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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together.

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed.

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled.

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy.

You never understood that.

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up.

"'Course I do."

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense.

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed.

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good.

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open.

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep.

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you.

Accusing you.

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed.

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing.

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly.

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm.

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi.

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze.

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless.

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after.

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless.

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back.

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you.

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third.

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door.

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned.

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin.

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed.

Oh.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you.

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still.

Anger doesn't care about reason.

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits.

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice.

It would have.

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes.

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?�� Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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n1kolaiz · 4 years ago

Text

"You want to know what death is? I'll tell you. Death is the loss of life. Despite everything doctors like me attempt... a patient's life can still fall through our fingers. You think death lies in the apex of science? Anyone with such little regard for life will die by my hand."

Character Analysis: Yosano Akiko

Age: 25 || Ability: Thou Shalt Not Die

BSD CHAPTER CHAPTER 65-66 SPOILERS

table of contents:

1. Author counterpart.

2. Yosano's history.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

YOSANO BRAINROT!*(#&!*@#($

1. Author counterpart.

Having been given the “Sho Ho” at birth, Yosano Akiko’s counterpart—the real-life author—was known for her zealous take on both feminism and pacifism.

Side note: Once again, to avoid confusion, I will use the name Sho Ho in reference to the real-life author, and Yosano in reference to the BSD character.

Sho Ho's writings were pretty much out-of-the-ordinary in her time, and despite being suppressed by the social norms of gender hierarchy, she sought to reform society’s view on the cultural perspectives of women and their sexuality (She expressed her love for a woman in one of her poems, but many still argued on whether she identified herself as queer or not.)

"Thou Shalt Not Die," Yosano's ability, is actually named after one of Sho Ho's most famous, controversial poems. She wrote it for her brother, who was a soldier in the war between Russia and Japan (1904-1905). In her poem, she expressed her general distaste for war and how her brother was a part of it.

O my young brother, I cry for you Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all Command a special store of parents' love

Would parents place a blade in children's hands

Teaching them to murder other men Teaching them to kill and then to die? Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four?

- excerpt from Sho Ho's poem, "Kimi Shinitamou Koto Nakare"

Her words were blunt enough to inflict guilt on her brother's conscience, as she wasn't afraid to express her disapproval over how her brother took part in the typical violent bloodshed and manslaughter of war. Such opinions perturbed the authorities, and her work was eventually banned from the public for a period of time. Later on, it was used as an anti-war statement.

2. Yosano's history.

Now, as for the character in BSD, Yosano is seen to be generally strong-willed, and later on, we see that she is terrifyingly compassionately ambitious in the way she treats her patients. She treasured life itself, and hated the thought of losing a patient.

Yosano had developed her relations with Mori Ougai back in the Great War, when she was just 11 years old. Her ability was a great benefactor in saving lives. Realistically speaking, she was used for her ability to heal injured soldiers and diminish the effect of any casualty acquired.

Initially, she wasn't aware of this, until one of her close friends pointed it out by subtly accusing Mori of manipulating her to participate in the War under the close-to false pretence of 'saving lives.'

As much as her ability did save lives, it also forced soldiers to return to the frontlines and suffer injuries over and over again. The soldiers were never given the opportunity to return to their families because of her ability. This obliged them to carry on in the war without any excuse, inserting them into a vicious cycle they had no escape out of.

Metaphorically speaking, Yosano's hatred for Mori sort of mirrors Sho Ho's disdain for war and fighting, don't you think? The way Kafka materialised Yosano's past was quite interesting because he used chapters 65 and 66 to explain Yosano's dislike for Mori, reflecting how Sho Ho used her poem to explain why she condemned the idea of war and how her brother was part of it.

Before the effect of her ability was fully understood, however, every soldier praised and thanked her for what an angel she was. One of the soldiers she had befriended and gotten close to even kept a tally of the number of times she had saved him. He was the one who gifted her the butterfly hairpin she wore all the time.

The weight of the truth that her ability was a curse rather than a blessing fully dawned on her when her soldier friend ultimately committed suicide, because the fact of being indefinitely trapped in the throes of war agonised him until his spirit gave out. This drove Yosano to loathe her ability, or rather, how it was used.

In the time she participated in the War, Yosano was given the alias 'angel of death' due to the control she retained over the battlefield, but I thought that perhaps Kafka had a reason behind giving her this title, so I did my research.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

Side note: I wouldn't want to disrespect any culture or religion, so if my citations are inaccurate and/or disrespectful, do feel free to correct me/let me know! I did research out of pure curiosity, and I don't intend to twist the significance of any of the interpretations.

I had to grow up learning about the basics of religious stuff, so it's kind of nice to study something out of the box, and very much against my father's rigid belief system :D

ARCHANGEL ARIEL

(archangel: an angel of higher rank)

I came across the few characteristics of angels/goddesses and their roles, and the one which really caught my attention was the female archangel, Ariel, the angel of nature.

[ source ]

In Hebrew, the name Ariel means 'altar' or 'lioness of God,' and her role is to heal. In addition to that, she is also recognised as a helper to another one of the seven main archangels, Raphael, whose role is to provide physical and emotional healing, too.

She is the protecter of the environment and the animals therein, and is bestowed with the duty to oversee the order of heavenly bodies as well as earth's natural resources. She assures the sustenance of food, water, shelter, and supplies of human beings, much like how a nurse is to a patient I suppose.

In relation to Yosano, I think this part is pretty self-explanatory, or perhaps this is blown out of proportion HA, so take this as a suggestion rather than a fact, because I'd like to believe that Kafka had a reason for giving Yosano a title as such.

In the past, I've come across the angel of death only to perceive it as a female grim reaper of some sort, so it was pretty cool to find that the word 'angel' and 'death' made up a title of a someone like Ariel, one of the purest forms of humility and compassion.

GREEK GODDESS PANAKEIA

For my beloved (wannabe/or not) students of Greek mythology (much like myself, let's make a cult!), you've probably heard of Panakeia, the goddess of healing. Medicine finds most of its vital significance in Greek history, and in its mythology, Panakeia is actually known for her ability to heal any kind of sickness.

[ source ]

Her name means 'panacea,' which is actually defined as a remedy for all diseases. Terminal diseases and injuries lead to death, right? This would bring us back to Yosano's ability to nullify any injury's effects on a person, keeping them from death itself.

Now, we know that in order for Yosano's ability to work, her patient, or victim, has to be in a near-death condition in order for her treatment to take effect. This can't exactly fit into the description of resurrection, but it can be described as some sort of rebirth.

GREEK GODDESS PERSEPHONE

So another goddess which reminds me of Sho Ho/Yosano, is Persephone, the goddess of spring and rebirth. Before Hades, the god of the underworld, fell in love with Persephone to take her to live with him, Persephone lived a happy life.

Hades, with his nature of darkness and the like, was captivated by how pure Persephone was, and stole her away from her former life to live in an environment which differed sharply from her natural aura of purity.

[ source ]

Remember when Yosano's friend left a note behind before he killed himself? The note said nothing except for, "You are too righteous." Take that as you will, but figuratively speaking, you could say Mori takes the role of Hades in the story, while Yosano can be portrayed as Persephone.

Sho Ho can also be a parallel of Persephone, in that she had to adapt to the realities of war and disharmony, while Persephone had to adapt to the raw darkness of the underworld with Hades.

Sho Ho stood against society's norms and decided to reform it, making her one of the most well-known feministic pacifist in history, while Persephone managed to escape from the underworld to return to her former position, earning the title the 'Bringer of Life,' or the 'Destroyer of Death.'

Furthermore, the way Sho Ho's anti-war poem took its effect later on, reflects the way Persephone restored balance in the world after returning from the underworld.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

chapter 66; Yosano: "It's my fault that those close to me died... Is there some place where it's okay for me to live?"

chapter 8; Atsushi: "If I have any chance of saving them all, of returning them home safely, would that mean it's okay for me to keep on living?"

I couldn't help but think of Dazai and Atsushi back when I was reading through these panels. Ranpo (my beloved), along with Fukuzawa, accepted Yosano as she was, despite how her ability was a cause of despair and misfortune.

Ranpo looked past her mistakes and the entirety of how dark her past was to welcome her into the Armed Detective Agency. Dazai, on the other hand, knew who Atsushi was and what his ability had made him do before anyone else, and still decided to provide a safe place for Atsushi to find his sense of belonging, journeying with him as he learned to use his ability properly.

For more info about Dazai and Atsushi's dynamic, you can check out the analysis I did for Dazai :D

Atsushi desired to save people to prove his right to live, while Yosano made her wish to achieve the recovery of all her patients the reason for her existence.

Others would prefer to accuse both Yosano and Atsushi of having a saviour complex, but the reason why they pursued to save people with utmost dedication, stems from the nature of what their past was like. You know the saying 'from broken to beautiful?' Yeah, it's something like that.

The way their pasts were written out gave them a desire to change, which was, I daresay, initiated by the people who took them in: Ranpo and Dazai. Their abilities were demonised because of how they were used, but once they broke from their abilities' effect over their lives, they honed their skills to control them for the right cause instead.

In a less cynical point of view, I believe both Yosano and Atsushi stood for what was right, and wanted nothing but to achieve peace and harmony in whatever way they could, even if it meant risking their own lives to save others.

So yeah, that's it for my rants today. Thank you for reading, and if you have anything to add, go ahead! I'm open to discussions ;)

#bsd #bsd atsushi #bsd yosano #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd characters #bsd analysis #literature analysis #bsd abilities #bsd anime #bsd manga #bungo stray dogs atsushi #bungou stray dogs atsushi #bungou stray dogs yosano #bsd dazai #bsd mori #bsd ranpo #character analysis #.daydreams

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madara-fate · 3 years ago

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do you think masashi kishimoto is sexist?

i constantly hear fans throwing this around and i have to agree. his representation of his female characters are stereotypical and awful which makes them unlikable and unsurprisingly unrelatable, his excuse being he doesn't know how to write for female characters which isn't a valid excuse. the creators of one piece and bleach also being dragged and called sexist for they're portrayal of their female characters, fans going as far as to call them the big sj three. but i think a lot of how they portray women in shonen has a lot to do with japan's ( and even asia's ) general feelings towards women and their perspectives on women and seeing how it is deeply engraved in their culture, i understand why this is how they choose to represent women, not only in naruto and other shonens but in the media as a whole. not saying it's right though.

sorry if this was too long and pointless, this topic is the most tiring and tragic of them all and i honestly feel like explaining everything would quite literally kill me, i don't want to deep dive into this just want to hear your thoughts and feelings about it.

No, I don't agree with that accusation in the slightest.

By no means is Kishi's representation of women in general "stereotypical and awful", it's like you're implying that every single female character in the series is absolute trash with no good qualities at all. I like the vast majority of the female characters he created, I can say the same for many other people, and I've seen many people find many of them relatable as well. Every single justification people give for these asinine "sexist" claims are completely unfounded.

They say he's sexist because he didn't give the female characters enough screen time but that's not true - He simply gave Naruto and Sasuke too much screen time and focus, because plenty of male characters didn't get enough screen time either. By no means is this a criticism that is exclusive to the female characters.

They say he's sexist because all of his female characters revolve around love, when not only are they just referring to Hinata and Sakura when they say "all", not only is that not true anyway since I can name plenty of character traits and development for both girls outside of their love lives, but where are these people when a character like Obito comes along, and causes by far the most shit in the entire series, essentially because of his love life? By far the biggest aspect of Obito's character is his love for Rin. So then why is Kishi accused of sexism for apparently making his female characters all about love, when not only is that not true, but the character which this is most applicable to, is in fact male?

They say he's sexist because he never allowed Sakura to get angry with Sasuke, but that's not true. She got angry at him and called him a coward during the Forest of Death and berated him while defending Naruto during the Land of Iron. The reverse of this criticism is very prevalent in other shows - where the guy is mistreated by the girl, but because he's in love with her, he doesn't lash out, but remains calm and reasonable with her instead, and it's not even like those girls had an excuse like they were drowning in a curse of hatred like Sasuke. Now have a guess on whether or not the authors of those shows were accused of sexism towards men.

They say he's sexist because he apparently teaches young girls through Sakura, that they should put up with anything and everything from a guy because he'll eventually come around, when not only does this severely miss the point of why Sakura and Naruto were so forgiving towards Sasuke, but also, didn't Naruto display the exact same leniency towards Sasuke to an even greater degree? Always supporting him and defending his actions to his peers, begging the Raikage on his hands and knees to spare Sasuke, allowing himself to get beaten to a bloody pulp by Karui for Sasuke, the list goes on and on. Naruto forgave Sasuke without batting an eyelid, despite his crimes and severe mistreatment towards him as well. So why don't these people who throw around these sexism accusations have an issue with that? It only ever becomes a problem when it's a girl who forgives a boy despite his mistreatment. If it's a boy who forgives another boy under the same circumstances, it's apparently all good. That, is far more sexist than anything people are accusing Kishi of here, because people are looking at two identical situations (Naruto and Sakura forgiving Sasuke and always showing him favour despite his crimes and general mistreatment), and they're treating one situation differently just because of Sakura's gender.

So those are my thoughts on the matter. I could have gone on longer because this topic is a major can of worms with me, but I think I've made my point. Calling Kishi sexist is just as unwarranted as all those people who call Ikemoto a paedophile. If people wish certain characters could've been portrayed better, then just leave it as that. Don't bring sexism into it, because that has nothing to do with it.

#Masashi Kishimoto #Sakura Haruno #Sasuke Uchiha #Sasusaku #Naruto Uzumaki #Obito Uchiha

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thetransintransgenic · 3 years ago

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Okay I'm not back yet but holy FRICK check out the FRICKING Youtube video/podcast episode.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VGDWkuy_l4

It's from a podcast "Gender: A Wider Lens" (a TERF podcast, of the "trying to be subtle and avoid looking TERFy but still being really really TERFy" variety -- I have a bit more on that specifically at the end but for now that's just a tone permeating the whole thing), episode 17: Autism and Gender Dysphoria.

So you can guess the sort of things it says (well, lightly hints at) about trans people, but CHECK OUT WHAT IT SAYS ABOUT AUTISM.

The hosts are a psychotherapist -- who her perspective on autism is an interesting casual-largely-uninterested-spent-a-weekend-and-found-some-Neurodiversity-content position, she recs Neurotribes at one point -- and an "adolescent therapist ... exclusively dedicated to gender-questioning teens and families impacted by gender dysphoria" (I said I wasn't going to talk about their opinions on trans stuff, but there sure are Some Things she's carefully avoiding saying there) -- who got her start as an ABA technician.

The episode is WILD, because they clearly are trying to agree on everything -- which results in, like, a rather large amount of the podcast being the ex-ABA defending ABA to her cohost (insert all the default (functioning levels, autism isn't this perfect harmless thing, precious specially children, etc.) bad arguments), and her cohost... just not buying it and trying to move past.

But most incredibly, actual claims made during this podcast:

the ex-ABA therapist describes forcing kids not to play with their toys, and then continues on to talk about how her ABA wasn't like the stuff that's criticized, in fact she is against "ABA... based on a neurotypical behavior"

autistic people are trans because the naive autistic literal mindset makes them take imagined bullies saying "you're boyish" to heart

gender dysphoria is actually just stress from masking

JUST ASKING QUESTIONS "was The Entire Gender Movement™ created by autistic people??"

Lot of gender labels and boxes... autistic people like labels and boxes... Makes You Think!

they freaking reinvent REFRIGERATOR PARENTING THEORY with "The rise in autism diagnoses (which they acknowledge is already explained by wider awareness!) is caused by tech usage! Texting makes autism!" Like DIRECT QUOTE "Autistic traits can emanate from overuse of tech."

That was the one who read Neurotribes. And she said it so CONFIDENTLY. I don't even know HOW.

and then proceed to a few minutes later to bring up sensory issues! It's not like they don't know!

Accusations of transphobia are because trans is a special interest that they're trying to bring up

the fact that queer theory sees everything as related to gender is in contrast to (direct quote) "a more neurotypical approach to life [that] would think there's no one aspect of us that shows the complexity of the human condition"

(This one especially -- like, I honestly cannot figure out a way to parse this that isn't "autism (bad and wrong) causes transness, if they were neurotypical they would understand correctly how to be cis". This was again the one who'd read autistic activists and could recognize the issues with ABA when mentioned. WUT.)

Bottom dysphoria in males comes from autism causing compulsive masturbation, enough to harm the genitals, which (along with autism black-and-white thinking) causes transness

"Autistic meltdown" is a degrading term, they're "really big emotions" (this was the ex-ABA)

I'm just gonna directly transcribe this bit -- "when families are already embroiled in the [their child said they were trans] issue, and then they go 'oh, we need to literally get you tested for every thing, every single thing that could be wrong', it really feels to the teen as though 'you're just trying to find any excuse to tell me I'm not really trans'". ... like, uh, yeah your hypothetical teen there is pretty perceptive.

On just the trans stuff, they also have the typical Very Interesting Choices about around which topics they choose to think about AFAB people, and around which topics they choose to think about AMAB people, as well how much focus goes on detransitioners. Which is always interesting if you're a connoisseur of that.

The other WELL THEN thing -- connecting to the "trying to be subtle and avoid looking TERFy but still being really really TERFy" -- the podcast is sponsored by the American organization RIME (Rethink Identity Medicine Ethics), which is smokescreening the "medical responsibility!" bad faith and apparently actively pumping money into it. Both podcast hosts are ALSO founding board members of both the "Society for Evidence-based Gender Medicine" and the "International Association of Therapists for Desisters and Detransitioners", because apparently the "but medical responsibilty!" astro-TERF field is the same 3 people in 7 different trenchcoats doing accents.

(They're not on the board for RIME -- RIME's board is a Concerned Parent, a Jungian, and a lawyer.)

Anyways, it was COMICALLY wild.

#Don't know how to tag this...#But yeah this is PROBABLY not me coming back. I'll look and see your responses though.#In conclusion you know what TERFs I concede you're right the autistic community LITERALLY invented gender.#After they became autistic because they were on their phones too much.#All hail.

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writingsonawall · 3 years ago

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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

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x ofc #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #bau #spencer reid imagine

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tazwren · 4 years ago

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My two cents on the devolution of fandom spaces...

As a former mod of a fandom space and a woman of colour, I do not feel safe.

Seeing what has been done to so many in this fandom, by a particular group of white American women, in the name of moral policing is both abhorrent and demoralising. As it also is to repeatedly see the same narrative being shoved at everyone as the gospel truth.

A narrative that very conveniently either becomes about fic or has nothing to do with fic, depending on how people want to swing things. A narrative that will accuse a person of Jewish heritage of anti-Semitism, a person of colour of racism, a practising Muslim of being an Islamaphobe. A narrative that will define for you and me and all of us comprising this myriad of multitudes in the world what generational or personal trauma includes and what induces the same.

Those of you who know me, know what I’ve been dealing with the past few days & why I haven’t spoken up before now. Before I logged out a couple days ago, I saw what looked like more of the usual nonsense by the same group of people I’ve kept my distance from once their true colours were revealed. What I didn’t expect is that they would think themselves so above the norms of human decency and accountability that they would go after not one but two women of colour this time around in their rabidity. And many others who spoke up, as it turns out.

It hurts to see what these women, that I know of, have had to endure and to see the passivity of the community, save for a few voices, in sitting back and letting the circus rampage through town. It hurt when I was at the receiving end of it and it hurts now.

Why? Because it shows me a microcosm of the world that I don’t really relate to, that makes no sense to me with the values I was brought up with, and which reduces basic human decency to a commodity to be trampled upon and for you to be seen as weak for having. Because people who willingly laud you for your art / writing / wit, meet you with effusive claims of love and affection and friendship, who have no qualms in taking your help when it suits them, will throw you under the bus and let the wolves ravage you when it doesn't.

Before I get into that, let me talk a little bit about what has transpired over the past few days to a week, and what has been systemically taking place over perhaps the past year in this fandom.

One thing is that everyone who makes a statement about anything suddenly has people in their mentions demanding they show what gives them the right to hold that particular opinion. A critical thing people forget about fandom is that it is a place where people hide their identity for a variety of reasons, all valid, and this approach to fiction and conversations where everyone has to reveal every part of their past and identity as a means of establishing their "credentials" in order to present their views comes in direct contradiction with how fandoms operate. It violates people's rights to privacy.

The other is that there has been an increase in the voices that purportedly stand up to “speak for” the marginalised, the abused, those discriminated against and those who belong to minorities who “need to be protected / kept safe”. An admirable sentiment, to be sure. If it weren’t for the fact that none of these groups of people needed saving, speaking for or the protection of this particular group of voices.

Voices who only want to define and use these people as "model victims" to hurt other white women and establish their supremacy over both them and other POC. Voices that will present their "truth" as they see fit and sans context or present you with screenshots of snippets of conversations held in supposedly secure spaces that they have no qualms in violating in the interest of the "greater good" and claim offense / silencing if the misdemeanour is pointed out or action is taken against them, Voices that will conveniently categorize you as a "token POC" or "white adjacent" when you do not support or align with their narrative. Voices that belong to a predominantly white American group of women, whose real agenda, as is evidenced by their modus operandi, has nothing to do with real altruism or a drive for justice or indeed to right wrongs.

No, their agenda is purely power.

To hold sway over groups of followers, to shepherd them as though they are sheep who cannot think for themselves, and to set themselves up as white saviours who call out those who step out of line, or are deemed to be problematic and toxic and unsafe. To be the owners of the only "safe spaces" in fandom and to drive other groups and spaces to be boycotted or worse.

Now, I've long wondered, who indeed are these women to decide that for anyone? In a world comprising multiple cultures, religions, groups, subgroups, genders and which contains multitudes, who are these women and what gives them the right to foist their puritanical standards on everyone, very conveniently disguised as concern for the moral well being of everyone and the consumption, of all things, of fiction?

Certainly, there are many things in this world that people regard with justifiably equal dislike / horror / sadness. At the same time, there is much that is not shared, that is particular to a culture and to a person’s background. There is a multitude of perspectives that make the whole. And the white women of the United States of America have not cornered the market on what those are, or indeed even own any curatorship or censorship of the same. They cannot, because each person’s culture and background and joy and trauma is their own, as are their ways of dealing with it all.

That being said, let’s talk about their pack behaviour and the devolution I’ve witnessed on social media as basic human decency is bartered for clout.

I’m all for standing up for someone who doesn’t have a voice or a platform, or maybe afraid of repercussions to voice dissent. I’m all for being there for our fellow human beings as they face struggles of often unconscionable and unfathomable proportions. I’m all for holding people accountable for their negative behaviours as they impact the larger community.

What I am unequivocally NOT for is treating such situations as an opportunity to preach, to virtue-signal, to shame and to put on blast the alleged wrong-doers. I say alleged because that’s what most accusations are on these platforms—allegations to do with things that disturb our sense of balance or make us wrinkle our noses or that we deem bad, and therefore make the accused deserving of the full force of the community’s misbehaviour and censure.

I ask you if you were found guilty of a crime in real life—you know, the one away from your phones and keyboards—would you not have an opportunity to retain a lawyer, to plead your case in a court of law, to acquit yourself? Or, if found guilty, would you not have the opportunity for correction and rehabilitation? Yes, you say? (If you say no, then that explains the spate of state-perpetuated injustices across the USA, but that is a different matter).

Why then are people treated so abhorrently in this court of public opinion? What gives you, me, any one of us the right to judge people so vilely and with a metaphorical gun to their heads? What gives anyone the right to say you better agree with everything I say, retract everything you said and grovel for it or we will eviscerate you in public, shame you, force you to change or delete the content that offends us and still ostracise you and in some cases even threaten you with bodily harm or death, or doxx you?

Why is there no grace in how people are approached or dealt with? Whatever happened to allowing people to learn from their mistakes, where applicable, or hearing them out and giving them a chance to explain their side of something we may not fully understand?

Why is there no accountability for such behaviour on the part of the accusers?

What makes the rest of you sit back and allow this to happen? What makes you think this is in any shape or form okay to watch? Today, it is a virtual stranger at the receiving end, one you can distance yourself from quite conveniently saying Oh, she just mods a group I am in, or I only read their fics a couple times or I only followed them for their art or jokes or whatever flavour of excuse you choose. Tomorrow, it will be one of your own - or it may very well be you. And you'd better hope there's someone left to speak up for you.

The irony is you will have allowed it to happen by letting the wolf in the fold. By letting these white women manipulate you, and the community you claim to be a part of, so unapologetically, so maliciously and so unashamedly that before you can do anything about it the cancer has taken hold.

If this was happening in the world outside of social media, they would have to follow due process, to present real evidence based on facts (not based on emotions, rumours or perceptions) and would have to allow the person they are accusing to present a counter-argument, to defend themselves or be defended. Failure to do so is a miscarriage of justice and, depending on whether this is a professional or legal proceeding, they would either seriously risk their jobs or have the case thrown out of court. If not face action themselves for attempting to derail the process of justice.

Why then are they permitted to range so freely through the landscape of fandom, snarling and biting at who they please, or who displeases them?

I have no shame in saying I was at the receiving end of their behaviour for defending a friend they put on blast and I will tell you right here and now, I am a woman of colour who feels unsafe and attacked by these so-called self-appointed white saviours of your social media experience, these so-called upholders of the common morality—whatever that means—who will fight for you the evils of problematic and toxic writers who dare to have an opinion not aligned with theirs and who do not bow to their clout. Not that they care, so long as they can ignore this fact since it doesn’t fit their narrative. So long as they can ignore what has just been done to so many people in the name of cleansing the fandom.

If any one of these women were truly interested in alleviating the troubles and pains of the discriminated, the marginalized, the trauma-affected, I invite them to please come roll their sleeves up and help in the multitudes of troubles that wrack this world, not just in the backyards of their minds. My country is amidst a struggle for the basics of human life in this horrific pandemic and, prior to that, for basic constitutional rights for religious minorities. Do not patronize me and lecture me on trauma and racism and discrimination. Do not marginalise me in your attempt to pontificate and set your pearl-clutching puritanical selves above the rest, or assuage your white guilt.

A largely American audience or fanbase in this fandom is purely a function of access and interest—other cultures have vast followings for things you couldn't begin to fathom—and it doesn't mean you are entitled in any shape or form to be spokespeople for the rest of the world. We have no interest in being colonized again by white oppressors.

If you disagree with what I have said, I congratulate you on being a part of their coterie and wish you much joy in being the sheep in their fold. Kindly unfollow or block me on the way off of this post.

#fandom #fandom culture #bullying #gaslighting #gatekeeping #minorities #people of colour #real talk #toxic people #problematic behaviour #problematic authors #problematic fiction #fanfic #reylo #reylo fanfic book club #reylo fic recs #trauma #safety #accountability

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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One common defense I see made for Winter, due to her criticizing Ironwood for squeezing Mantle even though she was the one to first suggest martial law was "Oh he was already thinking about it. Winter merely voiced his thoughts to the group." What do you make of that?

That it’s as unpersuasive as this broader, “The group knew things were bad, but it’s okay they went along with it because they were uncomfortable” argument. Even if we were to agree that these were Ironwood’s thoughts and that Winter was merely stating his obvious perspective — which I don’t, both because Ironwood didn’t enact martial law then and much of Volume 7 is him bending to others’ perspectives — that doesn’t absolve Winter of suggesting it herself in a manner that conveys her approval. We can’t go, “Ironwood is bad for wanting to enact martial law, but Winter isn’t bad for suggesting they enact martial law.”

Really, the implied defense in arguments like these is that Winter is being coerced somehow. The only way you can get “It’s okay if Character A does X, but not okay if Character B does X” is if Character A is forced into committing X through some threat, manipulation, or loss of agency. It’s why Penny is not a horrible person for attacking Klein: we understand that in hacking her, Watts and Ironwood took her agency away. It’s why Yang isn’t a horrible person for accusing Ozpin of hurting the Branwens with the bird transformation: we understand that Raven lied to her. (Even though, as I’ve discussed in the past, Yang’s situation is more complicated in that we do hold her accountable for things like, “Why did you trust Raven’s version of events at face value without ever considering that she would lie?”) Part of the assumption that Winter fits this mold is because she does fit it later. Ironwood’s office scene, wherein he very creepily pats her shoulder and discusses torturing Penny’s friends, is meant to convey a, “Holy shit, this guy has gone off the deep end and if I oppose him I might be in trouble” feeling. We understand there why Winter doesn’t just yell her disapproval: it’s not longer safe. It’s the same sort of work we see when the two nameless soldiers appear in Ironwood’s office looking terrified of him and, indeed, we see later that when someone does dare speak up (Marrow) Ironwood immediately attempts to kill them.

The problem is that none of this work occurred in Volume 7. At no point prior to those scared soldiers, Marrow’s near execution, Winter’s office scene, etc. does the text imply that Ironwood is threatening his people. (And even the above examples are messy af because Ironwood moves from, “Winter betrayed me by releasing the prisoners I needed?? ... Guess I’ll trust her and her alone to have my back when I arrest Penny.” This stuff is not well written.) Rather, we see the exact opposite work, in that Winter goes out of her way to tell people, namely Weiss and Penny, that yes, she’s making her own decisions. She decided to join the military. She decided to become the Winter Maiden. She decided to back Ironwood’s idea to leave with Atlas. And she decided to suggest martial law.

I’m not going to lie, the fandom’s (and, more recently, the show’s) tendency to erase women agency makes me really uncomfortable. RWBY is a show built around the power of women, particularly young women, and the fandom celebrates that intention... up until the women do something bad, foolish, or even just make a mistake. It’s not that Pyrrha foolishly went off to fight a maiden when Ozpin explicitly told her not to, it’s that Ozpin’s manipulation forced her to take that action (which in turn is built on the belief that it was manipulation to begin with: Pyrrha is incapable of deciding to be the maiden herself). It’s not that Salem planned to enact the eugenics based plan of replacing the world with her magical bloodline and, when Ozma tried to keep that from happening, she killed her children and then burned him alive, Ozma forced her to take that action by daring to leave. It’s not that Raven chose to enter a school with the intention of later killing its inhabitants, gained the trust of the headmaster, received power, entered a war, and then abandoned it to instead spend her days raiding villages that leave them decimated from grimm, Ozpin forced her to go back to that life by revealing horrifying information (don’t think too hard on how, in the next generation, withholding that same information is also bad). It’s not that Winter chose to escape her abusive upbringing by going to the military/huntsmen school next door — rather than going elsewhere like her little sister did — and then later chose to support the man she’d come to trust as he navigated situations with no easy solutions, it’s that Ironwood forced her to do everything the viewership doesn’t agree with, despite a lack of evidence for that and Winter’s own claims of, ‘I chose this myself.’ Winter herself becomes a part of that fandom subset when, in Volume 8, she denies having any part in this and instead puts it all on Ironwood’s shoulders. That’s a very sharp contrast to Volume 7 when she acknowledged her own agency.

It’s a very simplistic form of “feminism” wherein there’s a Bad Man and a Good Woman and if the woman’s actions in any way seem suspect, it must be the fault of that evil, manipulative, male influence in her life. This is not only a terrible way to interpret women characters — the best thing you can do is portray us as well-rounded and flawed as we actually are, just like any other human being — and it’s not just a way to ironically talk over these fictional women — it doesn’t matter what choices we saw Pyrrha make, or what Winter says about her own life, I know what’s really going on — it’s also just a bad way of reading the text. The ability to make claims like the one you reference, anon, requires ignoring huge swaths of the story and replacing it with headcanons. Ignore what we saw Winter do, what we say her say, what we saw Ironwood choose in Volume 7, and replace it with these ideas that have no basis in the text, but that I feel very strongly about; an interpretation that I’m more comfortable with. Because people do seem to be uncomfortable with the idea of truly flawed women, not just surface stuff like, “Yeah Yang has a little bit of a temper, but she’s still #perfect.” This includes the RWBY writers. Given that girl power focus of the story, few are willing to acknowledge that maybe Ruby is seriously messing up. Maybe Salem was a victim, but is now very much the enemy. Maybe Winter supported Ironwood through the embargo, supplies, martial law, and murdering a councilman, only turning when he threatened to blow up a city. Winter is culpable in all this and that makes her a better, more well-rounded character. Ignoring that depth for a “women good, men bad” take — especially in 2021 when we’ve adopted a more nuanced, intersectional form of feminism based on gender diversity — isn’t something I’m personally able to understand.

#rwby #mymetas #Anonymous

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orenjixstrider · 4 years ago

Text

Bittersweet Jealousy (Tsukishima Kei x Manager!Reader)

Word Count: 2,104 words

Summary: As one of the Karasano managers, it only makes sense that you’d be close to some of the players. However, Tsukishima isn’t all too thrilled with the idea of you being friendly with the King of the Court.

Warnings: Some potty words, I think?

A/N: I’ve written a lot of fanfics, but this is the first one I’ve decided to publish (thank you to @the-broken-halo-writer specially for the encouragement). Writing Haikyuu fics is still new to me, but I’m very proud how this came out on. Originally, this was written using my OC as the main character, so the reader is female. However, in the future, I will be using a gender-neutral reader (although bear with me, I do make a lot of mistakes when I try to write using gender-neutral characters). Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

Arguments were nothing new to Tsukishima and Y/N. They had been dating since their second year of middle school and had been going steady ever since. She would hope by now that they both knew each other well enough that simple disagreements could not shake or tarnish their relationship.

However, as they stood out in front of the school gate entrance, Y/N was beginning to think otherwise.

It had started out as a little comment, “You seem to be a little too chummy with Kageyama.” Y/N didn’t think much of it at first; it was a part of her job as manager after all.

Halfway through the school year, Kiyoko had approached Y/N and her friend, Yachi, about the manager position for the school’s boy volleyball team. Due to Yamaguchi and Y/N’s encouragement, Tsukishima had joined the team earlier that year. She knew how much he actually enjoyed the sport and she was proud that he was willing to give the club a chance. However, as a result, their schedules began to conflict with one another, making it hard for them to see each other as regularly as they did in middle school.

The idea of being able to see Tsukishima more made the position appealing and it wasn’t long before the two girls both agreed to give it a try. With the job, Y/N had become more acquainted with the club’s members and considered them all to be close.

“Of course, he’s a good friend,” Y/N shrugged nonchalantly as she typed away at her cellphone. It was obvious Tsukishima didn’t see eye to eye with Kageyama, but she figured that he was smart enough to know that their relationship was purely platonic. Tsukishima was not pleased by her response and stopped at the gate’s entrance. It took Y/N a couple of seconds to notice that he wasn’t following behind her anymore, causing her to shoot him a concerned look over her shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t think there is anything wrong with your relationship with Kageyama?” Tsukishima asked, his eyebrow raising as if he asserted that there was a correct answer.

“Is this a trick question?” Y/N laughed. It didn’t take long for her giggles to die down when she noticed that Tsukishima’s expression did not falter; as always, he was completely serious. She crossed her arms and met his grimace with an equally displeased stare, “Wait a minute, are you jealous of Kageyama?”

“No way, I just don’t like it when you spend more time with him than you do with me?”

“That’s jealousy,” Y/N rolled her eyes. This was new; she never took Tsukishima for the jealous type. He seemed too stuck up for such a petty emotion. It made her a little happy that he cared, but she tried to reassure him, “I see you every day and I spend all my free time with you, Kei. I’m literally walking home with you right now.”

“You’re still too close with Kageyama,” Tsukishima retorted.

As refreshing as it was to see him caring about her attention, the act was quickly getting old and Y/N was not having it. They had been together two years and he didn’t seem to trust her enough to talk to someone that wasn’t him. Still, Y/N attempted to contain her anger in attempts to reason with her boyfriend.

“What am I supposed to do? Not talk to him?” Y/N asked.

Tsukishima didn’t miss a beat, “Yes.”

“Why?” Y/N was more than shocked. How could he have said that with such confidence. Yes, Tsukishima could be haughty at times, but this was way more than usual, “He’s just a friend.”

“You seem pretty close for just friends,” Tsukishima said suspiciously. Y/N had no clue what he was getting at. The glow of the streetlamps offered very little light on the situation before her and it was only going to get worse, “Sure you’re not cheating on me?”

That had done it. Y/N could understand if he was not too please with her friendship with Kageyama but implying that she would dare cheat when she was nothing except loyal was crossing a line. Did he really have so little trust in her to believe such a notion? Now, Y/N was angry.

“How could you say something like that!”

“You’re not denying it,” Tsukishima scoffed, crossing his arms. He almost seemed like a little kid throwing a tantrum and Y/N was beginning to believe that to be the case.

“I shouldn’t have to!” She exclaimed, “What kind of bullshit are you on? Kageyama is just a friend, like everyone else on the team. Of course, I’m going to be friendly with them because that’s what they are: friends.”

“You don’t act that way with me.”

Of all the excuses he could’ve given, that was by far the worse thing he could have said to her. Although they were only standing six feet apart, Tsukishima could feel the anger that radiated from her. He knew he was pushing her buttons, but he refused to back down.

“That’s because you hate it when I joke around with you,” Y/N said, her clenched fists shaking with anger.

“I never said I hated it,” Tsukishima said defensively, only to have Y/N cut him off.

“Yes, you have!” Y/N shouted over him, her voice breaking the silence that had fallen over the school, “I once tried to tell you a dad joke and you told me to go away because I was being ‘annoying’.”

She wasn’t wrong; in all the years that he’s known her, Tsukishima was never one to entertain her terrible jokes.

“Well, just because you don’t do it with me doesn’t mean you should do it with another guy,” Tsukishima pointed out.

“Unbelievable,” Y/N let out an irritated sigh. Most of the time, she was extremely patient with him. People often complimented how well she dealt with Tsukishima and it was something she often prided herself on. But at this moment, she had reached her limit and the mere sight of him made her want to punch something.

Y/N refused to let her emotions get the better of her and attempted to walk around Tsukishima. If he wasn’t going to try and see her perspective, maybe he needed some time apart to think about what he was saying before making wild accusations.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Tsukishima grabbed her wrists, but she wrenched herself out of his grip as if he had touched her with a flame.

“What am I supposed to say to you?”

“Why can’t you just admit that you’re wrong?”

“Because I’m not!” Y/N cried desperately in hopes that it would get through his thick skull. For someone who she admired for being so logical and cunning, he was being completely irrational, no matter how much sense she tried to talk into him, “You don’t actually believe that I shouldn’t be friends with other boys, do you?”

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Tsukishima admitted and Y/N’s temper flared.

“Tsukishima, you have to accept the fact that I’m going to have friends who are male,” Y/N sighed, rubbing her temple to soothe the headache that she could feel forming, “I don’t understand why it’s so bad if I get along with your teammates.”

“That’s the problem, Y/N,” Tsukishima interrupted, “It’s the fact that you get along so well with them that I don’t like.”

“But why?” Y/N had never seen him so frustrated before and her curiosity kept her from letting out a snarky comeback. Tsukishima wasn’t looking at her, but the moonlight lit up his troubled expression. For the first time, he seemed to struggle with his words, which was different from the witty boy she had come to know. After a long pause, he spoke again.

“I know I’m not the best boyfriend; I’m painfully aware that you could do so much better than me,” Tsukishima began to close the distance between them, reaching up to grasp her cheek, only to instantly pull his arms back tightly to his sides, “I can’t change the fact that this is the way I am. I’ve tried to act differently, believe me, but I always revert back to who I am because it just feels natural.

“And I’m scared that one day you’re going to finally notice how much better off you’d be with someone like Kageyama.”

Silence once again engulfed the couple. Y/N refused to meet his gaze, almost as if she was refusing to acknowledge his presence. He could tell by the intensity of her stare that she was trying to contain her emotions, but it was useless when she wore them on her sleeve. The anger and frustration were evident, but Tsukishima could see the sadness and pain that peaked out from underneath. For a moment, Tsukishima had realized the magnitude of his words’ effect on her, which caused guilt to swell painfully into his chest.

He knew this was his fault. In reality, Y/N had done nothing wrong and he was just being selfish. However, he was extremely prideful, one of the only flaws that Tsukishima would ever admit about himself. It prevented him from doing a lot of the things Y/N expected of him as her boyfriend. Why wouldn’t she look for someone else when anything they could give her was much more than what he had to offer and Tsukishima painfully considered the idea that maybe she’d be better off without him.

“Maybe…” Tsukishima whispered, almost under his breath, “Maybe it would be better if we broke up…”

“Tsukishima, wait,” Y/N looked up at him. Shock painted her beautiful features and it took everything in him not to reach out to her. She inched a bit closer to him as if testing the treacherous waters that lay before her. The space between them was almost non-existent, but Tsukishima still did not move.

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyebrows furrowed as she chose her words carefully, “I know you can’t change. I know you’re a stubborn asshole who hates giving affection almost as much as he hates to admit that he’s wrong.”

“Wow, thanks,” Tsukishima instinctively muttered, but shut his mouth when she shot him a look that dared him to interrupt her one more time. He raised his arms in mock surrender and motioned for her to continue.

“But… I’m not asking you to change how you act,” Y/N insisted, placing her hands on his chest while she drew random shapes into his uniform, “If I didn’t like how you acted, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.”

“Actually, I was the one who asked you…” Tsukishima didn’t need to look down at Y/N to feel the heat of her glare, “Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Y/N stated a bit louder, “I like you for who you are and I always have. You can be an insufferable prick, but you’re my insufferable prick. You sometimes suck at this whole “relationship” thing, but I know that doesn’t mean you don’t love me.”

That was true. No matter how mean he was, it never changed how much he appreciated her. Besides Yamaguchi, very few people were as persistent at remaining at his side as Y/N and that was something he loved about her.

What had been a very sweet message was ruined the next time that Y/N opened her mouth, “Your pride is also bigger than your dick, but size doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, I get it: I’m terrible the majority of the time. Can you get to the point?”

“My point is that I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Y/N stated matter-of-factly, “My goal is to make friends, not find someone to replace you. You should know that.”

“I know,” Tsukishima admitted bitterly before snaking his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

“And if you want this relationship to last, you’re going to have to get over yourself and accept that. Jealousy is not a good color on you, Kei,” Y/N teased.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes and pressed his lips softly to her forehead to hide his face, “Maybe if you stopped making me jealous…”

“Kei,” Leave it to Y/N to make a threat out of his name. He let out an exasperated groan, but the corner of his lips rose into an adoring smile.

“I get it already, stop nagging me,” Tsukishima scooped her small hand into his own and began to tug her in the direction of the way home, “Let’s get going, maybe we can get ice cream from the coach’s shop.”

“Only if you pay.”

“Yeah yeah, I already know.”

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#x reader #oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu oneshots #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #kei x reader #tsukishima oneshot #manager!reader

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celiabowens · 4 years ago

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Book recommendations, Literary Fiction edition(?)

A companion to this post (which should be updated, at some point lol)

Short Story Collections:

Salt Slow by Julia Armfield: grotesque and disquieting collection about women and their experience in society, how they view and perceive their own body and desires. Pretty strong mythic, magical realism, body horror elements in here.

The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks: fascinating collection in which Sacks reminishes some particularly odd stories of patients who had to cope with bizarre neurological disorders.

Home Remedies by Xuan Juliana Wang: a collection focused on the Chinese millennial experience. Stories about love and loss, family, immigration and the uncertainty of the future. (also there’s an extremely beautiful short story about a pair of Chinese divers that broke me forever!!!)

Bestiary: The Selected Stories by Julio Cortázar: unforgettable selection of short stories that mix surreal elements to everyday life and apparently ordinary events. Would also recommend All Fires the Fire by the same author.

Novels:

How Much of These Hills is Gold by C. Pam Zhang: one of the biggest debuts of 2020, it follows two recently orphaned children through the gold rush era. An adventurous historical fiction piece that focuses on themes like gender, identity and immigration, this is one of my favorites 2020 reads so yeah, I’d really push it in anyone’s hands to be honest.

Burial Rites by Hannah Kent: historical fiction inspired by the last days of a young woman accused of murder in Iceland in the 1820s. A quite bleak, but beautiful novel (the prose is stunning).

The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave: historical fiction novel set in Norway in the 17th century, following the lives of a group of women in a village that recently (barely) survived a storm that killed all of the island’s men.

The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead: the 2020 winner of the Pulitzer Prize. The book follows the lives of two boys sentenced to a reform school in Jim Crow-era Florida. A bleak, but important book, with a shocking final twist (side note, I’ve been recommended The Underground Railroad by Whitehead as well, but I haven’t gotten to it yet. If you’re looking for something quite peculiar, if a bit less refined when compared to The Nickel Boys, The Intuitionist is a quite odd pulpy noir set in an alternate NY about...elevator inspectors *and racism*).

The Leavers by Lisa Ko: haunting book about identity and immigration as the main character is apparently abandoned by his own mother (an undocumented Chinese immigrant) during his childhood. Mainly a story about living in between places and constantly feeling out of place.

The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa: when everyone would probably recommend Murakami (not much against Murakami besides his descriptions of women and their boobs), I suggest checking out some of Ogawa’s books. The recently translated The Memory Police, published in Japan in the mid 90s, is an orwellian dystopian novel set on an unnamed Island where memories slowly disappear. Would also really recommend The Housekeeper and The Professor, a really short novel about a housekeeper hired to clean and cook for a math professor who suffered an injury that causes him to remember new things for only 80 minutes.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong: Ocean Vuong’s debut novel, following a son writing a letter to his illiterate mother. The book seems quite polarising due to Vuong’s writing style (his poetry background is really quite clear and the book doesn’t really follow a regular narrative, rather than portrays events and memories in brief flashes), but I loved it and I’d really just recommend going into it without knowing much? It’s a beautiful exploration of language, family history, trauma, sexuality and more.

Exist West by Mohsin Hamid: this book was fairly popular when it came out (in 2017 I believe) and was often incorrectly marketed as magical realism. Hamid’s book is a brief and quietly brutal journey with a few fantastical elements, following a couple trying to escape their city in the middle of war, as they hear about peculiar doors that can whisk people far away. The doors are, of course, a quite effective metaphor for the immigrant experience and the book does a great job at portraying the main characters’ relationship.

Family Trust by Kathy Wang: this has a really low rating on goodreads which...wow i hate that. Family Trust is a literary family saga/drama about a Chinese-American family residing in the Silicon Valley. It’s often been compared to Crazy Rich Asians, but I believe it to be more on the literary side and definitely less lighthearted.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee: historical family saga (one of my favorites tbh, I’m absolutely biased, but this book deserved more hype) set in Korea and Japan throughout the 20th century, following four generations of a Korean family. While I wasn’t the biggest fan of the prose, the book has really great characterisation and absolutely fascinating characters. (I’d suggest checking out eventual TW first, in this case).

The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker: another recent read, The Silence of the Girls, while not faultless, is a pretty good retelling of The Iliad, narrated through Briseis’ perspective. The prose can feel a bit too modern at times, but it provides the reader with some really strong quotes and descriptions.

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng: and also Little Fires Everywhere by the same author, to be honest. If you’re looking for really really good family dramas, with great explorations of rather complex and nuanced relationships? You should just check out her stuff. Vibrant characters, good writing, and some superb portrayal of longing here.

Nutshell by Ian McEwan: i’m starting with this one only to grab your attention (if you’ve even reached this part lol, congrats), but McEwan’s one of my favorite authors and I’d recommend almost everything I’ve read by him? Nutshell, specifically, is a really odd and fun retelling of Hamlet...told from the pov of an unborn baby. But really, I’d also recommend Atonement (of course), The Children Act, Amsterdam? All good stuff.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles: I’ve read this book this summer and, while I’m still unsatisfied with the ending, I’d thoroughly recommend this? The novel follows Count Alexander Rostov, who, in 1922, is sentenced to a lifetime of house arrest in the Metropol, a luxurious hotel in the center of Moscow. A singular novel, funny and heartbreaking at once, following a vibrant cast of characters as they come and go from Rostov’s secluded life.

Human Acts by Han Kang: from the bestselling author of The Vegetarian (which honestly, I thoroughly despised lol), Human Acts focuses on the South Korean Gwangju uprising. It’s a really odd (and at times grotesque) experimental novel (one chapter is narrated from the pov of one of the bodies if I remember correctly), so one really has to be in the mood for it, but it’s a really unique experience, worth a chance.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon: sort of a really chunky historical adventure novel following two artists in 1940s/1950s NY, who create a superhero and use him to wage a one man war on the Nazis. A bit slow in places (the pace can be uneven at times and the book is quite long), but an enjoyable novel that does a pretty good job when it comes to exploring rather classic themes of American contemporary fiction: the American dream and the figure of the artist (I think there’s a particularly interesting focus on how the artists navigates the corporate world and its rules) and their creative process.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: this is a pretty classic rec, the book really got a lot of hype when it came out? It’s a dystopian-ish novel set after civilisation’s collapse, following a post-apocalyptic troupe (of Shakespearean actors). It’s a really odd, but surprisingly quiet book. Not sure if a pandemic is exactly the right time to read it, but I thoroughly recommend it.

The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng: I feel like this book is extremely complex to summarise to be honest. In short, it’s a book set in Malaya at the end of the 1940s, following a woman who, after surviving Japanese wartime camps, spends her life prosecuting war criminals. But truthfully this book is about conflicts and contradictions and in particular about remembering and forgetting. Lovely prose.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: and also The Goldfinch. I’m sure no one really needs me to introduce Donna Tartt?

The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton: quite cerebral mystery set in New Zealand in 1866. Honestly you have to be a patient reader who enjoys novels with a pretty complex structure to like this, but if you’re into this sort of challenging read...go for it? It’s a book of interlocking stories (with 10+ pov and main characters) with a really fascinating structure based on astrological charts, which provide insight to the main characters’ traits and personality as the mystery unfolds.

The Hours by Michael Cunningham: ok...do not watch the movie first. The Hours is an incredibly difficult novel to describe to be honest: it begins by recalling the last moments of Virginia Woolf’s life, as she’s writing Mrs. Dalloway. The book focuses on three separate narratives, each one following a specific character throughout a single day of their own life. Goes without saying that I’d suggest being familiar with Mrs. Dalloway itself first though.

An Artists of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro: not one of Ishiguro’s most famous works (most start reading his work with Never Let Me Go or The Remains of the Day), but probably my favorite out of those I’ve read so far. The novel follows Masuji Ono, an artist who put his work in service of imperialist propaganda throughout WWII. Basically a reflection and an account of the artist’s life as he deals with the culpability of his previous actions.

Stoner by John Williams: I feel like this is an odd book to recommend, because I don’t think someone can truly get the hype unless they read it themselves. Stoner is a pretty straight-forward book, following the ordinary life of an even more ordinary man. And yet it’s so compelling and never dull in its exploration of the characters’ lives and personalities. Also, I’ve just finished Augustus by the same author, which is an epistolary historical fiction novel narrating some of the main events of Augustus’ reign through letters from/by his closest friends and enemies. Really liked it.

Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien: back to integenerational family sagas (because I love those, in case it wasn’t clear lol), Do Not Say We Have Nothing follows a young woman who suddenly rediscovers her family’s fractured past. The novel focuses on two successive generations of a Chinese family through China’s 20th century history. While not every character got the type of development they deserved, the author does a good job when it comes to gradually recreating the family’s complex and nuanced history.

There’s probably more but I doubt anyone’s going to reach the end or anything so. There’s that lol.

#book recs #book rec #litblr #2020 reads #all the typos are my own LOL #also i didnt put here philip roth or auster #but tbh #i dont think anyone needs me to rec them???

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sd1970x · 4 years ago

Text

Marinette, work in progress - Chapter 1

Read also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203645/chapters/63770623

----

“One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” Simone de Beauvoir

There is almost nothing about Marin Dupain-cheng's life, an aspiring clothes designer, that makes them happy. Certainly not the bullying they keep getting at school.

Marin doesn't even know her true gender identity yet.

Both of these are about to change. But would that be enough for her to fight the demons within? ----

CW - Homophobia

Pronouns note: in the beginning of the fic, as Marin(ette) is very much closeted, I am purposefully using he/him pronouns as these capture the correct perspective feel. Pronouns will change as soon as she realizes who/what she really is.

---

So, this is my first work after almost two years of not producing any new ones. I am planning to explore mental challenges involving the crossing of the gender barrier, the very same ones I am now fighting after discovering my own gender identity, as I was writing it in a Miraculous Ladybug fic.

This work is planned to be about a dozen chapters and around 30-40k words when complete.

Thanks go to: V- for inspiring this fic and for being the amazing and caring person they are. Wonderful beta feedback and copyediting: Skye, MyKeyboardDidIt

(further thanks will be updated as goes! if you helped with beta/ideas just hit me up and i'll add you!)

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

"Dear, your alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes! You’re going to be late for your first day of school!”

You say that as if it’s a bad thing. As if I don’t want to be several hours late. Or days.

“Yeah Mom, I’m coming.”

Marin dragged himself out of bed, his form hunched as he made his way to his closet, regarding his clothes with indifference.

I Don’t even like any of them. And I doubt they would solve the real problem here. That I do not like what I see in the mirror.

Myself.

His hand drifted to a random shirt of no particular interest and he casually tossed it over his head. He shuffled over to the bathroom, glancing at himself in the mirror.

Ho-hum. Same old me, isn’t it?

His hair was in its usual mess on top of his head. Foregoing using a brush, he ended up lightly combing through his hair with his fingers until it looked somewhat acceptable.

I guess that’s okay, he thought while shrugging.

As he was brushing his teeth, his eyes strayed to his face. Studying it. Scrutinizing it.

I ought to shave better than this, He thought. His hand reached for the razor, but he stopped short of picking it up.

What even is the point. Either way, trying won’t make any difference.

The image in the mirror appeared to give him a judgemental look, his own blue eyes prying into the inner parts of his soul.

Well, at least these eyes aren’t half as bad. Perhaps they would have been of some use if they had been matched with another person altogether.

He sighed and turned his head away, as if that would be enough to make the thought disappear.

It wasn’t.

The stairway creaked just a bit as he went downstairs to the kitchen where his parents were already toiling about.

“Your need to patch up your shave, my boy,” Tom said. “You want to look good for the ladies, don’t you?”

I’m not into girls, Dad.

Maybe one day I’ll gather the courage to tell you that.

“Well… not really…”

After all, what difference does it make?

“Come now, where’s the spirit? Every girl is different, they can’t all be like Chloe,” Sabine interjected, attempting to be helpful but having just the opposite effect.

“Ugh, Mom, why’d you have to mention her at all?”

Marin frowned as he sat down for breakfast, unable to drive Chloe’s image away from his mind. He took a bite off of his omelette and was struck by the apparent blandness. He set the fork down, sighing quietly to himself.

And there goes my appetite. It’s not the omelette that’s the issue though....

A sip of fresh juice did the trick, the taste too strong to be overridden.

“Cheer up, buddy!” Tom came over. “Take these macarons to school, maybe a tasty start would help lighten up your day!”

“Thanks, Dad, these are awesome.” He said as he picked them up, giving him a half-hearted smile in return.

I appreciate the gesture..., but it feels more like bribing my classmates with these. Guess anything is worth a try at this point.

---

Marin walked into school where everyone was bustling about and chatting with old friends.

Bright banners greeted the students and everything still felt pristine and clean. The corridors even had flower bouquets placed as decorations. Marin took a breath of air, relishing in the floral scent, and proceeded to enter class.

The classroom was freshly painted and even the furniture had been patched with an attention to detail. Marin barely allowed himself a moment of excitement, before despair and weariness took hold again.

It may look different, but looks won’t change anything for people like me. It’ll still be an endless test of mettle against bullying and harassment.

He cautiously went for his seat and observed his classmates.

So there’s Nino, he’s kinda-sorta okay with me. Something I could never say about Kim. Max hasn’t been mean either, but he’s with Kim, so... At least I don’t see her , maybe we’re not in the same—

“What do you think you’re doing?” a loud cry halted his thoughts and confirmed his fears.

Chloe. The nastiest of them all. Here’s to an old-new welcome, a start-over that amounts to absolutely nothing.

“Ugh. Here we go again,” he muttered quietly, hoping Chloe wouldn’t pick it up.

She came over, an accusing look plastered on her face.

“That's my seat.”

“But Chloe, this has always…” he attempted to retort, then quickly backtracked.

“Fine, just… take it. I don’t care.”

“Take it? It’s always been ours.” Sabrina added, bearing the same mocking countenance.

Sabrina helped herself to one of Marin’s macarons uninvited, then made a puking motion.

“Ugh, they are so gross!” she said, even though she was quick to pocket one for her friend as well.

Chloe paid no heed to the macarons as she was already busy teaching Marin the new rules.

“Listen. Adrien's arriving today and the last thing he needs is someone who needs straightening like you giving this class a bad name. Stay away from him, get it?”

Marin tried his best to ignore the obvious insult and focus on the more pressing question.

“Who’s Adrien?”

Both Chloe and Sabrina chuckled, making Marin regret asking.

“Adrien is a famous model. Pretty, rich, glamorous, someone to look up to. Like me. And just like me, he’s everything you’ll never be and everything you’ll never have.” Chloe fawned over her imaginary description as Sabrina took up the task of reprimanding Marin for the question.

“A loser that doesn’t even know who Adrien is, needs to sit as far away from him as possible. You’re enough of an embarrassment to our class as is.”

Marin opened his mouth as if to deny every word, but opted against it.

You’re wrong. One day, I’ll be a famous and successful designer and every single one of you will be sorry for how you treated me. I just have to persist through this. I won’t bite it this time.

He picked up his bag wordlessly and slowly went towards his designated seat.

At least that’s what he planned to do, but the new girl pre-empted him as she grabbed him by the hand and helped him to the seat next to her. Apparently she had overheard the conversation and didn’t plan on letting it slide, at least as far as her expression read as she looked towards one Chloe Bourgeois.

“Hey! Who elected you queen of seats?” She cried out.

“I did. Good luck dethroning me with your pariah friend.” Chloe laughed at her.

It was then that Miss Bustier entered the class, finally putting a timely end to the whole ordeal.

“Has everyone found a seat?” she called.

“Hey. Don’t let her get to you.” The new girl turned towards Marin again.

He nodded.

“If only I could… She makes my life miserable. My only comfort is the thought that I’ll be free once I graduate.”

“I’m Alya, what’s your name?”

“I’m Marin” He replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

“For those of you who don't yet know me,” Miss Bustier called yet again, “I'm Miss Bustier and I'll be your teacher this year.”

At least with the lesson going on, I should be safe from unnecessary trouble.

Marin pulled out his history book, the same one from last year, bearing yet another reminder. "Marin the Gay-boy" scrawled over the cover, courtesy of Kim.

Safe, huh.

“Everything you’ll never be, Everything you’ll never have.”

Like a clean history book.

It was then when the memories came back to life, a flashback from last year.

---

“Who did this?”

Marin looked about, trying to discern any dead giveaways by his classmates. Too many of them seemed to be smiling too mysteriously to be able to get anything out of them.

You need to stand up for yourself! Show them weakness and they’ll hunt you down like prey!

… easier said than done.

He took another good look at his history book. A small red scrawl was now adorning it, not unlike a barb stuck in flesh and equally painful.

“ Marin the Gay-Boy ”.

“Please… tell me who did this.”

Weariness engulfed his voice as it went weak.

I’ll find out who did this! I’ll…

Drip.

Drop.

The book’s hardcover had just won yet another adornment, as Marin’s teardrops started collecting over it.

Marin picked up the book, tucked it by his side and blasted away from class, his legs carrying him as far as he could, a bout of laughter coming from his classmates in his wake.

By the time Nino found him, his tears had mostly dried out.

“I saw it, dude. It was Kim.”

Marin sighed.

“Thanks, Nino. I… there’s nothing I can do about it, now can I?”

Nino nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

---

I may have missed first period and the picking of seats, but I haven’t missed out the first day entirely. I guess luck is somewhat on my side, today.

“Hey there, Adrikins. Here’s your seat, I saved it for you. Right in front of me!”

So, I have that going for me as well!

“Thanks, Chloe, that’s really nice of you!”

As Chloe and her friend Sabrina went to do something else, Adrien found it to be an opportunity to introduce himself to other students around. What caught his attention the most about the nearby student were his orange headphones, seemingly a fixture of his appearance.

“Hey, I’m Adrien, pleased to meet you!” he offered his hand and got answered with a sturdy shake.

“Yo, I’m Nino. So, you’re that guy Chloe mentioned earlier?”

It was at that moment that he caught something happening out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that all about?” he called towards Chloe and Sabrina, as both were putting gum on one of the seats.

“The brat that sits here needs a reminder of his place in the hierarchy. I'm just commanding a bit of respect, that's all.”

“You think that's really necessary?”

“Ah, you've got a lot to learn about school culture, Adrikins. Watch the master.”

Hardly convinced, Adrien went about trying to remove the gum from that seat, as he heard another male voice.

“Oh. So that’s your method of choice. How original.”

The voice sighed as Chloe and Sabrina laughed.

“Uhhh… I…” Adrien tried to protest, as he turned towards who he presumed was the seat’s owner.

The first thing that struck him about this boy is that he had a good amount of untapped potential. Smooth black hair, bright blue eyes… given proper care, he could look so much nicer, but he was relatively unkempt and his clothes were poorly matched too.

“And to think I imagined this year would be any different. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ” The boy lamented.

“No, no, I was just trying to take this off!” Adrien tried to salvage the situation, but to no avail.

All the while, Chloe and Sabrina continued to laugh.

“I see you’re in cahoots with Chloe. You don’t need to play pretend with me.”

“See?” Chloe said, “Gay-boy here knows his place. As he should.”

Marin just covered the gum with spare tissue paper and sat by Alya.

“There you go. Adrien Agreste, daddy's boy, teen supermodel and Chloe's buddy.” Alya quipped.

“I bet he’s used to not seeing or caring how people beneath his status feel,” Marin muttered.

---

Alya had little interest in the class, but much more interest in her table partner. She quickly learned that Marin wanted to be a famous designer after he graduated. While she wasn’t a professional, the sketches Marin gave her seemed really good. But there was something else to watch for, too. How his face had lit up when he handed her his sketches. For a moment there, he seemed to be another person altogether. His face brightened up as he took at least a hint of pride in his handiwork.

And you should. Not to mention that a smile looks so much better on you than that sad face you had on earlier.

They had a free hour just after class, so Alya was only mildly surprised when Marin caught her hand and pulled her towards somewhere as he ran forward.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked.

“The best place this school has to offer.” he grinned and continued to dash forward.

“I present you… the art club room!” he exclaimed.

It’s as if he’s another person entirely.

Marin waded in, showing Alya all the different areas the art room had to offer.

A wall for street art, mostly cleaned from past works but still bearing color marks of older works. Desks used for writing, pen scratch marks still visible even after having been cleaned for the new year. Drawing stands, also marked by some uncleanable paint blots. Then there was...

“... Here it is. A state of the art sewing machine, My best and only friend in this entire school.” he laughed, but in a moment the smile dropped from his face.

“That… I…”

He sat by, not nearly as happy as before, and pulled a derby hat from the nearby drawer.

“I worked on this last year and haven’t managed to finish it yet.”

Alya picked up the hat and casually caressed the fabric. It felt somewhat sturdy yet comfy.

Marin flicked the machine on and seemed to be mulling his next move. Eventually, he just turned it back off without doing anything.

“We technically shouldn’t be here without a teacher, so let’s go.” His passionless voice took over again.

Alya could see this was nothing but an excuse, but she declined to call it out. Her instincts told her there was no chance on earth Marin wasn’t keen on violating this rule more than once.

“It really is a lovely place.” She tried to brighten up the atmosphere, with mild success.

“And I loved the hat.” She said as she handed it back for Marin to place in the drawer again.

That seemed to work a bit better.

“Wait ‘till it’s complete, then. I’m sure it will suit you well.” Half a smile crept to Marin’s face.

---

Marin bid Alya farewell as he left the classroom and slouched towards the school’s main doors.

He cautiously opened it, only to find rain pouring outside and the sky filled with grey clouds.

A fresh start, huh? The morning’s nice weather is already gone. At least the bleakness isn’t hiding anymore.

He stood by, still sheltered, when he found out another person was standing next to him.

That Adrien guy. And he just noticed me. That’s the last thing I need right now.

“Hey!” Adrien called.

He slowly sidestepped to maintain a safe distance between them and turned his head away, muttering a slight ‘hmph’.

“Hey, listen buddy… I really was trying to remove that gum from your seat.”

Marin turned his head around and looked at Adrien, wide-eyed.

I… I must be dreaming. Did he really just say that?

“S-so… you weren’t…” he tried to piece together his words and found himself unable to do so.

“Of course not. I came here to study, to make friends… I’m not here to harass or insult people, where’s the sense in that?”

He is sincere about it. Somebody that doesn’t see me as the “gay punching bag” everyone else does.

“I didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s… It’s Marin.”

Marin’s heart nearly skipped a beat, one that he was sure Adrien managed to hear even with the rain’s sound muffling it.

And then, there was an inaudible sound he missed.

A cracking sound, as the nearly-impenetrable shell, one that was built layer over layer of self-defence from bullying and mistreatment, sealing off his emotions, gave just a little bit of way.

Adrien let his hand out of the shelter, feeling the raindrops accumulating.

“So, Marin, It’s raining and I’ve got a ride, need an umbrella?”

He nodded ever so slightly and Adrien pulled out a black umbrella. A click and a whoosh and it was now open, handed for him to take.

Marin cautiously reached out for the umbrella Adrien handed him, his hand shaking and trembling.

That’s… so nice… so… so unlike…

No sooner than he had picked it up though, his hand slipped and triggered the activation switch, the umbrella closing shut over him.

Adrien laughed for a brief moment and gave Marin a slight friendly shoulder bump.

“You keep safe, alright buddy?”

“A… al… alr-...”

Marin barely even noticed his bag dropping, hitting the ground with a ‘thud’ and his personal effects rolling about on the wet pavement. His eyes were transfixed as Adrien waved goodbye and proceeded towards his pick up car.

He’s not going to insult me or beat me or humiliate me.

Someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on.

I feel… safe next to him.

Oh, Adrien!

Maybe things were going to be different after all.

---

Unnoticed by them both, there was another figure watching the exchange, clad in a hawaiian t-shirt and accompanied by a green looking creature.

“Are you sure of your choice, master?”

“Yes. He will make a fine Chat Noir…

… and she will make for an unforgettable Ladybug.”

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #trans marinette #trans-AU #fanfic #ladybug #umbrella scene

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