#who the fuck abuses their patient who isn’t even a teenager yet?

[a-quinn-ton]

i’m actually losing it

[peachy-panic]

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

Watching rejection after rejection pour in from his top residency programs had felt like nothing short of his own personalized nightmare. He had spent several nights in a row on the phone with Alex, his undergrad roommate and only friend, clamoring back from the edge of many a panic attack, spiraling into all-out existential dread about the future and the past and what all of it meant for him if he couldn’t land an internship, let alone a real job out of school. To his credit, Alex never gave up hope in his friend. Or at least, he did a decent job hiding it if he did. Which was probably exactly what Sebastian needed to get through that particularly dark time in his life, and a good reminder of what a solid friend he had. Even if it was a party of two.

Unfortunately, Sebastian did not have the same faith in himself.

He was able to keep up some facade of optimism as his top five were picked off one by one. Telling himself, despite his devastation, that they were a pretty far reach, anyway. Even with good academic standing, it was famously no walk in the park to land yourself at John Hopkins or Mayo as a first-year. He even maintained a brave face as his first few safety programs reached capacity and moved forward without his name on the roster.

It wasn’t until he received his final rejection letter from some internal medicine place in Bumfuck, Idaho that he felt himself slip into dangerous territory. Sebastian knew himself well enough to know his own depressive patterns by then, and he knew it was only exponential decay from there.

Rock bottom came, as it did, in the wee hours of the night, after a full bottle of wine. Alone in his small apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes with no destination, Sebastian found himself sprawled out on the floor with his laptop hot against his thighs. He couldn’t have explained why he opted for a privacy browser, but something about it allowed him to justify the words that he typed into the search bar.

It was a new low, and one he had sworn to himself he would never stoop to. Yet there he was.

He gave himself a moment to reconsider, to back out of what was undoubtedly a morally-gray train wreck waiting to happen as his thumb hovered over the enter key. And then the alcohol decided to override his moral compass.

Facility Care is the open secret of the medical profession. It comes with its fair share of stigma, and rightfully so, but it is notoriously easy to break into and pays a decent wage.

There are two types of people who end up stooping to that kind of employment. More often than not, it consists of doctors and nurses who had their licenses revoked or suspended somewhere along the line and needed a way back in. As far as Sebastian understood, they aren’t terribly ridgid about the particulars of each circumstance. After all, in the eyes of the law, the patients they would be treating are a price tag away from being entirely expendable.

The other percentage of Facility Care workers, and the reason Sebastian found himself staring at his too-bright computer screen with a sinking feeling of dread that night, are young medical graduates who find themselves in a tough spot. It isn’t difficult to spell out the logic behind that one when you open the WRU CAREERS tab on the home page and see the bright white words printed across the top of the screen:

LOAN FORGIVENESS.

It is shamelessly predatory and aggressively capitalistic, but Sebastian supposes that particular exploitation is pretty far down on the list of transgressions for an institution of legalized slavery. A few broke and hopeless medical students were hardly going to keep the Powers That Be up at night when they were able to rest easy under the weight of hundreds of thousands of stolen lives.

The whole thing is part of the massive PR overhaul the company did a few years back. In a world that was slowly inching toward civil activism and with the accessibility of platforms like social media to hold them accountable, WRU had to adapt to survive. Adaptation, in this case, took the form of changing the barest of minimums in order to keep themselves above board — to the public eye, anyway. Anyone who dares to take a closer look at the policy changes can see that it’s bullshit.

Changing ownership conditions to a rent-by-contract basis isn’t the humanitarian move they try to paint it as. In the end, it probably just equals out to more money in the company’s pocket when they can get more return on their “investments,” and a larger chance of exploitation for the people being moved around.

Getting rid of the Romantic division is an entirely meaningless gesture when they are still loaning out human beings with no legal rights and the inability to say “no.”

And offering an open job market with good wages and healthcare options to lower class individuals is a pretty convenient way to mute the backlash.

Essentially, you can tie a system of slavery and abuse up in a bow and make it pretty on the outside, but at the end of the day, it’s still fucking slavery.

Not that he has any room to criticize now. Now that he’s one of them.

In the end, Seb tries to justify his decision a few different ways. He is, after all, more or less a young man alone in the world. The odds are stacked against him and have been for a while. With only his own two legs to stand on, the only force stronger than his internal ambition is his instinct for survival, and he’s been running on those fumes for longer than he can count.

He had lasted less than two months under his parents’ roof after he came out of the closet at eighteen. It wasn’t exactly a surprise for anyone involved; Sebastian’s parents had known about (and subsequently bottled) his… urges… since he was in high school. Probably before that, if he is being honest with himself. And Sebastian, for his part, had spent the better part of his teenage years mentally preparing for the inevitable. He can recall long, late nights he had spent crying into his pillow and the perfectly-scripted ‘coming out’ speeches he recited to his mirror when he was one-hundred percent sure his parents were asleep.

Of course, none of the preparation had been anywhere near adequate when he actually found himself wilting beneath the heat of his father’s glare, the weight of his mother’s grief.

But. He had recovered. That is the point he tries to remember when the memories sting fresh beneath his skin, even all these years later. He has more-than proven himself to be a survivor. He has worked harder than anyone he knows for every scholarship, every grant, every dollar to put himself through school. Sacrificed nights out and real relationships for night shifts at shitty diners and long weekends cramming for exams. It hadn’t been easy, but he considers it the price he had to pay for his independence. For freedom, to live the life as the person he is meant to be, despite his unfortunate odds. He spent years telling himself it would be worth it. That one day, his hard work would pay off.

He can’t stop now.

Sebastian doesn’t have the luxury of taking time off to reroute when his navigation has gone amiss. He is walking the precarious line of rapidly accruing interest and student loans and a dwindling savings account, and there is no safety net below him.

Beggars can’t be choosers, and as it turns out, beggars sometimes have to compromise their moral integrity in order to survive.

It’s only temporary.

That is the mantra that gets him through the (half-drunken) application process and the (disturbingly lax) interview process. It is a job. One job. In the medical field, though the details are up for debate, and it is real-life money for rent and food and a savings that will hopefully be sizable enough to get him where he really wanted to be. Which is… really, anywhere else.

He can do ‘temporary.’ And perhaps, some misguided part of him thinks he can do some genuine good from the inside, too. ‘Be the change you want to see’ and all that.

It is a far jump from the floor of his apartment, sloshed and exhausted and desperate, to the cold, sharp reality of walking into his place of employment on his first day of work. Ironically, it feels a lot like an echo of the emptiness from his graduation day.

‘Sterile’ doesn’t quite cover it. ‘Sterile’ is the expectation of any well-respected medical establishment, but the inside of the facility walls has been wiped clean of far more than bacteria and germs. It is completely devoid of humanity. The long corridors that connect the medical wing to the general ward are windowless and dimly lit by flickering fluorescent panels that had make his head pound for the entirety of his first week.

He is given an office, though it is a term he, himself, might use loosely, as it is more akin to what was probably a storage closet before the old prison had been converted into the state’s training headquarters. It leaves him just enough space for a small desk and two chairs. On his first day, he asks if it is okay to bring in some personal items to spruce the place up. The older, balding doctor who had been assigned to show him around merely shrugs, and Sebastian decides to take that as a yes.

The small, pink-framed photo of a six-year-old Sebastian Tate in his grandfather’s white coat and an old-school stethoscope around his neck is hardly enough to make the place cozy from the corner of his desk, but it’s a good enough reminder of why he has to make this work.

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Be the change you want to see.’

He will do his best.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 4

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Bullying and non-explicit violence in this chapter, Peter whump.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: WE'VE GOT PLOT! Peter Parker deserves better. Steeb needs a vibe check cuz he keeps failing them :( Boomers are hot but ... Boomers. KitKat, anyone? Natasha is a Brain Cell™. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​ @hermione-grangers-wife​ @downeyreads​ @individualistfem​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings 👑 - titty gators assemble! 👀

I scheduled a visit to the tower two days after my "illness" episode. Most of my lows passed without any lingering, the headache was gone and so was the nausea. My mood was still somewhere between "please kill me" and "I could eat a lot of cake right now" but it was bearable. I was very much looking forward to occupying myself with the project if only to divert my focus from overthinking about my own misery.

Peter said he was going to see Tony straight after school and offered for me to tag along with him: Tony sent his driver to pick up the boy. I didn't have the heart to refuse, seeing no point in waiting for an Uber on a rainy workday afternoon. Traffic was horrendous in New York city no matter the weather but a downpour took the congestions to a new height.

When I spotted the sleek, black brand new Audi I made a beeline for it, waving to Happy as I crawled inside as fast as I could. "Don't get the seats wet," The chauffeur grumbled.

"It's wet outside," I rolled my eyes into the next dimension. Whoever thought his nickname was in any way appropriate needed a psych eval. Peter sat on my right side looking wet and downright miserable. I had to swallow a string of expletives at the sight in front of me: the entirety of Peter's right cheek was an ugly shade of blue, eye on it's way to swelling shut and lip busted open. "What in the everliving fuck happened to you?!" Breathing through my nose, I fought bubbling rage inside of me. Peter looked like he went toe to toe with a Hulk.

"Flash happened," The boy mumbled, whining and brooding simultaneously. His cheeks glowed.

"That little runt?" I took another pause to steady my breathing, tentatively reaching out for Peter's hand. He grasped it tightly in gratitude. "Well, did you at least fight back?"

"No, I... I can't do that," Peter became even smaller, curling into the seat and in himself. I was disappointed for sure as I wouldn't just stand there and take a beating, but Pete was different. He was sensitive-a total pacifist to boot.

"Do any of the teachers know? I'm guessing this isn't the first time," Sure, I've seen Parker with an occasional scrape or a bruise but I'd always figured it was just him being a teenage nuisance. Curtain of depression I had over the previous days slowly began morphing into cold fury.

"No, well, they probably do. But Flash is the principal's son so they ignore it, I guess," Peter sighed in defeat. "Mr. Stark doesn't know either. Please don't tell him," He begged.

"Abuse thrives in silence," I parroted our sex-ed teacher but otherwise made no promises. My mind raced between comforting Peter and ordering Happy to turn the car around so I could find the shitty excuse of a human named Flash Thompson and violently make it known what happens to people when they get me pissed off.

"What are you going to tell Tony?" I asked Peter as we herded into the elevator, slightly wet and mostly miserable.

"I have an idea or two," The boy answered darkly.

"You have been summoned to the common floor, I was instructed to notify you there is food to be eaten before sciencing, per Doctor Banner's orders," Friday announced, rerouting the elevator to the aforementioned destination. Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.

"What the fuck happened to you, kid?" Bucky decided screeching like a banshee and attracting at least five of his teammates to come running from the dining room was the best way to approach an obviously spooked Peter. The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Our classmate beat him up," I answered before Pete could lie. "The fucking runt that doesn't know his damn place. His two cronies probably too," The venom in my voice could've melted steel. I was genuinely furious.

"What's his name?" Captain-Steve growled. I was taken aback at the large blonde man suddenly standing up, fists clenched. My feet moved involuntarily, taking a step back from the enraged supersoldier and Pete cowered, startled.

I stepped in front of him immediately. "I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck down, Cap," The trembling in my voice persisted but I stood my ground nonetheless. "Your roid rage is going to land you in prison if you keep going," In my own rage, self-preservation went out of the window along with common sense. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, Peter was downright shaking behind me.

"She's right," Bucky darkly eyed his friend. "Off to the sparring mats with you." He grabbed Rogers by the shoulder with his prosthetic arm all but hauling the blonde towards the elevator. Thor immediately took the Captain's other side, not quite touching him but obviously giving his friend a vibe check. I could've clapped. Not that Steve resisted much, but still.

"Everyone calm down, please," The Black Widow piped up in an even tone. I can always count on a fellow woman to keep calm in a situation where men's tempers almost cause a disaster. "Now, tell us what happened," She approached Peter on quiet feet. The boy shuffled around me looking every bit as dejected as I felt about the situation. "And someone fetch some ice for that bruise," Romanoff's offhand gesture had Barton scrambling into the kitchen.

Peter sat down on the couch, looking at the floor. "Flash has been bothering me since, like, forever and today I just ignored his usual remarks because I had a calculus test, I- I wanted to make sure I knew everything, and I was sitting in a really quiet corner, and I- Ned was hanging out with MJ somewhere and I guess Flash got angry that I didn't answer," Peter rambled in his usual nervous fashion, sentences jumbling together. Natasha kept nodding, simply hugging the boy softly with one arm. As soon as Clint came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel Natasha's other arm pressed it gently to Peter's bruised face. The assassin frowned at the pained whine that left Peter's lips.

"Honestly, that dude is a fucking piece of shit, I'm surprised how he's not in jail yet," I piped up from where I was pacing along the large window overlooking the city skyline. Wound up and tense, I couldn't stay still. "He stole a senior's car for a joyride, last year. He routinely picks on the freshmen and I've personally dislocated his wrist from slapping me on the ass in, like, eight grade," Peter's eyebrows raised at my admission and Natasha gave me a vaguely approving hum.

I caught Peter's eye the moment elevator doors opened revealing a panicked looking Tony and a worried Bruce with Loki standing behind them, talking to a man in... Robes? And a red cape?

"What happened to my science child?!" Tony's fury rang high. The engineer rushed over to Peter, frantically checking him over and growling at the state of his face, letting out a string of expletives seeing the busted lip had started to bleed again.

I gave a tiny tilt of my lips to Bruce who had the oddest compilation of worried, confused and amused in his expression.

"You should probably get him to a doctor, I think his mouth is cut on the inside," I scooted closer to Banner, informing him quietly.

"I'm a doctor," The man in the cape announced, ... strutting (!) over to Pete. There was really no other way to describe his long, precise strides. He quickly butted Tony out of the way and instructed Peter to open his mouth.

"This is utter chaos," Loki muttered, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch.

"It is and I'm living for it," I sighed. The situation was very disorganized with Tony flailing about in blind panic, Bruce just standing there, Cap's rage quit and subsequent intervention by his buddies. Then the new strange dude... Loki was brooding and honestly? Big mood. The only person who made some resemblance of order out if this cluster fuck was Natasha.

All and all, it was quite endearing. I imagined that's what a large, close family would look like. When I said I was enjoying myself - no lie there, even despite the grim situation.

"How are you? Are you hurt?" Bruce quietly asked me, laced with concern. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when I shook my head negative. "Hungry?" I nodded affirmatively and the doctor produced a kit kat bar seemingly out of nowhere, winking at me with a boyish smile. I just about melted on the spot, tearing off a block and giving it to him to avoid any embarrassing reactions I might possibly spout in the wake of my recently acquired crush.

We munched in silence as the Cape Guy explained to Peter (and anxious Tony) that a few butterfly stitches would be needed as well as CT scan to rule out a possible concussion. At that point Tony was steadily turning purple in colour, rage and anxiety combining for a large storm that no doubt will hit sooner or later.

I felt responsible, I guess. Peter must've known Tony was going to react so strongly to his science son getting hurt and well, I hated seeing Tony so mad and helpless. On soft feet, I padded over to the engineer, making sure to stay within direct line of vision. "Tones?" He shot his eyes at me. He was furious. "Look, I'm going to make that fucker's life a living hell," Tony made an agitated noise of protest however I wasn't having it. I knew I'd be in trouble later but for now, I firmly placed my palm over his mouth, enjoying the surprised widening of his eyes at the frivolous gesture. "Listen, right now you can't do shit. You guys are super-powered individuals and Flash is just a nasty kid. You'll get in a big fat mess and he'll get to go away with a slap on the wrist," Tony sagged, visibly, bodily, and I felt it was safe to remove my hand from his face.

"I hate to say it but she's right," Bruce piped up behind me, voice soft.

I nodded. "I'm going to ruin the guy without putting a single finger on him," Tony nodded grimly and Cape Guy halted his examination of Peter's head to give me a mildly concerned stare. "My mother is a litigator, a vicious one at that. I've learned a trick or two," I winked with a grim sort of amusement causing the man to snort. Tony chuckled humorlessly. "As much as I hate to be the voice of reason, it would be a shame for anybody in this tower to end up behind bars. Even if it would be for a good cause," I finished my speech, patting Tony on the shoulder. The surprised squeak made its way out of my mouth when the billionaire pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate hug.

Ignoring my skyrocketing heartbeat, I wrapped myself around him as best as I could. Whatever issues the man had, they had to be quite painful if he reacted to the situation so intensely. I was selfish, but not heartless, so I gave into the affectionate gesture despite the inappropriate feelings that blossomed within me.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you," Peter whined, fat round tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I could tell he was embarrassed beyond Hell but his feelings overwhelmed him enough to just spill through. I immediately made my meanest big eyes to Natasha and Cape Guy who immediately hugged the life out of Pete. There, all set.

"Now go get that scan done," I frowned, seeing Peter start to nod off. "I don't know your name, but can you arrange that? Since you're a doctor," I nodded to the Cape Guy.

"I'm Stephen Strange," he replied, effortlessly picking up a dozing Peter and carrying him to the elevator. Before I could react, he waved his one free hand in some sort of a circle and a glowing ring appeared with what seemed to be a ER room - Strange hastily stepped through, followed by Tony suddenly withdrawing and hurrying after the ... Wizard? The portal closed immediately after.

"What the fuuuuuck..." I gaped at the now empty space. Strange, indeed. Even Loki's scoff didn't put a dent in my perplexed curiosity.

"So, lawyer family, huh?" Natasha, who I'd forgotten about, spoke up, mildly interested.

"Just my mother," I replied casually. They were the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about, especially after being so upset for the past hour. Man, I needed a drink. My hands itched for a cigarette.

"What about your father?" The spy didn't relent, pushing the issue with deadly politeness - I was actually sure she'd threaten me into talking about it even if I refused to.

"He's a celebrity manager."

"Cool," Her tone perked up at that. "Know anyone famous?"

"Know? No," I thought about all the A-list Hollywood stars I've been around, the endless parade of one-hit-wonder musicians that my dad hung out with on a daily basis. "I've crossed paths with at least half the Billboard TOP 40 but that's about it. Katy Perry was really nice," I added as an afterthought.

"I see," Natasha gave me a thoughtful once-over, patting the seat next to her. "So tell me, what do you have in mind for this Flash kid?"

My smile came out sharp and vicious. People tended to underestimate the quiet, quirky loner and I was about to remind them exactly why my kind of kids usually ended up with either millions in their bank accounts or a lengthy criminal record. "I'm going to annihilate any chance he has with having a social life, a girlfriend and I'll be damned if he gets into college without his parents going bankrupt. It goes like this..."

The ominous beginning of my plan attracted everybody in the room, even Loki. If anything, he offered the most constructive advice and the smirk he wore was positively devilish. Steve, Bucky and Thor emerged sometime during the scheming and hastily joined us, identically grim expressions on their faces. We barely managed to get done with our nefarious cackling when a portal appeared once again, Stephen stepping out of it with Tony carrying a sleeping Peter. The boy's head was bandaged, he looked like a mummy.

I stood up, beelining for Tony. "Is Pete okay? Did you call May?"

"He's not concussed but he's taking the day off tomorrow. Yes, I called May. Pete is staying here tonight," Tony looked and sounded like an exhausted, worried parent.

The urge to squee appeared again and I stomped it down with a hard "Good. We made a plan. The fucker is going to choke on his own misery," I gestured to the people sitting in a circle behind me.

Strange snorted.

Furious. I was furious.

Hands on my hips, I swerved towards him, instantly recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here I stood, an eighteen year old high school student, in my fluffy rainbow sweater and denim overalls, staring down a whole grown ass man with magic powers. I digress, my pride won the race against my common sense. "Ex-fucking-cuse you, Voldemort, that's my fucking friend on the line," I seethed, giving him my best death glare.

"Language," Tony barely held together his laughter, looking at the unfolding mess with amusement. Somewhere behind me, somebody chuckled, then I recognised Loki's signature "ehehe" and it kind of went downhill from there. It's a miracle Peter didn't wake up.

"I'd be careful, Strange, she holds up against Stark very well," Loki's quiet compliment only made me preen and puff out my chest in a display of dominance. Stephen's responding eye roll was more fond than annoyed. I counted it as a win.

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer.      Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

     On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

     Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

     “Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

     Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear.      “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

     “Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.”      Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face.      “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse.      “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

     While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student.      “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal.      “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

     Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.”      “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised.      She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

     Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other.      “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

     She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

     “Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

     After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

     She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door.      “Sam?”      The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks.      “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters.      “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas.      “Get in,” she tells him.

     Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

     “Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.”      Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package.      Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

     Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs.      “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness.      “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

     Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch.      “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade.      She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

     Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

     “One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening.      The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

     Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror.      “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door.      “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam���s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

     Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

     “Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

     He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

     “Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.”      “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm.      Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.”      “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.”      Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

     Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

     Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

     “Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again.      “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë  grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again.      “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

     Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

     Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder.      “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

     When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling.      “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

     The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act.      “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again.      “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away.      He nods, swallowing hard.      “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him.      “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

     Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

     Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

     When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

     When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?”      “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed.      “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

     Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

     “Zo?”      The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say.      “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--”      “Don’t mention it.”

     Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon.     “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.”      “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

     With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down.      “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

     The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination.      “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be.      “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.      “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

     After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point.      “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression.      “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.”      “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

     Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.”      She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

     Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

     The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back.      “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.”      “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

     He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans.      His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?”      Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

     The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him.      “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.”      “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side.      “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests.      “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled.      “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.”      Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?”      Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.”      “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

     “You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time.      “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?”      “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies.      Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place.      “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends.      Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.”      “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders.      Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

     A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up.      “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully.      “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern.      “Complicated case?” Dean comments.      “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”      “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures.      “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes.      “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

     For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time.      “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

     “Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her.      Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time.      “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.”      “Be careful,” Sam offers.      Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

     “I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue.      Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself.      “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

     Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

     The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night.      Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

     As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The  brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

     “Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong.      Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street.      “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

     He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition.      “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off.      “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.”      “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back.      “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind.      “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.”      “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago.      “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.”      The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.”      Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?”      “I am,” Same confirms.      “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

     Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead.      “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

     His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

     Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?”      “Waco it is,” Dean agrees.      Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too.      “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

     Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage.            “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware.      He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

     “Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!”      “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him.      “Calm down?!  She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

     He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode.            “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator.      Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

     “For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.”      “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions.      “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

      Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

[ladymazzy]

One year on: the BLM event that divided a Gloucestershire town

I'm beyond furious and exasperated with the perpetuation of the lie that racism is a thing of the past. This woman is only 25, and her recounting her experiences of going to school as a Black girl in the West Country only around a decade ago speaks volumes

Some highlights from the article. (CW for racism and White Fragility™️):

Growing up, Khady Gueye was one of just a handful of black pupils at her school in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. By the time she was a teenager, she was desperate to fit in and conform. And so when her nickname became “Nigs” – short for the N-word – Gueye didn’t challenge it.

Here, in the rural west of England, where she had been fed racist stereotypes of black people her whole life, she didn’t want to be labelled “the angry black girl” or the self-pitying minority who “couldn’t take a joke” or what was considered a “bit of light banter”.

And so it was, that on the last day of school where it is tradition for year 11s to scrawl goodbye messages on one another’s school shirts, Gueye took home a shirt covered with the N-word in giant block capital letters across the front. “Gonna Miss You Nigs” was written on the back next to jokes about golliwogs and messages of good luck.

Gueye was supposed to consider it an affectionate send-off; it was written by her own friends. It was 2012, the year Britain proudly celebrated its optimistic and diverse Olympic Games opening ceremony, or as Conservative MP Aidan Burley would call it, “multicultural crap”.

“I became complicit in allowing it to continue, by being ‘Ha ha! Good joke guys,’” says Gueye, flatly. “But when you grow up in an area that is so predominantly white and are already made to feel different, you just do your best to fit in. The ideal is don’t call out racism. Let it slide. You become so accustomed to it, it becomes your norm.”

Now 25 and on the verge of finishing her English degree at Manchester University, Gueye has become a local community organiser and is more visible than ever in the town where she was born and grew up.

“I don’t want my daughter to grow up with the same experience I did,” she says emphatically, over lunch at her local pub. “This is my home and it’s a lovely area to bring up a family in. I want my daughter to have a life where she is celebrated for who she is, not feel attacked or unwelcome because of her skin colour.”

But Gueye’s attempts to hold a small “celebration of BAME (black, Asian and minority ethnic) culture” sparked a furious backlash that, one year on, still reverberates throughout the small Gloucestershire town of Lydney.

...an online petition was set up to stop the event going ahead on the grounds that it was unsafe and high risk in the middle of a pandemic. Organiser Natasha Saunders wrote: “A mass gathering is a slap in the face to people who have been tirelessly shielding themselves, the elderly and loved ones from this virus.”

Anger, tension and outright abuse boiled over online as a counter-petition to support the event was organised. It got twice the number of signatures, leading Saunders to say that hers was more valid by claiming “90% of [signatories] are from Lydney, can you say yours was?” Later, she would make Eldridge-Tull gasp by posting: “He couldn’t breathe, now we can’t speak”, in a reference to Floyd’s murder by a police officer.

“We’re a happy community, we don’t really have an issue with racism,” said one middle-aged man, who didn’t want his name published, as he nursed a pint outside a local pub. “Outsiders bring their problems, but there’s not a lot of them here,” he said, echoing in politer terms a point that was made repeatedly to the Observer last week.

Last year, Gueye and Eldridge-Tull spent hours patiently replying to comments online in an attempt to explain the event and reassure people about it, but still received threats. Hundreds of screenshots of the abuse have been shared with the Observer. A typical missive read: “Fuck off. Not everyone agrees with black lives. I can’t say what I want on here coz I’ll be reported for racism. But I would bring back black slavery.” Gueye was repeatedly told to go back to where she came from if she didn’t like it and that she would be responsible for bringing harm to Lydney residents.

The pair’s standard response to those with genuine concerns about mass gatherings in a health pandemic, during a lockdown, was to keep explaining that social distancing was being strictly adhered to – two-metre grids were hand-chalked by Gueye and Eldridge-Tull on the site – and that PPE was being provided to anyone who didn’t have any.

“I think it speaks volumes that BAME people are still willing to protest for their human rights even though they are disproportionately affected by the pandemic,” wrote Gueye. “Maybe this should highlight the severity of the inequality in our society”.

....

When asked if she [deputy mayor, Tess Tremlett] accepted there were a lot of racist aspects to the abuse the organisers had endured, Tremlett replied: “I think some of the comments coming from supporters of the event were actually racist in themselves. They were called ‘white trash’, they were called Nazis and all sorts.”

But as anti-racist activists have spent the last year explaining, racism isn’t simply prejudice based on how one looks, but a system...[based] around a specific set of ideas – in this case, racist ones.

It is useful to explain why it is possible for white people to experience individual prejudice and unpleasant behaviour simply based on the colour of their skin but why it is inaccurate to call that “racism”. Being white does not mean one is more likely to be criminalised by the police, or that one is more likely to work in lower-paid frontline work or that one is more likely to be exposed to and die of Covid as a result.

In Gloucestershire, for instance, police statistics show that being black means you are nine times more likely to be stopped and searched by the police than you would if you were white.

The numbers are blankly disproportionate; there are just over 5,000 black people resident in the county compared with 570,000 white people. Last year, Gloucestershire council published evidence that jobseekers from minority ethnic groups had to send an average of 60% more applications to receive the same level of interest as white candidates. It’s not a conversation that Lydney, like much of the country, appears to have much interest in yet.

Tremlett, who has two decades of experience working in community engagement, explained that her sole reason for opposing the event was to be lawful. “Racism is the biggest insult anyone can say to me and I was called a racist by Khady’s team, whoever they are.” Was being called a racist worse than the actual racism that Gueye was continually facing in her everyday life? At this, Tremlett began to cry.

”You don’t understand,” she said, explaining that her daughter had been to three Indian weddings, that her builder was black, and that she had run an equalities panel for years as a councillor. Her experience – being called a racist, being abused online – when she felt she was doing the right thing, understandably made her defensive and upset. But it’s a difficult position for Gueye and Eldridge-Tull to deal with. Especially as she described Gueye as “aggressive and confrontational”.

Last year, Tremlett took the matter of the Forest of Dean’s BLM movement to local Conservative MP Mark Harper, who raised the matter in the House of Commons.

On 17 June, Harper, who may be best known as the immigration minister responsible for sending vans encouraging illegal immigrants to “go home” around parts of London, appeared to encourage an online pile-on against Eldridge-Tull, who had a tenth of his 30,000 followers, and demanded she apologise to the local community for tweeting: “The reaction to the BLM protest in Lydney has brought to light so much support, but so much hate. I love where I live, but I’m ashamed of my neighbours, and ashamed to be part of a community that has so widely endorsed and exacerbated racial hatred.”

....

When Gueye posted a picture of her school-leaver’s shirt on Instagram last year, one of her schoolfriends wrote that it was outrageous, and that she was impressed with everything Gueye was doing. “I was really happy she felt that but it was awkward,” says Gueye. “I messaged her back to say that she was one of the people who wrote those messages.” An embarrassed silence followed, but Gueye is hopeful and optimistic. “It’s still a positive sign.”

[hoe-doroki]

ana reads bnha ch31

previous chapter here first chapter here next chapter here

🤣 I almost forgot that the first thing this boy says is something that only Todoroki would ever say. It’s his intelligence combined with his denseness combined with his life informing his whole worldview. Guysssss, this post is gonna be so looooong. I’m so excited! I’m panting. Okay, let’s go.

Once again, Ana squeals: My boy is so smart!! I like to think I’m smart, but, in this situation (between Midoriya’s rambling) I’m not sure I would have picked up on that. Shouto is so sharp. But then he doesn’t pursue it. He doesn’t try to squeeze the info out of Midoriya. Not because he doesn’t think he could—if I were Shouto, I would look at Midoriya and figure there was a way to get him to talk. He already gave a hint by accident. I just think he has confidence that he’ll be able to figure it out if he’s patient.

I wonder if he does, though? I mean, after their battle, Shouto stops caring about this...doesn’t he? I think he does. Which is interesting, right? He only cares right now because he sees it as a threat. But once he doesn’t care about the threat anymore, he only cares about Midoriya as a person. Not any of this All Might nonsense. Ugh, Todoroki <333

Of all time??????? Guys, that’s very different from being the current number two hero. Like, where is this GOAT ranking? I mean, we know that All Might is the greatest of all time. But, surely, someone from, 50, 100 years ago could be the second greatest of all time. But no, Shouto’s telling us that out of everyone who’s ever been a hero (in Japan) Endeavor is the number two guy. Wowza.

My question about Endeavor is always: what’s your awareness level, bro? Like, it’s evident here that he doesn’t think what he’s doing as a whole is wrong. But does he think that he’s messed up at all? Because, look, him saying, “You think I’d tell you anything?” That’s could easily be him just telling All Might to eff off, no further motive. But I also think that it’s a shame response. He knows some of his “success” with Shouto is fucked, stuff that he definitely wouldn’t share with All Might even if he didn’t kind of hate him. So he hides that shame under his prickly attitude, so he has no reason to talk. Or he’s just an ass, idk.

(Yeah, in the dub he says: “Are you implying something?” Fishy indeed.)

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Why is Shouto telling Midoriya this? @a-bnha-shoutorealm​ and I have talked our faces blue trying to figure out exactly this.

Obviously it’s triggered by the fact that he used his left side without thinking. And because he as the initial questions about All Might. And then he starts off this conversation by trash talking Endeavor which, at some point between his mother being put away and now, he has become comfortable with without fear of retribution (something Kim and I have also talked about ad nauseam).

But in two pages, he goes from this, to telling the story of his scar. Which I don’t think he’s ever told anyone before. Shouto doesn’t strike me as the type to need to keep things secret (judging by how he’s willing to blab off about Endeavor--while Endeavor’s there!--to the little kids during his and Bakugou’s remedial provisional license class). I think he’s just never had anyone he would consider talking to before. He’s been totally isolated by Endeavor--I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s been homeschooled, actually--and clearly doesn’t have any friends. Not that he sees Midoriya as a friend yet, but he is the only person he sees as a near equal.

The most likely solution I can come up with is that he feel like he needs someone to understand, so that he can justify why he’s not using his left side. That he felt like Midoriya was judging him and he wanted to explain his motivations to the only person he thinks is worthy of knowing. Of defending himself to. Shouto’s not the sort to just get carried away, so I think it must be something more like this. Something he feels compelled to do.

Wow, it’s so interesting seeing this juxtaposed against everyone else getting to be normal teenagers, have normal childhoods. Goddd, it breaks my heart, Shouto! We’re seeing Mineta and Kaminari talk about going after some cheerleaders—of course Mineta needs to make an appearance in my blessed chapter about Shouto—while Shouto’s talking about the quirk marriages. I wonder if it’s supposed to juxtapose any more than those two things, though. Is it also showing that Shouto doesn’t take part in those activities? That he has difficulty believing in love and romance due to the sham quirk marriage of his parents’?

And look how heavily drawn his speech bubbles are now? What exactly is that meant to represent? Is it an audio cue about what his voice might sound like or is it just to represent that what he’s talking about is dark and heavy or is it for drama? Him getting carried away as he tells more and more personal details? I don’t read enough manga to know 🤣

Separately, here we also get a hint that Todoroki’s mother isn’t in the picture. “As I remember…”

Okay, this we need to talk about, because that’s the other question people have. Why is Bakugou eavesdropping? To me, it’s always been pretty simple. We have the two people in the class Bakugou cares the most about. The strongest guy in the class—who just won the thing Bakugou was supposed to win—and the pebble in his shoe who’s growing larger and larger every day. He must have seen the two of them split off and, legit, I think he has FOMO. Like, if these two are doing something, he has to know about it. I think a part of him fears they’re laughing about him. Assumes they’re teaming up against him. He’s definitely assuming it’s going to be something about him or that interests him.

He doesn’t expect this.

He knows he shouldn’t have stayed once Shouto starts getting really personal. Bakugou might suck at human interaction, but that’s voluntary. He knows what he’s “doing wrong” socially—he just doesn’t give a crap. It’s a combination of preferring to be the way he is and being too deep down the rabbit hole of  assholery to know the way back. He’s frozen here. Shouto’s story is captivating—so painful you can’t not listen to it. That close-up face of his. That’s someone whose world has been rocked. I remember the first times I became aware of real abuse, times when I realized just how bad things could be for people and it shakes your worldview, freezes you as you struggle to comprehend. Bakugou thought he knew what families were like, since his mom is rougher with him. He didn’t know that something like this could happen to a person via their parent’s hand. I think this is one of the only times he purely feels bad about what he’s doing, what he’s done. But the horror of Shouto’s story has him stuck, unable to walk away.

“Sorry for wasting your time.” What is that?

Does he realize that he said a bit more than he was really intending to? That he troubled someone else with his personal life when he doesn’t want anything done about it? Or is this because he realized that Midoriya isn’t going to say anything about All Might and because of that the conversation was a waste of time.

You know what, knowing our dense little Shouto, I bet it’s that last one.

And if Bakugou’s shaken, then Midoriya is only more so. God, I’m 9 years older than Midoriya and if someone told me something like this out of the blue today, I’d be panicking. This is a delicate situation. He’s just become aware of serious abuse, and someone has confided in him their deepest traumas regarding that. What the hell do you say not to make it worse?

I think he handles it as best he can. Really, I think what he says here is just about the best thing he could have. Because Todoroki is not in a place mentally to accept help. Not even close. But even just sharing his story, that he accepts help from others, is vital. This introduces the idea to Todoroki that he can get help. That working with others is okay. It hasn’t penetrated yet, but it’s the seed planted.

Overall: 1.7K. Over 3 pages. Sorry, all.

Well, guys, this is the peak for me (until Shoto Todoroki: Origin!!!!). I know it’s not the scene with the most action or plot, but I live for character backstory and boys having sensitive moments. This scene in the anime is what made me start to fall in love with Todoroki and the show as a whole. It took me weeks to get to the end of season four after this episode. All the ones before this? Six months.

Todoroki’s story is harrowing, yes. At the same time, we’re getting more worldbuilding. So far, our image of heroes is All Might and the U.A. faculty. We haven’t yet seen any hero that’s corrupt or abusive. But suddenly we meet Endeavor, both through Todoroki, and a couple interactions with All Might. We learn a little bit more about how quirks have affected society and changed since their first appeared. This chapter isn’t one dimensionsal.

And we get our first panels of our main three. I think maybe part of the thing is that Midoriya’s world thus far has been loud, fast, intense. But this chapter is quiet. Nothing but Todoroki’s low, quiet voice. You could hear a pin drop. Barely a movement. Even Bakugou is still. It’s such a change of pace. And when you’re barely expecting it—it hits hard.

Also, every time I double check to see if something in the manga happened in the anime, it always did 😅 My memory may be fallible, but that adaptation sure isn’t! (joke, please don’t come at me)

If anyone has anything to add, obviously I’m dying to talk about it.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 5/8

Summary: The plot starts spamming the chat, and plans are made

Pairings: same as usual, but this time with queerplatonic intruality!

Read on AO3

Word count: 3130

Warnings: discussions of therapy and the kind of bullshit that happens to you in the foster system, the concept of loved ones dying becoming very real and mentions of parents that yell a lot (Though never child abuse)

Other notes: Hi! Not too big of a fan of this chapter, but I may as well get it out already, it's killing me. I hope you all like this though, and if you have any questions, leave a comment on ao3/ask me here and i’ll answer gladly!

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

“Hi.” whispers Thomas as everyone enters the room. He’s been getting better at talking, getting stronger every day. Nobody knows exactly why, but they’re trying to figure out why now, rather than forever ago.

But that’s not important- it’s the first session of their D&D campaign! Virgil apparently has a lot of plans for this campaign.

Thomas hisses again, after everyone has said their hellos, and Virgil and Janus hiss back. Logan remains confused.

They exchange pleasantries for a little while, Thomas regaling them with stories like Mrs. Applebaum and Mrs. Chase wearing each other’s coats yesterday night and walking away, hand in hand, giggling like teenagers even though they’re old ladies with grandkids off in college. Virgil and Logan proceed to then screech about the new Welcome to Night Vale episode, about Frank Chen, whoever that is and then Patton and Remus quietly announce that they’re in a QPR, and Janus and Logan need some explaining but it’s okay, and then when they finish the setup, everyone’s sitting with their laptops, character sheets loaded up and suddenly… nobody wants to play.

Someone else should be here, playing with them as Virgil (probably) shoves all their characters through the wringer (physically and emotionally) and gives them enough comfort to rest easy but that someone isn’t here, he’s in the corner of the Chemistry room, as far away from the chemical cabinet as possible, resting his voice a bit so that he can start talking again in about half an hour after chatting with them during setup, and they don’t know why, but D&D is not something any of them want to do right now.

“Actually guys, I really don’t want to do this right now. Not without Thomas” says Virgil, looking over to the ghost hanging around in the corner, who smiles at them and motions for them to all continue, even as Virgil starts putting their laptop back in their laptop case, then their bag, and everyone is already doing the same.

“Yeah.”

“Mmhm.”

“Thomas, what do you think made you so strong recently?” asks Logan, zipping up his bag after removing his translation notebook and morse code sheet from his bag. It’s honestly a better use of their time, finding out more about their new ghost friend, and perhaps he could come back for good, at the rate he’s going and that’s exciting too.

“I...don’t know? Maybe… naw, no way.” he responds, speaking but it eventually turning back into garbled hissing.

“Hmm? You can tell us- anything like a clue is better than nothing.” responds Logan, pulling out his pen and laying the sheet in front of him on the cold floor. It’s going to start snowing soon- they really need to stop sitting on the cold stone floor so much.

“Um, the people- the people who killed me” everyone winces, Thomas keeps tapping. “They died, in, the fifties I think. Drug overdose or something along those lines. That’s when I started hissing.” Thomas waits for Logan to finish translating, with additional help from Patton, before continuing. “So…” there’s a pause. “Maybe because everyone I loved back then is getting old? Dying maybe? That might be it.” Thomas doesn’t look very happy about that possibility.

“That doesn’t sound very nice, but that is likely the reason. Have you been noticing any recent changes to yourself?” Logan asks.

“Yes. I can hold conversations a lot longer, and sometimes I’m visible to mirrors. I try not to become too corporeal in class, though.” Thomas replies, clearing his throat- indicating he’s gotten some strength back. It’s only taken a few minutes this time, which is the least it has ever taken. He laughs a little, and it’s clear- he sounds like a kid, maybe around their age, which he is. He’d be a good singer, probably. It feels like Thomas is becoming more alive by the day, and maybe he is.

They go on like this for a little longer, forming hypotheses about Thomas’s condition and how to undo it, laughing some and wincing other times at painful memories and good ones, until Patton and Janus get a text from their foster parents telling them that there’s a fam-ily meeting about to happen, and they need to come home. Patton visibly tenses, and Logan doesn’t really know what to do, but Janus takes his hand, shaking a little himself, and tells them that they’ll be there tomorrow, even though he really doesn’t believe it, as much as he wants to. Thomas knows that feeling.

Either way, on that foreboding note, everyone else makes to leave too. Virgil goes next, saying that they have to speak to their friend Hildi (whoever that is) about something they don’t understand. Virgil doesn’t elaborate, though they don’t look very upset either.

Logan soon after, wrapping up his morse sheets after he and Roman engage with Thomas verbally some more. It looks like it may rain soon, the sky grey-blue outside and the phantoms in the schoolyard running for cover, forms sizzling under rain. In this way, Thomas is lucky he died indoors.

Roman and Remus seem to want to go the least, but the rain looks like it’s getting worse and Roman does need to go eat something- he hasn’t since dinner yesterday and it's not like there are edible snacks in a chemistry room- it’s literally lab rule one. Roman tries to put up something of a half-hearted fight, and Remus rebukes, routine, like they’ve done this before and will do it again. They have, they will. Roman argues like he’s convinced himself, Remus like he’s sad, trying to pull Roman to shore, more gently than his usual bombast. They go eventually, just as a light drizzle begins and the school heating turns off, with even the teachers leaving the premises. It’s cold, and it’s dark and at some point Thomas wouldn’t have minded, knowing that he was the dark and the cold and the static but now...

But now he knows that he is becoming more than that.

There’s a little bit of warmth, like that of a tealight within him, that he hasn’t felt in so long that he feel he has almost (almost) forgotten how to feel it but not yet, not yet and he cradles it close through the dark and the wet and the ever-approaching night.

…

Patton walks into the house full of dread. He knows what’s about to happen, and maybe he could have numbed it over in any other house, but he had let himself want, and this is where it got him.

Gosh, Janus really liked being here too, he’ll be devastated.

Janus, honestly, doesn't look very worried, and Patton worries for him.

They find Remy and Emile on the dining table, their designated coffee mugs full of tea this time- peppermint or chamomile or something, probably promotes calm or whatever. Emile had taught him that. Fuck.

What was he going to tell Remus? Roman? Virgil and Logan? Logan latched onto Janus like a drowning man seeing a life raft, and Janus had clung as hard.

Fuck, what about Thomas?

He’s sitting, all too aware of every little thing happening around him in his dread. He wants to take in all the furniture, where he hid when he had panic attacks and where he saw Janus being comforted after his own. He’s always wanted to reach out, take Emile’s hand or Remy’s shoulder and cry, but he didn’t, squashing the hope before it could go anywhere. Guess he was right then, he thought bitterly.

The chairs are arranged strangely- instead of being forced to face Remy and Emile when they got the news, the chairs were arranged in a row- one two three four with the dining table having their mugs in order of age- Emile, Remy, Patton, Janus.

Emile and Remy were already sitting in their seats, smiling at them patiently expectantly. Stop hoping. It’s over.

Patton gets in his chair first. The thought of drinking his tea, with the perfect amount of milk and sugar makes him sick. He doesn’t pick up the cup. Janus, once again not looking very concerned, takes his mug in one hand, the other still with a death grip around Patton's. It’s probably going to bruise. He doesn’t care.

“Hey there, kiddos! Sorry for the short text- traffic was the worst, today.” starts Remy, and Janus relaxes, smiling a little. Patton doesn’t.

“We really just wanted to ask you two something- though it is a bit personal, and you can say no whenever! All we’re asking you to do is try it first, okay?” Wait. What? The fuck?

“What… Do you want us to try?” asks Patton. It’s the first thing he’s said since they got the text, and he needs to know what is actually fucking happening. Emile’s probably figured him out (and Patton hate hate HATES that he’s let Emile do that, but he also doesn’t)

“Well, Remy and I have been talking, and we think it might be a good idea for both of you to see a therapist.”

A… what?

Therapists are expensive, and (usually) need to have you living in one place for a long time. They’re expensive, so they’re a long-term investment. If therapy’s something Emile is trying to do, then that means that they want him and Janus to stay. For a long time.

He thinks of the papers he sees Emile hiding. It all starts to make sense.

In his defense, Patton doesn’t cry. Until that breakdown with Remus on the phone the other week, he genuinely could not remember the last time he had cried- it’s not easy to get him to. But both Remy and Emile always, always seem to know that something is wrong, even if he doesn’t tell them that something is, and Remys takes his hand, even as he keeps his eyes on the teacup, and Patton’s still feeling a bit weird on drinking it, but it’ll be fine. Janus has already said yes, and has long finished his tea and is texting Logan on the couch, but Patton’s still on the table, and his tea is getting it cold, but he drinks it as it becomes lukewarm, reddish-brown liquid rolling down as one of his hands is held by Remy, and they don’t talk as much as Patton and Emile, but it’s nice to have him around- he gave both he and Janus their latest sewing kits.

Janus probably has figured out that Patton’s been acting weird this whole time, and he’ll have to talk to him, which is going to be one of those Emotionally Taxing Conversations, but apparently, those need to be had.

It almost hurts to hope, and every voice in his head is half screaming not to, but Patton is finding himself hoping anyways, and he opens his phone to text Remus to see if his therapist knows anyone.

…

“Di, what the actual fuck.” At least Hildi has the decency to look a little embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry!! We were like, ten and I didn’t know that was a thing till maybe last year?”

That ‘thing’ being, Hildi’s particular brand of witch having Virgil basically absorb some of her magic… whatever like osmosis. Which is why they can calm people down through contact. Why can’t they calm themselves down through contact? That would be fucking nice.

“Uh… the thing is, it only works with women? Or basically, not men. Are you like… okay with that?” asks Hildi, taking their hand and rubbing in circular motions , which she knows calms them down. Well, it’s working.

Virgil thinks.

“Yeah I think so. My gender is still, you know, a bit fuzzy as a concept. For me it’s mostly a presentation thing. Besides men suck- you magic has a point.”

"Our magic."

Hildi laughs, putting her hand to her mouth as she shifts both their positions on the tree branch, thick and low, that they’re sitting in, able to watch the passersby, but too camouflaged by foliage to be seen. Logan used to be with them more often, back in middle school, hiding from stupid kids who kept trying to break his nose. (they didn’t succeed, but they nearly broke his heart)

But, now is not the time. There are more important things to do. Like figure out what to do with this… magic? And maybe see if it can help Thomas come back.

Virgil wonders what Logan and Roman are doing- Logan’s going to have a fucking field day.

…

“Mom?”

“Yes, Lolo?” replies his mother, tying her red hair behind her as she starts weeding their vegetable patch. It’s her little pet project, and it already looks really good.

“You wanted to tell us something this morning, right?” Mom had sat them down about ten minutes before he and Virgil had left for school, telling them that someone was coming over, and that they’d both get more details later. Well, Virgil was at Hildi’s, for whatever reason, so it was just Logan, probably.

“Well,” starts Mom, whacking her hands on her apron and getting herself a glass of water. “Grampa Ev-Your great-grandfather Everett is going to be coming over for a while.” Okay. Logan doesn’t know Great-Gramps Everett, because Mom doesn’t usually talk about her family. It’s nothing bad, but they’re all fairly distant people. But, from what he knows, Great-Gramps is a pretty decent person, and pretty much wholeheartedly supported both Mom getting married to Amma and Logan and Virgil coming out, which nobody had really expected.

“Okay.” says Logan, not sure about what else to answer with.”

“Logan, you see, there’s one caveat. Gramps is really, really old, and he’s going to be gone soon.” Okay. “So here’s staying here for a week or so to say goodbye. He’s been pretty sick for a while, and he doesn’t seem to be getting better.” Okay. That happens sometimes- Logan isn’t spectacularly sad, but his Mom’s going to be pretty torn up.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry. It’ll… be okay?” Logan tries for some kind of reassurance, but it comes out as confused as he is with this scenario. Mom laughs, a bit wetly, as she takes his cheeks into her hands and looks him in the eye, or as much as she can with how teary her eyes are.

‘Oh, Logie-Bear” (Logan internally rolls his eyes at the nickname) “Don’t worry about me, it’ll be okay, alright? Grampa misses you, so he really wants to see us, now that he’s visited everyone else. I’ll be okay. Don’t you worry, now.” Mom finishes, picking him up even as he squacks light-heartedly, and he remembers the last time Mom cried and he’s so glad that they’ve all gotten better than they were from that day.

“Okay, I won’t worry. Amma and Virgil do plenty of that for everyone.” says Logan, trying for a somewhat lighthearted tone that Virgil sometimes uses with Roman to joke about issues. It’s not great, but it’s better than they were a year ago, keeping it all in.

Mom does laugh, however, still a bit wet, but happy either way. She puts him down on the couch as the next movie in their queue plays, UP or something along those lines.

“You know, Gramps had told me something once.” Logan turns to Mom a little, displaying interest.

“Back when he lived here- the twennies and thirties,” begins Mom, her accent coming in a little. It’s nice. “He had a boyfriend. O’ course, this town was hate crime central back then, but they were happy. Some rowdier kids at school killed his boyfriend, and he was the first to see the body. That's why he hasn’t been here since.” That’s… heavy, and it brings up some unfortunate parallels to Thomas- gay in the twenties, killed.

But that has to be a coincidence, right?

“What was… what was the boyfriend’s name?” asks Logan.

"Hmm?" Mom hums, talking her index along her chin. "Tommy or something. Could've been a nickname for Thomas." Oh, wow. what a coincidence. This also basically confirms Thomas's theory, and as upsetting as that is, Logan's going to think about it later, with his brother, thanks.

Thinking of which…

Logan gets up, suddenly enough to make Mom look up at him questioningly.

"Logan?"

"Sorry, mom- I just need to inform Virgil and the others about something." Seeing the (probably?) concern on her face, he adds on; "nothing bad, there is no need to worry- besides, Virgil would tell on me immediately."

Mom laughs a little. "That he would, baby. Go on- just remember to be back for dinner." She goes to the kitchen to get herself some food, before going back to the movie. Logan takes that as his due to exit, taking with him his carry-bag, which has a stim toy, his phone and charger, and earbuds. These days, it also contains the Thomas Book, and his Morse translation sheets, though he hasn't needed them for a while. He fills his water bottle, taken from his school bag and puts that in too, before leaving the house and going to Roman's, mainly because it's the closest and carrying umbrellas in this weather is a chore with all this wind and rain.

…

Roman's just managed to stomach something, that being pot noodles because mom and dad are not home at the moment, and is currently lounging around the living room, glad to be sitting there without the constant backdrop of yelling. With all this rain, he really was not expecting anyone to interrupt his rereading of Othello (for like, the fifth time, but Roman doesn't give a shit) , and especially not Logan, of all characters.

But there he is, gripping the bottom of his umbrella, and who is Roman to say no? Remus is at therapy with Patton, cheering him on, and mom and dad will not be here to yell. Besides, Logan looks really, really excited, nearly manic, and that's a fairly uncommon look on him.

"Roman, you are not going to fucking believe this."

.

They have a plan, now. It’s rough, and it’s not the best thought-out thing in the world, but it is a plan.

Firstly, tell Thomas the first thing on Monday about exactly what is happening. Secondly, tell Everett about what is happening, hopefully with photographic evidence and get him to Thomas. Both these steps are doable, as Thomas is notably more corporeal than he was a few months ago, and that can probably be attributed to the fact that all of the other people he cares about have passed away. This may be the final push, but god damn it is Thomas not coming back to life without meeting his boyfriend at least once.

This can work. probably.

[ravens-shadows]

I guess I’m updating my rant on Tom Riddle to an actual essay so be patient with me

I don’t even remember what I wrote last time lol but I wanted to do my full analysis now that I’m not in rage if that makes sense.

Let’s go by parts.

First, his parents.

So we are given Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr., and they tell us this woman just straight up drugged her crush and then expected him to stick around and love her? Like, she literally raped him. I can’t fucking blame him for just going back home and abandoning her, because that would be so traumatising. And what angers me the most about this, is that Rowling makes it seem like he was the bad guy because he ‘abandoned’ them. But all my issues with Rowling will have to wait for another day.

When Tom is born, he is raised in the orphanage, and it’s stated early on that he ‘does not have emotions’, and is ‘naturally evil’. But the thing is, was he really incapable of love just because he was conceived under the influence of amortentia? If he really had no love inside of him, by basic logic he wouldn’t have any other emotions, because is utterly ridiculous even by the standards of a magical world. In other words: he was capable of loving as much as any other child, the thing is, he wasn’t given the opportunity to learn how to love, which is precisely the whole basis of his character!

Growing up, he was looked down as the weird, abnormal kid, bullied both by the other kids in the orphanage and the adults too. And what the fuck are you supposed to do in the situation? There was no one to really explain how wrong the actions of those around him were, and kids absorb everything like sponges. In his eyes, their behaviour was normal, and therefore the way to avoid getting hurt was hurting them even worse. And let’s entertain for a moment the idea that love is the only emotion he didn’t have, which yet again, is portrayed ridiculously! Love had nothing to do with the situation he lived in. He could still felt fear and anger, and even guilt, but we were never showed that because, oh no, he’s the villain and he’s absolutely evil.

Dumbledore walks in. This. Fucking. Bitch.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, who could have ended the war before Harry even started Hogwarts but didn’t because a stupid prophecy said so.

Dumbledore takes a look at this kid, after hearing a very biased opinion on him, and in that second he decides that this child is too far gone and can’t help him. And, of course, Tom is not stupid and he can see that Dumbledore doesn’t like him and he obviously will avoid him from now on and in consequence won’t trust any other adult.

And here is the worst part: even in a world where his magic isn’t rare, no one cares. The adults give a fuck about him, they never offer help. They know about the abuse he’s suffered for years and are doing nothing about it, so he starts making himself stronger. If only he was stronger, no one would hurt him again.

Then we get to the worst fuck up Rowling did with this wonderful character, because why, why in friggin hell, would he be afraid of death?

It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t add up to everything that’s been building up in the background. He is sixteen at this point, asking about horrocruxes so obviously he is already looking for ways of staying alive, but it doesn’t make any sense! Sure, if he was an adult it would make more sense, but in this point in time there is absolutely no reason whatsoever for this ridiculous thing to pop up.

It doesn’t make sense that he wants to kill his father because he abandoned him, he would be angry and bitter but Tom is smart and being sane at this point would know that there is absolutely no point in doing it. It doesn’t make sense that he is afraid of an abstract construct that he probably doesn’t understand completely like any other teenager. It doesn’t make sense that he has plans of becoming a dark Lord at all, because in this point in time, he is in the middle of the war with Grindelwald, a war that started before he was even born, and wouldn’t finish until he was nineteen years old in 1945. Nothing makes sense (but hey, what can I expect from J.K. Rowling).

Anyway, let’s get going. Let’s imagine this makes sense despite being absolute shit, and he makes his horrocruxes.

Is should be widely known that he was fucking insane at this point. An horrocrux splits the soul in two, so he would have just have half of his soul before making the second one and so on.

From here on, his actions make more sense because he is not human anymore by any means, and he is completely bonkers, let’s face it. Mass homicide was expected to happen.

Now let me tell you why he is one of the best characters despite the author butchering him. Important to note that most people look to Harry as a survivor of abuse and I’m a 100% on board with it, but let’s not pretend their situations are in the same level.

Proof 1: Tom is an abuse survivor too, and in many ways I think it was possible he would have been killed if it wasn’t for his magic, a magic he knew he had and used. In other circumstances, he would have ended up in a similar situation to Credence. His actions are seen to be evil, but the main point of his whole character and this is stated, is that he acts in anger, pain and fear. He is afraid. And in the correct way of telling his story, his fear is justified. He is afraid because despite being ‘special’, people still cast him out. His fear is not the fear of death that was sold to us, is the fear that no one will ever feel the slightest empathy for him, that no one will ever understand how it feels like. His pain comes from being treated like a monster, by not receiving any kindness in his whole life, because even after Hogwarts he had no friends, just followers fascinated by his natural power and talent.

Proof 2: Tom’s ‘inability to love’ is simply the fact that he does not know what is love. How could he? He’s never been shown what it is. And later on, mental disorders can be developed, specially in cases like this, when the child eventually starts rejecting any kind of affection (a condition that doesn’t have a cure). The way this whole thing comes down would have made an even better character, and he wouldn’t even be the villain. I wholeheartedly believe that if he had been written correctly, there would have been a real villain, Dumbledore (not to say he is evil, but you don’t have to be evil to be a villain), and Tom would have been more of an antagonist. This may have given the opportunity to have a special interaction between him and Harry when he realises this teenager isn’t that much different than him. And Harry could have found too someone who understands how it feels to be a freak. This two have the potential of a great relationship that doesn’t necessarily have to be on good terms, but they would have naturally developed mutual respect by still being able to dislike each other and it would have been more logical, more natural.

Proof 3: Tom is, in reality, a good person. He is a little bit of a sociopath, as a matter of fact, but he is often described as quite a genius (?) child. He is smart, brilliant, and clever. If we ignore the nonsense of dark lords and horrocruxes, Tom would have fought to change the magical world for all those who are outcasts like him. While the ministry has laws against magical creatures, Voldemort is constantly making alliances with them, not only because is convenient, but because he genuinely does not care what they are. His hatred for muggles is exaggerated but understandable, but if he truly believed in wizards supremacy, he would not trust nor ally himself with werewolves, giants, etc. Tom is so brilliant that, even when Dumbledore suspected him when young, he got away with the things he wanted because he was so careful as to not leave any evidence of his plans, until it was too late. Once having this redirected, he could have perfectly fit in politics or similar places. He is charming and can easily make people do his bidding. He would have used this to get justice. Maybe not in the most peaceful way, but his intentions wouldn’t have been bad.

Of course, much of what I’ve said can be biased but I’m not here to be totally fair, I’m here to proclaim my love and devotion for what Tom Riddle could have been.

There is so much to this single character that deserves his own series of books because there is a lot of wasted potential. Harry and Tom are such parallels and yet, their whole dinamic was simple and vague, with good points but had as much significance as it would have been with any other protagonist with a totally different backstory.

Tom Riddle is this traumatised yet strong character, even if he isn’t good, but... cartoonish villains I guess.

Thanks to coming to my ted talk... if you managed to go through the whole thing.

English is not my first language, sorry for all my fuck ups

[Shameless side note: I do have a fanfic where Tom is the chosen one, and it’s not very good because I suck at everything but if you wanna check it out is here]

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I need to vent a minute...

FFS, why the hell can’t people understand why the protests are happening???

This has been building forever! This particular incident is only the trigger, but the  explosives have been added to longer than any of us can remember. Longer than any of us have been alive. And so little has ever been done to try to defuse things. It keeps fucking happening!!!

How long are people supposed to protest politely and accept no one is listening to you? Don’t these people asking “Why?” not understand frustration and rage??? Haven’t they ever wanted to lash out at the world that keeps hurting you and ignoring your pain??**

Police violence and monsterous brutality against people of color, the general abusiveness of power many cops always show, seeing the public as the enemy.... All this has been at best dismissed as a fluke of individuals, at worst ignored entirely. The simple fact is that the basic structures and attitudes wired into law enforcement permits all sorts of horrors.

Alright, I will admit I hate cops. I’m a white, blonde, woman and yet I’ve been on the recieving end of bullying and aggressive behavior. Stupid ones too, but that’s whole other issue. In my experience they seem constantly keyed  up to find some way to get you, seeing everyone as a threat or target, with the ones most vulnerable most likely to see the ugly version of their sense of power.

Cops as bullies isn’t new. Hell, my parents had a black friend in the 1960s that gotten beaten up for walking on the wrong side of the road. (Are you supposed to walk with or against traffic? Was it even a real law? And obviously none of that mattered.)

When my father was tiny in the 1940s his father was in charge of maintenance and security at buildings owner by Boston Edison. When Frank Sinatra performed grandaddy decided to bring Pop along. I dunno why, since Pop was too young to know who the clammy handed shifty eyed skinny guy was, but what happened outside the concert made a much bigger impression. 

Outside the building hordes of bobby sockers swarmed to see their crooner hero. These were teenage girls, many of them young teenagers, and probably mostly if not entirely white...and the cops were abusing them. Decades later, telling me about it, my father would get emotional voice shaking in rage and almost in tears. The girls were being beaten and groped. Girls were knocked to the ground. Billy clubs were being shoved up their skirts by laughing cops. Bleeding and sobbing girls everywhere.

My grandfather was outraged and confonted the cops. These were little girls, he shouted at them. They got aggressive with him, pointing out his authority was only as far as the building but that the sidewalk was theirs.  If he took so much as one step out the door they would treat him the same and arrest him right in front of his little boy....

There is a reason my father and grandfather didn’t like cops, even before the 1960s when the local ones here told them they were on their own to deal with death threats and being shot at. That incident when Pop was four or five traumatized him. He knew the darkness of police.

Now imagine if those hadn’t been white girls and my grandfather had been black. I expected it would have been so much worse. 

But you don’t need personal experience of witnessing brutal cops. You don’t need to have been pushed around by an aggressive cop. You don’t have to encounter a cop that almost openly is trying to find an excuse to nail you for something. You don’t even have to think about the bullies and racists you knew as a kid that became cops. Just watch the damn news! 

 I am constantly suspended between fear and anger about cops.

But all this isn’t just law enforcement. It’s the racism you can find in all the structural systems in society in general.

  “Little” things like a doctor dismissing a patient’s symptoms or my 8th grade science teacher telling some black kids they might as well put their heads down on the desks because they weren’t going to learn anything anyway. Or heck, take something seemingly unimportant, like  entertainment of my childhood where adventure stories would have a token black person and a token woman, but the white dude was ALWAYS the main hero. But the child notices who gets to be the leader.

Imagine a lifetime of that!

You protest. You write letters. You take part in a march and wave signs. You do boycotts. You shout louder and louder.... And it all just keeps happening! You feel like nothing changes!

 Or maybe you end up with a fucker like Trump as president and you can’t help but feel like it is getting worse. A dude that actually endorses armed take over of goverment buildings because folks don’t want to take precautions in an epidemic, but wants to call in the military on largely unarmed black folks protesting getting killed by cops!

All of us were under stress because of Covid-19, but remember people of color are suffering more. They are more likely to die from it and be working jobs that endanger them. And it seems like this has been shrugged off as something inherent in their race, rather than the result of the way racism  has impacted their lives. It has to have added to the emotions. I know it made me angrier!

Will the current unrest inspire postive change? Will it just be a temporary venting with nothing really changing? I dunno. I try to hope.

I won’t be doing a lot of posts on this subject or reblogging things. It isn’t that I don’t care. For me, things I do on Tumblr feel like hollow gestures, If I changed my icon to support Black Lives Matter would it just seem performative, someone trying to get cred for thinking right while doing nothing? I’m holding on my fingernails in my life, and feel guilty for not having the resources and energy to do anything tangible. I will be blogging like usual (when I can keep my internet going!) but raging in the real world.***

**Another admission: I planned how to blow up my high school as a teen. Obviously I never actually did it, and my intent was to blow it up when it was unoccupied on a Sunday, but just the intent held satifaction. I hated that place, what it did to people I knew, and the pain it caused me. The school system as destroyer of souls.  I knew the building wasn’t the cause, but it was the symbol of it. Blowing it up would have felt sooooo GOOD and meant people had to notice the rage no one seemed to see. So believe me, I do get some of the destruction in these protests. Burn a police station or police cars? Yeah, don’t get caught, but fuck yeah!

***I live 50miles from the nearest place with protests and my town doesn’t even have one cop. I’m struggling to make sure I have the cash to get gas, so a road trip is out of the question. My anger is kinda worthless. The animals will get to hear a lot of profanity! LOL

[arysafics]

can u take requests??? if yes, a fic where clarke is cheerleader and bellamy is quarterback and they are the power couple of the school and bellamy is actually pretty soft and protective of her when someone starts to threaten her (to leak her nudes or something idk)

okay I’m sorry, this probably wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but it’s where my brain took me.

Invincible

Summary: Finn tries to blackmail Clarke into breaking up with Bellamy by threatening to leak her nudes.

Rated M, ~2,900 words

warning for implied/referenced abuse

Clarke is at her locker after school, already dressed in herred and blue cheer uniform for practice, when a pair of strong arms wrap aroundher from behind. Clarke smiles and leans back against him as his lips pressagainst the top of her head.

“Hey, Princess,” Bellamy murmurs. “Will I see you afterpractice?”

Clarke turns in his arms so she’s facing him. God, she stillcan’t believe she’s so lucky to have him, when she knows every other girl inschool wants him. They’ve only been dating a little over a month, and she getsa rush every time he touches her, gets butterflies every time she sees him.

They haven’t had sex yet, but she’s pretty sure it’s goingto be soon. She’s been holding off, trying to take things slow after her lastboyfriend pressured her into doing things she didn’t really want to do. ButBellamy has been so patient with her, despite the fact that so far, they’vedone nothing more than make out on his couch, his hands on her breasts over herclothes. But she doesn’t want to wait much longer.

“Yes,” she tells him. “I’ll come to you after I’m done.”

“Okay,” he grins. “I’ll drive you home.” He lets her go, andClarke notices a couple of his teammates standing behind him, waiting for him.He always seems to have an entourage. “I’ll see you later,” he says.

“Not going to kiss your girl goodbye, Blake?” Murphy snorts.

“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy scoffs. Clarke can feel her faceheating up. “I’ll see you later,” he repeats to Clarke, and then he struts offdown the hallway, Murphy and Miller in tow.

A second later, Raven slams Clarke’s locker door shut.“Would you hurry up? We’re going to be late.”

------

She walks out of the gym an hour later with Raven and Harper,sweaty and tired.

“You guys want to study together? I need help before thismath test coming up,” Harper says.

“Can’t, I’m meeting Bellamy,” Clarke says.

“Did he ask you to prom yet?” Harper asks.

“Not yet,” Clarke says.

“Well, he better hurry up. Everyone is saying you guys areshoo-in for king and queen.”

“Oh, please,” Clarke rolls her eyes, playing it off. Butshe’s pretty sure they’re a shoo-in too. She was already pretty popular beforeshe and Bellamy started dating, but as soon as people found out they weretogether, it’s like she was suddenly everyone’s favourite person. When shewalks down the halls with him, she swears she can feel everyone watching them.And the popularity thing is trivial, she knows that. She also knows it’stemporary, and probably not even real. There are definitely a few girls who she’ssure are jealous, who talk about her behind her back, wondering why Bellamy pickedher instead of them.

Still, when she’s with Bellamy, she doesn’t care. She feelsinvincible.

“The quarterback and the cheerleader. You guys are so cliché,”Raven says with a roll of her eyes.

“As if you aren’t also dating someone on the football team,”Clarke snorts. “It’s not my fault my boyfriend is more popular than yours.”

“Yeah, that’s not hard. Even I hate Murphy at least seventyper cent of the time. He has asked me to prom, however.”

“Bellamy is probably just waiting for the right moment,”Clarke says defensively.

“He’s probably waiting until you have sex with him to askyou,” Raven says.

“He is not!”

Raven shrugs. “Whatever.”

“I’m going now,” Clarke says. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Raven, study together?” Harper asks as Clarke walks away.

Raven scoffs. “I don’t need to study.”

Clarke walks down the hall, in the opposite direction toRaven and Harper, towards the football field, where Bellamy is probably stilltraining with the rest of the team. She doesn’t even make it outside beforesomeone grabs her arm. She jerks away instinctively, knowing it’s not Bellamyor one of her other friends. She stops, turning to see Finn standing there. Shesteps further away from him, stomach churning.

“Don’t touch me,” she says.

“Clarke,” Finn says, looking at her with big sad eyes. Eyesshe used to melt into. Now they make her feel nauseous.

“What do you want?”

“I want you back,” he says. He sounds pathetic. “Please. Iknow I fucked up, but I’m in love with you. We’re supposed to be together.”

“Fuck off, Finn,” Clarke spits. “I don’t want to be withyou. I’m with Bellamy now.”

“Come on, Clarke,” Finn says. “I know you’re only with himto make me jealous. You can stop pretending now, I get it. I’m jealous. I wantyou back.”

“Leave me alone, Finn,” Clarke says. “You’re delusional. I don’twant anything to do with you. You hurt me and you used me and you made me feelweak and powerless. Not only do I not want to be with you, I don’t ever want toeven see you again. I thought I made that clear last time.”

Finn’s face hardens. “I don’t believe you.”

Clarke wants to scream with frustration. “Fine! Don’tbelieve me. It doesn’t change anything.”

“If you don’t leave him and come back to me, I’ll have totake more drastic measures.”

“More drastic measures? What does that even mean?”

Finn gets out his phone, and Clarke watches him tap at it afew times before he shows it to her. Her stomach drops, and her face grows hot.It’s a picture of her, naked. One she’d sent him when she thought she was inlove with him. She knows there are plenty more where that came from, includingones he took of her after he was done fucking her.

“I told you to delete those.”

“You know I couldn’t do that.”

Her voice grows quiet. “What are you doing to do with them?”

“Break up with Bellamy and come back to me, or I’ll postthem online. Everyone in school will see. Bellamy will see. They’ll all knowwhat a slut you really are.”

Tears well in her eyes. “I won’t.”

“You really want these out there?” He scrolls through hisphone. “I think I have a good one with my come all over your back somewhere.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Bellamy won’t let you get away withthis.”

“If you tell him, I’ll leak them anyway.”

Clarke falls silent, trying to think of a way out of this.Anything she can think of results in him posting the photos anyway, and that’sthe one thing she doesn’t think she could bear. It would be humiliating. Forthe rest of her high school life she’d be known as a slut. People would savethe pictures, laugh at her, do who knows what else with them.

“Fine,” she says. She has no other options at this point.The best she can hope for is to do what he says, then hope she can get herhands on his phone at some point to delete the photos.

Finn beams, and he almost looks like a regular, happyteenager, and not a psychopath. “I knew you’d see reason,” he says. He stepsforward, to kiss her, or hug her, Clarke isn’t sure. She backs away.

“I’m still technically with Bellamy,” she says. “I’m not a cheater.”Not like some people.

Finn rolls his eyes. “Fine. Let me know when you’ve dumpedhim and I’ll come over.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees.

Finn smiles at her again before he goes, and then Clarke makesher way to the football field in a trance. She waits on the bleachers forpractice to finish, knots in her stomach. She doesn’t want to break up withBellamy. It’s only been a month, but she’s pretty sure she’s in love with him.And it’s good this time, not like it was with Finn. Bellamy always makes herfeel safe and wanted and powerful. Yet, as much as she can’t bear the thoughtof losing Bellamy, the thought of the whole school, and who knows else seeingher naked, is even worse.

The coach lets the boys go, and Bellamy makes a beeline forClarke, a dopey grin on his face. Clarke’s heart squeezes in her chest. Shedoesn’t want to do this.

Bellamy falls onto the bench next to her, sweaty and panting.He goes in for a kiss, but Clarke puts her hand up to stop him.

“No one’s watching,” he laughs. Then he sees Clarke’sexpression and his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to break up,” Clarke says. Straight to the point. Nosense in dragging it out.

Bellamy looks like she hit him. Stunned, and hurt. “Breakup?” he swallows. “Why?”

“I’m going back to Finn.”

Bellamy shakes his head, confused. “Clarke,” he says, hisvoice shaking. “Finn cheated on you. He—he was awful to you. You told me—”

“I know what I told you,” Clarke cuts him off. She hasn’ttold him the extent of what it was like with Finn, but he knows enough. “But I’mstill going back to him. I’m sorry. I—” she cuts herself off with a sob.

Instantly, Bellamy has his arms around her. “Clarke,” hesays, soothing. “What’s really going on? Did he do something to you?”

Clarke shakes her head, pulling away. “No.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me. You can tell me anything, Ipromise.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Please, just drop it, Bellamy,” shepleads, voice watery through her tears. “If I tell you and he finds out…” shetrails off, shaking her head. She’s looking steadfastly at her hands in herlap.

“Did he threaten you?” Bellamy growls. Clarke bursts into afresh round of tears. “Fuck,” Bellamy says. “I’m going to kill him.”

“You can’t, Bellamy,” Clarke sobs.

“Why not? I’ll protect you, I promise. He won’t lay a handon you.”

“It’s not that,” Clarke says. “He has… pictures of me. Fromwhen we were together. He said he’d post them online if I didn’t take him back.”

“Naked pictures,” Bellamy surmises.

Clarke nods, already feeling ashamed just telling him aboutit. “I know how it makes me look. I never should have sent them, or let himtake pictures of me. I just—I thought I loved him.”

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy says. “That’s not on you. He’s theone betraying your trust. He’s the asshole here.”

“You don’t think I’m—I don’t know—slutty?”

“Of course not. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never sent a dickpic before.”

Somehow, Clarke manages to laugh at that through her tears. “Notto me though.”

“No, well. We’re taking things slow.”

“But what am I going to do about Finn? About the photos? Ican’t let the whole school see them. He said I have to message him tonightafter I break up with you so he can come over. If I don’t, he’ll post thephotos.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says. “Okay, it’s okay. We can figure thisout. Tell him you broke up with me, but tell him your mom says you can’t haveanyone over. I’ll post something vague and sad on Twitter or Facebook or somethingso he thinks it’s real.”

Clarke nods. “Okay. And then tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow he dies.”

“Bellamy.”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I’m going to handle it. I won’t letanyone see those pictures, okay, baby?”

Clarke nods. “Okay.”

“Okay. I guess I should go and tell everyone we broke up.” Clarkenods. He hesitates. “We’re not… we’re not actually broken up though, are we?”

Clarke shakes her head. “We’re not broken up.”

Bellamy smiles in relief. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tellyour mom not to let Finn in if he comes by.”

“I will.”

 -----

 Finn seems to buy that her mom won’t let him come over. Heasks her to sneak out and meet him, but Clarke tells him Abby is watching herlike a hawk. She hopes he believes it. She’s paranoid she’ll say the wrongthing and he’ll leak the pictures.

Raven and Harper both text her, having heard a rumour thatshe broke up with Bellamy. Clarke ignores the texts. She doesn’t feel liketrying to explain right now, and she’s still hoping she’s going to wake up atany moment and find out it’s all been a sick nightmare.

She sleeps restlessly that night, and when she wakes in themorning her stomach is heavy with dread, before she even remembers why. Shetells her mom she doesn’t want to go to school, but Abby makes her go anyway,when Clarke can’t come up with a good reason to stay home. Abby drops her atthe front gate, and Finn is waiting for her. He kisses her, and Clarke wants tovomit.

He grabs her hand tightly, and tugs at her arm, forcing herto walk inside with him.

“I’ll walk you to your locker,” he says, as if he thinks he’sbeing a perfect gentleman, as if he isn’t literally blackmailing her into beinghis girlfriend.

Clarke walks with her eyes on the ground. She’s ashamed tobe seen with him. Feels his grip on her, suffocating her, making her feel likeshe did when they were together, like she’s worthless, like he’s the only goodthing in her life. She knows now that isn’t true, but even the memory of it is stifling.

They reach her locker, and Finn drops her hand so she canopen it.

Slam—Finn is shoved against the locker beside hers.Clarke jumps out of the way, heart pounding. Bellamy has Finn pinned to thelocker, his hands fisted in Finn’s shirt. Finn looks terrified. Bellamy glancesat Clarke before looking back to Finn.

“You piece of shit,” Bellamy growls. “Get out your phone.” Finnhesitates. Bellamy shoves him against the locker, hard, and Finn winces. “Getit out, or Miller, Murphy, and I are going to make sure you never walk again.”

Clarke glances around to see Miller and Murphy behindBellamy, his usual entourage ready to back him up. Clarke wonders how much hetold them, if they know anything about what Finn has done, or whether they’rejust willing to fight for Bellamy, no questions asked.

“Three against one?” Finn swallows. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Fair?” Bellamy spits. “You want to talk about fair, youabusive asshole? What you did to Clarke isn’t fair. The only fair thing will beyou getting what’s coming to you. Now get out your fucking phone, unlock it,and hand it over.”

Finn pulls his phone out of his pocket, presses his thumbagainst the screen to unlock it, then holds it out. Bellamy looks at Clarke.

“Take it,” he says. “Delete what you need to delete.”

Clarke scrambles forward and grabs the phone from Finn’shand. She finds the pictures of herself, along with a lot of other pictures ofnaked women. Clarke deletes them all so he can’t do this to someone else.Clarke goes to give the phone back.

“Hold on to it,” Bellamy says. “At least until we take thisto the authorities.”

“The authorities?” Finn stammers. He’s sweating now.

“First we’ll be telling Principal Jaha. Then we’re taking itto the cops. Miller’s dad thinks Clarke has enough grounds for a restrainingorder.”

“Fuck you,” Finn says. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Bellamy’s face goes from angry to murderous. Clarke’s heartpounds. She really doesn’t want Bellamy to commit murder for her. To herrelief, he steps back, letting Finn go.

“Don’t come near her again. Next time you won’t get off soeasy.”

Finn scampers away, with one last glimpse back at Clarke.The crowd that had formed to watch Bellamy beat Finn to a pulp disperses,disappointed no one got hit.

Bellamy reaches for Clarke, pulling her into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks her.

Clarke nods. “Yeah. Thank you. Are we really going to theauthorities?”

“Only if you want to. I didn’t really talk to Miller’s dad.I was just bluffing. But I do think you could probably get a restraining orderif you think you need one. And we should at least tell Jaha. We might be ableto get Finn expelled.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees.

Bellamy pulls away so he can look at her. “I’m so sorry hedid that to you. I know you haven’t told me everything he did, and I don’texpect you to, if you don’t want to. It just makes me so mad that he hurt you.Makes me want to hurt him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Figured if we want Jaha on our side we can’t give Finn anyammunition.”

“You’re so smart,” Clarke smiles, and Bellamy leans in tokiss her. She melts into him, feeling at peace once again. The bell rings then,and Clarke curses it in her mind. She just wants to stay here in Bellamy’s arms.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Bellamy says. “I, uh—I have somethingto ask you. It’s about prom.”

“About prom, huh?” Clarke smirks.

“Think I might have given it away,” Bellamy grins.

“You can just ask me now, if you want.”

Bellamy kisses her again, still smiling. “Will you go toprom with me?”

[cakeandcrows]

I remember this one time I was watching some documentary about a white actress, I can’t recall who. One of her first roles was something like... a German lesbian with some kind of drug addiction (I think cocaine?). Point is, in her interview segment about it, she said something like, “When my mother heard about the role, she said, ‘if I were you, I would have told the director to pick just one of those things, not all of them at once.’” And all I can think about is how like... so many of us on here are more than one kind of minority or ‘invisible’ identity, or neurodivergent, or in some level of recovery from one thing or another. 

Like, this isn’t huge news, y’know? Yeah, privilege is a thing. And people are so absolutely unaware of it when they have it that it makes me want to scream. I’m even unaware of my own privilege a lot of the time and I won’t go into a moment of how I feel when I realize I’ve forgotten, because my guilt on the matter is irrelevant. I just need to get better at keeping myself in check and that’s that. 

Yeah I’d love to be cis some days because of how much easier it would make my life (and honestly for not many other reasons, I’m pretty happy being trans... if it just... y’know, weren’t for how people react to it). Sometimes I think, “Man, straight people are fucking insane; how on earth do they function,” while looking back on the days when I thought I was straight and realizing that even back then I was lost as hell, but some days I’m just like, “If I were straight, would life really be so much easier?” And it would. It really would. If I were also cis at the same time. Etc. 

And I don’t want to make this into an us vs them sort of thing for even a minute, either, because everyone has common ground somewhere. Does that common ground always matter as much to one person as it does to another? Probably not. Jeff Be/os probably shares a home town with a fuck ton of people but I’ll bet he doesn’t give a shit about a single one of them, or that commonality, while you could see a popular rock band and never hear them shut up about how proud they are to be from the West Coast. Sometimes it just doesn’t fucking matter to other people what you have in common with them, because to them, what’s different is so much more volatile. And it goes both ways. 

There’s people from my home town, my graduating class, and even old friend groups that I could never see myself talking to again because of how we’ve split paths in beliefs and lifestyles. Or, maybe they’ve stayed the same and I’ve changed, or the opposite... and I’ll bet they’d see how I’ve changed and think the same things of me. “Wow, I want nothing to do with that person.” 

I’m just... constantly having little wake-up calls over and over again of how some people seriously think that I’d choose a harder life on purpose. And I’m not ashamed of living as I am; I’m very proud of who I am and what I’ve overcome to get here. 

Customers at work, where I feel like I live 2/3rds of my life these days, are always just like... a window into the world for me sometimes. Most people don’t mention my pronoun button. Some people don’t notice it outright and misgender me because they’re looking at my face; entirely being polite and engaged, and not at all aware of how they’re upsetting me. I let it go a lot of the time. It’s not worth it.

There’s the few good folks who listen carefully and patiently and are seemingly brought to a new awareness by my gentle explanations. They’re polite and they honestly revive part of my faith. Like the guy who opened his coffee order saying, “yes, miss,” and left the store tipping his hat to me saying, “thank you very much, sir.” God or whoever does things fucking bless that guy.

Then there’s the people who decide to look at my pin, and ask about it. So far, it’s either people who are just reading it aloud for the sake of it, and then becoming confused but not actually wanting to understand so much as they’re just desperate to make some kind of conversation with a Youth (which is wild because I’m 25??). They don’t actually care, so I don’t really put effort into explaining. They either cut me off mid-explanation, or listen and don’t say anything further. 

Then there’s the people who look at it and laugh at me. Or the woman who decided it was a good idea to read it, listen to my explanation, and say, “You know, my daughter tried to explain that to me. I just don’t get it. I think it’s silly and too complicated. People should just stick to the old ways.” Like... lady. What the fuck do you want me to do about it. Why the fuck do you think telling me this will make me happy or even... want to engage further. I straight up just don’t understand where these people get off. They’re just as rude and uninterested in me as a human being as the people who start rattling off their order and refuse to wait for me to get it all down before shoving their credit card at my face. They do not care. They do. Not. Care. And my patience is starting to wear extremely thin. 

I had a new coworker, who knows I’m trans, the other day stop mid-sentence to say, “Oh, you know, sister? Oh! Also, I call everyone ‘sis’, boys or girls.” “Not me, you don’t.” “...oh?” “You don’t call me that. Ever.” 

“ >:/ tch. Glad we got that out of the way.”

It’s not cute. I don’t think it’s endearing. I don’t think it’s funny. And I don’t give a shit if you call other people that. If you thought about it for five seconds you’d realize how insensitive and fucked up it is. If anyone, anywhere, I swear to god, just thought about ANYTHING for five fucking seconds... I wish... I hope, that they’d be better human beings than they are. 

Like, god, what a horrible inconvenience it is for you to have to stop and think about what to call another human being. To use their name. To use the right pronouns. To avoid nicknames or pet names that would be inappropriate for such a person. Heaven forbid you have to do that for anyone, right? Why am I different? Why are you trying to step on my toes and see if I’ll just sit here and take it? I know why. Everyone knows why. And I’m so sick of being the dog under the table who gets kicked every time it whines about having no escape or being surrounded by the feet of people sitting around the table. 

I don’t hate being trans. I don’t hate being pansexual. I don’t hate being poly. I don’t hate myself. I hate the people who hate me for being myself and intentionally or ignorantly go out of their way to make my life an extra level of hell Just Because They Can. , 

I have been bullied and abused all my fucking life by one kind of person or another and not a single excuse I’ve been given justifies it. Humans are better than this. I want to have faith in humans. And there are good humans; I surround myself with them. But if I have to pry yet another motherfucker’s eyes open to yet another goddamn social issue they were too thick-minded to notice, and then have them turn around and bless me and hail me for some kind of... Joan of Arc bullshit, calling my suffering and my existence some kind of blessing, like my life had to be this hard to spread words and messages across time and space to reach their Oh So Important Ears, I’m gonna choke. Or... even the people who mean well that just straight up make me think that they actually believe that the queer people in their lives are some sort of Manic Pixie Dream (gender) who’s come into their lives to teach them something new and advance their own character development. That’s what it fucking feels like! Being reduced to someone else’s educator and being placed as a Background Character in their own fucking Growth Arc. 

If there’s some sick destiny where I’m lined up to be some kind of flogged messenger to idiots for the rest of my life I want a motherfucking refund. Ship me off to the next incarnation. I don’t care if I come back as a ladybug for two days and die under somebody’s shoe. 

And I’m not somebody’s teacher. I’m not somebody’s martyr or savior. I’m not somebody’s free fucking Queer Almanac and Seasonal Guide to the Experiences of Not Their Own. I’m so fucking tired of explaining myself. 

I’m so fucking tired of People ™ But I also want to have so much faith in People ™ that I think I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. 

Sometimes people prove me wrong and it’s okay. Other times I write a several paragraph long rant at one in the morning. Fuck me honestly, just, fuck me and boy howdy do I wish I could pluck one or two things off my list of identities if only for the sake of not having to Explain Shit To People ™

And at the same time, I very clearly care about people. I want people to understand because fuck, I was there! I used to be some Jacked Levels of Crazy and I was hugely homophobic when i was a teenager. I look back on the way I used to be and I can’t feel proud of who I was and what I believed. I know a lot of it was internalized hatred and disgust. I know all of that shit now. But I see myself in some people and that’s the mistake I make sometimes. Most of the time, I’m fine; I help other folks learn something new and it’s good and I feel fine about it. I just hate feeling like other people assume it’s my motherfucking duty to tell them and speak on behalf of all non-cis, non-straight people everywhere. I sound like a goddamn Gender and Women’s Studies textbook. 

Fuck, I’m going to bed... 

[juistheseminarian]

Eccentric, part 2 : now I’m here

I was planning to be done with this by now - both with this article and with the illness. I can’t believe that it’s been almost 15 years and I still get people congratulating me for acknowledging that I have an issue and going it’s-the-first-step-to-recovery, which they’ve learned was an appropriate thing to say since you don’t want to stand there and be embarrassed like I do with my boyfriend’s mom when she starts crying (which she does a lot). I’ve stirred things and realized things and I intended this to sound like a sort of retrospective from a place of unadulterated success. But guess what! 

I ended the last bit on my return from anorexia and lasting relationship with a psychologist I described as abusive, although that may be excessive and may come from the resentment of a long therapy seemingly not having “worked”. I started seeing them around age 12, before the eating disorder really declared, and i was referred to them at the end of an endless session of musical chairs through which I met many, many ‘emergency’ professionals whose schedules couldn’t accommodate another patient. I had to tell the whole story every time as if I were filing a police complaint or justifying an ailment that had long thinned beyond recognition, losing more of its meaning every time; I worried often, and I still do, about making myself sound ill enough to be considered, knowing I was taking their time when they could be curing people with actual issues. 

Having been sent to therapy after the school phobia I developed as a 5 or 6-year-old, and then again as a 12-year-old, and on and off ever since, means I’ve barely lived without framing my every breath as something to be treated and fixed, analyzed and made normal, insufficient, dependant, bending the wrong way. I entered this longest bout of therapy as a child and left it a decade later as a child. I believe for the first few years the psychologist was reliable if a little too set in her ways: there was no talk of medication outside of an apparent agreement to exclude it, which comforted my irrational fear of treatment with just as little medical basis as I previously had. However, her patient-based approach helped me feel like this time around it wouldn’t be an issue if I wasn’t “really” anything, or that’s how I viewed it at first. I don’t mean to dismiss the entirety of what happened there, only, you know, the bits where a refusal to diagnose me lead to a refusal to treat me, which in turn lead to desperation to fit me into the superstitious ramblings of an unstable person who refused to treat herself. Fuck that person. Call it what it is. 

I resented the amount of information she gave me about herself, the description of her previous marriage leading up to ten years of unhappiness she couldn’t get out of, the description of her current partner’s superior attitude, the way her life was a mess and the way I viewed her as honest instead of genuinely intrusive. She’d offer to pay me to iron her clothes, she’d talk to my teenage self about her finances, about her gynecological health, and I listened, and my mother became concerned. By then she had framed my parents as unable to understand me the way she would, she whose child had run away from home and I had to know all about it, apparently. I defended her. 

After the anorexia bit I grew alright for a while. I went to high school, I had a boyfriend, I neglected my own friends in order to make him my first priority at all costs, in short I was playing my role very well. My writing got noticed, as it should be, and I was exempted from english class, as I should be. I was bad at maths, I was good at history, I enjoyed latin class, I had friends I looked cool to because of the whole having had sex thing. Over one year my boyfriend and I had split up and I saw a few boys from my grade, most notably a wreck of a teen who regularly said he could be doing this with any of my friends and prided himself for using me “as an experiment”. When I broke up with him to go have the world’s least satisfactory sex with a friend of his, he called me crying hundreds of times. He had read somewhere that cool people had open relationships so he wanted one: when I took him up on that he said I disgusted him, turned around cause he “couldn’t look at me”, and masturbated in my bed. It was terrific. I was a sheep in shame’s clothing. 

There were the “can we do this without a condom”s and the “I want to see you shove that shower up your vagina to clean out the danger and I’m watching you”s and the “I can’t believe you cheated on me”s (he was kind!) and the “I’m storming out of your birthday party because you and your friends are little bitches”s. I don’t like how this is taking the same turn my life took - revolving around boys and men the second it got the chance, which is something I still haven’t worked out today as I live under the constant scrutiny of my several imaginary sugar daddy-leaning role models, but I’m keeping that topic for next time. This is, of course, she says in a white girl voice, about me. 

During the last year of high school, the boyfriend and I broke up for good because I had fallen in love with a guy we had met at a music festival and had pursued email after email. I felt glorious cracking the shells of emotionally unstable dudes and making them rely on me for subcontracting introspection: now I take “you’re the closest friend I’ve ever had” as a red flag, poisonous edible paper that dissolves in my water tank and kills me. It seems I do know better now, and it seems no woman ever told me that, and I keep being scared of them, and I keep being gay too, that’s my life’s familiar ghost. I’ve never gone far enough to confront the very real fact of loving women: I saw it as a kid when female nudity made me react, when I didn’t feel any sense of belonging with either boys or girls, when I felt like a monster. That desire is different because I don’t let it exist. Funny i’m only mentioning it now. What’s it like to be out to yourself? 

Do you relate to princesses? To female leads? Sometimes I can’t allow myself to replace fictional characters cause how realistic would it be to have the man of the story want to fuck me when my buttcrack isn’t even shaved? Obviously that would never work. Obviously cinderella’s ass is smooth. I never feel polished enough, or good enough an actor, or intelligible enough: expanding like a red giant, I feel like a stomach with needs, and the picture is grotesque - nothing like those Degas ballerinas. Dripping, eating itself, round but not motherly, the hunchback from Ken Russell’s the Devils is too feminine next to me. Suppose i’m fattening from storing all that shame. 

***

These days I resent the other diseased. Everyone hates my uncle cause he’s got it too and he drinks and he takes medication that people view with contempt; he lets himself die but it never seems to work even though he acts like it. Somehow something is still barely holding his limbs attached, miraculously, precariously. And my friend’s mother too, brain locked in a hamster wheel, hanging on to people like smeagol consumed, no longer in touch: filtering words like a beekeeper, only letting the crazy in. She makes me afraid to give birth. Would my children grow with a devolved being, Lovecraft’s blind cave-dweller, who once was human and is now condemned to live? Avoiding it in hallways, fearing it under their bed? 

By the fourth year of the relationship with festival boy my anxiety had become the decisive factor in every single move I made. I could no longer travel, be spontaneous, laugh, orgasm or breathe. The lump in my throat had grown bigger than I was and my face felt numb, I evaporated, I had emergency doctors drive a camera through my nose only for them to confirm I was choking myself this whole time. It really felt strange: like you’d have tried to swallow turkish delight but it piled up in your throat, invisible. The doctor wrote: patient known for anxiety. I thought: great, now when I die for real they’re gonna think i’m crying wolf and also they’re gonna be right. Fortunately enough, I then was relieved from the constant imminence of choking, you’d never guess how. 

I called a therapist my mom had taken me to when i was about 12 and we both liked her a lot - serious and a little intimidating in just the right way, a little soft yet clearly not one to let me bullshit my way out (my mom liked those). I was in the uni hall with some friends when her assistant called me back and scheduled an appointment for me later this same week: it was a huge deal. She remembered me. I suddenly felt safe, suddenly felt myself slip from my own consciousness like the narrator in Janice Galloway’s depression book when she enters a clinic: she’s no longer her own problem, or so she thinks at first, before realizing care never comes in the shape we expected. 

I started treatment almost immediately and was in shock at the realization that I did not need to suffer any more. I wasn’t aware, I didn’t KNOW of the existence of medication that would prevent me from spending hours and hours in inescapable pain, contorting my body between screams and frantic sobs, persuaded I was about to die a solitary death that’d leave me to witness my loved ones moving on in relief. Everything around me felt temporary and fleeting and treacherous. And most of all, each of these occasions were a trial for my failure to live, and I sat accused as my chrysalis life developed before me, never free, never daring, hidden, waiting. Every time, I realized how much I was missing out on. Every time I was too tired to seize the day after recovering and just dozed, scrutinized always, for a respite I knew would be short. My idea of living was a xanax in front of any distracting tv show: suddenly sleep was warm, and I wasn’t dying, and things lifted by the tornado gently fell back into place, and disappeared. 

(river) Oh, I got plenty of help. Therapists and medications and EMDR and - hypnosis and transcendental meditation. Nothing made me feel better (...) I feel everything. There just wasn’t enough positive emotion to balance me out. (payton: so it wasn’t because of me?) (river) no. you were my only relief. (“the politician” (2019) ep.6) 

My trust in festival boy was broken: I felt that if I was ever overcome with the looming fear and froze, he wouldn’t help. I have no idea if it was true: I’m very prone to blaming others for my feeling abandoned, often with no relation to their behaviour. I never could learn his language (i’m sure I can now) and the required travelling to see him became too much, even though we had met through travelling and didn’t feel at home anywhere. This continent of my life was infected and we steeped in sepsis for months and months, resentful, picturing other people when we touched, searching for admiration elsewhere. It’s the worst thing you can do to a bond, demand things from it when it’s dead, as if it was gonna answer. You know it’s been dead for months but when you try and bury it, you can swear you saw it squirm, and then it’s gone, and you took out the doubt. 

In this case I didn’t, Martin did. Martin was an old friend I knew through my first partner, and he came back into my life with an exact timing, like he was taking up an offer I was about to throw at someone else. It was all i wanted, car rides at night, feeling desired, watching him on stage, not being shamed. Comfort and help and reassurance, feeling small next to him, and knowing for certain that he understood: everything he says I take seriously, because there’s no way he doesn’t know, I could never lie, and I don’t want to. Well - I omit a little bit since that’s what it takes for me to grow guilt-free: I’m a fangirl and have never felt the need to stop, I let the obsession continent drift and crash, and perhaps it will become submerged and perhaps it won’t. Point is, I can defend it now, all the pieces I feel,I’m no one’s moodboard. 

I took a step back and realized I had no way of relying on the trope of a positive ending to this,  since there isn’t one. I see no perspective for myself, and I recently understood why antidepressants were considered a risk factor for suicides. It did make me indifferent to things that used to be matters of life and death: school grades, my weight… I care, and I don’t. I gained over 10 kg that sports don’t affect at all: I run all the time, cycle all the time, and it piles up forever, and I don’t recognize myself. I don’t fit in myself anymore. I don’t want to celebrate this thing i haven’t chosen and that I can’t deal with, and when I start thinking about it I end up in a frenzy. I just pretend it’s not there, but I feel so heavy carrying all that me. 

It’s a good time to be lost, if you’re okay with it. I’m not. I’m not free enough to be lost: I’m merely pulling on my leash and choking myself, looking at the shop displays, window shopping for life, shiny presents in a snowy christmas street, the others singing while I watch. I watch, I drift off, they see me lose focus, we’re too tired to get me back. There’s so much to experience and when I look back, so much I’m glad I’ve done before realizing I was doing it, because clearly it would be too late by now. I’m not a recluse by choice: I’m one of the weak ones, the eternal witness, or a loser, depending on how you see it. I like both. I think taking myself as seriously as i do now is both a symptom and a cause of why I’m such a bore: what’s so bad about looking stupid? I do it all the time while trying to not look anything at all. It’s not that deep, if I do say so myself, and as you’d expect, I never do. Ah the clever girl’s burden, say the adults, and together we mock the monster we’ve created and the monster takes it personally. 

So see, that’s where I’m at: no longer can I lazily bask in the excuse of a shitty partner, this time it’s on me, it’s on being sick, it’s on being sick without an excuse. My parents support me. My partner supports me. My friends would support me if i let them anywhere near me. But I take the crazy and I give it an incubator, I show it films with role models of crazy so it can grow and grow and finally make me special, isn’t this what I do? Look at joaquin phoenix and lose weight, I tell it; you’re not very good at the crazy, looking so plump and healthy. At least show your scars: they’re fading, it’s been over a decade, so now what, we’re just gonna look like someone who should get a makeover without the moving story of why they’re neglecting their appearance? What’s funny is, I’m actually a very ambitious person, mediocre is my rock bottom - listen to me when I tell you. There’s no such thing as effortless when effortless is a mountain.

(payton: i’m scared.) (river) don’t be. There’s more honor in defeat than there is in unused potential. (“the politician” (2019), ep.8) 

My therapist recently told me that if I was catholic I’d be in trouble. Duh, right? Jokes aside, she went: then people would see you as a waste because you do nothing with your force. You wouldn’t be allowed to just have that and not live it. I pondered: don’t you think I know that? Is more guilt really the solution? 

I know i want things. I know I love things, and people, and sounds, and places, and smells, and being alive. But do you see the difference between ‘knowing’ you shouldn’t be doing something, and understanding it in your very flesh, by experience, growing from it with the intimate conviction that it’s something you must stay away from? I know those things, and I don’t feel them really. I’m a fast learner, I’m a semi competent person, I can almost seem okay in a group. But I have shackles for lungs and I have concrete for breath. It’s got brutalist charm and warmth almost doesn’t spread. 

So that’s where I am with the dreams I have and the love I feel and the way it won’t come out. I suppose I’m awake but I’m not quite there. Martin feels it first: the pain on his face when I disconnect is breaking my heart. He’s just trying to bring me back. I’m loved. I’m locked away. And once my arms break I’ll dig my way out with my teeth if I need to.

[evilkitten3]

you’re one of the first mitsuki antis there ever was and i think that very talented and iconic of you

it’s weird that that’s iconic since i actually don’t hate mitsuki??? i mean i kinda do but i also kinda don’t??

the thing is - she loves her son. i’ve never doubted that for a moment. i honestly don’t think she’s acting maliciously, but that doesn’t make her actions okay. if your kid goes through something traumatic, you need to be there for them, not blame them for it.

i’ve seen people point out that some people do that to cope, and trust me i know. my mom and i do it all the time. but this was A) right after the traumatic event and B) clearly not a joke to katsuki.

but even ignoring every scene she’s had since we met her, there’s been signs of bad parenting. for starters, it’s made pretty clear that aizawa was the first adult to actually stop katsuki’s violent outbursts. i’d go into further detail on it all but honestly it’s almost one in the morning and i’m exhausted, so…

let me put it like this: when i said todoroki’s comment about raising kids with violence being wrong made bakugou realized he’d been abused, i don’t mean he realized his mom was like satan or whatever. i mean he realized that her treatment of him wasn’t acceptable, which i believe is an important step in katsuki’s character arc. he clearly emulates his mother, only he’s an emotional teenager with mental health issues while mitsuki’s character hasn’t really been expanded on yet.

a lot of people see abuse as a very straightforward thing, but the reality is that it can be much more complicated. for starters, you might not realize you’re doing it. i say this as someone who has been on both ends and only just realized i was ever on either. we’ve been taught - or, at least, the people i know have been taught - that abuse is inherently violent. “well X doesn’t hit me so it’s okay” and such.

example: when i was five or six (i don’t remember it was a while ago lol), i was being what you might call a little shit. my mom was having a bad day and i was making it worse. so she threw me across the room (sorta– it’s complicated bc of how my room was back then; really more of a toss than a throw) and called me a fucking bitch. that was the first time my mother swore at me. it’s something that still affects me to this day and is one of the things i should really talk to my therapist about now that i think about it.

i need to be clear on this: i love my mother. she’s kind, smart, resourceful, and she’s gotten me through some of the toughest times in my life. she’s a good mom. but what she did back then was not okay. i don’t think she realizes it, but before that my parents were very much okay with spanking. after that, they never did it to either of us again. it might’ve been subconscious, but my mom recognized that she’d fucked up. she realized that she didn’t want her kids to be afraid of her. and i’m not, but for a moment, i was.

and one of the reasons i never talk about this (this is actually the first time i’ve spoken about it to anyone other than her and the first time i’ve brought it up in years even though i think about it a lot) is because when i did bring it up to her a few years later, she defended herself. and blamed me. i don’t judge her for that, honestly. she’s human. she’s flawed. and frankly, she has a lot of shit to deal with. but that doesn’t make it right.

mitsuki reminds me of my mom at her very worst - well-intentioned, but short-tempered and often hurtful. the truth is, she was probably traumatized as well. i can’t imagine how it must feel to learn that a group of murderers just abducted your son. but regardless of how she feels, it’s a parent’s job to take care of their kids. sometimes you need to prioritize your own health, yes, but if you’re a parent then you are responsible for the well-being of your child.

and katsuki isn’t well. at all. this is the boy who blew up a desk because the kid he picked on a lot was thinking about applying to the same school as him. this is the kid who just about had a panic attack over losing a fake fight. this is the kid who knows his limits yet still manages to convince himself that he can take on opponents that clearly outmatch him by himself (all might, the entire league of villains). this is the kid who’s so adverse to help, one of the people who’s known him the longest thought he might legitimately reject assistance from anyone other than his best friend even though his life was in danger.

lastly, there’s the sports festival. there’s no excuse for that. every adult who saw a fifteen-year-old child chained up like a mental patient from the middle ages on national tv and did nothing should be ashamed. the fact that mitsuki and masaru didn’t immediately pull their son out of a school that would do such a thing is highly concerning. to be honest, it makes me question the other parents as well. even if katsuki isn’t their kid, you’d think they’d feel a bit concerned about that.

i think mitsuki and katsuki are both hyper-aware of katsuki’s strengths, but i think they’re a little too aware of them. he’s strong, yes, but something like that would leave a mark on just about anyone.

sorry if this is a bit disorganized but like i said i’m really tired and it’s now 1:15 in the morning so i think it’s bedtime for me

[gamearamamegathons]

Trauma Center: Second Opinion: HEART GLASS

[Content warning for surgery and stuff! And also for suicide, a topic that this game handles miserably, so be prepared for that. Actually, let's also add a content warning for verbal abuse towards a suicidal person, just to be safe.]

Circe here! Time to fix more organs! We open with episode 1-6. Angie is really worried about this patient, because his blood tests are off, but Derek just blows off her concerns. This surgey is pretty straightforward, we're treating inflammation and removing tumors, but Derek is continually ignoring Angie pointing out that something more seems wrong. Our protagonist has gone from a newbie doctor to a bigshot episode in the space of six scenes. Amazing. Well, after we finish up the surgery, Derek hurries off to some doctor event thing, but it turns out that the patient had more inside bad stuff that blew up, so he almost died. Whoopsy. We don't actually operate on this patient again, instead Derek basically gets fired for negligence. Angie says that any suspicion, no matter how tiny or inconsequential, should be taken seriously, which is an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, because there were actually quite ample reasons to think something was wrong.

Have I mentioned that this game's writing is...uh...a little strange? The characters react to every surgery basically as if they were operating on someone they know, and while it's admirable to care about people that passionately, this just isn't realistic, because that kind of attitude isn't sustainable when you're treating life or death situations every day. I dunno if this is typical for medical dramas, but I find it a bit jarring. At the very least, though, I guess comments like this help us understand the driving philosophy of the game's narrative.

Anyway, Derek is moping outside, when he hears about a car accident. It seems that one of the victims is being taken into emergency care, and Derek knows that there aren't enough doctors, so he rushes in and is, like, emergency un-fired, I guess. Was he really fired, or did they just yell at him a lot? I dunno, this game's fuzzy about that. But who cares because this guy's got HEART GLASS! That's right, when we cut the guy open, we find that his heart has been pretty much pincushioned with glass shards, which I'm pretty sure would mean he'd just be dead. To make things worse, as soon as we remove all the glass, another huge piece just, chestbursters out of his heart, which

I mean

I'm *pretty* sure that'd kill him.

Just when we think we've got this guy all patched up, another laceration appears on his heart, for reasons that aren't even really clear this time. In a moment of panic, Derek fixes it with magic.

...what? You heard me. This is the point at which we're introduced to the Healing Touch, a rare magic power possessed by only a handful of surgeons that allows them to go into bullet time to do surgery super fast and save people from dying. Have I mentioned that this series is a bit weird?

Anyway, no time for that now. This is the remake, remember, and bit that I'm pretty sure is new to this version is a side story featuring another surgeon named Nozomi Weaver. We don't learn much about Dr. Weaver except that she's a master Japanese surgeon who's currently practicing in America, and also she's shaaaady. In this surgery, our patient's arm bones are shattered, so we do the logical thing and collect all the pieces, jigsaw them back together, and smear some antibiotic gel all over it so it heals real good. Uh, I didn't mention this, but there's a line of dialogue early on about this gel being a cure-all, and I guess they weren't fucking kidding, were they. This surgery also introduced an unfortunate complication to my clever emulated control scheme. To put the bones back together, you have to rotate the Wii remote, something I hadn't really bothered to configure. I had to concede the need to use an analog stick here for precision, so I ended up with the controller sitting in my lap so I could operate the stick and the mouse at the same time. It was, uh, a little less than elegant, but it was the best I could do. I kinda hope they don't require any more of the Wii remote's features in future surgeries.

Back to Derek. Next up, we gotta fix these little blobs that are traveling through a guy's spleen, and every time they go through it hurts him. We're doing pretty good until there's a lot of them going really fast, so Derek once again draws on the power of magic to fix it all in time. Word of Derek's dark magic reaches the hospital director guy, and he explains that Derek has a rare magic power, and that having such great healing power is a heavy burden to bear, so he should give up on it or he'll never be happy. Derek ignores him though, like any good protagonist, so we learn how to activate Healing Touch manually by drawing the shape of a pentagram in the air.

Nope. Not kidding.

Derek explains this away as him concentrating on a simple shape to increase his focus, but also fuck you, you're invoking dark magic with a pentagram. I fucking own it when I use dark magic, Derek, and you should do the same. I should also note, invoking the Healing Touch involves holding B and Z and drawing at the same time, which is a manuever that was definitely kind of a pain to configure so I could carry it out comfortably. Oh yeah, I forgot, we also learned how to use defibrillators earlier! That requires you to use B and Z at the same time also. Gotta be real careful about zapping a guy's heart and stuff.

Aaaanyway. The next patient's got lumps on his organs that keep bursting, so we gotta cut the lumps out and stitch his veins back together. This surgery actually kinda sucks, and I lost several times before I got it, because it takes a massive chunk out of the patient's vitals when his stuff bursts, and they will, no matter how quickly you work. Near the end, there's four of them at once, and you gotta use the Healing Touch to not lose. Unfortunately, this leads to Derek passing out for three days. Whoopsy again. When Derek comes to, veteran doctor guy tells Derek that dark magic places a lot of strain on the body and he really shouldn't overdo it, because if he passed out in a surgery that would be, uh, pretty bad. I gotta side with veteran guy here. Pulling a spirit muscle is *way* worse than pulling a physical one.

So then we get to Linda. Let me tell you about Linda, and how Angie becomes the worst character in the game for all time. So, Linda is a 17 year old girl who comes in with lacerations on her lungs. Which sounds pretty bad. This is a fairly basic surgery, although we also learn that we need to close very large lacerations with the forceps before we can stitch them closed. Where things really go bad is after the surgery. It turns out that Linda was suicidal, and didn't really want to be fixed at all. So Angie does the logical thing, and yells in her face that clearly the surgery was a waste and Linda should just die if that's how she feels about it.

so

uh

hm

So yeah, Angie is total scum. Let's move on and see how it gets worse. After that shameful display, Derek tries to help Linda by giving her a little pep talk, which I don't think would actually help, but hey, the guy's heart is in the right place I guess. Later, we learn a bit more about Linda's home life, and there's some stuff that kinda sucks, but, in Angie's words, 'nothing worth dying over'.

as you can see angie understands suicidal ideation very well

Later we learn that extremely high levels of some kind of antihistamine was in Linda's body, and it's not even on the market yet, nor is there any evidence she was taking it, so her body was just kind of, creating it somehow. Apparently this huge drug overdose caused a mood swing that led to her feeling suicidal, which means

w h i c h m e a n s

which means Linda was feeling suicidal because she was sick. Angie screamed in a sick person's face that she should die because she was sick. Angie should be fucking fired, quite possibly even sued for some kind of negligence, I don't know. She certainly shouldn't be allowed back into the plot as though she just got a little upset and said some things she didn't mean. Angie even has the gall to later whisper ominously about a rumored 'death doctor' who euthanizes patients, and how it's good that Linda was treated by Derek instead of that guy. As if Angie herself wasn't literally saying Linda should be dead fucking yesterday. Fuck.

Okay, deep breaths. I'm getting ahead of things a little. While the plot is getting horrible, the surgeries are getting *amazing*. After all this, Linda suddenly starts complaining of excruciating chest pains, so we gotta treat her again. After we fix up more lacerations, we find out the reason why Linda's body has been all weird and messed up: tiny monsters in her lung! Yes, that's right. We use the ultrasound to detect a tiny winged creature moving around inside Linda's lung, and it's creating more lacerations, so we have to cut the sucker out and laser it to death. A few more of these things crop up, and we take them out one by one, until all of Linda's lung monsters are taken care of.

This is GUILT, the game's made up...disease...monster...thing. It's a little hard to be sure what they are, because the game talks about GUILT as though it's a disease, but they appear to be, like, parasites or something. Maybe it's a visual metaphor? For...something? Well anyway, Linda's all better. Veteran doctor guy whispers in hushed tones about GUILT, and says that nobody outside of this room should talk about what we saw.

So, with that major development, I think this is a good cutting off point for now. I wanna focus on the fun parts, and not as much on how Angie is a detestable human being, so let's review: HEART GLASS, jigsaw bones, and lung monsters. This game is only going to get more absurd from here, and as far as I remember, there is 100% less of characters being absolutely monstrous to teenage girls, so I hope you're looking forward to it.

[milquetoast-on-acid]

Sanctuary City pt4, A Reactionary Post

Loving you means supporting you through times good times and bad

Major Crimes, S6xE4: Episode Review This arc has been building and building emotional intensity for Sharon and I'm freaking loving it. This episode - I just loved it so damned much! It kind of feels a bit like fan fiction, with us getting a chance to see Sharon right after she collapses. Andy bulldozing his way into her ER room. And Sharon and Andy's emotional ILY scene in the middle of the episode. Like many of you the personal storyline way overshadowed the case to the point where I had to rewatch several times to actually understand what was going on with it.

What this episode is about: Vultures circling round the bone The Righteous What is the truth? The Squad's Hunches Father Jonas Returns Institutions of Power Protecting their Own The Church & Father Jonas LAPD & Sharon Dealing with the emotional fallout from a loved one's illness Lucas' Diabeties Sharon's Cardiomyopathy The Squad Provenza Rusty Andy To Be or Not to Be Rusty & Gus: Where do we stand? Ryan & Miguel & Lucas & Kelly: The Forbidden Relationships Sarah & Mateo: A volital relationship of two polar oposites Sharon & Andy: I Love You and nothing is going to stop us

Vultures circling round the bone

These reporters are freaking vultures. Their standing right in front of the Danielle Rojas' car and the one chick is knocking on their window. Like do they all really think their going to get any kind of interview with them as their making their way to the FBI offices to talk to their kids. These people are delusional. I also love the coverage that all of these reporters are giving this case making it really seem so very urgent as SO many stations are covering this case. Making it really vital, urgent and so very high profile for our squad.

Provenza complains, what else is new? "Are you done complaining." "Don't ask the impossible." I love this so much! Mason doesn't know Provenza very well, yet. Love Mike's quick quip and Provenza's response to it.

Mike acts as the number 2. "I'll talk to Vega. No I'll talk to Fay." Love that Mike takes it on to do the transfer. Since he's number 2 right now and he very quickly changes his mind on who he's going to deal with. I've thought that Fay was becoming much more of a game player than Vega ever was and so I think this is a smart decision if he has to talk to either one of them.

Flowers

I love seeing all of the flowers in the Raydor/Flynn/Beck family home. Sharon usually has some in her office and sometimes in their home. But there is a ton of them here. Some from everyone sending her flowers in hospital and if you notice there's also a lot of white and purple orchids and some light purple roses. Some of which have to be sent from people for the wedding.

Sharon: The best looking patient ever? Like who looks like that in the hospital!?

Can we talk about this fist bump Andy and Buzz have after he leaves? I just love that so much! Buzz is giving him such a great smile but Andy is pretty distracted by what Sharon’s going to say. 

What is the truth? "I don't know if you know this but teenagers tend to lie when they screw up." So the boys are finally released into LAPD custody and their story sounds like a pack of lies. It sounds so unbelievable. Lucas was taking them to some really cool unbelievable awesome place to do something - something and someplace that the boys claim they don't know. Lucas apparently had rented a limo to take them to this place. Before they really get anywhere some guy in the front seat gasses them and kidnaps them to Mexico.They find themselves in the middle of the desert thirsty and with drugs on them they claim aren't theirs.

It sounds like the boys skipped town to go do drugs. But then why would Lucas not take his meds or eat? And when Amy tests Lucas' bag, she doesn't find any traces of Oxy. Which means that Lucas did not bring any drugs with him. I have doubts about the squad's theory that the boys are telling a bunch of lies because of how much the evidence actually supports (some of the boys story). Not finding any drugs (or any trace of them) in Lucas' backpack. The fact that Morales found chloroform in Lucas' shirt which supports the boys story that they were gassed and passed out. I definitely think there are things the boys aren't telling the detectives but I think the thing that Ryan wanted so desperately to talk to Father Jonas was about Hector's death. 

Ryan confided in Father Jonas about some of the abuse from Hector. Which really makes me believe that Father Motherlover did kill Hector. I think what the boys said was partially the truth. That what happened to them was retaliation from whatever gang Hector was a part of and this was retaliation as a warning to the parents. Of course I could be (and probably am wrong but that's my theory). 

Plus the fact that Danelia Rojos (Ryan's Mother) knew that Father Jonas is coming back really supports the theory that he was (and had been) having an affair with her. Which also begs the question why the hell is this guy still a priest? "They couldn't just tell the boys that Lucas was dead. No they had to give them the circumstances." I also agree with Provenza why in the hell did the FBI tell the boys where Lucas was found!? They are so very bad at handling kids.

The Squad's hunches Even though the focus of this arc is on Sharon. Most of the team members had their little moments to shine and some of them had some interesting hunches. Julio noticing the shoves and freshly moved dirt in the Garrett’s backyard. Buzz taking charge of a search warrant and his knowledge of Spanish pushes their investigation further. Amy searching Lucas' backpack for Oxy and not finding any. Morales finding chloroform on Lucas' shirt. Page noticing something about about the artwork in Mateo's offices. I went back to when they first executed a search warrant in the offices of Mateo's practice and ...

This was the painting is part 4.

This painting in part 3.

Which means that the painting was replaced but why? Was it replaced in a struggle? Or is it being used to hide something. I think that it didn't have anything to do with a struggle because the painting matches the style of the other ones. Sharon makes a point of it to really focus on Mateo's practice as something he could lose. So whatever is going on probably has something to do with Mateo's surgery center.

Father Jonas Returns

The SIS team snatches Father Jonas up as soon as he lands back into LA. This conversation: "Father Jonas, Welcome Home." "Have a nice trip, Asshole?" "Why would you talk to me like that, Lieutenant?" "How about you ran from a murder investigation?" "I left to protect my vows." "Yeah that's what all the single mothers you slept with said too. Your very concerned about your vows." I love that as soon as Father Jonas shows back up the team really lets him have it and doesn't hold back on their feelings towards this shady MF. Sharon's back in her balanced state and her "Welcome home" statement is much more her diplomatic but thinly vailed contempt for him. Provenza who has absolutely zero filter left in his brain just says whatever the fuck he feels now. It's Sharon and Patrice that seem to be the only two that can rein him back in. Andy who zeros in on the investigation and how shady it looks for him to up and run away. And Julio who points to Father Mother-lover's shady behavior and how fucking hypocritical he is. 

Sharon might not say it but that look says EVERYTHING.

Institutions of Power Protecting their Own

The Church & Father Jonas

Notice that Bishop Calhoun is flanked by what looks like two very expensive lawyers. The church is very much backing Father Jonas and closing their ranks around him. They have gone so far as to actually removing him from the country.  

LAPD & Sharon Just like with Father Jonas, the LAPD (and more importantly Sharon's work family and home family) are protecting her too. Provenza throws a fit to get the FBI finally out of the PAB. And Andy bulldozes his way into being with Sharon by using his position of power to get himself by her side. Then both Andy and Rusty throw Sharon's obsession with the rules back in her face when she very clearly wants to go back to work way too soon.

That Ending Scene(s): This episode brakes away from all of the other parts and ends with Provenza as the focus and not Sharon. Julio is also rather emotionally torn up about the crime scene. And I think I agree with him. I don't think that Mateo killed Lucas and then himself. I could be wrong but I rather think that Mateo's suicide was staged. Although we will find out for sure next week. Staged to cover up whatever was going on in his Surgery Center.

Skirting the Law "The Law says no listening. Doesn't say anything about watching. Keep it muted and we'll be fine." I love all of this talk about what is and what isn't the law. And about how Sharon knows the law so damned well, to get what they want out of a case. I love how it's Mike that interrupts what they can and can't do to Buzz. Because after Sharon it's Mike that has thorough knowledge of the law. 

"I'm sure their not listening in." "That would be so against the rules." "Not illegal." Many years ago the team played fast and loose with the law. Including the entire reason that Sharon is in charge of MC. Now everyone is obsessed with the rules as much as Sharon is.

Dealing with the emotional fallout from a loved one's illness

Lucas' Diabetes

There's already been a parallel drawn between Lucas' diabietes and Sharon's heart condition. Lucas' family was really on him to take care of himself and his mother was very devoted to making sure he got the proper care and attention that his illness needed. Unfortunetly dealing with that it seems that Lucas' parents had a lot of emotional stuff on their plate - and neiter of them was really dealing with it.

Sharon's Cardiomyopathy The episode starts right after the last one and dives right into the action of Sharon's collapse. There are so many emotions flying around the room and it's so wonderful to see just how torn up everyone is about Sharon. Amy's cracked voice as she leads the paramedics to Sharon. Mason, catching himself telling the paramedics her name is Commander Raydor and quickly switches to her given name. Realizing that they don't care what she does or what her rank is. Mike, who I didn't realize was holding her head. Thank you to whoever pointed that out. I thought it was Provenza but he's on the other side of her. 

Provenza "She's none of your damn business is what she is." Provenza tries to rush the paramedics to where Sharon is lying and then later on his reaction to the FBI agents is quite unlike anything I've ever seen from him. He's PISSED. And while we've seen him pissed - we haven't seen him this mad - ever. 

I know I've said this many times and I'll probably say this many times again throughout my reviews but the two of them have really come so damned far. Their relationship is completely different than what it was in TC and the beginning of Major Crimes. Provenza wanted nothing to do with Sharon and even wanted to help her pack her bags to leave them all the hell alone. Now - I think Sharon's a rival for Provenza's best friend. 

Right after Sharon explodes with anger towards the FBI. Provenza follows suit. Yes, he's angry at them for being snakes in the grass with the boys. But he's really really scared about what happened with Sharon. So much so that he takes it out on the FBI agents in a way that no one really expected. Everyone is startled by his behavior. Mason, Mike and Wes. The guy is barely keeping it together. He's hunched down, visibly shaking and gritting his teeth. Amy has to lead Provenza away before he completely falls apart on them. 

I love Julio following that up with: "You don't know me but believe this. The Lieutenant wants you lying sons of bitches out of here. That's what will happen." Notice how Provenza looks at the floor where Sharon was just lying and back up to Mason. To which there is no doubt that Mason was going to send them packing when Sharon told them to leave with just as much anger as Provenza. 

"We hope that Sharon is just dehydrated." Why do I have a feeling that this is a knock at Mary for dehydrating herself on set and then calling out on herself on social media. This guy looks so excited to see her when he bursts through the the ER curtain. The guy doesn't run but look how fast he bolts to her side.

Rusty "All of that for the flu!?" Provenza is really starting to freak Rusty out. The doctor tells Rusty that all of those test are standard but I do wonder if he wasn't trying to calm him down. And by this time Provenza is back to his normal self, even if he's still worried about her. He's now cracking jokes and as we also know that's his defense mechanism when he's worried over a loved one. And I also feel like he's doing a little bit of back peddling, because now he's spoke before he thought and is realizing the impact of his words to Rusty. 

"Cardio - Cardio...what?" "Cardiomyopathy." Love seeing Rusty googling Sharon's heart condition. Certainly makes sense. Knowledge is power, especially for Rusty. Knowledge is also power for Sharon, which is something that Rusty has really absorbed from her. 

Knowledge about the disease will help him understand what Sharon's going through. I also really love that it's Andy she tells first about her diagnosis. And she's much less emotional here than she was when she had this conversation with Andy. She seems much more at peace with it but we know she's still struggling (and will struggle) with it and it's emotional (and physical) implications in her life. I really love it because it really shows her motherly ways. And her talking to Andy first really helps her separate her feelings to put more of a protective shield around herself in front of Rusty. 

"What can I do to help?" "Accept the full undercover security detail that the LAPD recommending. It would take a lot of stress off my heart, I am sure." Rusty walked right into that one. Sharon just guilt-ed Rusty into getting him a police protection and it worked. THIS is what I expected her to do but it seems like she was waiting for something to use to push the protection detail on to him. Sharon doesn't feel any remorse for using guilt on him to protect her baby. Something else that Rusty has learned from Sharon (and very well) is the art of the deal. He still insists on that gun. And with him being hunted (even though Sharon doesn't like it) it may be something he might actually have to use. Even Sharon understands that because of what happened with the Josephs three. The fact that the boys were caught unaware and not armed with any kind of protection.

Andy Andy sitting right in front of Sharon trying to be very calm for her. I love him being very calming and gentle in way he's speaking to her.Then very quickly becoming a tiger to anyone that comes in between him and being with her. I love him taking charge by telling them that three sets of black and whites will make a faster ride to the hospital. He doesn't hesitate to let his position as a police officer get faster care for his fiance. Does he care? Andy's a guy that will act first and think about the consequences later on. 

"Sir, I know this is hard. Please wait out here while we help her." "I'm her husband." "Okay, sorry but we don't allow family to -- Plus I have one of these." I love Andy pushing his way into being with her in the ER. He's not taking no for an answer. Not only does he lie to the nurse but backs that shit up with is badge. I love the look on her face, she's not too happy about it but I think at this point there wouldn't be any stopping Andy from being with her. He's so freaking gentle with her and to everyone else he's got a HUGE set of teeth and you don't want to mess with him. Andy does not hesitate to tell them he's her husband. Even though technically that's not true just yet.  He does his best to bulldoze is way into being with her and I LOVE IT SO FREAKING MUCH. 

She's got to be used to patients loved ones trying to be with them but now she has to deal with a stubborn cop husband who's not taking NO for an answer. I've always wondered what if something happened to Sharon before they'd gotten married. Would Andy just lie about them being married to get into be with her. And the fact that it actually happened makes my shipper heart sing! Andy & Rusty ganging up on Sharon to better take care of herself.

"Sharon, your off the clock." I love both of the guys protesting against her going back too soon and pushing herself. Love all of the looks they give the other. Andy shaking his head in protest. And lets face it Andy, Sharon ignores her physical and mental health just as much as you do. 

"Them is the rules." I love how both Andy and Rusty use her own obsession with the rules against her. And also the fact that Andy said THEM is the rules. I don't know why him phrasing it like that tickles me so much but it does. When Rusty retaliates "The Rules, The Rules" to Sharon. She really doesn't like that both of them bring it up and how much can we love the look she gives back to Rusty. Shaking her head at him. It really reminds me of when Brenda didn't think that Sharon was capable of tracking a suspect of theirs and Sharon shakes her head at Brenda. 

"Sharon the doctor wanted you to rest." "I'm home. I'm sitting. Okay I'm done." Andy seems like he's only letting Sharon go so far in how much she pushes herself. And isn't afraid of telling her that she needs to slow down. She kind of listens to him. When he gives her this wonderful look of disbelief. She stops, only long enough to send off an email to Provenza. He's so worried about his wifey and what's going on with her. I love this little moment before she sends Provenza and email. She gives him a smile but you can tell how emotionally torn up she is. He gives her one right back but as soon as she turns her head he sighs with so much worry.

Sharon "Sharon can you tell me what hurts." Sharon being so out of it that she can't speak. I love how she looks to Andy when the question is asked. And he gives her reassurance to calm her down. 

"I'm okay." Girl, you fainted, your strapped to an gurney with a oxygen mask on your face and your STILL insisting your fine. 

(And what her illness is doing for her character) The one thing that I love about this illness storyline of Sharon is that we are seeing things from Sharon that we haven't or haven't seen much of before. We are seeing Sharon really struggle with something emotionally and physically. Sharon (for this last arc) is behaving rather unlike herself. She's become much more emotional about things, letting herself feel things more. Her trying not to break down when faced with Lucas in the flower bed and having to set away from the crime scene. Her outburst of anger at the FBI agents. Her struggling to keep up her normal appearances to protect herself and her family from her illness. Her being so caught up in emotion (despite her appearances) that she forgets that Rusty's phone is in her hand. 

"I'm curious." Sharon is very much like Brenda. A workaholic that often takes presidence over her own mental, physical and emotional health. Sharon though, won't put her work above her family the way Brenda had a tendency to do. Herself yes but not Rusty or Andy. 

"If I could just talk to you alone for a little bit." "I'm her son." "I'm her husband, ugh almost." "And I am her esteemed colleague." I love how EVERY single one of them uses their relationships to her to get allowed to stay during the diagnosis. I would think that both Andy and Rusty would have been allowed to stay. Because they are personal family and because Andy would have medical power of attorney. And how Andy tries his badge trick yet again with the doctor but it doesn't work here. I love Provenza's amusement at Andy.

Romance abound, some meant to be and other's not so much.

Ryan & Miguel & Lucas & Kelly The Forbidden Relationships

I haven't really talked much about this one but this little quadrangle romance is one that parallels Rusty, Gus and Aiden. Ryan struggles with his sexuality in the that Rusty did (and still does). The fact that Ryan has a crush on Miguel (which Miguel I do believe doesn't know about). Ryan who suffered abuse from his stepfather and has an emotionally volatile mother. Just like Rusty's biological parents. The fact that Lucas and Kelly is also a forbidden relationship because of her fathers racist bullshit beliefs and how they had to hide from him.

Rusty & Gus & Aiden Where do we stand? So Gus has RSVPed to the wedding and has ordered the salmon so it's pretty much a given that he's going to be there. Even if his and Rusty's relationship is pretty much over. Rusty is pretty convinced that Gus won't show up to the wedding. But Sharon, is a person who does not give up on people or relationships and she seems like she still has her heart set on Rusty and Gus. My feelings on the two of them is that. I had high hopes for them at one point but so much has happened to push them apart and I really think that it's in the cards for them to break up.

Sarah & Mateo A volatile relationship of two polar opposites Like Ryan, Miguel, Lucas and Kelly is to Rusty, Gus and Aiden. Sarah and Mateo is a mirror to Sharon and Andy's relationship. While we don't get much play of their relationship here. But rather interestingly Mateo ends up dead at the end of the episode. And Sarah is left all alone with both her husband and son dead. Kind of where Sharon started at the beginning of the series. She had her kids yes but they were miles apart from her and only come home really during the holidays. 

Sharon is similar to Mateo in that she pulls away and isolates herself (and her emotions) in trying to deal with her illness. Mateo chose to drug himself and pull away from his family in dealing with his sons illness. While Sarah allows her emotions to get the better of her. Sarah and Mateo are so different in how they deal with their emotions, especially those regarding their son and how they deal with his illness. 

"I'm 100% positive."  "You can't be sure."  "Yes I can because ---." "They couldn't take the oxy from me because I know exactly how much I have." "I'll check out how much oxy I have and see if Lucas and his friends have taken any of it." This is such a telling conversation here. Mateo is so damned sure that the boys hadn't taken any of his oxy but then he's not so sure if they've taken any of his oxy. 

Here's another tiny thing but Mateo's office is decked out with artwork depicting sports figures in action. The guy is a HUGE sports fan, and we also know someone who's a big baseball fan. And someone else who's a big football fan. It's really tiny but I think it's cute that Mateo loves sports just like Sharon and Andy. After I wrote that I noticed that Mateo’s practice is about Sports medicine so he must treat athletes there. 

Sharon & Andy I Love You and nothing is going to stop us Rip my heart out why don't you? First of all! It's the very first time we are getting a scene in Sharon and Andy's bedroom. It really has been years in the making. Now I'm not going to talk too much about this scene here because I'm working on a separate post devoted just to this scene. I really think that there's so much emotionally going on that it really needs (and deserves) it's own post. 

It's also a bit frustrating not finding out what's going on with Sharon when the doctor tells her but I do like how they had us find out when Sharon finally tells Andy what's going on with her. Because of her relationship with him and our investment in that relationship. And how we can get more emotions coming off of him because he's in love with her verses emotions that a doctor has about his patient. I think in this case it was the right decision. 

One thing I will touch on is the I Love You. Better late than never and what a I Love You did we get. OMG GOD! I think much like with Laura Roslin, hearing Sharon saying the words was much more important than hearing them come from Andy. That scene was so very emotional, very intimate. Just exactly what we had all been hoping to see for so long. And I am also happy to say that this scene has beaten out the Hug for my favorite Shandy scene. Which I'm sure tops the list for many people. 

The difference in Sharon and Andy's relationship verses Sarah and Mateo. Is that Sharon and Andy have managed to meet in the middle with Sharon's illness. Sharon tries to pull away but Andy doesn't let her. Sharon and Andy's differences in their personalities don't hinder their relationship but make it better. It is VERY clear that Sarah and Mateo don't talk about what's going on with Lucas and all of their emotions surrounding it. And so both Sarah and Mateo deal with it on their own by themselves. While Andy makes it VERY clear that their dealing with Sharon's illness together. Both Andy and Mateo are addicts but Andy is actively dealing with his addiction and is in a much better place than Mateo is.

What I didn't like: Just as I thought this case was wrapping up they throw in another curve ball...or dead body. One nitpick about this episode would be that Sharon and Andy weren't in their bed when they had their conversation. And I think Sharon could have used a physical embrace from Andy. The other nitpick that I have is that Sharon is not the emotional focus at the end of the episode. And because of that breaks the pattern of the other episodes in the arc. 

What I liked: Having them pick up right after the last episode and we actually got to see the drama of them rushing Sharon to the hospital. Having everyone dealing with that (or not really dealing with their emotions - looking at you Provenza). This is something that we missed out on when Andy collapsed at the end of White Lies and I'm so very glad that they fixed that this time around. Seeing Sharon and Andy's bedroom FINALLY! Having such an emotional scene between Sharon and Andy where they actually talk about their relationship. A conversation that's not cut off and feels finished and I'm so very satisfied with it. 

That this is an episode that deals with Sharon and something she's struggling with and that it's the forefront of the episode. A Sharon storyline that her personal story is the FOREFRONT of the episode not the case. I don't think anyone could really considerate on what the hell was going on with the case due to all of the emotions surrounding Sharon's heart condition. 

Also Mary is a gift we don't deserve. Kudos also to Tony and GW! 

[j1mini3]

a letter to the korean public

Year after year, suicide rates gain traction and begin to soar. Year after year, the public ignores the downfalls in the ideals the people have made for themselves. They continue to create a negative stigma around mental health issues.

This goes farther than an idol, this is for public safety.

Over 40% of Koreans have some time in their life showed signs of mental illness. Less than a quarter of those Koreans go get the medical help they need. That minuscule percentage that does get help, isn’t guaranteed results; for psychiatric officials often do not care for their craft and/or the wellbeing of their patient due to their huge burn out rates (of mental health practitioners).

Korea is not producing enough mental health physicians. Korea is underfunding the mental health institutions they have in place, and the little money they do get, comes from “sin” tax. A tax that is derived from items such as cigarettes, alcohol, and other abuse prone substances. This sends a message to the patient of “become addicted and die from your addiction” or “deteriorate even more and die from your illness”.

These problems I’ve listed are only the ones enabled by the government.

The other issues are those that come from the way parents raise their kids, the way teachers teach their curriculums in schools, the way friends treat one another and all other types of inter-communicative relationships people have with each other. Human interaction promotes the diffusion of ideals and morals. So if a huge chunk of a population believes one thing that percentage is going to grow unless there is a counter movement. This allows for rhe dangerous stigma that surrounds mental health due to the lack of information the public recieves to multiply.

Korea as a society must stop this.

This conversation cannot keep arising every fucking time we lose an idol. An idol is someone in the public eye, someone that has impacted an innumerable amount of people. Someone that is of high stature and of celebrity status. The way, not only Korean entertainment companies but all Korean enterprises, approach mental health issues is with a mentality of “if I hire this person, they won’t be a helpful asset because of their condition/s” or “if I hire this person they will cost me more money in the long run than they will earn (for my company)”. When you apply for a job in Korea, usually the application will ask if you have ever suffered any type of mental illness. This in itself is extremely invasive and opens a gateway for discrimination. Though workplace discrimination is illegal in Korea, it is ignorant to think it doesn’t occur. The workforce and the requirements one must fill in order to score a stable job is another stressor on the Korean public that most likely can be linked to suicide rates as well.

Yet the people who are only preparing to enter the workforce are those who suffer the most. The highest suicide rates in the public are among those of age 10-19. Imagine not only a star like Jonghyun, but imagine the Korean teenager staring at the edge of a bridge, brought down by their peers, brought down by their families, brought down by expectations and social normalcy.

Imagine their pain, imagine the moment they’re told “everything is in your head” by a physician, and by friend, and by a teacher, and by a parent.

Let’s stop having this conversation year after year. Let’s begin to instill change. Let’s begin again.

Let’s create reform in our communities, for our futures, our economies, and our countries.

Educate your peers, your family, and foremost- yourself.

Let’s end this epidemic together.

개혁을 위해 싸우는 한 무리의 투사로서 힘을 합치자. 하지만 가장 중요한 건, 성공하자.