stationed outside of Reid’s room. They both greeted him before opening the door and walking inside. Through the window Emily had seen that both J.J. and Garcia were sitting by Reid’s bed so she assumed he had calmed down from his previous lash out. 

“How you doing, kid?” Morgan asked. 

“Fine,” Reid’s reply was short and simple. He probably still wasn’t in the mood for talking. 

“He doesn’t want any updates on the nurse,” J.J. spoke up gently, carefully threading water. Emily’s phone vibrated in her pocket so she fished it out, seeing that there was a number she hadn’t saved. She excused herself before leaving the room. Accepting the call, she pressed the phone to her ear. 

“This is Prentiss,” she answered. 

“Hi! I’m calling from the Neurology unit at Inova Fairfax Hospital. My notes says that you wanted me to call you on an update with Leah Clarewater,” There was a man who spoke in a very high pitched voice, kind of like Reid’s. 

“Oh, yes!” Emily answered. “Is she awake?” 

“We decided to admit her for the night, just as a precaution. But she’s awake and coherent, so if you want to see her that should be fine now.” 

“Okay, great! I’ll be right over!” Emily said before hanging up the phone. She poked her head in through Reid’s door before she left, just saying she was leaving for a few minutes. Reid hadn’t wanted to know anything, so she didn’t say where she was going. Morgan would know and that was enough. 

The hospital was a maze, but she eventually found her way to Neurology. With the help of some lovely nurse she managed to locate Clarewater’s room which was at the very end of the hall. She knocked purposefully on the door, waiting a second before opening it. She poked her head in to see that the person she was looking for was laying down in the bed. 

“Hey,” Emily greeted her as she closed the door behind her. “Do you remember me?” She asked as she took a seat in one of the empty chairs. Emily thought it was strange. Clarewater was in her own clothes which  had a few stains of blood dried on them, there were no IVs or other kinds of medical equipment connected to her, nothing to indicate she was sick. While Reid had an IV hooked up constantly and a hospitalgown on he still looked far healthier than she did. It was just a funny thought. 

“I do, but I must apologise for not recalling the name,” Clarewater sighed. She didn’t sound irritated, just tired. Emily could only imagine. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled. “My name is Emily Prentiss.” 

“Okay,” the blonde mumbled. “Sorry, I’m just really dizzy and my head is kind of a mess so I probably won’t be able to remember that in, like, five minutes.” 

“That’s fine,” Emily assured her. 

“You, uh… wanted to talk to me about Spencer?” She lifted her head as if she wanted to look at Emily, but she was wearing a pair of dark, huge sunglasses so it was hard to meet her eyes. Emily took note that she referred to Reid by his firstname. 

“Yes, but let’s start with what happened to you in parkinggarage.” 

“I honestly don’t remember much.” The nurse leaned forward a little in the bed and rubbed her forehead with both her hands. 

“Just tell me what you remember,” Emily offered. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I was just headed for my car when this guy came up behind me.” 

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Emily asked. “Was he tall? Short? Bald perhaps? Did he have any tattoos? Do you remember anything that could help us find him?” 

“He was, uhm… tall, I think? I mean, he was taller than me, but I’m, like, five-foot-two so basically everyone’s taller than me,” she explained. “And… um, I didn’t really see his face or anything. At least I don’t think so. I honestly can’t remember. Sorry, my mind’s a mess right now.” She looked up and even though Emily couldn’t see her eyes she knew she was looking sad about it. 

“That’s fine. It’s normal not to remember everything right away. And you served some pretty bad blows to the head, so really… Don’t feel bad,” Emily offered her a genuine smile. “Let’s not focus on the details. Can you remember what happened? Was he behind you the whole time or was there a time where you were facing him?” 

“No, he, uhm… He came up behind me and smashed my face into the car. Like, hard and repeatedly. Then he threw me down on the ground, on my back, and then he got on top of me. I think I must have closed my eyes or something, because I can’t actually remember seeing his face.” Clarewater explained. 

“Are you sure? Try to think really hard.” Emily told her as she made mental notes as to what she was telling her. 

“No, you don’t… It’s hard to explain. It’s not like I can’t remember what he looked like, it’s like I can’t remember if I saw him or not. I don’t know how else to explain it, sorry.” She chuckled a little at that before wincing and clutching a hand to her forehead again. 

“It’s fine, we’ll come back to that.” Emily assured her. “What happened next?” 

“Well, he… got on top of me and started strangling me. And I think I must’ve… fought back or something, because I scratched him and he didn’t like that. So he sorta… lifted me by the front of my shirt and slammed me back down, like, slamming my head against the ground. And he did that a few times and I think I passed out from that, because I… can’t really remember anything after that.” 

“Wait, you scratched him?” Emily backtracked a little. That was the most important part of her story so far. 

“Yeah, I… I think I must’ve,” she said, holding her hands out. Emily noted that her nails were clipped short, as a nurse’s nails should be, and there was a little blood and what looked like skin under a few of them. 

“I’m gonna have someone come up later and collect a sample. There might be some DNA there which can help us find this guy,” Emily informed her and Clarewater dropped her hands again. “Do you remember anything else about him? Did he say anything?” 

“Yeah, he… he did, but I don’t think it means anything.” She said with a shrug. 

“What exactly did he say?” 

“He said… He said ‘Heathens be heathens. Heathens be scapegoats’.” Her voice was slightly shaky as she spoke and that made Emily frown as well. What did that mean? 

“And that doesn’t mean anything to you?” Emily asked. 

“Why would it?” She scoffed. “I don’t know, that’s what he said.” 

“Alright,” Emily nodded. “Do you need a little break?” Emily felt the need to ask. Clarewater seemed… a little shaken up, but fine considering all things. Most victims would be a crying mess halfway through telling their stories, but she wasn’t. She seemed noticeably upset, sure, but not nearly what Emily would expect. She still couldn’t tell if it was whatever medication she might be on or the concussion or if it was something else. 

“I just wanna get this over with so I can get some rest.” Clarewater responded, sounding tired so Emily could understand her desire for sleep. “You wanted to talk about your agent?” 

“Yes,” Emily said, still a little certain about how to proceed. “We just want to get the timeline right. So, we’re looking into everyone he saw before he got shot and everyone he-” she started explaining before she was cut off. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clarewater shook her head a little, as if she was trying to grasp something. “What do you mean ‘looking into’?” She asked. Emily’s mouth fell open a little at the defensive tone the other woman had. “Am I a suspect? Is that what this is?” Emily could understand that she’d feel upset about the accusations, but she found herself growing frustrated as well. It was kind of like a defensemechanism for Emily. 

“Look, here’s what I know,” She said, keeping her voice stern. “You were the last person to see Dr. Reid before he was shot-”

“I was already at work when he got shot!” Clarewater interrupted. She almost screaming and that must have hurt her head, but she didn’t show it. 

“You’ve visited his room on multiple occasions after he got admitted, some of those visits unnecessary, won’t you say? You don’t seem the least bit concerned about what happened to yourself and you’re in a rush to get out of here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that screams guilty to me and I don’t know what exactly you’re guilty for but I still have to follow all leads,” Emily told her and tried to look somewhat in the center of the sunglasses as if she was trying to maintain eye contact. She looked at her for a long moment before the woman eventually took the glasses off. She winced a little, shutting her eyes for a few seconds before opening them. She blinked a little against the light before she spoke up. 

“Why would I shoot Spencer? I barely even know him. It doesn’t make any sense,” She said, her voice a more normal level now. 

“Sometimes it just doesn’t make any sense,” Emily told her, keeping her voice in a lower tone to match the other woman’s. “Listen… Is it okay if I call you Leah?” Emily asked to which the other woman just shrugged. “I’m gonna be completely honest with you. Me and my team, Dr. Reid included… We’re profilers. We investigate murders and other criminalcases and we evaluate the evidence. Based on that evidence we make a profile of what we think that killer is like, how they act, their education, social life, etcetera. And you do fit that profile, Leah. And I’m only telling you this because Reid… he thinks you’re innocent. So, I owe it to him to be honest with you so you can be honest with me.” Emily watched as her eyes glossed over. She looked genuinely upset. 

“You said murder…” She trailed off at the end. “Is Spencer… Is he dead? He was fine when I left the ICU. God, please don’t tell me he’s dead.” She started crying then and that reaction put even more doubt into Emily’s mind. One thing was telling her that she was in the same room as the unsub they were looking for, another thing told her the opposite. It was a tough case, but she remembered Morgan’s previous words and she was adamant to leave that room with more answers than questions. 

“Reid is fine, but we assume that whoever shot him might come back,” Emily decided to just be completely honest. 

“And you still think that’s me?” Clarewater asked, sniffing through her tears. “You actually think I did this?” 

“Prove it wasn’t,” was all Emily could say. 

“Yeah, because how do I prove I didn’t shoot anyone?” She laughed darkly at that, even through her tears which were falling more rapidly now. 

“How about you start with telling me why your reaction’s so off?” Emily offered. Right now that was the most pressing concern she had. 

“Why? Because I’m not curled up in the corner like some baby and feeling sorry for myself?” She scoffed. 

“That might be a good place to start,” Emily nodded. She watched as the other woman fiddled a little in the bed before moving to the end of it. 

“I just… need to move around for a second,” she sighed, slowly getting up. Emily shot to her feet, afraid Clarewater would fall again. She didn’t go to grab her, just getting ready in case something were to happen. “I’m fine,” she assured her. Once Emily was sure she was actually okay to stand on her own she let the woman move freely. 

“Take your time,” Emily said as Clarewater moved to stand by the window. She just looked out it for probably five minutes straight, her face was unreadable. She looked drained of emotions, completely numb. 

“Are you gonna tell Spencer about any of this?” She finally asked after a long moment of silence. 

“Do you want me to?” Emily asked back. 

“No, I honestly don’t want him to know.” 

“Alright, then whatever you say to me will not reach his ear. He’s off the case completely now, he said he didn’t want any involvement after we brought you up as a possible suspect,” Emily decided that if she was to get any answers she had to just be honest. She owed that to Reid and to Clarewater. 

“He’s too good, you know?” She said, turning her head so she could look at Emily. She had a sad smile on her lips. Emily wondered what she meant by that. “So, you said you’re… profilers? Does that mean you… like, did a background check on me?” 

“We did, yes,” Emily answered. 

“So, you know about Sam?” 

“That’s your brother, right?” 

“Yeah,” Clarewater sighed, making her way over to the other chair which was on the other side of the bed. She slumped down in it. She looked… exhausted, there really wasn’t any other way of putting it. “I don’t know how much you know, but I was with him the day he disappeared. And I… just never stopped blaming myself for that. He had been right there. Right there! And in a split second he was gone. And I blamed myself and eventually the police gave up looking and then my parents started blaming me as well… And all this time I still wish it was me and not him. I never got to know what happened to him, but I can only imagine. And whatever horrible things he might have experienced, I still wish it was me and not him.” She explained and Emily felt a little bad for her. She could really understand her struggles, but that still didn’t give her a clear answer. “I don’t tell a lot of people that. Actually, I’ve probably never told anyone that. I’ve told some people about Sammy, though, just not… Anyway, I think it’s clear to say I don’t really care about myself. I mean, I’m not exactly stupid and I know that when people tell me it’s not healthy to have those thoughts, I realize that they’re right, but I just don’t care. I guess I care more about other’s than I do about myself.” She finished with a shrug. 

“Leah, don’t take this the wrong way… but are you depressed?” Emily had to ask because the way she talked very much suggested that she was. Clarewater paused for a moment. 

“Look, as I said I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna sit here and lie when I’m quite literary trying to clear my name. I don’t think I’m depressed, but then again most depressed people think that… but there’s a possibility. I… tend to bury myself in work rather than feel my… emotions, feelings whatever. I don’t like feeling vulnerable, I don’t like feeling sad and I realize that I do not exactly have a healthy relationship with my emotions… but I didn’t do this. I didn’t shoot Spencer. Enough people around me have been hurt and I don’t ever want to be the reason for that again.” Tears were streaming down her face again towards the end of her speech. Emily felt the urge to hug her, something she had never done before with a suspect. 

“Leah, listen to me… You did not hurt your brother. You are not the reason he’s gone. I know it’s hard, but try to believe me when I say that you did nothing wrong. Nothing,” Emily spoke sternly, putting pressure on all the right words. Clarewater raised her eyes to look at her. 

“So… Do you believe me?” She asked. “I would never hurt Spencer, at least not on purpose. I know I’m fucked up. Sorry for cursing, by the way. I know I’m messed up, but I wouldn’t go around shooting someone. And especially not Spencer. He… he’s possibly one of the best people I���ve ever met.” Emily had to smile at that last part. 

“You know, he said the exact same thing about you.” She knew it wasn’t her place to tell, but she realized this woman needed to hear some positive words right now. 

“He did?” Clarewater asked. Her eyes were still glassy. “So, you believe me?” And that was the question, wasn’t it. It had an easy answer now. 

“Yes, Leah. I believe you,” Emily told her honestly. “I’m gonna be honest with you now and you need to hear this. The people we usually hunt, they’re like you. They’ve had a bad childhood or have some mental disorders, or something else to make them lash out… But not everyone who experiences trauma becomes killers. Some people are like you, they spend all their time and effort on helping others. You do need to remember, though, that you have to take care of yourself as well, okay?” 

“I try…” Clarewater said in a hushed voice. “Or actually, that’s a lie. I want to try. I guess it’s just easier to take care of others than myself.” 

“Maybe you should start by doing that, put yourself first?” Emily suggested. 

“Maybe,” she shrugged, but Emily had a feeling she wouldn’t take that suggestion to heart. It wasn’t her place to say anything on the matter, not really, but oh how she wanted to. This woman had been through enough. 

“I still have a few questions before we’re done, is that okay?” Emily asked, deciding it would best to just hurry things along so Clarewater could get some rest. “We found a gun in your car… Is there any reason you have it?” The woman fiddled a little in her seat, as if she didn’t quite want to answer the question. Emily actually believed that Clarewater wasn’t behind this, not anymore, but there were still so many questions and evidence still pointing towards her. 

“Would you buy it if I said it’s for protection?” She asked, looking up at Emily through her lashes. “I want to be honest here, but I also really don’t want to get into detail about that… I bought the gun… years ago and it is for protection. I’ve never even fired it and it has nothing to do with Spencer so do I really have to go into details?” She looked genuinely uncomfortable, so Emily decided to let it go. But she still had some things to say on the matter. 

“Hey, why you got it is actually none of my concern. It’s what you use it for that we’re interested in. I have to tell you this, since you’re still technically a suspect until we’ve ruled out everything, but we’re gonna test the gun, just to see if matches the gun we’re looking for. If it doesn’t, then there’s no problem here,” Emily informed her. She nodded shortly. “I also need to ask you about last night. We just need to hear your side of what happened after you left the library.” 

“I uhm… I was just trying to read this book at the library. And I know this is probably gonna make me sound… even more suspect, I guess, but I’m hardly ever there. I just… lately I’ve been having a lot on my mind and I already explained how I am with emotions… I just couldn’t be at home alone, so I decided to just… head out. So, I went to the library and apparently I left my card by the printer. Spencer found it and returned it to me since I was still there,” she explained. Emily nodded for her to continue. It didn’t make her more of a suspect in her eyes, especially since she now believed closer to 90% that this woman wasn’t who they were looking for. “We got to talking, because… You know, he seemed nice. We didn’t really talk that much, because I got called into work around… I’m sorry, I know when they called and I know when I arrived, but my head’s still kind of a mess.” 

“We checked and you clocked in at nine-fourty-eight,” Emily offered. Garcia had checked earlier. 

“Yeah… that sounds about right. I always clock in the minute I walk into work. And if I remember correctly then they called around half something, so probably nine-thirty. It’s in my phone, so I can just check to make sure.” She said. 

“No need, that seems to fit with the timeline.” Emily respond. “So, let’s say it took you around fifteen minutes to get from the library to work, does that sound right to you? You didn’t make any stops along the way?” The team had already checked this, estimating that with the light traffic so late at night it would probably take about ten minutes to drive that distance, and given the time it would take to park, get from the parking garage, change clothes and clock in fifteen-twenty minutes seemed more than plausible. 

“No, I just headed straight in. They said it was an all hands on deck situation, so I got here as fast as I could.” She answered. 

“Alright, that seems to match our timeline.” Emily told her. “I think that is enough for right now.” 

“That’s… it?” 

“Yeah, that’s it.” Emily offered the most reassuring smile she could muster. She had everything she needed. Sure, they’d have to wait for the ballisticstest on her gun to come back, but she already assumed that wouldn’t be a problem. “As I said before, we’re still going to check your gun, just a procedure. But if the test comes back negative then we can officially drop you as a suspect.”

“So… you actually believe me? This isn’t some kind of trick is it? Because I’ve been nothing but honest and if this-”

“Leah, I believe you.” Emily interrupted her, leaning forward in her seat a little. “Okay? I believe you.” She said it again, just to make sure Clarewater understood that she was genuine. Her initial response was to let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” she breathed out, her eyes watering a little again. “I mean, I shouldn’t be thanking you for not thinking I’m some lunatic who just goes around shooting random people, but… thank you.” Emily couldn’t help but laugh at that and suddenly she could see why Reid likes her so much. 

“There’s no need to thank me, Leah. I just wanted answers and you were honest with me. That’s all I needed to know.” Emily shrugged. 

“But you still thought I did this… and I still swear I didn’t, but doesn’t that… like, leave you back to square one?” Clarewater asked. 

“It kind of does,” Emily agreed. “But we’ll catch whoever is behind this.” That caught Clarewater’s attention. 

“Do you think whoever shot Spencer might be the same person who attacked me?” Emily had to purse her lips a little. 

“It’s a theory,” she said. “But you being the person who shot Reid was also just a theory. So, it might just be a theory and nothing more than a theory.” 

“I’m still a mess and that was a lot of ‘theory’s in the same sentence.” Clarewater said while shaking her head, looking a little lost. Emily found herself chuckling again. “But I think I got the point.” 

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, a little sheepishly. “I should probably let you get some rest now. It’s been a long day for you, so remember what I told you about trying to take care of yourself, okay?” She nodded, but Emily still had her doubts about wether she’d actually listen to those words. 

“I’m sorry, but what was your name again? I know it was something on ‘E’, I just think my brain is shutting down now.” Clarewater asked. 

“Emily.” She smiled. 

“Is it okay if I call you Emily or do you prefer Agent… something else I don’t remember.” Now that Clarewater was unofficially ruled out as a suspect Emily realized that she started to like her.

“Emily is just fine.” She replied.

“I know this is gonna sound really inappropriate, but can I hug you?” That was a really inappropriate request, but one that Emily couldn’t find it in herself to deny. So, she rose from her seat and the other woman met her halfway. They embraced and it wasn’t this earthshattering experience. There was no crying on the shoulder, no messing up make-up, just a comforting hug. But Emily found it that she had needed a hug just as much as Clarewater had. 

“You try to get some rest, okay?” Emily said, stroking the other woman’s back a final time before stepping back. “I’m gonna have someone come in soon so they can collect the DNA-sample from your fingernails. And we might have some more questions for you later regarding your own assault, but for tonight I think you should just rest. Is that okay?” Clarewater nodded and went back over to her bed. She laid down in it, drawing the blankets around her. 

“Hey, uhm, Emily?” She asked just as Emily was about to leave. 

“Yeah?” 

“You said if I remembered anything?” Clarewater started. “The man who attacked me… I’m pretty sure he was an addict or something.”

“What makes you say that?” Emily frowned. 

“Or maybe not addict, but he was really irrational. When he… said those words, he said it when he was slamming my head into the ground. And he… Well, he was so angry, but his voice was calm. It was like his body was full of rage, but his mind wasn’t, if you know what I mean?” Clearwater explained and Emily did. “He just… he wasn’t sane is what I’m saying. I guess that’s something important for you to know.” 

“It is.” Emily assured her. “It really is. Thank you, Leah. Now if there’s anything else, no matter how small the detail may be, then call me, okay?” Emily picked a card out of her pocket and left it on the nightstand before deciding she had occupied enough of Clarewater’s time. 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “You’ll look out for Spencer, right? He’s a good guy.” 

“Of course we will. He has a whole team behind him who cares about him very much.” 

“That’s good. He deserves that.” Clarewater smiled once more and Emily took that as her que to leave. She almost didn’t even get out of the room before she called someone to collect the DNA-sample, feeling like that might answer one question if they’d get a match. Even though she walked out of Neurology feeling ten times lighter, she still felt like the more answers she’d gotten, the more questions popped up. 

She returned to the ICU to find Morgan standing outside of Reid’s door, phone to his ear. She decided to wait for him to finish talking, so she started a friendly conversation with Anderson. 

“What’d the girl say?” Morgan asked once he’d hung up. 

“I don’t think it’s her.” Emily sighed, getting right to the important part. 

“Well, ballistics agree with you.” He informed her and Emily’s eyes went wide. 

“You got the report already?” 

“Well, I told the chief to put a rush on it and what can I say? They really put a rush on it.” He laughed. Emily felt even lighter now. 

“So, the gun didn’t match, then?” Emily asked, just to be sure. 

“No. That was the gun expert I just talked to. He said he didn’t even need to test it since the gun hadn’t been fired in a while. He actually concluded that the gun had never been fired. But he did a testround anyway just to be sure and it doesn’t match.” So, Clarewater really had been telling the truth. Not that Emily had doubted that after the heart to heart they’d had, but it was good to have a solid piece of evidence as well. 

“So, does that mean we can rule her out then?” Emily asked and Morgan shrugged. 

“I mean, we still gotta brief the rest of the team and hear what Hotch has to say, but to me it’s a pretty straight case. We have no evidence tying her to any of the shootings or murders, we’ve all had mixed feelings about her, your good peopleknowing skills speak in her favour… And Reid’s as well. I say she’s no longer a suspect.” Morgan shrugged and Emily had never once in her life been so relieved that they’d caught the wrong person. 

Tag list: 

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187​  @wooya1224​  @haylaansmi​

[qqueenofhades]

I was already distressed about the political and social situation in the US, and then this happens. Are there any examples of societies that fought back against fascism and won, without civil or international war breaking out? Surely there must be some success stories in history. How did other societies overcome fascism, are there lessons to be applied to our current situation? Please tell me we're not doomed, because I have no hope for the future.

Sigh.

Okay.

I’ve been through... a lot of the stages of grief by now. That is, rageposting on tumblr, venting to my friends via text, drinking, crying while drinking, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, feeling the crushing weight of certainty that we’re all screwed and nothing matters, crying while talking to my sister, crying generally, lying in bed some more, and am currently still in bed while writing this, but am struggling to put on my internet historian aunt hat and offer some comfort to the stricken masses.

First off: This is bad. I’m not even going to pretend this isn’t bad. We all knew RBG had cancer again, but it was pretty fixed in our minds that she would somehow manage to hang on until after the election. 45 days before the biggest presidential election of all time, in the middle of this year, when names including Ted “Zodiac Killer” Cruz and Tom “Time for Roe vs. Wade to go, block federal funding from being used to teach about slavery, send in the military to crush the BLM protesters” Cotton have already been floated as some of her possible replacements? With Trump and McConnell determined to work as fast as possible to steal this seat as brazenly as they can, because they are literal fascists who don’t care about their own example (Merrick Garland was nominated in FEBRUARY of an election year and McConnell held it up for being “too close to the election?”)

Ugh. Anyone who doesn’t get that this is bad or acting like people are overreacting doesn’t get what’s at stake. And when, as we’ve said before and are saying again now, the future of everyone who isn’t a white straight rich Republican man in this country depends on an 87-year-old woman with cancer for the fourth time? Something’s wrong here. RBG’s death did not have to leave us in this total existential panic, and oh yeah, maybe this could have ALL BEEN AVOIDED AND WE COULD HAVE ALSO HAD THREE (3) NEW LIBERAL JUSTICES SECURING PROGRESSIVE LEGISLATION FOR A GENERATION IF SOME OF YOU HAD JUST FUCKING VOTED FOR HILLARY CLINTON IN TWO THOUSAND AND FUCKING SIXTEEN.

(Why yes I am still mad about that, I will be bitter until the end of time that we were consigned to four years and counting of this completely avoidable nightmare because of apathy, misogyny, and Leftist Moral Purity TM, but we’re talking about the future and what can still be done here, not what’s in the past.)

Anyway. Here’s the bright side, which admittedly sucks right now, but it’s been the answer all long:

VOTE.

You have to fucking vote, and you have to fucking vote for Biden/Harris. Everything that we’ve been talking about is no longer a hypothetical; it’s happening right now. This is not just some Awful Worst Case scenario, and it’s not somehow being spouted by privileged white liberals ignoring the struggles of the masses. (Viz: that awful fucking text post with its simpering self-righteousness: “are you punching nazis or just telling oppressed people to vote blue?” I hate that text post with a fiery passion and it’s the exact kind of morally holier than thou leftist propaganda that wouldn’t surprise me if it was generated by a troll farm in Krasnoyarsk.) My dad is disabled and lives on Social Security. Trump’s second-term plan to end the payroll tax takes SSID out by mid-2021, so... I guess that’s my dad fucked then. I’m a gay woman with long-term mental illness, no healthcare, no savings, no current job, and a lot of student debt. My sister has complex health problems and relies intensely on publicly funded healthcare programs. All my family have underlying conditions that would put them at worse risk for COVID (age, asthma, immune issues.) These are just the people IN MY HOUSEHOLD who would be at risk from a second Trump presidency. It says NOTHING about my friends, about all the people far less fortunate than us, and everyone else who IS ALREADY DYING as this nation lurches into full-blown fascism. That is real. It is happening.

Here’s the good news and what you can do:

Democrats are fired up and mad as hell, and they’ve already donated $31 million between the announcement of RBG’s death last night and today, and that number is climbing every second.

You can help by donating to Get Mitch or Die Trying, which splits your donation 13 ways between the Democrats challenging the most vulnerable Republican seats in the Senate. That also has raised EIGHT MILLION BUCKS in the less-than-twenty-four hours.

You can donate RIGHT NOW to Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, vote if your state offers early voting, request your mail-in ballot, or hound everyone you know to ensure that they’re registered.

You can call your US Senators (look up who they are for your state, ESPECIALLY IF THEY ARE REPUBLICAN OR YOU LIVE IN A SWING STATE OR ARE UP FOR RE-ELECTION IN 2020) and phone the Capitol switchboard at 202-224-3121 to voice your insistence that they respect RBG’s last wishes and refuse to vote on any Trump nominee until after January 2021.

The other good-ish news is that I woke up to an email from the Biden campaign this morning about how they’re well aware of this and they’re already on it. BUT WE CANNOT COUNT ON EITHER THEM OR THE SENATE DEMOCRATS TO BE ABLE TO STOP IT. Because Joe Biden is not president and the Senate Democrats do not have a majority, if the Republicans manage to rush a nominee and a vote and all 52 GOP senators vote for that nominee, hey presto, tyranny by majority, a SECOND stolen Supreme Court seat, and a 6-3 hard conservative majority for the next generation. Even if Roberts or Gorsuch sometimes defect on procedural grounds, Kagan, Sotomayor, and Breyer (who is also 82 and thus ALSO might soon be replaceable, thus resulting in an EVEN WORSE ideological swing) would be outnumbered on everything. This is terrible. I’m not even gonna pretend it wouldn’t be.

BUT:

If Joe Biden is elected with a Democratic Senate and House, IT MATTERS. It gets us off the fascism track, it gives us the ability to make progressive law and have it enacted without going to die in Mitch McConnell’s Kill Stack, it gives Biden the executive authority to nominate liberal judges and change Trump’s worst outrages on day 1, it stands as a huge example of a nation managing to reject fascism by democratic process, and while yes, we’d still have a terribly rigged Supreme Court, Democrats would control all the other branches of government and be able to put safeguards in place. The other option is outright fascism and the end of American democracy for good. This may sound alarmist. It’s not. It’s literally what the situation has ended up as, as all of us who were begging people to vote for HRC in 2016 saw coming all along.

So yes. That’s what you need to do, and what WE need to do. We need to make as much goddamn noise as possible, protest, contact elected representatives, make sure everybody pulls their weight and ferociously fights the promised attempt to ram through a new justice before Election Day, all that. But even if that does happen, THEN WE NEED TO FUCKING DONATE, ORGANIZE, AND VOTE FOR JOE BIDEN AND DEMOCRATS UP AND DOWN THE BALLOT. ALL OF US. NO EXCUSES. NO MORE TWITTER LEFTIST ECHO CHAMBERS. NO MORE. THEN, EVEN WITH A RIGGED SUPREME COURT, WE WILL ALL BE SAFER ON NOVEMBER 4TH AND CAN TRY TO FIX WHAT’S BROKEN.

The stakes are just too high to do anything else.

May her memory be a blessing, and a revolution.

[blitzturtles]

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 6

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba, FugoNara / NaraFugo (Could be platonic, honestly, tho the BruAbba definitely isn't.)

Summary: “What?” he snaps.

“I’m just thinking.”

A pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). Here's another Bucci-centric chapter for the Bucci-centric fic.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Additional Notes: Sometimes having two disabled folks in one relationship is... rough. Not at all based on real life experiences...

Content Warning: couple fighting and a panic attack.

Also, for unnecessary clarification: Moody doesn't zipper through anything. Abbacchio goes around barriers and resets her timer as needed. Oh, and I use she/her for Moody. I've got a fic planned for that eventually.

There's also a mild mention of a headcanon I have where Bucci is technically Narancia's guardian. For school and healthcare purposes. (Fugo emancipated post-disownment, and Giorno kind of flies under the radar.)

-

Bucciarati won’t admit it, but there’s something devastating about the first medication not working. Or not working well enough. They can’t be sure, but he’s not willing to continue on something that ultimately failed to curb such a traumatic experience for one of the people he cares for most. He can’t quite shake the guilt that’s been slowly wearing away at him for days.

It’s only the anxiety of having another seizure in front of his famiglia that has him permitting Abbacchio staying home once more. He can’t do that to Narancia again, and he knows that it won’t be any less stressful for the rest of them. It’s bad enough when Leone has to deal with the fallout, but he’s better prepared for it. He’s seen worse, and it’s part of what they both signed up for. For better or worse, in sickness and in health. They’ve done everything but scribbled their names on the paperwork to make it official, but Bruno thinks that, with everything else they’ve gone through, they’ve more than earned their right as one another’s life partner.

Still, that doesn’t mean that Bucciarati likes to be watched like a lab experiment. With eyes that are waiting for the slightest hint that something’s wrong. It makes him acutely aware of the fact that he could have another seizure at any given moment. That he might have one with no warning signs, or at least not any that he’d recognize as such.

That’s the problem with auras; he can’t seem to recognize them for what they are.

He’s being unreasonable, he knows. He hasn’t had enough seizures to know whether or not he’ll learn to recognize the warning signs, but it feels like it’s been an eternity already. And a thousand seizures, rather than a small handful. Part of that is due to how poorly he feels afterwards, and how off he feels on the medication. Part of it is how all of this has disrupted their lives in every way imaginable. And all of it has him in a sour mood.

“You’re upset,” Abbacchio starts with a frown. It’s the first time either of them has spoken all morning.

“I’m frustrated.”

Abbacchio hums in response. A quiet sound that wouldn’t normally grate Bucciarati’s nerves, but it gets under his skin and festers.

“What?” he snaps.

“I’m just thinking.”

A pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never want to talk about it,” Abbacchio answers, snappish and untrue. Even if it were, he knows why. Understands better than anyone else.

Bruno’s eyes widen slightly. A startled, wounded look evident in his blue irises, but his gaze hardens and he sneers,

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Bruno, wait--”

But Bruno is already gone with nothing but a trace of gold left behind.

Damn that stand.

______

It’s a childish thing, to storm off, especially when Bucciarati knows that Leone’s only worried. That he hadn’t meant the words that came out of his mouth, and that he’s as scared as Bucciarati is. That this is all out of his depth, regardless of what they feel for one another or what promises they’ve made. It’s still terrifying the way it’s terrifying to watch Abbacchio cough up blood some mornings.

He regrets leaving the moment he stops moving. Stops tearing holes through walls and leaving Sticky Fingers to put them back together. It’s like someone punched the air out of him, and all he can do is sink to the ground, on his knees, with his head held in his hands and his mouth open, gasping for air.

Each breath comes too quick, and leaves before he feels like he gets any air. There’s something wrapped around his chest. Too tight, and somehow pulling tighter. It’s all he can do to lie down. Before the next inevitable comes. He already feels too light-headed with a lingering dizziness that makes it impossible to think through.

“Bruno,” the voice sounds familiar. Too much like his own echoing in his ears, but he’s not talking, much less calling his own name. His voice wouldn’t sound like that. Wouldn’t sound steady, if not worried, but, when he looks, there’s a mirror image of himself looking down at him. It falls to its knees, and a familiar sound rings out in the air as Moody’s timer runs out. She reaches for him as purple wraps around her frame once more.

“Bruno,” Leone repeats, this time in his own voice, from his own body. He all but collapses on his knees beside his stand and reaches out with careful hands to brush Bucciarati’s hair from his face.

Time freezes for a moment. Bucciarati expects consciousness to flee him without warning, but the air lingers. Stale and stiff and impossible to breathe, and all he can do is try and try to pull enough of it into his lungs to try to chase away the spots dancing across his vision.

Recognition flashes across Leone’s features. Where his hand has gone still in Bruno’s hair, it moves once more. A gentle carding. A distraction from the racing fears in Bucciarati’s head. He can’t calm his breathing no matter how hard he tries. It feels completely out of his control, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Leone asks him seemingly out of the blue, but he knows that’s not right. That Leone must have been talking since his arrival, but Bruno can’t recall a word that’s been said.

“Yes,” he breathes, because he is now, and he meant to before. It’s just so hard to hear anything past the roaring in his ears.

“You need to calm down a little bit. Take some deep breaths,” Leone tells him, as if Bucciarati hasn’t been trying to do that since he stopped moving. There’s a sense of impending doom that lingers, pressing down on him until it’s crushing and unbearable.

“Hey,” Leone calls, tapping Bruno gently on the forehead, “You gotta focus on me, alright? Stop listening to whatever’s going on in that thick head of your’s, and listen to me. I need you to breathe in-- slower than that. Okay, good, hold-- now out. Annnd in--” They go through the steps several more times, until Bucciarati can successfully follow the counts more often than not. Finally-- finally he can breathe. Oxygen filters through his system, and his vision begins to clear. It’s only then that he starts to put the pieces together, and it’s shame that replaces the panic.

“I’m-”

“Don’t,” Leone cuts Bruno off before he can apologize. “I get it.” He moves to catch Bruno when he wobbles a bit too much upon trying to sit up. “Take it easy, will you?” He sighs and sits back.

“Sorry,” Bruno says, for lack of anything else to say.

“I’ll kick your ass if you apologize again.”

Bruno opens his mouth, and Leone quirks an eyebrow. It’s enough of a threat, empty as it may be, to convince Bruno to click his teeth together.

Leone huffs a sound that might be a laugh. Or it might be the last of his sanity slipping away. He scrubs his hands over his face and sighs. “I’m sorry. For what I said earlier. That was shitty. I’m just-”

“Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“That’s fair,” Bruno muses quietly. He absently wipes at his face, and it’s the first time he realizes that there are tears there. Streaking down both cheeks and plentiful in nature. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack. He’s better at running from his problems than he is dealing with them head on. At least the ones emotional in nature. The rest he’s always tackled with little more than a hope and a prayer to a deity he’s long lost faith in. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I told you to stop apologizing.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” Bruno snarks back, shoulders relaxing slightly.

Leone snorts, “Not a day in your life.” Bruno has the scars to prove it, too. Bastard. “C’mon. Let’s get off the floor. I’m getting too old for this.”

It’s Bruno’s turn to laugh this time, “You’re barely in your twenties.”

“And I’m too goddamn old. Up,” Leone pushes himself to his feet before reaching his hands out to pull Bruno upright. There’s a pause where the two are lost, staring at one another, and Leone decides ‘fuck it’. What better time to go for a kiss then after your partner has a full on panic attack? They’ve done worse with far more questionable timing.

Bruno responds to the kiss with a pleased little sound in the back of his throat. He tugs Leone closer, wanting the contact more than anything. He can feel Leone’s hands cradling the back of his head, fingers linking together at his nape.

“Gross! Get a room!”

Leone curses as they break apart and shoots Narancia the meanest look he can, “I will murder you.”

“Only if you catch me!” And the kid is off before Leone can even respond.

Bucciarati can’t help laughing at the whole display. He grabs for Leone’s hand before his partner can seriously consider killing Narancia. “May I remind you that I’m legally responsible for him?”

“They won’t find the body.”

“Leone!”

[enkelimagnus]

Delacroix

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2565 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky spends a few days in Delacroix with Sam and his family. On one evening, as they both have a beer before dinner, watching the sun set, they have a conversation about life, about therapy, about work.

TW: US healthcare system and the military industrial complex, mental health

Read on AO3

Part 33 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Sam’s family house is more of a home than anything Bucky’s lived in since he was deployed.

It’s warm and luminous, with big windows and light paint on the wood and the walls. There’s a poarch where they all end up sitting at the end of the day, when the sun sets over the bayou. The walls outside are blue and the roof is red. There are crayon drawings stuck with magnets to the fridge and mismatched furniture and containers. It’s been lived in, loved in.

A few days after his surprise arrival, Bucky stops feeling like a blood stain on the tapestry of life of the Wilson home.

Sarah’s nice and warm. He immediately takes a liking to her, and her to him, and he can see how much that infuriates Sam. What can he say? She’s a gorgeous woman, funny and bright and caring and her smile is honestly the kind that probably stopped a few hearts in her lifetime. Yes, she’s his sister, but he still has eyes, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least show appreciation. Besides, she seems to enjoy it. He’d stop the second he’d sense uncomfort.

He hasn't gotten to flirt and be comfortable with flirting in a really long time. It seems to be the same for her. What if they’re just… enjoying the flirtation? And enjoying infuriating Sam? Bucky considers it his duty as Sam’s friend.

Delacroix is unlike anywhere he’s ever been. It’s half an island and half a town. It’s relaxing. And the food… Bucky doesn’t think he’s eaten as much seafood in his life as he had in the past week.

It’s a slow end of day in Louisiana when Bucky and Sam find themselves sitting on the plastic chairs out back, with beers, watching the surface of the water. There’s music playing in the house, the kids are doing their homework.

It’s simple. Bucky breathes in and out, unobstructed.

He hears Sam’s intake of breath and knows a hard conversation is coming from that alone. No, that’s a lie. Sam’s shifted, ten seconds ago. He’s looked between his beer and the water four times in the past minute.

“We haven’t had time to talk about Madripoor,” Sam starts and Bucky immediately tenses.

He’d almost forgotten he’d told Sam they’d talk about that later. Because still, he’s not ready to talk about it. He’s not ready to talk about that part of his past. It’s still an infected wound in him. It’s still hurting. He can’t do it. He’s about to say that when Sam holds up his hand.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, surprisingly. “I don’t need to know shit if you’re not ready to tell.”

Bucky goes back to breathing. It’s a reprieve. Even if one day, Sam might expect him to be ready… it’s extra time. He’s so thankful for it.

“I’ll tell you though,” Sam keeps going. “You need a new therapist. Because if I know one thing, after everything, and what I saw in that precinct? it’s that Raynor’s not working for you. You need better. You deserve better.”

Bucky looks up at him then. Sam is looking at the water, but there is that look on his face. The look of determination, of drive, the look that Bucky knows… there’s no use in trying to go against what he is saying now.

No one has ever told him he deserved better.

He’s told himself that a few times, in the few moments where the clouds parted and he didn’t feel like the worst person in the world.

But he doesn’t think anyone has ever told him that. Even Steve. There was a couple ‘you deserved better’, but they were all in the past tense, all regarding Hydra, not Bucky’s current situation. Because his current situation is good. It’s great, compared to the past seventy years. Maybe even compared to what was there before. Because he doesn’t break his back in the factory during the day and in the docks at night anymore.

He’s so silent and shocked Sam just keeps going.

“And don’t give me bullshit about not needing help or whatever. I know your generation didn’t do therapy but that ain’t gonna fly with me. You deserve a therapist suited to your needs, and I know that’s gonna be hard to find, with your trunkload of decades of trauma, but we’ll find them.”

He says it with such determination, like it’s his new personal mission. He has much better to do than try to help Bucky more than he already has, and yet… Sam looks at him finally, for a long moment.

“Raynor’s not a bad doctor,” he says. “She’s just not the right fit. And that’s not uncommon. We just need to find you someone that’s better. And someone that’s not me. Because I can’t be your friend and your therapist, man. And out of the two, I’d much rather be your friend.”

Bucky’s still staring. He doesn’t know how to handle this. Nowhere in his databank of social interactions is there something that prepares him for this. He’s had long talks with people before, hell, even with fucking Zemo, but this is entirely different and he has no idea how to handle it.

“I’m sure you’re a great therapist,” Bucky says quietly after a moment, before he takes a big swig of a beer.

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “You do realize I ain’t a therapist right? I’m a counselor.”

“You’ll have to give me the difference on that because we were still using alienist the last time I heard about psychoanalysis,” Bucky points out.

“There isn’t much of one. I guess I’m more about… finding practical solutions for people to deal with their trauma than really knowing the root cause of it. Probably because, since I worked with the VA, I knew what the root was.”

Bucky hums, nodding. That makes sense to him. More than the ‘how does that make you feel’s. “Either way, I’m still sure you’re a great counselor.”

“It ain’t difficult, with your experience,” Sam shrugs, watching him. “You don’t know better, old man.”

Bucky snorts at that, watching the water again. Sometimes, his eyes catch motion, but he’s never sure if it’s wildlife under the surface or just a trick of the light.

AJ and Cass seem to be debating with their mother whether they can finish their homework later, after dinner. Bucky barely knows them, but he already knows it won’t actually get done if they follow their plan. Kids are kids. Bucky’s sisters could never finish their homework after the radio show either. Too distracted, too tired.

He turns his attention back on Sam after a moment.

“Walker is in a bad shape,” Bucky says quietly. “Now, and before Hoskins died too. The second we saw him in Germany, I felt it. That guy didn’t get help.”

Sam sighs heavily. “Yeah. Not enough of them do, when they come back. You wouldn’t, if you weren’t forced to.”

Bucky can’t deny it. “Yeah, but I’m 107.”

If Sam noticed the year added to his age, he doesn’t mention it. At least for now.

“Some of it hasn’t changed that much,” Sam explains. “The army… You know that culture of toughness, right? Gotta be strong, gotta be a man. Can’t cry, can’t show you’re struggling. I’m sure they had that shit too, in your day, probably even worse.”

He’s not wrong. There were a lot of issues in his day but that was part of things. Emotional outbursts that weren’t from anger were frowned upon. Once they got to the war, it was even worse at first, until it started really getting hard. And then there were two options. Either you fucking cry with your buddies, or you end badly. Bucky had Steve, and the Howlies.

“Men like Walker… Because they’re these tough white guys, they’re encouraged to be like that. Aggressive, emotionally-closed off, fight-hungry. They’re the ones that shove you and call you a pussy for not laughing at their frankly horrible offensive jokes. It’s like they think the trauma we all face just won’t touch them. Or that they can’t show anyone it touched them. So they keep it all in. And the only way they get to be… emotional is in combat.”

Bucky nods quietly. They’re worse off than he thought.

It wasn’t good in his day either, but it just feels worse now. It churned and churned and got bigger with every spin, and now it’s all a giant fucked up stick of trauma cotton candy, all twisted in itself and sticking to itself.

“When I work for the SRT… Sometimes I see these kids,” Bucky mumbles. “They’re what? 22? And I ask them why they’re here, you know, try to pass time. And they tell me they enlisted for college. Or healthcare. And it’s…” He closes his eyes. “It’s been eighty fucking years…”

He takes a swig of the beer again, shaking his head. “When the crash hit, in the 30s, things were bad. No one could afford shit, there was polio, there was syphilis… It was really bad. And they made plans. They tried to get healthcare on the way, and they half succeeded. And more than like… two thirds of the population was for it too. And we had basically none of the resources we have now.”

He looks up at Sam for a moment. “It hurts to see… that it’s still… We’re still here. At least on that issue. On other stuff… Rights and all, that’s getting better.” He finishes. “But healthcare… and college…” He shakes his head. “It’s criminal. That’s what it is. It feels criminal.”

Sam bumps his shoulder with his fist, chuckling. “Don’t say shit like that next to journalists, they’ll say the Soviets put communism in your brain along with the murdering.”

Bucky chuckles at that. “Nah. That was all America. Living in it. Dying for it.”

Behind them, AJ and Cass have lost their battle of wits with their mother.

“You happy with what you’re doing?” Sam asks after a moment.

Bucky takes a deep breath. The answer is easy. “No,” he mutters. “But I don’t have a say in the matter. Until they decide I’ve done enough to undo the damage I perpetrated as the Soldier… I’m gonna be clearing Hydra safehouses. And after the shit I pulled with Zemo, I’m gonna be at it for a while longer, I think. But… I was expecting that.”

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him. “You knew what would happen.”

“Yep. On all accounts. With the Dora Milaje, with you, with Walker, with the U.S. government, and the GRC, and everything… Still did it.”

Sam huffs loudly. “Stubborn ass.” He shakes his head. He’s smiling, beautifully, brightly.

Bucky smiles at that. “You know it. Wouldn’t be alive without it.”

The sun is starting to set over the bayou. Every evening, Bucky finds himself thinking he’s never seen anything quite like it before.

“Whatever happens,” Sam points out after a moment, looking down at his empty beer bottle. “You got a couch here. Somewhere to crash. Somewhere to rest. I don’t know what your situation is, up north.”

Bucky sighs a little. “I got a house,” he answers, looking back at him. “A townhouse, in Brooklyn.”

Sam’s eyebrows rise up to meet the descending sun. “Well excuse us, mister.” He teases.

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he starts. Sam looks even less like he takes him seriously. “It’s a former Hydra safehouse,” he adds, and now his friend’s eyes get a little sadder, a little darker. “The army got tired of me taking space in their housing, so the second we raided a place within proper commute distance, they handed it over to me.”

Said like that, it sounds even worse than it actually was.

“It wasn’t like.. Full of Nazi or Hydra shit, or anything. It was just a house. They got rid of the bodies.”

The emotional journey on Sam’s face as he talks is worth a good dozen of sunrises.

“And you live there?” Sam asks. He’s struggling not to let his bewilderment and horror show, but he’s failing.

It makes sense. It sounds like an absolutely terrible situation to be in. It is an absolutely terrible situation to be in. As much as owning a townhouse in Brooklyn can be terrible.

It’s been about four months now since he signed those papers and moved his bag of things into that pretty house with the marks in the doorways and the basement he still hasn’t stepped foot in. And now that he’s been away long enough…

He guesses he kinda misses it.

He doesn’t miss the house in itself, much. He does miss… everything else though. Charlie, Miriam, the neighbor whose name he still doesn’t know, the familiar commute, the Chinese place he gets a lot of very late night food at, the proximity to his childhood streets, the way life feels there. He misses his night jogs in the relative quiet. He misses the weather, and the oven he baked kugel in for the first time.

Brooklyn has become familiar again, in all of its differences with his memories.

And he didn’t even realize it was happening.

“You should come, one of these days,” Bucky shrugs. “I have a couple guest bedrooms.”

Sam punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Fancy ass ‘couple of guest bedrooms’.” He teases and Bucky smiles. “So I’m guessing I should try and find some good therapists for you in New York then,” he adds.

Bucky shrugs lightly. “I feel like… I have some stuff tethering me there.”

Sam’s expression shifts for an instant. “Like the SRT?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Like my childhood congregation, that somehow still exists, and has a shul not too far from where I live.” He points out.

“Shul?” Sam asks.

Bucky smiles lightly when he looks up at him. A few days ago, Sam spoke of his teetee and Bucky probably made the same face Sam’s making now.

“Synagogue,” Bucky explains. “Jewish temples. Shul’s yiddish.”

Sam makes a small ‘ah’ sound and nods. For a moment, they’re silent again. The noises of the world around them aren’t threatening to overwhelm them though, they’re… comforting. A warm tapestry in the background.  

“You’re Jewish, I take it?”

“No, I’m Mormon,” Bucky replies with the straightest face he can muster before chuckling.

Sam punches him again, a little harder this time. “Come on, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m Jewish.”

That’s the first time he says that out loud in… He’s never said it like that ever. This is the first time in his life that he says it that way. The first time he’s not afraid of the outcome of such an admission.

It’s a heady, wonderful feeling. He never thought he’d ever be comfortable enough to do that. Somehow, he might have Zemo to thank for that. Zemo and his fucking questioning. Not that he’s going to be asking much more questions from the Raft.

He’s Jewish. That’s a truth that doesn’t deserve to be hidden right now. Not when he can carry it. Not when he is strong enough to bear it proudly. He feels like his heart is going to burst with something he cannot name.

“Did Steve know?”

Bucky bursts out laughing.

[cafedanslanuit]

RFA + V + Saeran with a s/o that goes to protests

As I mentioned before, I’m from Perú. We’ve had several marches in the past few years because we’ve reached levels of corruption that are just nauseating. I’ve attended most of them and have been tear-gassed, chased by policemen riding horses and pushed around in return. One of the things that made me really sad was that two of my boyfriends were opposed to me going to the streets and claiming justice for my country.

So, did I write these headcanons just because I was salty all my ex-boyfriends hated when I attended protests about important matters in my country? Yes

Was that one of the reasons I broke up with them? Maybe

Should you stop going to protests or marches just because your s/o doesn’t like it? ABSOLUTELY NOT

Anyway, have these perfect boys/girl being supportive.

a/n: These headcanons are not set on a particular movement, but are rather about protests about unjust systems in general.

Yoosung

Is he scared? Yes

Is he still going no matter what? YOU BET HE IS

You may think he’s just going with you because he’s your boyfriend but he does care about the injustice you’re both protesting about 

Also, I’ll never stop saying this: Yoosung is brave. He may be scared sometimes but true courage is doing what you have to do despite of that fear

So he’ll hold your hand through it, even help you make some signs.

He’ll help other people if they get hurt during the protest

Just an angel

Zen

Zen wasn’t so keen on the idea at first, not gonna lie.

But after he took some time to educate himself and realized it was a bigger issue, you bet he’s on it

He’ll use his platform on social media to educate his fans, and even do one or two videos about the matter. In case donations are needed, he’ll also share links where they can donate and will donate some money of his own.

He’ll be a little scared about attending protests (mainly because he’s worried about his face getting hurt --it’s not about his narcissism anymore but he’s still an actor) but there’s nothing that will stop him from protecting his princess

Zen will be right by your side the whole time, using his height to check your surrounding in case you need to find a safe space

Jaehee

Sadly, it’s not like she had a choice to attend or not. Most of the protests occur during working hours and she couldn’t find the time.

But she will be really supportive of it! She doesn’t use social media that much but will try and share information to her contacts about it. 

She will also spread the word at work hehe

In case donations are needed, she would make a donation as well, making use of her savings since working at.

You think that was it? HA! drumrolls pleaaaase~

You are seriously misled if you don’t think Jaehee got in touch with other idols club presidents and joined forces to protest their own way by, for example, crashing the police app, reserving Trump rally tickets and not going, and more.

She’ll use any power she has to help out. Once you get home from the protests, please give her a call so she can make sure you’re okay, though.

Jumin

Depending on the motive of the protests, he will go through the list of businesses he’s previously partnered with and give them a call, giving them a timelapse to issue a statement supporting the cause. If it’s a corruption case, he will end the partnership, that’s all.

You may think Jumin wouldn’t be caught dead in a protest

But you’d be wrong

He may have brought his bodyguards to keep an eye on both you and him, but he’s there. There’s no way in hell he’d let you go on your own.

You managed to get him to wear a hoodie and more comfortable clothes instead of his classic three-piece suit. He wasn’t keen on the idea but understood they would be better in case of an emergency.

If donations are needed, he’ll make a massive donation in C&R’s name. And a slighter smaller one in your name.

If he’s not familiar with the issue in hand, he will ask to be educated. This man reads a lot and if you don’t have the time or energy to explain, he will find resources on his own and read. He will interview people. By the end of the day, he could give lectures about the subject (but he won’t---- that would be against the whole thing on being educated lol).

Saeyoung

You need a website going down? You got it, babe.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the police, a bad company or even a government page. If you wanted to make a statement, he would make sure the page went down.

If he’s still working as an agent, he will have to wear a face mask and a hoddie to avoid being recognized at a protest, but you bet he would be there. If he’s loaded with work and can’t possibly make it, he will keep an eye of you through CCTV. Although, all recordings of people protesting will magically disappear afterwards oooops.

His main focus would be the informatics part, though. So feed him as many ideas as you can, he will try his best to be your partner in crime and take down whatever entity is being unjust.

He may not be the tallest of the bulkier but he does have secret agent training so in case you are chased by the police he will be your best chance on escaping them successfully.

V / Jihyun

Jihyun is calm and loving but he’s also brave when it comes to protecting someone he loves.

So, he will be there with you during protests, holding your hand with you both chant against the injustice the protest is about.

He will help you raise funds if they are needed! He will sell several of his photos and have all money sent where it’s needed the most

Jihyun is a sensible guy, he will understand the reason why everyone is so angry and hungry for justice. So when you feel drained and just sad about everything that’s going through, he’ll sit you down on his lap and hug you, reassuring you the work you’re doing is important and that things are changing because of it, so you should feel proud.

Saeran

Saeran will also help with any hacking or coding you may need.

He’s a little more sensitive about injustice because he’s felt similarly since he was young. So, even if he’s still a little iffy about hacking again, he will use all his abilities for the greater good.

Will watch YouTube videos or read books to educate himself. There’s so much of the world he’s missed he may not understand some social issues at first, but after he’s read, he’s ready to put on his sneakers and take the streets.

You both end up setting a small station on the side of the road to help people who were injured in the protests. You also give out water to whoever needs to.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him with a mask on, but his now red hair and kind eyes make you remember how far he’s come and how he’s willing to help anyone who needs it.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 .❀。• *₊°。

a/n: Right now in Perú, there are clinics charging you S/.165 ($ 47.69) for medicine that usually costs S/.1 ($ 0.28). I’m not saying we should go out and protest right now because our healthcare system has officially collapsed, but please, don’t forget this. Don’t forget the clinic names. Don’t forget we’re living the consequences of decades of corruption our parents lived through in silence because the other choice was being called terrorists and going to jail without a proper trial. We’ll get through this. But we must not forget.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Companions taking care of a sick sole

Cait:

“Can’t you just walk it off?”

She truly doesn’t mean anything by it but she is possibly the most ill equipped person to handle someone sick. She’s never had anyone to coddle, much less tend to her when she was sick so she didn’t really understand why you weren’t able to pick yourself up and carry on. So her initial reaction may hurt your feelings but don’t take it too personal. If it’s any consolation, once she thinks about it and takes note of your condition she’ll eventually at least try to help. Even if that “help” is not taking you out to the bar like you usually do. At least it was something.

Curie:

“Have no worries, this is what I’m trained to help with!”

Quite the opposite of cait! As she said, she was basically constructed to be able to handle things like this. And handle it she did. Before you knew what was happening you were wrapped up in a blanket burrito, being hand-fed some strange wasteland version of chicken noodle soup. Once you were resting, she took swab sample to figure out what ailed you and was quick to begin assembling the correct medicinal response.

Danse:

“I won’t lie, this is more of haylen’s skillset but I will do the best I can to make sure you recover.”

He hasn’t the slightest idea of what to do. If it’s something minor like a cold or allergies he isn’t as freaked out as though it was something a bit more major. Regardless of what ailed you, he’d try his level best to make you feel better. He holds himself completely responsible for your condition despite your protests, and..he will probably get himself sick from how much he cuddles you.

Deacon:

“Don’t sweat it, we’ll get you to carrington and if that doesn’t pan out- Tinker Tom here we come!”

He doesn’t even skip a beat, proceeding with you hand in hand to visit named people. Just pray carrington can whip up something quick.

Gage:

“Is it too bad you can’t even walk? I’m just kidding, I aint gonna be an ass about this. Take it easy for now boss.”

Gage would probably be a little disgruntled his badass overboss is currently coughing and sneezing like crazy but he understands that everyone gets sick. So, he’ll gather what limited supplies he can get and whip up a “raider remedy”, which if that doesn’t scare you I don’t know what does because it really should.

Hancock:

“We’ll get you just like new in no time. Just you wait.”

Of course he’s still pretty chill. Don’t get me wrong, he’s concerned for your well being but he’s optimistic that you’ll recover soon. In the meantime if you fancy chems as much as he does, he’ll administer some med-x and maybe some buff out to make you feel better.

Macready:

“I uh, I’ve got some snacks?”

Luckily he has a little bit of experience taking care of sick things because of Duncan. Trust me, the first few times his kid was sick Macready flipped his shit but thankfully he learned a couple remedies. So prepare yourself for mutfruit jelly sandwiches and constantly wearing a blanket around your shoulder.

Maxson:

“Take as long as you need to feel better soldier, cade will have some medication ready soon.”

Due to his work he probably won’t be able to dote on you as much as he’d like. However he’ll have a few trusted scribes to look after you after your evaluation with captain cade as he prescribes you medicine. That all being said, the second he can find a break you bet your ass he’s right there next to you. Nothing scares him more than the thought of losing the last person that loved him for who he was.

Nick:

“Don’t even think about going out in the wastes.”

Hope you like the agency because unless you convince nick that you’re almost completely well; it’s gonna be the only place you see for a while. Of course him and ellie will keep you company and tend to you though.

Old longfellow:

“Not feeling up to it cap’n? Well, nothing a good hot toddy can’t fix.”

You expect too much out of the old man if you think he won’t try to medicate you with alcohol. Well, he’ll also be sure to keep the fog condensers working at their peak and take it easy with you in his cabin. For once the two of you will just relax, eating mirelurk jerky and having a few too many hot toddies. So what if he isn’t sick? He’s still gonna drink some too.

Piper:

“Would you just sit down? I’ve got this.”

Much like Macready she has practice because of her taking care of a child. However unlike Mac, she has her stuff together more. So she’ll bug the shit out of the doctor in the marketplace until he comes in for a house visit at the publick occurrence. While you recover she makes it her mission to make you lay down and rest. She will kill you if you disobey.

Preston:

“It’s alright General, it happens to the best of us.”

He’s also one of the ones that you’d probably want to be in the care of. Despite having no medical training, he knows basic survival remedies from his time wondering around- plus the minutemen. If nothing else, he’s incredibly sweet and will do whatever you ask with not even the smallest trace of annoyance.

X6-88:

“Ma’am, why wouldn’t you say something earlier?”

He just can’t believe that you wouldnt tell him the second you had symptoms. Are you stupid? You both have the institue and it’s superior healthcare at your disposal. Come on..

[ranvwoop]

TALK ABOUT AMERICAN HEALTHCARE I HAVE AN IDEA OF WHY IT'S THERE BUT I WANNA HEAR THE EXPLANATION ALSO THE ONLY HOUSE THAT"S NOT ON FIRE (YET) FOR THE SAME REASON I JUST WANNA SEE THE ANALYSIS:TM: IF U WANT I WANNA SEE IF I GOT IT RIGHT :D

Hi :DDD. Thank u for asking,,,, I have many thoughts. I am sorry in advance. This is one of those things I will put under a readmore because I am into rambling. IT GOT A LOT LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED IM SORRY. Like. a lot. It was 4 pages in google docs because i dont trust tumblr to save my drafts

Okay a lot of my Ranboo thoughts are about the syndicate / boreal trio / peerpressure duo. But you’re probably aware I am a Them enthusiast first and both a dsmp enjoyer and person second. Because. I really like the syndicate. I also don’t have too too many thoughts on the more recent lore past the experiments. Once the in character monologues stopped, so did my brain. I communicate through monologue to monologue communication.

American Healthcare is actually gonna be the main reason why this is so long bc it works Very Much for like three different reasons. One sorta niche and abstracter reason is a stream that was basically never elaborated on back in March, either the day after or very close to the peerpressure Egg confrontation stream. The egg called him a coward (for some reason my brain can Only come up with the “stop saying i look like chicken little. he’s dumb, and a coward, and i am NOT a coward” vine), and he is not a coward, so he decided to make an action plan to bring the server together by acting as a mediator for all parties and try to make sure that everyone is happy, because he’s the only one that can see all sides, or something. This was where he said the big happy family™ line but other than Ranboo Become Dream?? analysis nothing else really happened and everything went along as normal.

(I also always held a little bit of suspicion on this stream actually and thought it might be the influence of the egg, because it says it can give one whatever they want, and ranboo wants to make everyone happy and this was a totally foolproof way of doing that. Sort of in a similar way that BBH is convinced that his plan will totally make Skeppy happy. But also Ranboo is just like that, but this felt a little more on the nose than usual and he did fall into the egg and made his decisions after being egged on by it, buT WE’LL NEVER KNOW, WILL WE?

… also I really wanted to see more egg conflict at the time. Peerpressure rlly got involved in the egg plot for cameos at the banquet and nothing else. I do not blame anyone and respect the ccs for all of their attempts to weave plots together but also. also…. we.. we coulda had so much…)

That was a little off topic from the point, but… he really just thinks he can save the sick… he can see that everyone on the server is unwell and is wrong but, y’know, look inwardly, the unwell is coming from inside the house. And an inherent problem of the way that the server runs. And if this is still lowkey in effect or not (idk man a) ranboo has monologued a lot I simply chose a one off from march to grow emotionally attached to and b) i think that my brain has shut off once ranboo stopped solo lore streams), it would probably go the way that most choosing to change the system from the inside goes. Which is the point of the song and stuff! He will inevitably decide what’s too far, whether he will either admit it’s a choice or just feel that it’s what he has to do. The, uh, dealing with the devil, to be polite.

in conclusion (but we are not close to done here i’m holding you for a bit longer), i think a lot about that stream and i think that shows what he wants to be, at the very least, and continuing down that path would definitely go into being far more trouble than just a noble goal of wanting to help people, from negotiating with corruption (The lobbyists, the Congressmen and lies bit) and that the server can’t really be brought together and saved like that (When things are more and more this way / Sometimes it's like they'd rather die)

THE LESS. vwoop why have you written an unnecessarily long post about one stream in your playlist character analysis reason is both more literal and piece by piece and also Syndicate, My Beloved, you know the drill. We are going line by line because I have a lot of feelings about American Healthcare, apparently.

This also comes back to that everyone on the server is doing Really Badly, all of the time, but mostly his time in L’Manburg. For one, he is pretty complacent in everything and doesn’t really accomplish much in terms of actual change, so like Well people die every day / I wouldn't have it any other way / I just think they should feel good while they are alive. An example of this is Exiled Tommy — who I’d also metaphorically put as the dead man just for funsies, since Tommy’s whole exile thing was one of the first things Ranboo experienced on the server—as he did try to be friends with Tommy and keep him company with his letters, but he still has no power over the actual issue at hand. Just trying to make it a bit more bearable. Similarly is Techno, while Ranboo still participated in the butcher army that was trying to kill him, he helped in the meantime until he “died”.

And then it’s the Realization that participating in the system doesn’t really help much, and the subsequent Everything. It could be getting mad at the whole government system and that he didn’t mean to contribute to the harm, or how he fought with Fundy using hs ideology but not in the way that Ranboo thought. It could also be standing up to his hallucination Dream, in that he doesn’t try this hard to be a good person just to be accused of helping with all of the things that he may or may not have helped with. (That is… a discussion for not right now, I don’t know.) And I think this sort of area is also where it’s like they’d rather die is also relevant, cause Doomsday. Nobody could just set aside their governments and just get along, though Ranboo had his own solution to fighting and things.

And then he joins the Syndicate! And the lyrics of the song are directly Government Bad, because government bad. Canon anarchist, has done things that he’s not proud of as a part of the government. The lines it was the government / … It got louder over the years / Until all that I could hear was flies and all.

But honestly I think in the Syndicate he’s still trying to “save the sick”! Because the Syndicate don’t All fit eye to eye either. He’s the token pacifist, and a vote against violence whenever it comes down to it. Not all anarchists are violent but Techno and Phil will probably react strongly when provoked, due to All the past events, and I live in a world where their trauma and issues get talked about as much as everyone else’s. Since everything is decided by vote it’d probably be split between them and Ranboo + Niki, who is in her healing/no longer resorting to murder arc. He’ll help them negotiate and then everything will Be Okay, ideally.

(Also I just like the idea of Ranboo believing that he is helping the people he’s living with because canonically cc!Ranboo has said he just really cares about his family and the syndicate are included in his family shut up but they also just believe they’re helping him and yes it’s self indulgent. I care them. Particularly Endduo, actually, or whatever they're called, I am not bold enough to think Ranboo looks at Techno and thinks I Can Fix Him, but. Philza Minecraft will one day talk about his feelings. One day.)

There’s also radioduo and beeduo as of recent— really I’m just saying I think that Ranboo constantly has a Need To Help People, believes he can do it, and it will come back to hurt him in the end (except for the Syndicate because I’m in denial. The Syndicate can’t fall out if they never stream together :) ).

THIS CONCLUDES THE AMERICAN HEALTHCARE PORTION OF OUR SHOW.

The Only House That’s Not on Fire Yet !! I like this one. This is also blatantly there cause Syndicate. They are the only faction that is not actively falling apart, and this could absolutely be because they never stream together. But I do not care. However we are also going to go through this one piece by piece because we’re nearing 1500 words here and I might as well embarrass myself more. I am writing an incredibly informal essay about Ranboo My _Beloved (i assume his middle name is My, and he’s just one of those people who write his full full name) and this is the third page. If you’re still reading this, I’m sorry. Here we go.

There are lines that just seem like an unwell but recovering person, and I like to sort of think that way about Ranboo in the arctic during the down time. “I feel knotted up today / But in a most exquisite way” and “I feel strangely regular / But honestly I prefer it to / The usual bizarre” are just! He’s just hanging out. He’s doing good. There is the acknowledgement that he’s usually not doing well, and all of the episodes that he’s had in the past, and it’s probably strange to be doing well in the midst of everything, and there’s probably something impending, but now? He’s doing good!

The verses directly after both of those ones are about uncertainty and trust and such, and I feel like that’s not necessarily about just One relationship but all of them. Will cause problems as long as he has an accomplice. He is not confident but he trusts and loves people.

“This suit doesn’t fit me / I made it conterfeitly” I just like to think about Ranboo in his fancy suit, but it’s just a little wrong because he actually has no idea what he’s doing. I also like to think about Ranboo in a cape to fit in with boreal trio and later the syndicate, and emerald duo had matchy blue outfits from the Antarctic Empire… and trying to fit in with them…. or maybe They make him something.. You know. Much to think about.

“Killing me with déjà vu” I think is like. A little less fun, because despite how well things are going, the enderwalk is still not resolved and he had even less answers when I started thinking “this is a ranboo song”. Just as it relates to having a strange sense of reality and stuff, which goes into specifics of enderwalk headcanons, which would make this far longer. Even though I’ve framed it as a negative, there is also the more positive note of “Oh! I just thought of how to change all the hate / Into love with the old switcheroo / Dancing in my déjà vu / You'll be dancing too” which I’d rather explain broken up but I feel like as it’s a full verse it should be together. The first part is connected to my general thoughts of him explained earlier tbh, he’s trying Very Hard to make everyone happy and fix things. And adding the second part to it is just like! He is trying to make sense of everything, and it’s not so scary as time goes by. Since the experiments where he’s been (questionably) trying to be more comfortable and get more answers.

This was very long. I am sorry. I am ending it here and probably not going to do much formatting to make it readable because it is very late o’clock and also this is four pages and 2000 words I am so sorry. But if you read this far then. Uhhh thank. ^v^.