#ill clean and play games and draw. but then it will crash and ill be back to being utterly miserable and depressed again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inside-of-a-fangirls-mind · 4 years

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Waiting For You

Brief Summary: Cullen had confessed his feelings when you returned to the circle to save him. However you did not expect to run into him after all these years

Words: 3,272

Warnings: Smut as always, your a mom, kinda sad. Drunken smut. I just love Cullen okay

Pairing: Female Grey Warden X Cullen

"This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong..." Cullen’s voice faltered in the magic cage he was placed in.

"Cullen, don't you recognize me?" Your voice rang out clear, trying to reach him.

"Only too well... how far they must have delved into my thoughts..." His voice trailed off as he answered.

"The boy is exhausted, and this cage... I've never seen anything like it." The fellow mage spoke softly, "Rest easy help is here."

"Enough visions. If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs. Shifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have... Using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things. I'm so tired of these cruel jokes.. these tricks... these..." Cullen cried out, grabbing at his head to make all this stop.

"We are here to help." You yelled, trying to get it across to him that you were, in fact, real.

"Silence.. I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone! Still here? But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them." Cullen's voice shook, unsure of what to believe anymore.

"Makes you wish you hadn't said those things, doesn't it?" You teased for a moment before walking closer to the magic cage.

"I am beyond caring what you think. The Maker knows my sin, and I pray that he will forgive me." Cullen stood upright and stared into your soul; it seemed. But did he really mean it?

You lie in bed thinking over that conversation, over and over again in your head. It's late in the evening, and yet sleep is the furthest thing from your mind. The only thing your thoughts seem to settle on is Cullen. The young Templar who you spent a lot of time with when you called this place home... If it ever was really a home, if it was ever more than a prison.

You stare at the ceiling in an unfamiliar room; you could still feel your mind uneasy from the games the sloth demon played on you. Maybe Cullen was apart of that game. You sat up on the edge of the bed, looking down at your hands. You could still feel the hum of magic from the blood mages magic drifting through your hands.

"This is crazy." You mumble to yourself as you stand up and throw on your night robes. "I shouldn't be leaving my room. They were kind enough to let us stay; I shouldn't push it." You sigh but open your door and walk out of the room without a second thought.

The cold stone under your bare feet takes you back to a fonder time, before becoming a grey warden before Jowan was a blood mage before Cullen had confused you. You run your hand along the wall, the red stains of blood still there as you ascend the stairs to the top of the tower. Whenever you needed a moment to breathe, the top of the tower was the place to go, the view was amazing.

You hummed softly to yourself as you walked the now unfamiliar halls recalling everything that happened there. The area where you and Jowan would race up and down the halls when you first ran into Cullen, the chantry where Jowan told you about his girlfriend, where you planed to save your best friend. You press a hand to your head, trying to will away all the memories of this place, both good and bad.

You open the door and walk up the last flight of stairs before being on the roof only when you heard a voice did you freeze.

"Who's there?"

You swallow hard before peaking around the railing side, seeing Cullen sitting on the roof knees to his chest. A soft smile came to your lips before jumping the railing and taking a seat beside him.

"Just me." You whisper before looking up at the night sky, the stars scattered like your thoughts.

Cullen didn't look at you, just staring straight forward into the night. He pulled his knees closer to himself but didn't move away from you.

"Look. I didn't think anyone would be up here, but since you are. I want to clear some things up." You sigh before glancing at him, then leaning back, so you laid against the roofing. "I know you weren't ever expecting to see me again, Maker knows I didn't think I'd see you again. But I- uh." You tried your best to get your thoughts together, but it was hard. "Hearing you say, hearing you admit that at one point you did too. Well, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you for giving me at least one fond memory of this place. I, I should get back to bed." You whispered and started to get up when a hand was placed over yours.

"I- I didn't know it was you, like the real you. I was just so tired of... everything." Cullen spoke his eyes meeting yours. "You, you were the best part of this place, and I just. I knew you were gone. That we, us, never could uh-" He was fumbling over his words.

You felt your heart swell and smiled at him, without thinking you put your hand on his cheek before leaning in and brushing your lips against his. He doesn't pull away quite the opposite; his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his body. You couldn't help yourself and let out a soft moan, swinging your leg, so you were straddling his lap. Deepening the kiss as your hands ran through his hair, his arm around your waist holding you close to him.

You break the kiss a moment later, pressing your forehead to his. "I never thought this would happen." You laugh softly before running a hand down his chest, his white shirt slightly unbutton as your fingers enjoyed the feeling of his warm skin.

"I only ever dreamed about it. Maker forgive me." He whispers before catching your lips again. You kiss him with a fever you didn't know you had, his arms tightening around you to make sure all this was real.

But then a gasp slipped past your lips as you felt a hardness pressing between your legs. Your eyes meet his as his cheek flush, and he looks away. His shyness only makes you smile as your hand cups his cheek. "Cullen." You whisper, placing hot wet kisses against his neck. "No one has to know about tonight. But I will be leaving tomorrow if there's anything you want you only need to tell me." You turn his face back to yours, eyes locking with his.

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a slight whimper when you shift in his lap. His hips lightly thrusting up against you as he bites down on his lip desperately. A moan slips past your lips before pulling him into another kiss, hips grinding down against his. Moan falling from his lips like prayers and pleas.

"Y- Y/N!" He moans out as your lips find their way to his neck. You hum softly, keeping your hips moving against his, softly biting into the flesh of his neck. His fingers digging into your hips with such strength, you know you'll bruise.

"Shush, Cullen. I'm going to take care of you." You whisper before sliding your hand between the two of you and slipping into his pants. Fingers slowly wrapping around his cock as you start to stroke him. He throws his head back, moaning out again, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, his heart ready to pound out of his chest.

You let kisses drop down his chest, at least what skin was exposed before he pulls his head up and buries it in your neck, letting out a loud cry of your name as he cums in your hand. You slowly work him through his orgasm before leaning back slightly and casting a cleaning spell over him to take care of the mess, then wrapping both of your arms around him, keeping him close.

"Cullen, I think I've always loved you. But this is where we must part ways." You manage to keep a steady voice even though tears roll down your cheeks. "The chantry needs you, and I have a blight to stop. But I will never forget you that I promise." You kiss the top of his head before vanishing before his eyes. His arms go to pull you closer, wanting you to stay, but they catch nothing but thin air.

If only you had stayed if only things had worked out differently. If only you hadn't helped Jowan, became a grey warden. If only, then maybe something could have gone differently, perhaps you could have had him.

Years later, the last thing you expected was your daughter to get caught up in the inquisition when you received letters from her about everything she's done and everything they are planning to do. Once you hear word of an archdemon, that's when you know you have to be by her side.

You quickly make the journey to Sky Hold, getting into the large base was the easy part. However, nothing about this next part would be as easy.

You shoved the large doors to the war room open with a crash. Everyone in the room drawing their weapons, preparing for a fight. With a quick flick of your hand, you caused all their weapons to fly to the other side of the room.

"Now is that any way to greet your mother?" You hum looking at your daughter with a smile. She stares at you before running into your arms. You laugh softly stroking her hair before looking around the room and locking eyes with someone you haven't seen in years.

"Y-Y/N?" Cullen's voice rang out through the silent room.

"Cullen..?" You responded as the two of you stared at each other.

Your daughter didn't waste any time to pull you away from the war room to get you set up in a place and question you.

"So, how do you know Commander Cullen?" Her wide eyes that reminded you of her father stared you down.

"Well, we grew up together, you could say." You smiled before stroking her hair. "Remember the Circle? Remember the stories of how I became a grey warden? Well, during my time training as a mage at the circle, your dear Commander was a young templar in training. He was nothing like the man you know now. Unsure of himself, shy, tripping over his words, but he held his head high and never let anything stop him from doing his job. It's one thing I admired about him..." You stopped yourself before you said anything else.

"Wait, did you and Cullen.... IS HE MY FATHER?" your daughter question before you laughed out loud.

"My darling, Cullen, and I never. We didn't... No. Your father was a great King. I know I don't talk about him a lot, but he gave his life to end the blight. He was a good man." You smiled down at her before kissing her forehead. "Alistair, I couldn't talk about him because it wasn't right for an Elf and a human to have relations, let alone a child. Cullen was a dear friend when I was no older than you. That's all." You knew that was a lie, but that was long in the past, and Cullen surely had settled down by now just as you had with Alistair.

"Okay, good. I did not want to start calling the Commander of my troops' father." Your daughter laughed before showing you around Sky Hold. Even pointing out the bar knowing you might need a drink to deal with all this.

"Inquisitor, Lady Cassandra has asked for you." A messager approached the two of you.

"Mother, I will find you later for supper. Please explore the grounds and show our new mages a thing or two." Your daughter teased before heading off with the messager waving at you like crazy.

You looked around the vast castle grounds before knowing what you had to do; you quickly find your way to Cullen's office. You opened the door and read him like a book; this was the last thing you expected.

"Y/N," He whispered as he dropped the bottle of liquor in his hand. You shoot out your magic to catch it and set it on the desk.

"It's been a while. If I- If I knew you were here, I wouldn't of..." You stop yourself before closing the door and leaning against it.

"So our Inquisitor is your daughter? H- her father? Is he here too?" His voice was a little sharp as he sat at his desk.

"Ah, no. King Alistair died defeating the Archdemon as you know..." You look over him as your heart starts pounding in your chest. How can a young romance still have you feeling this way.

"Alistair... Oh... Y/N I didn't- I'm so sorry." He whispered before running a hand through his hair.

"Cullen, don't. I know it's weird with me being here. I just need to make sure my daughter doesn't end up like her father. But it was years ago, everything was." You walk closer now, seeing the empty bottles of liquor all over his desk. How long after he saw you did he start drinking?

"I didn't mean-" He started before standing up and looking over you. "I wasn't trying to-"

You offer a smile before sighing. "It's alright. I should have sent word I was coming. I just. I never thought I'd see you again."

Cullen's eyes never left your face as he approached you, you backed up slowly. "Cullen?" You whispered as you were backed against the door.

"I- I didn't either. Y/N after all this time... I-" He stopped himself before opening the door, "Maybe it's best you just leave..."

"You can't just avoid me; My daughter is your boss." You straighten yourself a little. "Just spit it out, I'm sure you hate me after all these years."

The look on his face broke your heart. "Hate?" He whispered before shutting the door and placing his hands on either side of your head. "My dear Y/N, I've never stopped loving you."

You couldn't believe the words you were hearing, but without any thought, you crash your lips into his, his body pressing against yours in a way that has heat pooling between your legs. "Cullen I-" You start, but he only kisses your harder, his thigh pressing between your legs roughly.

"I'm not the same shy Templar I was when this first happened. And I won't let my imagination tease me anymore." He growled before his lips attacked your neck, causing you to groan out.

"Cullen!" You moaned softly hands ranking into his hair and giving a soft tug. "Let us not imagine then." Your voice was soft as you raised your hand and snaped as your robes disappeared before his eyes. His heart jumps to his throat as he takes you in, everything he's ever wanted was now in front of him.

Sure, you knew your body was nothing like it would have been when you first met him, now scattered in scars and stretch marks from childbirth. But the way his hands mapped over your skin it didn't seem to matter. You ran your thumb over the scar on his upper lip before pulling him into another kiss. He quickly slid his furs off and started to undo the straps on his armor. Your hands making quick work of his trousers as he grabs your hands.

"I'm sorry, my darling. But if you touch me, I know I will not last." He pants softly before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You gasp before chuckling softly as he carried you up the ladder with ease.

Once in his loft, he throws you on the bed, quickly stripping out of his armor and clothing with ease, joining you on the bed, his knee slipping between your legs to push them apart as he settled between them.

"Cullen," You whisper, running your hands over his chest, noticing the years hadn't been kind to him either. "I wish I stayed by your side. I wish I could have been there." You place soft kisses on his neck, causing him to falter slightly.

He grabs your hands and pins them above your head before lining his cock up to your entrance. "We cannot change the past. Only the future." He said roughly before shoving his cock into you to the hilt. You let out a loud moan before throwing your head back onto his pillow. He gasps out his lips, finding your shoulder as he panted and set a rough speed.

You cried out your hands, desperately trying to break free to touch him, to feel him, but his grip only got tighter. His pants got rougher with each thurst; undoubtedly, if you hadn't been so strong, he would have torn you in half.

"Cullen! O- Ah! Maker, Please!" You moan out, looking up at the man above you, locking eyes with him as he bit his lip roughly. His brows furrowed together in pleasure. His hip thrusts quickly became erratic, and his free hand slipped between the two of you to rub circles around your clit.

You cried out his name repeatedly as your orgasm finally took you, back arching off the bed, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open. Just watching you enter pure bliss caused his orgasm as he spilled his seed inside you he let out a soft moan of your name.

After slowly riding out your orgasms together, he rolled off of you and placed a kiss to your shoulder. "I cannot believe you're here with me. After all these years. Maker finally answered my prayers." He whispered as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

You smiled at him before brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "I'm sure you think that. But my dear Templar. I-" You sigh softly before getting up and redressing with a flick of your fingers. "I love you, Cullen. Please do not forget that come morning, though I'm sure this will be nothing but a drunken dream." You smile sadly at him, picturing the young Templar who had stolen your heart so long ago. "I sure hope you think of fondly of me in the morning."

And with that, you left, to retire to the bar to drink your sorrows away. Cullen, your first love, he was here fighting alongside your daughter. There was another Arch Demon, and now it felt as if you were 19 all over again. The only difference now you knew the darkspawn blood was coming for you, you could feel it in your magic and bones. You wouldn't make it long past this war. So the least you could do is your duty as a grey warden and kill the Arch Demon one more time.

"Cullen, please Forgive me, I do not wish to get your hopes up yet again only to disappear." You whispered to yourself as you took a long sip out of a jug. But you didn't have a choice. You had to save your daughter no matter what.

#cullen rutherford #cullen rutherford x reader #cullen x reader #dragon age smut #dragon age cullen #dai #dao #cullen rutherford x you #cullen x you #cullen rutherford smut #cullen smut #reader insert smut #female grey warden

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whumpsterfire · 3 years

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The Guardian Angel’s Doll - Prologue

cw: car accidents, hospitals

4169 words

It started with a car crash.

Well, not exactly. If Efrem thought a little more about it, things had already been set in motion. Of course, Efrem would make some bad choices afterwards this whole incident under the ill advice of their friend.

But it was the car crash that really sealed their fate.

Efrem… absolutely hated being late. Kieron just had to come over last night, staying up late with Efrem with a new game he had wanted to show them. And it’s not like Efrem minded – they didn’t, they liked it when Kieron came over, liked watching him play and listening to his voice as he talked and hearing the way he laughed – but Kieron knew how much Efrem hated when he came over unannounced. At least send a guy a message, you know? Efrem had a schedule, a whole routine. Kieron just happened to fuck it up every time he appeared out of nowhere behind their door to visit them.

It was frustrating. Well, they got over the irritation after Kieron had hung around for a while. But still. He should learn some manners and try asking them when they’re free. Or send a warning, at the very least. That absolutely wasn’t too much to ask.

In any case.

Kieron stayed over for the night and Efrem stayed up way too late. The man also happened to have that effect on them. Which in return made Efrem miss their alarm in the morning, made them rush out of the appointment ahead of Kieron – he wanted to sleep a little longer and Efrem didn’t have the time nor the patience to argue – and well.

Rushing to the streets, just woken up? Turns out that isn’t such a good idea.

Efrem had never thought that you would really see things in slow motion when you were in a dangerous situation. And well, they kind of didn’t. The colours of the world deepened for a while and Efrem was acutely aware of the loud screech of someone hitting the breaks of a car.

Really, they hadn’t even seen it coming.

How did it feel to be hit by a car? That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Sure, Efrem wrote a lot but they mostly did laid-back slice of life comics about their own life. They tended to be very dialogue-heavy. No need to use copious amounts of purple prose to describe the colour of the sky when the sun rose, that feeling when you looked at your best friend smile when he told you about this new set of dice he had pre-ordered, or what kind of physical sensations were going on with who’s body at whatever moment.

So, the first word that came to Efrem’s mind was pain. The sound came first – a thud and a disgusting, wet sound of something in their body going crunch. Efrem was just going to assume that this is where they went flying, because the next thing they remembered was blinking sluggishly back to consciousness on the pavement and thinking:

Oh, that fucking hurts.

Their whole body hurt. A sharp, searing pain on their chest and arm. And fuck, their head throbbed with a dull pain. The crushing pain lingering on them had to be the most intense Efrem had ever felt. They laid on the ground, brain scrambled and limbs not moving no matter how much they tried and then...

Well, then they woke up in the hospital.

Efrem wasn’t one to exactly like hospital visits. They were an unnecessary evil, they supposed. They hadn’t stayed in hospitals for too much but they did have a few surgeries under their belt, some more recent than others. They were glad for the painkillers, that was sure. But let’s see, what had they told Efrem again?

They had been suffering from a concussion. Their left collarbone was broken, along with a cracked humerus and rib. Apparently Efrem had been lucky that the rib didn’t puncture their lungs or harm any of their organs.

Efrem didn’t feel especially lucky. What kind of ‘luck’ is it to get hit by a fucking car? Now they had to stay in the hospital. They would need to take time off from school. They would need to take a break from drawing their comic. They would need to make a new routine around the current state of their body and they hated that.

At least Kieron visited them. As much as Efrem hated to see the guy fuss over them, they appreciated the awkward hug, careful of their many injuries, and the company.

Efrem really, really appreciated Kieron’s company.

He obviously seemed to think that he was responsible for Efrem’s accident. No, Efrem didn’t think he was – they could have just slept earlier or put on more alarms so they wouldn’t miss theirs – but Efrem also... kind of didn’t think he wasn’t responsible. Not that they would ever say that to Kieron, not directly.

In fact, they were hell-bent on proving the guy otherwise.

“Listen. I was careless. I got hit by a car because I didn’t make sure there wasn’t any coming and because I was in a hurry. I do that so often too – don't look at me like that, I know I shouldn’t - but nothing’s ever happened. I just... I got lucky those other times.”

Kieron looked at Efrem in that miserable way only he could – brows upturned and chewing on his lip like he tended to when he was worried.

“But if I’d just gotten up and gone with you--”

Efrem rolled their eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself because I’m a dumbass”, Efrem said. Gods, Kieron really needed to get over himself about this. “This was bound to happen some time. It was only a matter of time, really.”

The other man didn’t look too convinced so Efrem let out an irritated sigh.

“I did this to myself and no, I’m not listening to you whine more about this. That’s that on that.”

That was that on that.

“You have to start being more careful, Em.”

“Yeah, I kinda got the message on that from the universe. Could’ve been more subtle.”

That earned a careful chuckle from Kieron. Despite Efrem’s general bad mood over well, starting their day by getting hit by a car, they found a small smile forming on their lips. Kieron tended to have that effect on them.

“Really, though. Getting hit by a car isn’t... it isn’t a small thing. You could’ve--” Kieron cut himself off, as if afraid to finish that though. Efrem was happy he didn’t. In that small moment of quiet, they didn’t know how to act. They swallowed.

“I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re okay. Or that you know, you’re not worse”, he finally finished.

“Yeah.” Efrem agreed. “Me too.”

There was a small silence, where Efrem let the gaze of their dark eyes fall onto their lap. As much as getting into an accident like this sucked, they couldn’t help but think that they had definitely earned this. It was them who hadn’t been careful enough and them who had practically ran under the car driving by. So yeah, this was a painful lesson with a price they wouldn’t have preferred to pay but probably deserved anyway.

Then there was the thing Efrem hadn’t considered they would feel: guilt. A part of them felt guilty for being so careless, for getting hurt and for having Kieron visit them like this. Efrem may have earned their lesson, but Kieron definitely didn’t deserve the scare of having their friend being wounded like this. Efrem knew they needed to apologize but they couldn’t bring themself to. For ending up here and for... not entirely thinking it was all their fault, alone. They bit their tongue.

“How long do you have to stay in the hospital?”

“Oh?” Efrem was caught off guard by Kieron’s question. “Oh, just for like, tonight. They want to keep me overnight because of the concussion.”

“Right. I mean, that makes sense. I’m glad you don’t have to be here longer”, Kieron seemed visibly relieved. Maybe he was understanding that a few broken bones really wasn’t that serious. That despite the accident, Efrem really was okay.

“Same. I honestly could go home already but they’d never allow it.” They knew for a fact they wouldn’t - Efrem had asked.

“Yeah, maybe it’s better they’re observing you for tonight”, Kieron said and it’s not like Efrem disagreed. They just preferred their own bed over this hospital one. They winced when their collarbone protested with their shrug.

“Hey... I know that you don’t care about shit like this, but I kind of have an idea. I mean, you’re gonna think it’s stupid and all, but...” Kieron started and Efrem hated when they started talking like this. No, Efrem didn’t think Kieron’s interests were stupid, even if they made fun of them sometimes. Yes, they wanted him to be able to talk to them about anything without having to feel so damn insecure.

“What?” They urged Kieron to continue.

“There kind of this, ritual?”

Oh, it was that kind of stuff.

“Go on.”

“I was kind of thinking if you’d be interested in doing it? When you get home, I mean. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t know—this whole car accident thing got me kind of, well, scared? And if I knew that you did that it would put me at ease ‘cause well, at least I’d know that there was some small extra form of protection on you or something, like isn’t it better to do a ritual and go on with your life and not do one, even if you don’t believe in that stuff? And--”

“I mean, sure. I don’t mind?” Efrem said casually and before they could sound too much like they actually believed in whatever occult stuff Kieron had lately been into, they added: “If it puts you at ease, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence, where Kieron just blinked at Efrem. Efrem felt their face get warm. They looked away.

“What? I don’t have to if you don’t--”

“No, no! I’m just surprised, you know? Since you always say that this stuff isn’t really your thing or don’t seem too interested in it, so I didn’t think you’d actually agree to it”, Kieron admitted.

Efrem brushed some of their dreadlocks aside awkwardly.

“So, what is it like”, they asked, casually.

“Huh?”

“The ritual, Kieron”, Efrem said with a roll of their eyes.

Kieron’s brown eyes lit up with excitement. They always did when he was talking about something he was interested in. Efrem loved to see it.

“It’s actually really simple.”

***

Efrem looked over at their room. They liked to keep things clean, so they didn’t need to make space for the ritual. It really did seem fairly simple. Kieron had sent Efrem a message with the details to this thing he called a ‘ritual for protection’. It was... something about connecting with the spirits that protected you to have them watch over you in everyday life, or whatever. Definitely not Efrem’s expertise or even something they believed in.

But well. They kind of wanted to do it for Kieron. Or well, to just put his mind at ease. And it would be easier to actually do the thing than to lie to him about it. Efrem didn’t like lying, anyway. They had agreed to do the thing so they would do it.

They had the room set up for the ritual. They had used chalk to draw a circle on the floor, just like the instructions said. It also said to use salt for ‘protection’, but Kieron knew Efrem’s vacuum cleaner was broken. Getting rid of the salt would be too much of a pain without one and Efrem didn’t know when they’d be able to buy a new one, so chalk would have to do for now.

And Kieron had said it was probably fine. If they ‘charged’ the chalk to protect them, it’d be cool. So that’s what Efrem did... they assumed. They didn’t really know how charging worked and how you would know if you succeeded in it or not. Still, they drew that circle and it didn’t look too bad, either.

There was an incense Kieron had given them to burn for the ritual. Sandalwood. Efrem quite liked the smell of it, too. They didn’t mind knowing that the smell would linger. Burning it like this, they noticed that Kieron kind of tended to smell like it.

Efrem thought it was nice.

They looked at the circle. So they had it drawn, they had the incense burning, they had the four candles burning – for each cardinal direction respectfully – and they had the herbs they were supposed to burn and the words they were supposed to say. Kieron had instructed to use white candles, but Efrem didn’t own four white candles. They supposed it wasn’t that important – two white candles, one red and one blue should do just as well.

As long as they burned.

So they were ready. Efrem looked at the bundle of herbs Kieron had given them. They weren’t actually sure what it contained – it seemed to have several ones and Efrem had never been too good at recognizing plants. It wasn’t important for them to know what kind of plants there was in the bundle, though. Kieron was the one who knew about this shit and he was the one who gave them this.

Efrem pulled a lighter from their pocket with their hand that wasn’t out of commission and packaged up. They lit it up, bringing it to the herbs. They didn’t just start burning instantly, to their surprise. It took a little while of trying, but eventually, the fire took.

“And now I’m supposed to say...” Efrem couldn’t dig out their phone while they were holding the burning bundle of herbs. They didn’t want to put it down either – that didn’t sound exactly safe. They could remember this; they took pride in their good memory.

What was it again...?

“May the spirits keep me protected.”

Yeah, Efrem was pretty sure that was it.

Silence followed. Having said the actual words, Efrem felt kind of... silly. They were facing the circle, standing a few feet from one of the candles – the one signifying South. They stood still, waiting the bundle of herbs to burn out as per Kieron’s instructions.

They waited. Standing became boring soon, so they sat down to wait.

And they waited.

The herbs stopped burning. That meant the ritual was done.

So that... was it, then.

Well, Efrem didn’t know much about rituals but they supposed that this wasn’t too bad. This pretty much aligned with Efrem’s idea of what occult-stuff was about, anyway. Drawing circles, burning incense and candles and herbs and saying things. Now when they had tried it out, they knew it wasn’t really their thing. But Kieron was free to be into it and maybe Efrem wouldn’t mind hearing more about this stuff on an occasion or two. The herbs would apparently go under Efrem’s pillow and everything else they needed to clean up. Maybe they should call Kieron up to help them with the chalk on the floor, that was going to be a bitch to wash away with Efrem’s broken arm--

Efrem blinked, looking at the circle.

There was a guy.

Standing in the middle of it.

And he was looking at Efrem.

They froze.

“Uhh.... hello?” Efrem could hear themself say.

That’s weird. The pain medication Efrem was on wasn’t supposed to be that strong.

The... guy, stood there, right in the middle of the chalk circle. His skin was brown and he had short and curly white hair. He was wearing some kind of a blue robe, and the thing seemed to flow with a wind Efrem couldn’t feel. His eyes were surrounded by thick, white eyelashes and his eyes seemed to... miss their irises entirely, with only small black dots in the middle of the white scleras.

He was smiling. With very, very sharp teeth.

Efrem found themself unable to move.

“Hello, Efrem”, the guy (? Creature?) answered. His voice was smooth and light, almost like silk.

It was a beautiful voice, Efrem found themself thinking.

More silence. The thing kept looking at Efrem with his weird, unsettling eyes. This certainly wasn’t anything Efrem had expected. What did they do now? What was going on? It was too fast to jump to any conclusions, so for now they should get some information.

“You’re in my circle”, Efrem said, carefully. The thing’s feet shifted inside the circle. His eyes didn’t leave Efrem’s form.

“You invited me, Efrem”, he said, slowly. It almost sounded like he was... speaking with an accent. Like the words quite didn’t fit his mouth. It was... unnerving.

“I did?”

The thing looked at the circle around him, breaking eye-contact for the first time since his arrival. Efrem swallowed.

“A ritual for protection, wasn’t it.” He smiled at Efrem again.

“Y....yeah. It was.”

“It is a very nice circle, Efrem.”

“Oh! Thank you... um. Do you have a name...?” Keiron hadn’t said anything about this. Anything like this wasn’t supposed to happen, was it! Not that Efrem really knew what exactly was going on, yet. Was Keiron pulling a prank on them? Was this one of his friend’s that he had put to mess with them? No, Keiron wouldn’t do that, especially since this was like, Efrem’s second day at home after staying at the hospital.

“You may address me as ‘Zey’”, the thing responded after what seemed like a moment of pondering.

“Cool, cool”, Efrem nodded along. “So uh... I invited you. What exactly are you?”

“I am... your guardian spirit.”

He was a what? Not an answer Efrem had expected, nor was it one they knew how to react to. He seemed to be serious, though. What the fuck do you say to that?

“You mean like a, err, guardian angel?”

The creature’s face lit up, smile widening. A sense of terror sparked through Efrem – there were a lot of teeth. Too many teeth. It didn’t - it didn’t look natural. Efrem’s skin felt clampy with the cold sweat rising to it.

“Yes. Exactly like a guardian angel.”

Efrem didn’t know what to say. The room was starting to feel increasingly small – there was plenty of space around, but suddenly they felt claustrophobic. The thing – Zey – pinning them down with his eyes didn’t help much either.

Could he... could he really be a spirit...? There was no way, right?

Right?

“I’m so glad you invited me, Efrem. I’ve been watching you.”

Efrem blinked.

“You... have?”

The self-proclaimed spirit chuckled, looking at Efrem in a way that looked almost...

Adoring...?

“Well, I am your guardian spirit, aren’t I.” He said it like it was something obvious. “I haven’t been able to keep you safe properly until now, but...” Zey took a step. And another.

He stepped out of the circle, stopping to stand in front of the still-sitting Efrem. Efrem looked up at him and for the second time in the span of a few days, they found themself completely unable to move. He looked at Efrem and--

And--

His eyes were the only thing Efrem could look at. Like everything around them was left in the dark, Zey’s eyes the only light there.

Efrem was entranced.

“But now when you invited me to your world, I can finally touch you.” Zey reached down and Efrem didn’t even realize they were reaching for his hand before they made contact.

They took Zey’s hand. His palm was cold, colder than a human body would be.

“I must say, though, Efrem. This time it was me who managed to come through, but you could not be as lucky in the future.”

Efrem’s throat was dry. They could barely form thoughts – what was he saying? It was so difficult to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

“Never, ever, forget the salt from your circles.”

That must have been when Efrem’s mind faded to black. The last thing they remembered was the sound of that voice, the feeling of that hand squeezing theirs and...

Those small, black pupils, fixed on them.

***

Efrem woke up in a room. It took them sitting up and a few blinks to realize that wait, this isn’t a room they recognize. They didn’t remember drinking, they didn’t remember... anything. What was this place? They were on a bed – it was a big, a double bed and a fairly comfortable one, too. They got up fast – too fast – and was hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness. Efrem had to squat down, waiting for it to pass.

They remembered... getting hit by a car. Shit, were they still alive? A quick pinch convinced them that yes, they must still be in the books of the living. What about any injuries...? They didn’t seem to have any.

Efrem guessed they had gotten lucky.

But they still needed to figure out where they were. They got up in the dimly lit room as soon as they started to feel more normal. There wasn’t much light, but there was enough for them to be able to see around them. They couldn’t see any sources for the light.

For now, the room.

Small investigation brought Efrem up to date about their surroundings. There was a bookshelf full of books. They opened it, browsing through a few books. All of them seemed to be written in a language they couldn’t read - in fact, the scripts engraved on their pages weren’t anything Efrem could recognize. There was a wooden desk and Efrem found ink, a few quills and what seemed like several pages of empty parchments from inside it. There was a piano. Efrem had never learnt to play one and they had no idea whether it was in tune or not. They were, however, able to tell that it sounded terrible. There was a wardrobe, packed full of... what seemed to be different types of robes. They weren’t from any culture Efrem could recognize.

Robes...? Efrem blinked.

This... didn’t seem right. What was this place? Efrem saw a door – they could have sworn it hadn’t been there just a moment before. But there it was now and Efrem marched to it.

The door knob didn’t turn. The door didn’t budge. Efrem felt cold.

“H...Hello?” They knocked on the door. “Hello! Is anyone out there!” Slowly, a sense of panic grew inside of them. What the fuck was going on? Where the fuck were they? They started banging on the door, voice growing louder as they got no response.

“Somebody! Help me! I’m trapped here! Some--!”

Efrem was cut off by the door opening in their face. It was closed as fast as it was opened, a figure stepping inside with ease.

Recognition sparked inside Efrem’s mind as the figure’s small, black pupils fell on to them.

“You have awoken”, he announced.

“Yeah, I noticed. W-Where am I?” The thing was standing way too close to them. Efrem took a step back. The creature – spirit, Zey – took a step closer.

“This is your room, Efrem. I made it for you.”

That didn’t clear up anything. Actually, what was he even talking about?

“What do you mean? This isn’t my house. Where is.. Where I am? Where’s my phone?” Efrem needed to message Kieron. Zey looked at them, with a look that was almost pitiful.

“This is your new home. You won’t need your phone here, pet.”

What?

“The car accident was an unfortunate little thing. I wasn’t able to protect you.”

Efrem remembered – they did wake up in the hospital. They did get injured. They went home and they, they--

The ritual.

“So I brought you here, Efrem. So you can’t get hurt anymore.” Zey’s hand was on Efrem’s cheek and they jumped. He was tall. Why was Efrem unable to get away from them?

“So I can protect you better.”

Oh, okay. So the gist of it seemed to be...

“I took the liberty to fix up your injuries. It’s so fragile, that mortal body of yours”, Zey chuckled, like he was telling a joke. His hand was no longer on Efrem’s cheek.

“Please, make yourself comfortable in your new home. I can’t stay with you at this very moment, but I promise that I’ll play with you later, pet.”

Efrem stood still, staring at the spirit as he talked. They didn’t remember if he said anything else, absent-mindedly staring at his many sharp teeth as he talked.

He must have left at some point, because soon enough, Efrem was alone. The room was cold and empty. Never in their life had Efrem felt more confused and more alone. They more collapsed and less sat on the bed.

The gist of it seemed to be that Efrem was, thoroughly, fucked.

#the guardian angel's doll #tgad #whump #whump story #whumpee #whumper #whump community #fantasy #fantasy whump #non-human whumper #caretaker #original fiction

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rosesforshego · 4 years

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𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ

August 26th, 2002 2:30 pm

CRACK.

Sheila’s knees crashed onto the steady tile below her; her pants wiped away black marks left by her last class. She winced as a sharp pain shot from her knee to her thigh as her weary eyes remained fixated on a lone gum wrapper, stuck to the dirty floor by a piece of chewed gum.

Oh, you’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.

With one hand resting upon her sore thigh, the other pinched the wrapper between her gloved fingertips. The wrapper clung onto the gum for dear life as she separated it from the unconventional adhesive. It maintained its attachment as a few strands of the sticky substance offered a bridge between the paper and the gum that remained embedded in the floor. Sheila, unable to contain her disgust, turned her head away from the grotesque scene. How could any human be this gross?

A sharp intake of a long-awaited breath pierced her lungs as she held back a violent gag. Carefully, she folded the wrapper to trap the strands of chewed gum inside of its original tinfoil exterior, praying that the spit-covered substance wouldn’t stain her new gloves. She remembered the contorted features of an annoyed senior who sat at the desk above her—Amelia—a popular socialite with a blatant disregard for others. Sheila’s shoulders hunched as her free hand recoiled from her thigh. She remembered the distinct smack of Amelia’s lips as she chewed on the gum that had made its way to the dusty floor. This senior, a student she barely knew, had gone out of her way to make Sheila’s job difficult out of what? Spite?

What had Sheila ever done to her?

She turned to face a broken pencil—splintered wood and broken led littered the tile. A small rumble, that slipped past her throat in the form of a groan, escaped her. That was her good pencil, given to Michael in good faith. Did he step on it? The dirt that took on the vague shape of a shoe suggested so. She knew this student well, “Big Mike” the others would call him. She’d see him in the halls, lonely, lost even. Sheila felt for him. But, as she cradled the splintered wood within her palm, Sheila forgot about the unrelenting torment he endured within the hallowed halls. Though, with a reputation like Big Mike’s, she could understand his frustration. Her features softened as her innate, empathetic nature regained its control. She shook her head, dumping the contents in her hand onto a ripped syllabus she had used as her dustpan. It was a shame that he had to take it out on the newbie and her property. She was not sure what the other students’ excuses were.

As she gathered the remnants of her syllabus that was strewn across the floor, the corners of her lips settled into a deep frown. Her brothers fought her pessimism by whispering sweet nothings into her ear, filling her with a false sense of optimism—and she believed them. She believed that her transition from substitute to full-timer was going to be a smooth one. She believed that her students, her children, would welcome her to Middleton High with open arms. These ideas, coupled with her endless passion, had conjured a false reality within her mind—a fantasy that disintegrated as the first vulgar swear barreled in her direction. She was a fool to believe them. She was a fool to so much as think that she would have it easy. She should stop pleading for Life to give her a break for, with each passing day, Sheila had slowly realized that Life does not care about her. The next step was to accept it.

Her lips curled into a vile grimace as she placed the gum wrapper on her paper dustpan. She remembered the smiling faces of her students who warmly greeted her that very morning, which instantaneously morphed into devilish looks that she could not decipher at her exciting announcement. Slowly, her beloved children, possibly possessed by demons, turned into beings of chaos. From back-talk, to complete and utter disregard for her authority, these friendly faces were paired with despicable and unwarranted behavior, which perplexed her. If only she had the answers to the questions that nagged her.

Though, what seemed to weigh upon her mind the most was not the trash, or the skipping of her class, or the general bad attitude. It was the snickers that her attuned ears would catch as she turned her back to the class; the whisperings of ill-will upon her; the jokes, the shaming, and the wishes to rid of her presence. She was unwanted—unloved. Her students wanted her gone, or wished that she was merely a low-life, substitute again. As the welcoming atmosphere coldly shifted to one of disdain, disappointment and subtle anger—especially in the students who were forced to take Intro. to Psychology to graduate—jabbed at Sheila’s sense of self-worth. A piece of the syllabus ripped in her hand as her fingers encapsulated the flimsy paper within her fist. She did not deserve that type of treatment. It was unfair for her students to unleash their fury of frustrations upon her. But that was the life of a full-timer, wasn’t it? This is what she signed up for. Maybe she should have read the terms and conditions, first.

A slow creak of an old door gave way to delicate footsteps upon the tile but remained unnoticed by the woman crouched on the floor. Hot tears stung behind her eyes as the viscous liquid emerged from its hiding. Her vision, blurred by her tears, focused on the various knick-knacks of destroyed trash that she carefully lifted from the dirty floor. Caught up in her imaginative world, plagued by the detrimental experiences that she had endured, her heavy sigh masked the sound of shoe-upon-tile, that grew clearer as the figure of a man eerily crept upon the disheveled woman in front of him.

“Hello, Miss Goodwin.”

A sudden heat spread through her chest as her heart pierced her ribs. Startled, she dropped the trash and attempted to wipe away the growing tears with her sleeve before the salty liquid spilled onto her cheeks. Through the water that glistened in the fluorescent lights, she turned to the figure. A man, taller than she, surveyed the disaster that Sheila called her classroom.

“Rough day?”

A deep breath to soothe her beating heart escaped her nose as she turned towards the pile of garbage that she had scattered across the floor.

“Don’t get me started.”

His brows rested within the wrinkles of his forehead as the woman’s voice struggled to break free from the sorrow laced within her tone. A soft voice-crack gave him the information he needed to know—a rough day, indeed.

“Oh,” he interrupted, drawing attention away from her saddened stature. With a soft grunt, he knelt on the floor beside her, “let me help you with that.”

A side smirk, the first form of a smile that she had displayed that day, threatened to break through her sour demeanor. She was pleased by his offer of aid as she remained consumed by her mental distraught. Out of all of the full-time staff she had the pleasure of meeting, this man seemed to be the nicest.

Though, there was no reason for him to clean up after her students’ disgusting littering habits. That was her responsibility.

“No, it’s okay, I got it.”

She extended her hand towards the make-shift dustpan, but it was out of her reach before she could regain her composure.

“I insist.”

Blinking back a few straggling tears, she turned to face the man. His slim shoulder brushed against her own as he moved the syllabus away from her fingertips. A wide smile, plastered within wrinkles, reflected the fluorescents that illuminated their close bodies within the vacant room. And, as he moved away, the shadows that emphasized the strong structure of his cheeks shifted, highlighting the aged skin that sagged around the corners of his mouth, but his eyes remained transfixed on her own. His blue irises, which she found herself swimming in as if she were wading in the waters of the Mediterranean, instructed her to relax. Her shoulders slumped as her rear slowly descended to the back of her heels. Without uttering a word, she felt comforted by his presence—a comfort that she had not felt in a long time.

He turned to sweep some dirt onto the paper, his slick, black hair shifting along his neck. Her lips tightened as she continued to study his features. He possessed an aura of familiarity about him. Then again, so did all the staff. She must have met him in passing. What was his name, again?

“Here,” he spoke. Sheila slightly shook her head to rid her thoughts. He didn’t notice. “I’ll clean. You pack your stuff.”

Wearily, Sheila raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Maybe he was being too nice.

“No, really, I—”

Before she could finish her protest, he tore a piece of the crumpled syllabus off of her pseudo dustpan and used it to pry the gum off of the floor, “Don’t worry about it, Miss Goodwin.”

“Sheila.”

“What?”

Her heart thumped. Caught off-guard by her abrasive response, she attempted to display a false sense of security to mask the uncertainty that re-established its role, seizing the forefront of her thoughts.

“You can call me Sheila.”

His faltered smile returned and Sheila nearly found herself accompanied by a sigh of relief. As the burn behind her eyes subsided, she returned the gesture—the smirk breaking free from its confines. It was the least she could do.

“Already on a first-name basis, are we?”

The statement elicited a larger grin from the green woman. Class clown, huh? She carefully rose from her position on the floor, leaving circles of displaced dirt from where her knees had rested. Two can play at this game.

She brought her gloved palms to her thighs as she wiped away the accumulated dust that nestled into the fibers of her slacks. She broke her gaze with the cheeky man as she turned to her desk; her legs carried her with long strides as she approached the bag that patiently waited for her on her padded chair.

“Almost,” her bag opened with a smooth zip. She shuffled a few objects to make room for the stack of papers that diligently sat on her desk, ready for her to take back to Lowerton.

“Remind me, what was your name again?”

He placed a calloused palm on his leg to push himself off of the ground as he answered with a cheeky smirk, “Dr. Drew Lipsky.”

Drew Lipsky. Sounded very familiar. Chemistry teacher, if she remembered correctly.

“Oooh~” she chided, eyes downcast as she shoved stapled packets into her bag, “a doctor! Mama must be so proud.”

Drew’s playful smirk faltered as he dumped the remnants of the syllabus into the trash can, “Well, I’m not a medical doctor—”

“Clearly,” she gestured to the classroom around him, her attention back on the man who subtly rolled his eyes at her statement. A soft “tch” escaped her parted lips while she watched his slender body carefully weave between cluttered desks. Under normal circumstances, his eye-roll would have peeved her, but she was the one who joked at his expense. She deserved it.

“She’s still proud though,” he retorted, a little more defensive than he would have liked as he made his way to the next pile of broken pencils, “I, however, am still paying my student loans.”

Sheila’s smirk, that imbued fraudulent confidence, contorted into a slight grimace. College was never a time she liked to look back upon—four years of betrayal, pain, and burnt bridges that she could never repair—but, due to her years of protecting Go City, the mayor offered to pay for her higher education. At least something good came from that job.

She peered at her new college as the slightest hint of remorse ghosted his features. She figured he wasn’t so lucky.

“Regretting that Ph.D., Dr. Lipsky?”

Fuck. No. She inhaled through her teeth; her eyes shut as her shoulders found their way to her neck. What the hell was wrong with her? That was not something she should say to a man who offered her aid in her time of need.

Sheila turned back to her bag, wishing that her superpower was to stop unruly comments from slipping past her lips. Damn it. He was sure to think ill of her naivety.

To her surprise, he remained. As unprompted as her off-handed comment was, Drew refused to abandon her. He remembered his first days at Middleton High and the wave of nerve-wracking uncertainty that came with it. He remembered when he had made his own slew of off-handed comments to faculty members who responded with open disdain for his presence. He remembered how awful he felt—a weight in his chest that kept him grounded, that would slow his movement by day and bring a resurgence of guilt by night. He didn’t want Sheila to feel the same pain.

He thought about her question—after all, it was still a question. Did he regret his Ph.D.? Maybe. While he enjoyed the additional education, Drew often pondered if it was worth plunging into a pool of debt for. Though, if the question was “if you had a chance to go back and change your decisions”, his answer would be “probably not”.

A slight shrug of his shoulders indicated his uncertainty, but it was only for his own amusement as Sheila’s gaze remained transfixed on the bag in front of her. Quietly, her gloved fingers pulled a piece of raven hair behind her ear, then returned to the stack of papers that she had haphazardly shoved together. The light above her shone upon her, rather interesting, skin—radiating a healthy glow, mixed with a tint of green. Drew blinked a few times, certain that his old eyes, that rested behind thick lenses, had played a devilish trick on him.

Following the line outlined by her hair, his gaze rested upon her tense shoulders. She was acutely aware of the way her question had rebounded off of the classroom walls and, while not a peep of an apology was muttered, he could see the remorse settling into her soul. Instead of continuing the painfully awkward topic that the conversation had turned to, he opted for a casual response.

“Please, call me Drew.”

Her head shot up, her gaze locking onto his own as his smile greeted her with a welcoming gesture that she craved. Her meek response was a weak grin, coupled with a half-hearted chuckle, as she zipped her bag shut, her belongings shuffling beneath the cotton prison.

“Okay. . . Drew.”

He approached her once more, dumping shreds of the broken pencil into the trash beside her desk. His shoulder found its place against the chalkboard behind her.

“Now are we on a first-name basis?”

A hint of playful laughter made a resurgence, “Officially? Yes. I’d say so.”

A faint chuckle rumbled within his chest. She was witty. He liked that. Quickly, he found himself enjoying her company.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to welcome the new-hire after all.

“So, Sheila,” he enjoyed the way her name rolled off of his tongue, “What compelled you to take this job?”

A small sigh heaved within the confines of her ribs. She could say that she needed a steady income, which would allude to her impoverished condition. She could say that she wanted to spend more time with the students, but then she’d seem needy. . .

“My love for psychology,” she decided as she tidied the trinkets that were left askew on her desk, “I always found the subject to be fascinating and, I dunno. . . I guess I’d like to pass my knowledge onto the next generation of psychologists.”

She concealed a scowl that threatened to form on her features. That was a stupid answer—a response any teacher would give. She turned to Drew, who leaned closer to her, hanging on to every word that left her.

He took the bait.

“Psychology is rather fascinating, indeed,” he concluded as his gaze shifted from the corners of her lips to the wall past her frame, “complex, yet alluring. Provides answers to some of life’s questions, while opening avenues for further exploration, just like any good discipline.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This man was a walking poem.

“I could argue that psychology is just as interesting as chemistry.”

She raised an eyebrow, her voice deepened, “Oh, really?”

Shoulder slumped further into the wall, his body relaxing as the conversation continued, “Of course. Chemistry may be my one true love, but I would deem psychology to be high on my list of subjects that pique my interest.”

Her suspicions were true.

“So, you are the chem teacher I subbed for last year.”

A slight shake of his head was his immediate response. He was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone but quickly regained his composure, “Y-yeah. I believe so.”

“Around December, right?” she copied his stature, her hand forming a limp point in Drew’s direction.

A glower seized his faded grin, “The flu. Don’t remind me.”

She dropped her hand; it rested by her side as her other arm slowly snaked around her waist, cradling herself against the chalkboard. She had heard horror stories as to how the seasonal flu wrecked the poor man.

“Well,” she mustered a cheery disposition to take his mind off of the sickness he struggled to overcome, “in any case, your students were a delight.”

“They tend to be,” he nodded in affirmation.

Sheila may not have known Drew by name, but she was always a witness to the rumors of the immense amount of love he held for his students. As his name, carried by whispers, ghosted the hallways, the students that she had met throughout her year and a half of substitute teaching spoke highly of him—often describing the positive impact he had made on their formative minds. The more information she gathered about Middleton High’s chemistry teacher, the more she admired his dedication.

Now, if only the students could say the same about her.

“Wanna switch?”

“Excuse me?”

Her shoulder dug into the chalkboard—dust brushing onto her blouse, “Wanna switch classes? I take your chem students, you take my psych ones?”

It wasn’t a serious question. . . at least, she didn’t think it was.

“Why?”

“So, you can work your Lipsky magic on them, or whatever it is you do to make them love you,” her fingertips ghosted her thigh as she lifted her hand towards her destroyed classroom, a hint of aggravation released into the air between them.

His gaze followed her gesture to the skewed desks he had neglected to straighten. A faint sigh, followed by a dejected “Oh. . .” quickly replaced the aggravation and hung in the void that laid between him and Sheila.

His worst fears were true—she was another victim of the initiation. How was he going to break this defeat to Steve without the big lug laughing in his puny face?

“Oh?” she questioned, returning his attention, “What do you mean by ‘oh’?”

“Listen,” he crossed his arms upon his chest as he watched her slender eyebrow raise at his vague continuance, “I’m sure you’ve heard, but Middleton has an. . . unconventional way of—quote, unquote—vetting new teachers.”

She squinted her eyes, distracted by his use of air quotes. Though, his rough explanation would explain her day from hell.

“It’s something that administration tried to ban a few years ago,” he continued, solemnly, as he refocused his gaze upon the clusters of desks that left scratches upon the once pristine tile, “I see it remains alive and well within your students.”

“Unfortunately,” she responded, repositioning herself against the green chalkboard. Her back landed upon the slab with a muffled thump; her eyes squinted as a deep groan rumbled in her chest. The metal chalk holder by the bottom of the board jabbed her hips, but she made no effort to move or display her discomfort, as she duly noted the way the desks were laid—strewn across the floor in confusing patterns that did not exist that morning.

Drew’s head pressed firmly against the dusty chalk as his lips formed a tight line that settled into his light wrinkles. He relaxed further into the wall that supported his frame.

“It sucks. I know.”

“You?” she spat, her voice abrasive against the thick, saddened atmosphere that encased her and her colleague, “Dr. Drew Lipsky? You understand?”

“Listen, Miss Lippy--,” he lifted his body from his comforting position as a section of his spine cracked.

She blinked a few times as she processed his words. Miss Lippy? That was new.

“—The students did the same to me back in ’96,” he continued with a blatant disregard for her confused expression.

Different students, but some traditions never changed, no matter how hard he tried.

“Oh, I—” boy, did she feel like a complete ass. Her body eased from the wall beside her as she followed his gaze to the muck on the floor. Her voice trailed away, fading into the stale air trapped within the classroom. If only she had known before opening her big, stupid mouth.

“So, to answer your question, Miss Sheila Goodwin,” a side smirk parted his lips as his blue eyes searched her green irises.

Had they always been that blue?

“Yes, I understand.”

Sheila’s stature relaxed, her back hunched as she caught herself melting in his presence. Suddenly, she understood why he went out of his way to help her clean her classroom. As a hint of longing flashed within his piercing crystals, Sheila wondered if anyone had lifted him from the barrage of chewed gum and broken pencils left by his students. She bravely peered into the irises that looked upon her with a soft, almost sympathetic, gaze and came to her silent conclusion.

Probably not.

“Don’t let it get you down, though.”

Her brows furrowed. How could he remain so optimistic?

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, effectively stealing the worlds right from her.

“I understand that the first days are discouraging. But, from what little conversation we’ve had,” he crossed his arms once more, “you have a youthful spirit—a passion that drives your ambition. Use it to your advantage,” he tightened his grip on his arm, “and don’t let these experiences force you to abandon your dream.”

Just as they had nearly destroyed his.

“Is that a guarantee?” she asked, nearly pleaded.

“You survived your first day, didn’t you?”

He had a point.

She cocked her head to the side, a slight nod of affirmation.

“Then you’re already halfway there,” his pearly whites shone behind his thin lips to offer positive support for the newbie.

“If you can get through this first week, you’ll be golden.”

Sheila groaned, her body slamming into the chalkboard with a force she didn’t anticipate. She winced, slightly, at the impact, but maintained her exasperated attitude.

That was not the news she wanted to hear.

Drew shook his head. Youthful, she was. Youthful and seemingly impatient. Though, he was certain that she’d learn to value her worst experiences. At least, he hoped.

“Not sure if I can do that, Doc.”

Doc? How cute.

“Try,” he instructed. He’d hate to see her talent wasted because of some idiotic vetting program.

She huffed. No one told her what to do.

“I—”

“Sheila,” his voice calmer than she had expected, “the students—they rave about you. It’s obvious to the faculty that you’re the favored substitute, no matter what Steve says.”

A slight shade of pink rose to her flushed cheeks. The only compliment she had ever received happened to be an off-handed comment from Steve Barkin in passing. Though, as Drew had confirmed, she figured it was his jealousy that kept the wall standing between herself and her former, substitute colleague. But she felt a twinge of uncertainty settle as she continued to process his statement.

Sheila Goodwin? A favored substitute? It was hard to picture within the sea of her self-doubt.

“You think?”

“I know.”

Unknowingly, Sheila’s grin had widened, giving way to the teeth that laid behind her lips, as her shoulders lifted—turning her relaxed stature into a sheepish one. Sheila was never one to take compliments well—she’d either reply with a snarky comment or she’d turn into a crumpled version of herself as her internalized shy nature would seize control. And, since the conversation was thickly laced with her, albeit, regrettable sarcastic comments, she opted for the latter.

Drew watched the witty woman shrivel in front of him. How peculiar, she was. An enigma. A puzzle worth solving.

As her grin widened, he couldn’t help but return the gesture. Conversing with Sheila was pleasant—much more pleasant than the others who occupied the teacher’s lounge. Maybe he could find a friend outside of his niche group of science teachers. The proposition looked promising as her gaze returned to his own.

His grin faltered. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. They had only just officially met; it was too soon to find friendship. Though, as her softened, emerald irises peered into the depths of his soul, he found her charm to be irresistible. For the first time since college, he wanted a friend.

A friend named Sheila Goodwin.

A subtle growl waved his thoughts away, the words within his mind dissipating into the air. Sheila quickly peered at her abdomen as her arms lifted from her frame. She then turned to Drew, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

“You hungry?”

He had.

“Oh, uh, y-yeah,” she stuttered, peeling her arm from the wall, moving to grab her bag that awaited her return. It was getting late; she should make dinner.

Her stomach growled again, a little louder this time, as the image of sticky, empty shelves in a dimly-lit refrigerator reminded her of her negligence towards her own needs.

Great. Whatever. She’ll order take-out again. No big.

“Here.”

She turned towards a hand that had been thrusted in her direction. Within it sat a sandwich.

“It’s ham and cheese.”

She followed the hand, connected to an arm that brought her back to the smiling face of Drew Lipsky.

“Oh, no, I—”

“I insist,” he nudged her with his knuckles, “I’m not going to eat it, anyway.”

“Oh, well,” she hesitated for a moment, which prompted Drew to pry her free hand open, carefully, gracefully, transitioning ownership of the fresh bread and deli-meat to her gloved fingertips.

Now this? This, he didn’t have to do.

“Thank you, Drew.”

“Anytime,” he retracted his hand to close his lunch box. “Listen, I have to go,” he gestured towards the door with his thumb, “But, before I do, just remember—”

Sheila held the sandwich within her palm, her fingers digging into its flesh as she anticipated his words of wisdom.

“Give the students a chance to prove themselves as good students, and they’ll give you the chance to change them for the better.”

The sandwich brushed against her lips, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Don’t get me started. . .”

#dr drakken #drakke #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

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carriemaya · 3 years

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COMING HOME — Healing from Housing Instability

CW: Childhood sexual abuse, parentification, slibling abuse, religious abuse, and PTSD.

INTERGENERATIONAL FAMILY TRAUMA

I grew up with a lot of material privilege: a beautiful home on 2 acres of property, cable TV, ducted heating/cooling, always had food on the table, and went to a private Christian school (even if it was through a bursary programme). I even had singing and piano lessons (and went to performing arts school with Zachary Ruane from Aunty Donna — true story!).

But there was a maelstrom of abuse going on behind closed doors.

What my five siblings and I experienced varied from child to child; a combination of sexual, physical, psychological, and spiritual abuse — from parent to child and sibling to sibling over the course of many years. While the onus for violence, volatility, and religious fundamentalism was on my parents, they were also the facilitators of beautiful moments of genuine care and joy — a toxic dynamic born of traumatised adults who find themselves the parents of little children whose entire world they’re responsible for.

And because our nervous systems remember things that we would choose to forgive and forget, it laid the rocky foundation for the early onset of a plethora of complex mental health issues that I still experience today.

And while my parents weren’t all bad or all good (as is the case with most people), the culture they created or allowed, made way for fractured relationships between my siblings and me — and unfortunately these sibling relationships became the catalyst for my personal ongoing housing instability and a deeper, more chronic experience of psychological damage that years of therapy, self-help books, and spiritual healing sessions haven’t been able to heal.

My siblings were traumatised by the person I was growing up. I was parentified from a young age and stepped into the mother role. At around 10 years old, my parents forced me to physically discipline my siblings. But I had the head and heart of a child which meant that I wielded power with all the wisdom and responsibility of, well, a child.

It caused lots of damage because I was the scary one in their eyes (not my parents) which set me up to be alienated from my siblings pretty much from the get go. I could be awful to them. But I also loved them and simultaneously felt responsible for protecting them against my parents. I look back at the moments born of these confusing dynamics and I can pinpoint them as the place in my life where my personality started to fragment.

When it came to trying to protect myself, my siblings, or to reason with my parents, I yelled. A lot. My voice was the only weapon I had to use against their size, age, fellow adult allies, and economic power.

I thought that by yelling I could get through to them — to help them wake them up and see how much their kids were suffering because of their behaviour. I didn’t learn until I was an adult that my brothers and sisters resented me for this as they wished I had just been quiet. The toxic culture in my family was normalised and my railing against it was seen as the cause of our household drama.

I was Crazy Carrie. The mentally ill one who yells a lot.

While experiencing abuse from my parents, I also abused my siblings.Thankfully, they weren’t subjected to the same kind of treatment I received from my parents as the eldest child. But unfortunately because of that, it meant they weren’t privy to the ways I was being tormented behind the scenes into becoming the kind of child I was. They remember me as an abuser. And why wouldn’t they? And as an adult with space and time between us, I can also accept that their feelings and opinions about me are valid.

But the thing that breaks my heart is that they don’t seem to remember the good things I tried to do for our family — or sacrifices I made. Like when I dropped out of high school in my final year to cook, clean, and be their emotional support because my father forced my mum to go work outside of the home full time. It was my dream to be the first person in our family to finish high school. B that honour went to my brother. I’m proud of him and glad he got to do it. Yet at the same time, it feels as though the things I tried to do right count for nothing.

And I guess that’s the complex nature of intergenerational family trauma.

Everyone’s a victim and no one comes out unscathed.

THE BEGINNING OF HOUSING INSECURITY

When I was 18, my father was eventually removed by The Department of Human Services.

And we turned to a church for hope and support. We were then exploited and abused for 6 years. You can listen to that story in full detail here.

[TLDL version: inappropriate touching of me and my siblings by church leadership, encircled by a group of church members in a prayer meeting and forced to take communion while crying and choking on breadsticks and cranberry juice, the pastor putting wedges in between children and their parents so she could be their mother).

My siblings and I had explosive relationships before going to the church. But after what we experienced at the hands of our former pastor, the dysfunction and dissension multiplied 50xfold. They became toxic and so did I. Our home, post-church, became a cocktail of trauma, brainwashing, and siblings hurting siblings.

Upon leaving that church, I became aware of how toxic I had been in so many ways. I started apologising to everyone in my family as soon as I became conscious of it. I still wanted to hold onto my faith and I wanted to process what we’d been through so that we could heal.

Unfortunately, the siblings I have had the most conflict with over the years — and I — had such deeply opposing perceptions about our behaviour toward each other.We all have contrasting feelings about who should be taking responsibility for what. Or what had transpired between us over the years and what hadn’t.

They told me that I was selfish for wanting to talk about what happened and that if I truly wanted to move on, I would just do it. I felt constantly shut down and dismissed by them — just as I had with my parents growing up when all I wanted to do was to connect by bringing things out in the open for two-way, exploratory conversation.

In conjunction with this, because of how much shame and self-hatred I had for the way I had been growing up (and who I’d become at church), I believed that even if I felt hurt by their behaviour now, that I should allow them to treat me however they want because maybe that’s what they need to do to heal.

But no matter how much I apologised or tried to change, it felt that they were committed to misunderstanding me because they wanted me to hurt as much as I’d hurt them. Which I understand because their pain and trauma needs a voice. And because I was the cause of so much of it, their frustration and anger landed squarely back on to me.

I guess they just didn’t realise how much I had been hurting, too.

This eventually led to me going into fawning mode. And I was eventually forced to leave home because of the bullying that I experienced at their hands. I felt really betrayed by my mum who allowed certain things to happen without standing up for me, a feeling which triggered painful emotions associated with the way she singled me out for abuse as a child.

When I finally left home, I told her that I wanted nothing more to do with her. And that if she ever wanted a relationship with me again she’d have to earn it.

Note: I’m sure you understand that I can’t share everything about my family in detail. This blog entry is actually a redraft of a much longer, much more explicit, piece that explains all the awful things I did to my siblings and all the awful things they’ve done to me. We’re all adults now. And at this stage we’ve all traumatised each other. It’s unfair. And it sucks for every single person involved.

When you are driven out of your housing by personal circumstances or through danger to your person, it’s a complete upheaval. Personally it was utterly jarring when my family situation led to me needing to leave before I was ready. Especially when it was catlysed by the dismissal of me and my survival needs in preference for another sibling who was causing literal damage to our house (among other things).

Once I’d moved out, I crashed. A sort of emotional paralysis took over.

And I’ve carried that paralysis and accompanying dissociation with me for the last 7 years. Every move bringing it to the surface and causing me to plummet into the self-hatred and fear associated with being driven out of my home in the first place.

Anyone who’s rented knows that good housing situations are the luck of the draw.

Throughout all the moves I’ve made in the last decade, some have been a dream: like Jake and Beth who were fellow live-in mentors to an at-risk young person for the Vista Lead Tenant Program where we had beautiful chats about faith, doubt, politics, and played Jackbox TV games. Like the international sharehouse where I learnt Farsi from Reza and Shohra — an Iranian immigrant couple who didn’t even have a mattress to sleep on but would invite me to eat almonds on the blanket they had laid out on their bedroom floor.

The majority of them, though, have been utter nightmares.

Like the one where I was being stalked by a neighbour in the unit behind mine. When I told her to back off, she retaliated by making a false report to the police — saying that she was fearful for the lives of her fiance, her pets, and herself. I was taken to court and the mediator saw through her straight away. Thankfully, he was incredible and encouraged me to file for a cross-order/ intervention order so that she didn’t just have one against me. Which would give me some measure of protection against her if she wanted to start making trouble for me. I agreed. That SAME day, she breached it and came right up to my bedroom window and started looking around my unit.

Another time, I moved in with a man whose Gumtree ad I responded to out of desperation for a place to stay. Then after a week, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to file for rental assistance from Centrelink because it would cut into his welfare benefits. I agreed because I needed a roof over my head. And it also didn’t take long to learn that he was an alcoholic who stayed up all night listening to the radio up to 11 and I found myself unable to sleep.

And finally, the nightmare of my most recent living situation up until two months ago. I lived next door to two meth addicts. Let’s call them Tarzan and Jane.

They were good enough neigbours until COVID-19 hit. I think it’s because they used to party at other peoples’ places before restrictions were implemented but couldn’t anymore.

The drugs, the psychosis, the cackling-witchy ramblings of Jane, and waking up to her yelling in the street early morning after early morning

One time, they had a 17-hour bender.

He groaned in this deep, demonic sounding voice for 40 minutes. She began to tell herself a story. At 4am, Tarzan stood at my bedroom wall shouting, “Fuck off, poofter” for 15 minutes. I dragged my mattress into the lounge and closed the door while they continued to party hard to loud music for a further 7 hours.

I spent most of 2020 sleeping in my living room because I was so scared. It triggered PTSD episodes for me on a daily basis.

Then Jane passed away from an overdose.

The woman from across the street (we’ll call her Julie), started coming over to visit Tarzan all the time. He started putting up a fence without permission from the landlord. I felt like reporting him at first, but decided to leave it alone.

And one of these days that she came over to visit Tarzan, I hear Julie start yelling about me through the wall. It wasn’t just about her being a bitch. She was another loud, rude, scary person disturbing my right to a peaceful home and I decided enough was enough.

I decided to confront them.

I grabbed my phone because I knew that if they reacted badly without video evidence of their actions towards me, nothing could be enforced by the authorities.

I’m glad I thought that far ahead because Julie physically assaulted me, snatched my phone away, and then smashed it on the ground. It turned out Tarzan had received a breach of lease notification from the real estate agency for the unapproved fence and thought I had reported him.

Because the attack was caught on camera, when the police arrived and saw the footage and damages, they arrested her and charged her with unlawful assault.there anymore. But that was it. I couldn’t stay there anymore.

The physical attack by my neighbor was just the beginning of a series of injuries that would also take their toll on my well being.

At the end of October last year, just after the assault, my friend Tash graciously offered her home to me while she and her husband lived in Melbourne short-term for his cancer treatment. In exchange for looking after her cats, I received rent-free, bill-free accommodation while I looked for a new place.

I needed a safe place to recover and roll out the first session of my online coaching programme Mother Mary Speaks, so I promptly moved into Tash’s and was able to run my first session.

One week passes, I’m working at my desk, and I get up to move around a bit because my legs have fallen asleep — my ankle crushes beneath me. I rolled it and couldn’t get up.

I ended up in hospital with ligament damage.

So there I was, living in interim housing, $300 in my savings, a cat in tow, unsure of how I’m going to afford a new place and whether I’ll be accepted by a real estate agency even if I can (because I am self-employed and don’t yet have a livable wage/ am still receiving Centrelink benefits). And now I can’t walk. Oh, and I’m running a 6-week programme where people need me to hold space for them.

And each day I’m without a home, I’m cripped more and more by PTSD associated with housing and family.

THE CONSEQUENCES OF CONSTANTLY MOVING FOR 7 YEARS

Moving is expensive.

Like really expensive.

Transporting furniture and possessions is really pricey if you hire a professional. And honestly I’ve never been able to afford it. Which has also been really hard as someone who doesn’t drive due to having seizures since she was in her teens.

The stress of having to coordinate help when your former pastor made you believe that anything you express needing help with makes you a selfish taker of resources — someone who is unworthy of their faith for not putting it in God’s hands only. The anxiety and shame from those past conversations and beliefs about myself are almost unbearable at times.

Then there’s the cost of bond and first month’s rent. And all the utility connection costs that can really add up depending on how old a property is or what kinds of outlets and wiring a place has installed.

During the last 7 years, I managed to support myself financially for nearly 2 whole years with a livable wage. Because the work was flexible and online, it meant that I could work around the PTSD episodes and manage the effects of my Borderline Personality Disorder (like chronic self-harm urges, sui* ideation, and anxiety/ depression). More recently in 2019, I was casually unemployed for about 5 months and then COVID-19 hit and the work fell through.

I have been building a business using my life experience, professional experience, spiritual gifts, and a combination of small wages and welfare payments.

So one doesn’t have much savings or proof of income in these situations. I’ve had to borrow money more times than I can count to make sure I have a roof over my head. And I’m one of the lucky ones who has someone to help me in these situations.

Then there’s the deep-seated uncertainty that comes with constant unwanted relocations. Each move has felt like a deeper, harder blow to the foundations of my stability.

I’ve tried everything to ground myself and make myself feel safe over the years — and thankfully I’ve found many tools to make life more bearable.

And while I’m able to cognitively understand that renting is the reality for so many of us (and that in this day and age, home ownership is a privilege that fewer and fewer people are able to afford), my body and all my emotions have been ever filled with anxious anticipation that life is just about to be pulled out from under me.

The same question arises with each new property, “ What if this was how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? And what if it’s going to continue happening in really dramatic ways like being assaulted or taken to court? What if my life is a never-ending cycle of mental illness, trauma, and housing crisis? Will I ever get a chance at stability? A chance to build something sustainable beyond survival?”

THE END OF HOUSING INSTABILITY

Years ago, when mum began making amends for the ways in which she didn’t come through for me when my siblings bullied me out of home, she apologised to me as much as was humanly possible.

And while the journey toward reconciliation was far from smooth sailing, each year has seen our relationship blossom and grow. She has spent the last 7 years since earning my trust back. She hasn’t just said sorry. She’s made recompense where possible.

She has helped me with transport, paying rent, bills, bonds, moving costs, and has been an incredible rock of strength when I’m experiencing extreme mental illness symptoms. No one understands me or holds space for me with the love and strength that my mama does.

I’m open with her about the fact that I’m writing this article. I’m a writer, I need speak my truth. And the cost-benefit analysis of sharing the story of our healed relationship comes out as a choice with lots of benefits. I also want to say that I don’t just forgive her. I adore her. She is actually my most favourite person in the world and I can’t imagine my life without her. She even told me last year that she has left her house to me in her will because she wants to make sure I’m taken care of when she’s gone.

I’ve come to learn the ways in which her life was shaped by family trauma and abuse. And how that flowed down into our family unit.

She’s had her world destroyed over and over again. And I couldn’t see that when I was younger because all I could think about was that I needed her — in the ways a young child needs their parent.

But as I’ve grown older, I look at her with so much gratitude and compassion.

Because being an adult is hard. And life is mostly hard. And being an adult, with trauma, when you have children must feel insurmountable. Yet she never gives up. She never stops. She keeps coming back to our relationship to be the mum I need.

And this is exactly what she did when I got ligament damage at Tash’s house.

She moved in with me and took care of me every day for two months. While also working during the day from the office (because of COVID-19). It’s been a beautiful time of bonding.

During this time, though, she’s watched me struggle immensely. Because of inaccessible housing opportunity after inaccessible housing opportunity. The houses that are affordable are high-risk for dangerous neighbours and my mental health couldn’t handle another attack. And even they are so expensive that I couldn’t rent them.

Then on top of this, the rental market in Gippsland isn’t what it used to be. People from Melbourne have fled here in droves to escape catching COVID-19. bUT Their relocating and renting out all the properties with their big city incomes means that there’s hardly anything here for the locals who fall within the lower socio-economic bracket.

Time to leave Tash’s home was coming to an end and I had nowhere to turn. I ultimately secured the last affordable caravan in Gippsland and was going to live on mum’s front lawn. But then one day, about two weeks ago, she comes back to Tash’s after being out for the night and says she has some news.

She tells me that she is giving me her house.

Yeah.

Not the house I lived in with her and my siblings 7 years ago. She’s since moved into a home that I’ve never lived in.

She’s been in Gippsland for over 30 years. She’s originally from Melbourne way, and she’d like to do a bit of a homecoming of her own. Because she loves all six of her children and can’t fix all our divided relationships, outside of her working hours, she wants to be a wandering mama.

She’s decided to keep one room in her house for when she lives with me, and then she’ll be renting a place with one of my sisters who has been needing to move to Melbourne for her job (as commuting so far was exhausting her). And I get to start decorating it exactly how I’d like as though I already own it.

It’s going to be my forever home. From now until I inherit it (which will hopefully not be for decades to come). And then from when I inherit it until I decide to sell it (or not).

I’m a little shocked. The symbolism of this beautiful, full-circle and healing gesture is not lost of me.

Thankfully my siblings are pretty high-functioning people who have material stability and are building the lives they want. And I’m really glad for them. Even if I don’t have relationships with most of them. I want to see them grow and prosper. And receiving this generous gift from my mum is her way of taking care of me and ensuring I keep growing and prospering, too.

It’s the proof I didn’t know I needed that I am as loved as my siblings.

HOUSING PRIVILEGE

Some of us choose the nomadic life.

Some of us buy or build our own homes.

Some of us are living from rental to rental knowing that we’ll never be able to break the cycle.

And even worse still are those of us who end up on the streets because they can’t afford any of the above.

I can’t speak for everyone, but experiencing both homelessness and unrelenting housing instability drove me to the brink of madness. That’s not an expression. I mean, as much as I’ve healed myself in so many ways over the years, I was starting to lose my mind after living through these consecutive housing traumas.

I don’t care what anyone says: people don’t need to just learn how to make their bodies their homes and learn to make themselves feel safe. That’s New Age bullshit. The reality is that just like children need shelter and stability from their parents when they’re growing up. All people need shelter and housing security that isn’t going to be taken from them. They need to know they are loved and safe, and having a home helps ensure that. There are only so many grounding techniques, meditations, and reframes that one can do before the instability of housing insecurity hits sends you spiraling mentally

Coping every now and then isn’t flourishing.

Never having a solid, unmoving homebase to trust in so that a person can build their life financially and relationally is common but not normal. Or healthy. Or okay.

I’m 32 now and I work hard on my mental health. I have taken radical self-responsibility for my life and the direction it’s going.

But no matter how hard I work or try, I can’t hustle my way out of complex mental health issues that affect my ability to work in a mainstream job (and thusly earn the money that I need to live a comfortable life). I’ll never stop trying to build a degree of wealth that can help me make ends meet. But I will NEVER AGAIN shame myself for not being able to pull myself up by my bootstraps and climb my way up the socio-economic ladder.

The capitalist narrative that we live in a meritocracy where all you have to do is work hard and you can get everything you want is a lie.

The capacity to work varies from person to person. And this isn’t just in relation to physical disability but disabling mental health experiences.

I’ve struggled for 7 year up until yesterday, and all of a sudden I’m someone with housing privilege. I didn’t earn this home. It was a gift from my mum.

But don’t I deserve it? Doesn’t everyone deserve this?

I say a hearty yes.

And yet, it feels bizarre because I don’t know myself as a person who isn’t struggling to survive.

I know it’s going to require a LOT of unpacking. My identity needs to evolve so that I can adapt to this move.

WHAT NOW?

My body still holds a lot of fear around what some of my family can do to me. And moving into this home feels a little bit scary because of it. I asked my mum if she’d agreed to signing a written agreement with me. Something to support my right to be in this home if toxic sibling relationships bleed over into my housing situation again. She is the best. I can’t celebrate her enough for going the extra mile here to prove that she loves me and wants what is best for me.

Because of the familiar instability story, I’m feeling scared to trust that I have a home or won’t be driven out of this house, too.

But I’m choosing to put faith in my mum now. And in the 50% possibility that this situation can work out really, really well.

I get to return “home” and give myself the parenting I never had.

And I’m devoting 2021 to figuring out what this means. Integrating it and working through the painful associations with it.

Fulfilling little dreams like: the joy of being allowed to put pictures up on the wall, creating Pinterest boards for each of the rooms in my new home, watching Workaholics with the sibling I still have a relationship with, and feeling peace because I know my cat can call it his forever home, too.

Adapting to the fulfilment of bigger dreams like: freedom from landlords and real estate agents, and knowing that I can finally put down roots.

Where the repeated upheaval of my life was a constant trigger related to feeling unloved by my siblings and mother, it’s being replaced with a home that represents my mum’s love for me; a testament to relationships that are worth fighting for, parents who are people with their own stories and need a chance to be seen in their humanity, and children who never stop needing to know that they are loved.

Follow me on Instagram: @heycarriemaya

#home #homeless #homelessness #ptsd #mentalillness #mentalhealth #toxicfamily

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

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Part 3: The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Here comes the angsty part...

Pairing: Dean x Toby Matheson (female OC)

Word Count: 1789

Warnings: Nothing but pining and angst

Final part coming next week!

God, what a mess.

The whole place reeked of death, used-up bodies of prior kills tossed like so many empty bottles against the wall, left to rot. The need to survive the battle tended to outweigh the urge to gag, since the three of them had their hands full. It was a nasty bunch, nastier than most, all big, ugly and reckless.

Toby let out a scream of frustration as she kicked at the bastard she was currently fighting and buried her machete in his cranium. She yanked it free, then swung again, taking his head off and glaring in the direction of the corpse. “How many more of you can there possibly be?” She scanned the room, spotting Sam and Dean in their own scuffles, then whirled to face a raging female behind her.

When the noise and chaos finally quieted, she moved to the middle of the room, panting for air as she stepped over pieces and parts of bodies. “Did we get them all? Finally?”

Dean swiped a forearm over his face, wiping away sweat and blood as he nodded. “I think so. I fucking hope so. Shit, Sam, I thought there were only five or six?”

“Yeah, well – they must have been having a party. Or they recruited,” he responded breathlessly. “I don’t know. I’ll go see if we have some gas in the trunk. This whole place needs to go up in flames.”

Dean nodded, and Sam headed for the front door of the barn. “Stinks so bad in here. Toby, are you good?”

She blew out a breath. “Yeah. You?” She glanced up to see his answering nod, and her eyes widened. “Dean, DOWN!” she screamed, and he dropped, rolling to the side and then leaping to his feet, the majority of a vamp’s severed head landing with a sickening squelch nearby.

“Holy fuck. Thanks.” He watched as she let her machete drop from her shaking hand, her eyes on the hatchet still in the clutches of the dead vampire. She looked up at Dean, her face almost white, and then turned to rush out the back door. “Shit. Toby...”

He followed her outside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, searching. He rounded the corner of the building to find her, arms and forehead braced against the barn wall. “Toby, it’s okay. It’s over. We’re okay.”

Her voice was muffled, panic still coming through loud and clear. “That was too close, Dean. I almost missed it. If I wouldn’t have looked up right then, he would’ve buried that axe…”

He stepped up closer, taking her shoulder and turning her to face him. “Hey. You just saved my ass in there. Stop beating yourself up. We should have checked the building again, that’s on all of us.”

She looked up at him, clearly shaken. “I just almost watched you die! That’s not okay, Dean, I’m not okay!” She suddenly stepped forward, shoving at his shoulders, knocking him back a step as he stared back in surprise. “You cannot fucking die in front of me, you fucker!” she almost sobbed, drawing her fist back to swing at him, but this time he was prepared, grabbing her wrist and shoving her back against the building.

“Toby, stop!” he shouted, staring into her eyes for a few endless seconds before crashing his lips into hers, emotion and desire winning over his resistance. She whimpered and struggled against him, trying to yank her wrist free until he finally let go, and her arms clamped around his neck, pulling him closer. He stopped for one moment, looking down at her before swearing softly and kissing her again, his body crushing hers between him and the rough wood siding of the barn.

Sam’s voice calling their names brought things to an abrupt halt, and Dean stepped back, dragging his thumb roughly over his lips. “Yeah, we’re out here!” He looked at the ground as he spoke to her, his voice subdued. “If you want to wait in the car, I’ll help Sam get the fire going. Then we can get the hell out of here.”

Toby pulled herself away from the barn, giving him one last glance as she turned and walked towards the Impala. She climbed into the back seat and wrapped her arms around herself as a few of the tears she was valiantly fighting spilled over. She swiped a hand over her face and laid her head back against the seat, eyes closed and teeth clenched. By the time Sam and Dean came to the car, she had forced an emotionless mask in place and sat staring out the window. She responded to Sam’s query with an “I’m fine,” pointedly avoiding meeting Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

It was almost morning when they pulled into the bunker garage. Dean opened his door, then paused before getting out. “I say we deserve a break. Let’s get cleaned up, get some rest and head to KC for the weekend. Whatcha think?” After the non-enthusiastic mumbled replies, he piped up again. “Okay, fine. We’re doin’ it. We all need some fun around here. We leave this afternoon, let’s say 4-4:30. No arguments.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Toby smiled at Sam as he clinked their beers together, joining him in taking a few swallows of the cold brew. It was a decent hotel, Dean had booked them each their own room, and after some Kansas City barbecue, they were downing a few in the hotel bar.

She turned her head at an exaggerated giggle, her stomach churning at the sight of the willowy brunette hanging on Dean’s arm and his every word. She rolled her eyes at another ridiculous laugh and turned to face Sam again, nodding towards the pool table. “Play me a game? Then I’m gonna call it a night. I’m feeling a little ill.”

Sam smiled sympathetically. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. I know that doesn’t help, but...”

“Nope, you’re right. It doesn’t. Come on, or are you scared to play me?” They headed for the billiards area and grabbed the unoccupied table. She took another swig of her beer and then shot to break, stiffening as a clumsy, warm body bumped into her from behind.

“Need any help there, honey?” The words were slurred, and she sent an elbow back, not too violently, but enough to make the guy back off a little.

“Pretty sure I’ve got it, Sparky. You can find somebody else to play with.”

“Wow. Just try’na be frenly, don’t hafta be such a bitch.” She rolled her eyes at the sound of Dean’s voice, turning to see him taking a fistful of the drunk’s shirt in his hand.

“I think you owe this lady an apology,” he growled, and Toby glared at him.

“Dean, if I did need any help with this douchebag, which I don’t - Sam’s right here. Why don’t you go back to your play date. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

“See, told ya she’s a bitch,” the idiot mushed out, and Dean shoved him, hard.

“Get the fuck outta here before I kick your ass.” Drunk guy sneered and turned, stumbling his way out.

Toby stared at Dean, her eyes spitting fire, and he drew breath to speak, but Sam’s quiet voice stopped him. “Dean, just let it go.” He looked at Sam, then at the floor, chewing and swallowing his words as he turned and walked away.

“Thanks,” she said, and Sam nodded. “That was about to get ugly.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” He drained the last of his beer. “You want another? It’s still your shot.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She looked up to see Dean back at the bar, the bimbo firmly attached to him again, and turned back to the table, firing off a frustrated shot aimed at nothing in particular, ending in a scratch. She thanked Sam for the beer and downed half of it as he took his turn at the table.

They finished their game and Toby said goodnight, heading to the elevator as Sam went to the bar for one last drink. Her head was pounding, and not from the drinks. All she wanted was bed and unconsciousness.

She stepped off the elevator and cringed as she cursed her timing. Dean and the woman from the bar were in front of his room, and she was practically molesting him as he tried to disentangle himself enough to unlock the door. She swore softly, pulling her key card from her pocket and hoping like hell that she could get inside her room before she was seen. No such luck, though. Dean looked up as she opened her door, startled to see her at first, but then the look in his eyes made her heart lurch. He looked miserable, guilty and ashamed, and it took her several seconds to pull her gaze away and enter her room, slamming the door behind her. She stood there, numb, finally blowing out a breath and lifting a shaking hand to brush back her hair, vaguely surprised to find her face wet with tears.

~~~~~~~~~~

Things were quiet when they got back to the bunker, wordlessly moving around each other and speaking only when necessary. Toby spent most of her time in her room, avoiding Dean as much as humanly possible. Just until she could get her feelings under control, she told herself, get back to normal. Because how she was feeling now couldn’t be a permanent thing. She couldn’t take it.

A couple of nights later, she was heading for the kitchen for a late-night snack when she heard Sam’s voice raise and stopped in her tracks. “Why don’t you just talk to her, Dean? Just admit it, you’re scared. Scared shitless.”

“You’re out of line, Sammy. Don’t fucking try to tell me how I feel.” She heard angry footsteps, then a door slamming, and she retreated back to her room.

She was as bad as Dean, just as afraid. They were going to have to talk about it, someday. But not today. She crawled back into bed, wrapped herself in her blankets and squeezed her eyes shut, determined to stop the thoughts that ran rampant every night. She finally fell asleep, losing the battle once again, and dreamed of his green eyes staring back at her, his lips on hers, his hands gripping her arms, his body pressed close. And she woke with a start, aching for him, wondering if he had even come home, or if he was hiding from himself again, in bed with some anonymous stranger.

God, what a mess.

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

Tags for my babes:

@saenalife @deanscarlett @misswhizzy @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @geeklibrarian @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @aprofoundbondwithdean @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @mrswhozeewhatsis @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel @darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @ackeviddlestan @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5 @melanie451 @lovin-ackles @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean @savingapplepie-eatingthings @angelofwinchester17 @kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester @ericuhlorain @undecided-garden @ceeceewinchester @typicalweirdbookworm @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie @tanithlowisabamf @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @kreweofimp @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67 @darkx143 @disassociativedogma @ioanashalala @jencharlan @deansthirst @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1 @hamartiamacguffin @winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017 @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @torn-and-frayed @sandlee44 @kathaswings @wingedcatninja @evansrogerskitten @emoryhemsworth @peaceinourtime82

#part 3: the hit and then run like your ass is on fire #dean fic #dean x toby #angst chapter #always has to be at least one

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aswallowssong · 4 years

Text

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 5 - The Devil in Me

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

The second part of a gap fill for 1x13, Poison. TW for illness, hospitals, and drug mentions. Also super minor character death?

After JJ, Reid, and Hotch learn a little more about Kit's family, the nurse-out-of-water feels the effects of the field crash over her. As she and Gideon continue to butt heads, she wonders how this is ever going to work. She's helpful in her own right, but if she can't get the respect and the support of the whole team, how will she ever belong?

The ride to the hotel was comfortable enough. Reid and Kit sat in the back while JJ sat in the passenger seat, and the communications liaison took her chance to pick and pry when Kit couldn’t escape her questions. She’d been trying since the moment Kit had been shuffled onto their team, but Kit had been able to avoid it thus far. She hated ‘get to know you’ questions, as they reminded her of terrible high school teachers and their lack-luster ice breakers.

“So, Kit, do you have siblings?”

Kit nodded, though the woman couldn't see her. She’d play along, of course, and this was an easy question. She loved talking about her siblings.

“Oh, yeah. There’s nine of us.”

Reid made a sound next to her that sounded like choking, but when she looked he wasn’t dying. He was instead, astonished.

“Nine?”

“Yeah,” she said easily, “nine.”

Hotch knew that, he’d read her file, but he asked anyway, “What number are you?”

“Five,” Kit said before smiling, “sort of? There’s Wash, and then Ginny and Seese. Ari, and Monty, and I. Then George, and Alex, and Lina’s the baby.”

“That puts you sixth,” Reid said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Kit was suddenly ten years old.

Didn’t we just have a pseudo heart-to-heart about being treated like a child?

Kit tried not to roll her eyes before she remembered that the only one who knew about Ari and Monty was Morgan. And, probably Hotch, of course.

“Ari and Monty and I are triplets,” she said evenly, “and technically, I was born second of the three of us.”

“Wow,” JJ said, “triplets? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“It’s great, actually,” Kit assured, not being able to stop the spreading smile on her face. “We get along really well. Monty and I are actually monozygotic twins, which means-”

“Monozygotic twins, often called identical twins, are the result of one egg fertilized by one sperm that experiences postzygotic division.”

Reid’s voice was rougher than before, telling of the fact that the medicine she’d given him had worn off, as he effectively cut her off. She tried not to take offense at him interrupting her and telling her about her own fetal development. He’d interrupted others in several conversations. Regardless, she felt her lips tug into a frown.

“Exactly. My Gran used to say that Monty and I have twin souls, though my mam and dad have always said that Ari was one half of the soul, and we were the other half, you know, together.”

JJ turned all the way around in her seat, grinning as she listened to Kit speak of her family.

“So, Ari and Monty are nicknames, right?”

Kit nodded again, frown dissipating.

“Right. My parents immigrated from Ireland, and they spoke Irish, or Gaelic, better than English. They wanted to stick out less, or so they say, so they, well,” she thought for a moment before she couldn’t stop the small giggle forcing its way up her throat. “They thought it would be a really good idea to name their kids after the states. Like, literal American states.”

“Like Dakota,” Hotch offered, and Kit wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, like Dakota. My family all call me Kody, but I prefer Kit.”

“And Monty is, what? Montana?” JJ asked, now looking determined. As if it was some kind of game.

Kit nodded again, saying, “Exactly. The thing is that some states, like thankfully Dakota, are names. But some…” She shrugged lightly, “Not so much.”

“Can I guess?”

JJ, not surprising to Kit, was giving off a competitive energy that would rival the one she got off Morgan the few times they’d raced at the track.

“She could just tell us,” Reid offered, but JJ just scoffed.

“No way, Spence. You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.”

Reid narrowed his eyes at her, and though Kit could feel his slight trembling next to her, fever burning once again, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He even gave her and JJ half a smirk before saying, “You’re on.”

In the end, it was Hotch that came up with a surprising upset. Reid was vehemently denying that ‘Seese’ was a nickname for Tennessee, and JJ was still upset that Reid won the “guess what number I’m thinking of” game and got to go first.

“No way that’s fair,” she’d complained when Reid gave a small, raspy noise of victory and guessed that Wash was short for Washington, obviously.

Hotch had gotten lucky and gone second, securing that George was actually Kit’s younger sister, Georgia, and had gotten that Lina was Carolina, the baby of their very large family.

“You went after Carolina right away, Hotch,” JJ said, laughing at Reid’s dejected mumbling. That was the second time he’d lost a game that day.

“Familiar territory.”

“Is that so?” Kit asked, raising an eyebrow at the stern man in the driver’s seat. “Did you work in their field office?”

“No, I worked in their Walmart,” he said simply, turning into the parking lot of their hotel. He didn’t add or give any more about it, and they didn’t pry, though Kit had to fight a grin at the idea that their stern unit chief could be secretly southern.

-----

Hotch checked in and passed them their keys, Kit taking hers with slightly wide eyes. She’d only stayed in a hotel a few times, and the idea that she was now left to her own devices in a hotel she’d never been in, in a state she didn’t know, really got her mind racing. She realized quickly that no one else was feeling the anxiety she was. They were all familiar with this, and it seemed to be easy for them to turn off the part of their brain that was working on the case.

Instead, she was running her brain, trying to think of anything she knew that could help them catch the unsub that was hurting these people. She dealt in people. People were her thing. People were the reason she had been assigned to the pilot position she was in. The reason she was in New Jersey when she could just as easily be home, getting ready for bed while she listened to Ari sing around their apartment as he got ready for his shift.

They would give the profile. The team would give the profile and she would watch with JJ. She would try to help however she was asked, and she would keep an eye on Reid while being sensitive to not treat him like a child.

She followed JJ and Reid up to their floor, Hotch having stayed to give the others their keys, and nodded and responded politely when JJ had wished her goodnight. Reid hadn’t done as much, though she had missed his attempt to get her attention before she’d closed her door behind her.

Once inside she drew what could have passed for her first real breath all day. Between Reid’s sniffling, apologizing to Morgan, the jet, the hospital, taking care of Reid without making him feel like a child, and tiptoeing around Gideon- Which didn’t even work! - Kit was stretched too thin. With the door shut, the only emotions she could pick up on were her own. Which, honestly, we’re never just her own.

Ari and Monty called them Big Feelings; them being the swelling and surging of her own emotions that were kept buried to grow as the day went on. She could tend to the needs of others and keep her own feelings in check, but the thing about Kit was that the more she dealt with others, the more the feelings being buried in her chest compounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t really differentiate between what she created herself and what she took from others.

Most days were perfectly fine. It wasn’t like everyone around her was melting down simultaneously, every single day. But some days, when there’d been so much and there were so many people and so many situations, she absolutely crashed.

In retrospect, she held on for longer than she thought she would, the deep, even breaths she was drawing distracting her from the energy that built. Her fingers working to unzip her go bag. She pulled out her pajamas, shedding her jacket and cardigan before making her way to take a shower.

She took out her contacts. Shed the rest of her clothes. Took her shower. Brushed her teeth. Braided her hair.

She kept her breathing even through every motion, changing into her pajamas and settling cross legged on the bed. Her fingers of her right hand tapped lightly on her thigh while the fingers of her left pulled tightly at her braided, sopping wet hair. The right braid was dripping clean shower water onto her shoulder, the left sending a slow cascade of water down her arm. She sat for five minutes that way, breathing evenly, staring at the blurry white wall in front of her and willing herself not to crash. Not to crash. Not to crash.

And then, she crashed.

All at once, everything in her body felt like it was vibrating. Her breaths came in hitches that were shallow and choppy, her chest heaving sharply with each one. Nothing like the pace she’d been trying to keep for that last fifteen minutes. They sputtered and cut each other off, tears running down her cheeks and falling in large drops, adding to where her braids had already left dark wet spots on her pale yellow tee shirt.

It wasn’t loud. It had never been loud, regardless of the way her mind seemed to be screaming. She was way too warm, warmer than she had been in the steaming water of the shower. Her chest ached with a flurry of feelings that flashed and passed so quickly she couldn’t hope to name them. It left her helpless, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers occasionally scratching up and down her arms or thighs. The emotional overload left her with internal mania and, other than her fingers roaming and tears flowing, external shutdown. She didn’t have to bury anymore. The emotional zombies of the last eighteen hours could come to light.

Ari always let her come down on her own time. Sometimes he held her tightly, and sometimes he left her to her own devices. Most of the time he stayed in the same space. On the couch opposite her. Sat at the kitchen table as she sat on the counter. Cross legged at the end of her bed. He didn’t try to have her put the thoughts or emotions into words. He didn’t press her or tell her it would be okay. That she was okay, because really, she wasn’t. He just let it pass.

She knew it could be as short as ten minutes or as long as forty five. One time, an hour, but that was the first time she’d lost a patient. The time didn’t matter as much to her. Ten or sixty, the number of minutes always felt like an eternity. She didn’t know how long it would take this time, sat in a New Jersey hotel room. Especially when on top of everything else, she felt so completely alone.

As far as Kit was aware, it could have been seven minutes or seven hours when the thing that finally grounded her back to the real world was a steady three-wrap knock at her door. Her hands stilled instantly, the deepest breath she’d taken since the wave crashed over her almost making her dizzy.

Her head swiveled towards the door, and it was a moment before her mind could catch up. She was in her hotel room. Someone was knocking on the door.

Get up and open it. Come on, Kody. Stand up and open the door.

She swallowed thickly, wiping a shaking hand down her face. The bed was close to the door, and while she sat staring at the door, the knock came again. Three wraps in rapid succession. Her brain started to catch up, the distraction pulling her out of the waves she was drowning in.

Hotch? Could it be Hotch? Did someone actually get poisoned this late at night? Gideon was right, she shouldn’t have said anything. Now it was going to be her fault and there would be disappointment and anger and annoyance and-

Stop.

It took longer than it should have for her to pull herself off of the mattress, shaking her head quickly as if to expel the internal debate. Everything in her chest told her not to get up, but her head won and allowed her to quickly scramble from her spot and pad across the room.

In hindsight, she should have checked to make sure she didn’t look like a complete disaster. She never had to worry about that at home, so it hadn’t crossed her mind how she might be perceived as she stood there; pajamas on, wet hair, flushed, tear tracks and red eyes against shaky pale skin.

She squinted at the person on the other side of the door once she all but flung it open. Tall. Dark hair. Tee shirt. Skinny. To her untrained and straining eyes, she was unsure who she was looking at.

Before the other person could speak she held up her hand, still trembling, and turned to dig in her backpack. The glasses she pulled out were seldom used, but she had lost a contact on three separate occasions in the last year, and she wasn’t going to fly half-blind into a crisis.

She turned, unceremoniously shoving the thin frames onto her face, and looked at her offender.

Spencer Reid. Pale as ever, clearly fever flushed, and looking at her with glassy-eyed concern.

“Are you crying?” is what he ended up asking before stifling a raspy coughing fit into his elbow.

Kit narrowed her burning eyes at him, but there were no lasers in her stare. Confusion, and exasperation, but not the lasers she’d set on him all those hours before.

“Do you need something? I thought you went to bed.”

He cleared his throat and winced, swallowing as if it was physically painful before he came up with, “I did. I was. Um, I mean, I was try-trying to? I, um.”

His hands came up to wring together at waist height, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. Uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable. Probably from having come into her personal space where she was very obviously having a very private meltdown.

“You were trying to… oh.” It took longer for her to piece together than it should have. Her mind was still foggy, trying to stay above the waves she’d just been so jarringly pulled from. “You were trying to sleep and you couldn’t.”

“Yes,” he supplied quickly, “Because, well,” he sighed, a hand going to run through his hair. He curled his arms over his chest then, clearing his throat again. “Because my head is pounding and I’m freezing and my throat hurts. And the stuff you had earlier helped. And I was… I was wondering if-”

She did cut him off now, having been careful not to up to that point, but she could feel his discomfort growing the longer he tried to explain himself. He was struggling to be vulnerable, and she wasn’t going to make it worse by allowing him to trip over himself longer than necessary.

“If I had more.”

“Yes.”

“Of course I do, sit down,” she supplied, gesturing awkwardly to the bed she’d just been sat on, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders.

She never had to turn back on after she’d let herself shut down. It was always, always in times where she knew she could be either asleep or a zombie for the rest of the night, and she was trying to fight back to functioning as she dug through her backpack once more.

She heard him take a moment before settling down on the bed, sniffling a few times in a way that made Kit want to scream, but instead just caused her to dig more frantically.

Blue pills. Blue pills. Come on, Dakota, where are they? Why is your bag such a mess? Why are you such a mess? Reid probably thinks you can’t handle this, and how he’s going to tell Gideon, and they’re going to tell Hotch, and-

“Are you okay?”

Her hands froze in between a wrist brace and a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Yes,” she said evenly, though her whole body tensed, “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he said quietly, “You’re breathing picked up, and when you answered the door, you were crying. And the longer you look through your backpack the more agitated you seem.”

It was quiet for a moment. Kit didn’t resume her digging, but instead turned to face Reid at his spot atop her bed.

“What happened to not profiling one another?” She asked after a moment.

His eyebrows pulled together, searching for a moment before his head tilted, tongue flicking over chapped lips before he offered, “It’s okay if this is hard. Gideon always says that-”

“It’s not,” she said, effectively cutting him off for the second time in the five minutes he’d been in her room. She didn’t care at all what Gideon always said.

He looked unconvinced, suspicion flooding off of him, in addition to the sick feeling he’d already been sending her way.

She could feel her hands clenching, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He has no idea. He has no idea so you can’t be upset with him. He doesn’t know anything about you. He probably thinks you’re just as incompetent as Gideon does. Don’t give him any fuel for the fire.

“It’s not hard,” she said, just a bit softer than before. “I’m perfectly capable, and I’m tired. Here.”

She turned and pulled the blue blister pack out of her backpack, hand suddenly knowing exactly where it was.

Naturally.

“Take these. I’ll give you the other ones in the morning.”

Reid looked down at the pills for a moment before he worried at his lip, eyes nervous as he asked, “You’re really not going to tell Hotch?”

“No, Reid, I’m really not going to tell Hotch. And I won’t tell Gideon either. No one knows. Go to sleep.”

She watched as he took a moment before nodding at her, standing up and heading for the door. He was halfway through before he turned and shifted his weight on his feet.

“Dakota?”

I might kill this one. Just this one.

“Reid?”

“Thank you,” he said softly, “again. I’m sorry that I intruded.”

She watched him for a moment before she shook her head. She realized that the trembling had stopped, and she didn’t feel as foggy anymore. Having a distraction, even if the distraction sniffled and asked probing questions and used her first name, it had helped.

She let herself give him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here. Get some sleep.”

He nodded gently, returning her half smile with one of his own.

“Goodnight.”

She watched as he closed the door, the room becoming isolated again. She settled back on the bed, only allowing herself to be lost for a moment before she shut the light out.

-----

“We believe whoever poisoned these people was motivated by revenge,” Hotch was saying. They’d met early to give the profile, but it was later than they’d wanted when they were finally able to gather all the officers.

They were all pushed to one side of the room, sitting on various surfaces or standing in the middle where they could easily be seen. Kit had sat on top of the desk Reid was sitting in, wordlessly pressing a cup of tea into his slightly trembling hands. They’d found a moment when they weren’t being watched for her to slip the pills into his hand, but she’d only been able to find a drink just before Hotch had begun.

Morgan was continuing what Hotch had started, and Reid took the moment to slip the medication into his mouth, chasing it with a too-large sip of too-hot tea. Kit had to hold her snicker at the face he pulled.

“The randomness of the victimology - average people in an average-sized town... All points to a local resident.”

“We know that people who poison for the purpose of revenge primarily act alone,” Elle continued.

“However,” Hotch added, “he may have manipulated someone close to him to assist him. The unsub usually disposes of these accomplices when they're of no further use to him.”

Kit listened as they bounced around, all taking a part of the profile to deliver. She paid attention as closely as she could, taking in everything that was being said, and wishing that she could be able to see what they all saw.

She focused on Reid saying, ”This individual was savvy enough to use rohypnol to obstruct our investigation, erasing the memories of the victims of how they were poisoned,” and she felt herself nodding along with him, listening closely to his voice and watching to see if anyone had picked up on what she’d been trying to help him mask.

So far her efforts seemed successful, and she let herself feel good about that. She could take care of this team. Hotch’s faith was well placed.

She focused back on the profile again, her heart sinking when the emotions in the room shifted dramatically. Gideon had said that a lot of people could die, and everyone had flooded the room with varying levels of anxiety.

A lot of people could die, and they had limited time to find him.

JJ came up behind them, drawing the attention of the profilers around her. She whispered quietly to Hotch, though it was quiet everywhere now, and her words caused quick movement in every body that filled the small room.

“We have a leak.”

The small television in the station was turned on immediately, grainy and nearly not loud enough for them all to hear.

“That's right, Steve. Neighbors became aware something was wrong when a local Beechwood restaurant closed early. From inside sources, we learned that representatives of the CDC began testing food inside the restaurant.”

Gideon spoke over the woman for a moment, a wave of agitation flying off of him. “If you're gonna report the story, name the restaurant.”

“Unconfirmed, we were told that some of the food had been tainted with hallucinogenic drugs,” the reporter continued, and Kit understood exactly what Gideon meant.

“Name the restaurant,” he said again, and Kit found herself standing from her spot atop the desk. Spencer raised an eyebrow at her, but she gravitated towards the TV wordlessly.

“Until we do confirm all of this, we will not release the name of the restaurant. We'll only say it's a Beechwood area favorite. This is Suzanne Whang reporting live from Beechwood. Back to you, Steve.”

“Damn it,” Kit said forcefully, surprising herself a bit at the venom in her words. She rarely swore in English, and she went a bit pink at the thought that Irish would have probably been a more appropriate choice.

Gideon was glaring daggers at her, not really looking like he cared much what she had said, but that she’d spoken at all.

“They didn't name the restaurant,” JJ said, not paying attention to anyone else. She sounded dejected, but kept her tone more even than Kit had.

“What is it?” Detective Hanover said, looking confused.

“Call the local hospital, make sure they know what's coming. Excuse me,” Gideon said. Kit started to move before she realized he had been talking to JJ.

Heat welled inside of her. He was asking JJ to contact the hospital when she was standing right there. She understood, of course, that JJ’s job was communication, but she was the one that had been running point with the hospital. Especially the day before, when she and Reid had nearly spent the whole day there. The pink of her face flushed to red, and her hands clenched.

“Where do your 911 calls get routed?” Hotch asked Hanover. His calm determination set her straight back into the throws of what was happening. The restaurant. No name given. People were going to freak out, no doubt in her mind.

“There's a county phone bank. They contact first responders, the fire department.”

“Alert them, too. They're going to need additional personnel and any other backup you've got. Auxiliary cops. You're going to have to call them.”

“But, why?”

Though Hotch was stoic and calm, Kit could feel the tense energy he now had. It would be a mess to get everything under control once the storm hit.

“Because we're going to have a heck of a time just calming people down and we really don't need the confusion to interfere with our investigation,” Hotch answered, calm never failing.

“Do you want me to start making those calls?” An officer asked readily, and Kit watched as that set Hanover right off the edge.

He moved to the center of the room and started yelling, hands in the air.

Here we go.

“No, no, no, no. Hey, hey! Everybody please shut up for a minute. Tell me what this is all about.”

There was a moment where everything stopped. JJ stood with the phone at her ear. All eyes were on Hanover, mostly surprise and confusion around them.

Then the phones started. They all rang, loud and overlapping, deafening almost everything else in the air.

There was a moment before Gideon simply said, “Panic.”

It took a moment for there to be any sort of control. People were answering phones left and right, including Kit, who was back at the desk she and Reid had started in.

“We can’t comment at this time, thank you,” she said for at least the fifth time, hanging the phone up and looking at Reid.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll be far better when this is over,” he said, taking a sip from the tea she knew was probably now lukewarm at best. He got up and they moved to where JJ and Hotch were, following the lead of Elle and Morgan.

“I just got off with the hospital. They're swamped with over 50 potential poisonings from local restaurants, but no hallucinations,” JJ said, hanging up the phone and looking around.

“Another poisoning?” Morgan asked.

“Or maybe more hysteria,” Hotch

“We've looked into any civil or criminal complaints from employees, ex-employees, Suppliers, regulars at the cafe. Not one good lead,” Hanover said.

He was dejected. The inability to control what was happening to his own town was what Kit guessed had him giving off such a feeling of hopelessness.

“There's got to be somebody connected to that cafe who pops as a suspect,” Gideon said, rifling through some papers.

“Morgan, you wanna go back there, see if we can find another angle?” Elle suggested.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he said.

The two of them turned to leave, and Hotch looked at the three still standing there. “JJ, you, Colghain, and Reid go to the hospital. See if any of the poisonings seem legit.”

-----

When they got to the hospital, JJ and Reid both waited for a moment outside the door. Kit stopped in her tracks, following their lead. There was an awkward moment before she said,

“What are we waiting for? Is someone meeting us?”

JJ shook her head, giving Kit a small smile.

“We’re following you. I made contact with the hospital, but I’m not sure exactly who is the best point of contact in an ER overrun like this. I assumed you do.”

Kit couldn’t help but give a small smile at the warmth that flooded her chest at those words. She and JJ hadn’t talked a lot, but between their guessing game in the car the night before, and the even temper and apt social skills she showed, Kit really respected and liked her. She was good to work with, and clearly knew how to read a room.

“I do. Stay out of the way as best you can and stay close, there will definitely be gurneys going in and out.”

They walked in, flashing their badges as they crossed back into the busy ER. There were gurneys as Kit had predicted, and she was almost overwhelmed by the amount of panic flooding the small ER hallway they found themselves in. She could feel JJ and Reid close to her, and she stopped the first nurse she saw.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Colghain with the FBI,” she said quickly, using a different title than she normally would. The nurse was holding a file, she didn’t have the moment Kit needed to assure her competence.

“The FBI has nurses?” The young nurse said, clearly a little skeptical, but antsy as she glanced towards her assumed destination.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kit said, speaking as she would to any of her nurses back at the clinic. “Where can I find your Head?”

“Nurses’ Station. Nurse Leah. Tall, dark hair. Excuse me.” She scampered off, but Kit had all she needed.

She led JJ and Spencer to the Nurses’ Station and spotted a tall, dark haired woman who was exuding calm, though just beneath it was clear uncertainty.

“That’s her,” she said to Reid and JJ without turning around. “Excuse me,” she said louder, “Nurse Leah?”

The woman turned, searching for a moment before she spotted the out-of-place agents.

“Yes? Who are you?”

“I’m Nurse Cloghain with the FBI. This is Agent Jareau and Doctor Reid. Can we have a minute?”

Nurse Leah shook her head quickly, scowling a bit as the three agents bellied up to the Nurse’ Station wall.

“I really can't talk right now. We just got hammered,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Listen,” Kit said, moving to follow her, “most of these food poisonings are probably psychosomatic.”

“What makes you think that?” Nurse Leah said, her attitude changing to one of skepticism and annoyance.

“A news broadcast just reported a local restaurant was poisoned. Now, it would be a huge coincidence if there was another poisoning right after that aired,” JJ said, her voice shifting from the friendliness she’s used outside the hospital door to the political tightness she used with reporters.

“So what do you want me to do?” Nurse Leah said, her eyes darting between them.

“Help us find out which cases, if any, are real,” Reid said, posture straight, not a tremble in sight. He either felt great, or he was masking incredibly well.

“People are coming in with all kinds of complaints,” she said, “But, there's at least one case that isn't psychosomatic. She's barely breathing.”

Reid’s eyebrows pulled together, “Can you take us to the doctor that's treating that patient?”

Nurse Leah nodded, moving to take them with her. Reid and Kit moved to follow, but JJ started to walk away.

“I'll call Hotch,” she assured, and the two others nodded, letting her disappear down the hallway.

The doctor they were passed off to took them down the hallway and towards the patient’s room, talking all the while.

“When the patient got here, she didn't remember anything about her day. And her speech was so slurred, I could barely understand her.” He said. His body language was favored toward Reid once he’d been introduced as “Doctor,” but they hadn’t gotten to clarify that he was not that kind of doctor. Still, Kit hoped his genius brain could make connections faster than her medically inclined one could.

“It sounds like rohypnol,” Reid said, “Did you test her?”

They walked into the patient's room and Kit’s eyes went wide. She was coughing desperately, the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth doing little to prevent it.

“She was positive for rohypnol, negative for LSD. But, we're running more tests because rohypnol alone doesn't explain her symptoms. She presented with nausea, difficulty swallowing, labored breathing. She was also having trouble moving her legs.”

“How long had she been sick?” JJ asked.

“She didn't know. I could barely understand her when she first got her. Now, she can't speak at all.”

“And she’d been coughing like that the whole time?” Kit asked, glancing to the bed. Her heart ached at the panic she felt coming from the ill woman.

“Yes, consistently.”

“Do you know any biological agents that have similar symptoms: Ricin, Sarin gas?” Reid asked quietly, his back turned to the bed.

“You think this is a biological attack?” The doctor said, keeping his expression even.

“We can't rule anything out,” Reid said, eyebrows raised and arms crossed firmly over his middle.

The doctor took a moment before he said, “I'll order a few more tests.”

Hotch arrived not very long after, meeting Kit, Reid, and JJ outside of the patient, Lynn Dempsey’s room. They bounced around ideas, but nothing seemed to stick. At one point Kit used “finding the restroom” as an excuse to dig out more pills for Reid, and the two of them did a seamless pass off in front of the decrepit coffee machine.

It wasn’t twenty minutes before there was a call for Hotch, the unit chief pulling the phone to his ear.

“Morgan, it's Hotch. What's up?”

JJ’s voice came out sharp, having been looking into Ms. Dempsey’s room. “Guys, I think she's trying to say something.”

The three of them flooded into her room, getting close to the bed as she leaned towards them.

“The en,” she said. Her voice carried almost no weight, though the urgency was obvious.

“The end?” JJ asked, looking at Reid and Kit. Kit shook her head, and Reid leaned forward.

“She may be incoherent from the lack of oxygen,” he said, eyes scanning. Kit moved closer to the bed, leaning in just a bit.

“Can you say it again, Ms. Dempsey?” She said gently. The tone and pacing she used with patients came second-nature to her, and it didn’t take any effort to shift from self conscious BAU draft to Head Nurse.

“It’s the en-” Ms. Dempsey tried again before being cut off by coughs that sounded as if they were already choking her.

“Doctor!” JJ called quickly, panic flooding from her, and Kit turned towards the other two agents.

“Give her some space,” she said, not allowing wiggle room in her tone. She started moving back herself, drawing the other two with her. “Here, let’s give some room.”

The doctor came in, setting down the new tox screen and working quickly over Ms. Dempsey. It was a few minutes before things calmed enough for Kit to ask calmly,

“Doctor, do you mind if I look at that?”

She gestured to the tox screen, to which he nodded quickly. Kit picked it up and started rifling through it, listening as JJ asked, “So, what are the chances that she's not poisoned, that maybe she just got some bad food?”

“Highly improbable. Chances are basically nil,” he said.

Hotch came to stand beside Reid.

“What is the rate of survival?” Reid asked.

“This dose,” the doctor said, “without anti-toxin... Zero.”

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

Kit’s voice came quickly and quietly, eyes darting up from the tox screen. “Botulism.”

There was a moment of quiet before a Nurse said with seriousness, “Doctor, her BP is dropping rapidly.”

“It's sepsis. Give another amp of epi,” he said.

“She's going into defib.”

“She's crashing! Get the paddles.”

Kit watched as the nurses and doctor worked over Ms. Dempsey. She’d been on her share of crash teams, but she’d never just watched and done nothing as a patient started to code right in front of her. They were paging a code blue, starting CPR, and everything in her screamed that she should be helping. She should be doing something. She should be moving, or speaking, or reading charts and screens and percentages. Something. Anything.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she was allowed. She had no idea what the rules were about jumping on a code in a hospital that wasn’t yours. She’d never had to. She’d never talked to Hotch about anything like that. Her job was with the BAU, only assisting on cases that were medical.

This case was medical, but where was the line?

“The test run is over,” Reid said, swallowing hard and heading out of the room.

He jarred her from her thoughts, and her eyes went to follow him as he walked out.

JJ followed immediately, but Kit stood there for a few extra moments before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned away from Reid’s receding frame, looking up to see Hotch. His eyes held the same soft kindness they always did, and he gestured over his shoulder wordlessly.

Kit took one last look at Lynn Dempsey, the doctor and nurses performing CPR on her lifeless body, before turning and following Hotch out of the hospital room.

Kit tried not to think of Lynn Dempsey as a patient dying in a hospital. She tried to think of Lynn Dempsey as a person outside of oxygen masks and heart monitors and charge paddles.

It wasn’t helping that they went back to the police station, where the profilers sifted through her life in an attempt to see if she was a murderer.

“Lynn Dempsey was an executive assistant. She has no expertise with chemicals. She doesn't fit the profile of the unsub,” Gideon said, leafing through some of Dempsey’s information.

Morgan didn’t quite agree. “But the CDC found both LSD and rohypnol in the candy she was replacing at the bank.”

“She must have been an accomplice,” Hotch said, “and when the unsub finished using her to further his attack, he killed her with botulism.”

“So, what does that tell us about the unsub?” Gideon said, finally looking up and around at the team.

Reid leaned forward on the desk, furthest away from them all. “He's far more sophisticated than we realized,” he offered.

Elle was getting frustrated, and she looked at Reid as if she was lost.

“Why is that?”

Reid looked as if he was going to respond, but suddenly cleared his throat in a way that made Kit’s eyebrows pull together. It sounded to her like he was trying not to cough, a small bit of anxiety rolling off of him as she connected the dots.

“The botulism toxin is the deadliest substance known to man,” she said, biding time and giving every bit of information she knew about what exactly the toxin was. Maybe it would help somehow. If anything, it would buy Reid some time. “It blocks acetylcholine receptors, paralyzing the body until it’s essentially choked death.” She looked around, watching as all eyes were on her. Reid had gotten himself back under control, and she gave a small shrug before she ended her spiel. “Without an antitoxin, a lethal dose will kill you in thirty six hours.”

The quiet that followed her information was nearly choking to Kit herself, and she could feel the variety of reactions to her speaking up. Morgan was surprised, but that was all. There was nothing hostile there. Hotch and Elle were processing and spinning again, trying to connect it all together. Gideon was either annoyed or unimpressed, neither of which made her feel any better.

But Reid was grateful, which helped.

“How many people have access to this stuff?” Elle asked seriously, looking at Kit with anticipation.

“I don't know,” Kit said, and she turned her eyes to Reid.

“In New Jersey, quite a few,” he said, “It's the pharmaceutical and chemical capital of the U.S., so that the toxin can be ordered in the form of botox through any chemical or biological lab or botox clinic. It has to be purified, but any chemist or lab assistant has that capability.”

“So, we're looking for chemists and sophisticated lab assistants?” Elle asked.

Reid nodded. “Basically.”

Morgan spoke up from the side of their group. He was the closest to Kit, and she was thankful that he had taken station there. While she tried to stay one step away and isolate, taking as infrequently as she could, it was reassuring that Morgan would choose that spot and keep her in the loop.

“Okay, wait a minute. If the unsub is a chemist with access to the toxin, what'd he need Dempsey for?”

“Well, we don't know yet,” Gideon said, “But, she worked for a, she worked for a company, called, uh,” he started rifling through the papers, “Hitchcock Pharmaceuticals. I think there's a good chance the unsub worked there, too.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, let's start with people who fit the profile who've had a recent stressor.”

Morgan called Garcia, and she found them some names to work with. Kit tried to pay attention, but Reid had settled himself down in one of the desks again, fingers trembling slightly, but nothing else giving him away.

While the team spoke she found herself walking to make another cup of tea, eyes darting to her backpack as she steeped the bag. She retrieved what she was looking for quickly, the honey stick having been tucked in there by Monty as a “just in case” item. Kit had laughed at her then, but she was glad for it now.

When she came back and set the tea down next to Reid, making sure the rest of the team was distracted by the case, Elle was saying, “All those innocent people at the bank.”

Gideon didn’t seem concerned, and that bothered Kit to no end.

“They meant nothing to him. He'll take out anybody to forward his cause.”

There was a moment that Kit wasn’t in the precinct anymore. She was at the hospital, watching Lynn Dempsey die before her very eyes. Her chest constricted, like she was being squeezed in the grasp of a snake. Grieving a woman she had never known.

“Like Dempsey,” she said.

Gideon didn’t seem to feel the weight of her comment the way she did, continuing on as if she’d barely spoken.

“Like Dempsey, and eventually, even himself. Until he finishes taking out his primary targets.”

“We have no idea where he's going to strike next,” Morgan said, expressing the frustration we all had, “For all we know, he could poison the local reservoir.”

“Elle, the local cops haven't gotten any leads out of Dempsey. Why don't you go to Hitchcock and see if you have any luck,” Hotch said, causing Elle to perk up a bit.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and moving out of her seat.

-----

“This is my job!”

Kit was not yelling. She was speaking to Hotchner with a whole lot of heat, hands clenched by her sides so they wouldn’t tap. Wouldn’t tug. Wouldn’t give away how frustrated she was.

“Colghain, this is going to end in arrest, or suicide. You aren’t needed on this takedown, the profile doesn’t state that he will do anything to hurt anyone but himself.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” she said, “What if the profile is wrong and something happens.”

“The profile isn’t wrong,” came a voice over her shoulder.

Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Gideon was not going to make her lose her cool. Not like in Delaware. She was having a conversation with Hotch, and Gideon could think anything he wanted, but she would ignore him if it meant keeping her words and tone relatively professional.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you.”

She meant it, and Hotch knew that. She knew he could see it in her. He was the best profiler of them all.

“Nothing is going to happen. I appreciate your dedication to your position, but this is my decision. We’ll have local SWAT with us, and we’re going in last. This will end in an arrest or a suicide.”

Hotch spoke as if to say “and that’s final” once he was done. His tone wasn’t demanding or forceful, but she knew he wasn’t going to give in.

Her shoulders finally relaxed, one hand coming up to rub at her opposite bicep.

“Please be careful,” she said finally, to which Hotch nodded.

“We will. I’d like you to check in with Reid. He’s looking… off.”

“I already did,” she said simply, full intention to keep her promise. “He’s okay. Said he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Hotch didn’t look convinced, but let that be her answer without more pushing.

“Alright, well, maybe check again. He won’t ask for help.”

“Don’t you have an unsub to go face without me?” She said, and though she was still frustrated, she allowed herself to push it down with the other emotions, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, turning on his heel and setting off down the hall.

Kit took a moment to breathe before she turned back to the precinct. Gideon wasn’t standing behind her. She had no idea where he’d gone, actually.

Wonderful. He wants to be confrontational and Hotch isn’t here anymore. He didn’t let you go on the takedown. Did Gideon get to him? Does he not think I’m capable?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Cac!” Kit jumped, turning towards the slightly flushed assailant behind her. “Reid! That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, voice nasal.

She tilted her head, pulling her eyebrows together as she thought about his question. It felt vaguely familiar.

“What?”

“What does that mean? You spoke Gaelic.”

“Oh,” she said, smoothing out her pants that were not wrinkled, and ignoring the fact that her tongue itched to correct him. Her parents called it Irish, and most people called it Gaelic, but she wasn’t going to get into linguistical nuances with Reid. “I don’t know what I said. You scared me, I reacted.”

“Cac.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, jaw dropping slightly. “What?”

“Cac, that’s what you said. You said ca-”

“Stop!” She all but yelled, her hands coming up in front of her as if to physically stop him from talking. “Okay, yes. I got it. That’s what I said. Please stop saying it.”

He looked confused by her outburst, sheepish even. “Tell me what it means.”

“It’s…” She trailed off, feeling the embarrassment creep across her face. “It’s rude. It’s a rude word.”

“Like a swear word?”

“No, a rude word. Like, that a child would say.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it’s a… bathroom word?”

Kit watched as Reid’s face morphed into a smirk. Was he teasing her? Reid could tease? She hadn’t been involved in any kind of situation that would warrant Reid teasing her. Was he being friendly?

Don’t think too hard about it. He’s Gideon’s protégé, and Gideon doesn’t like you.

“No more questions!” She snapped quickly, turning back into the precinct and stalking as far away as she could. Maybe she could find JJ and be of use somewhere with no Reid and no Gideon until the others got back.

-----

“He let us take him,” Hotch said. “He didn't kill himself. Doesn't fit the profile of a workplace killer.”

He, Gideon, Reid, and Kit were standing in the viewing portion of the interrogation room, the four of them staring through the glass at Hill. Kit hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Hotch why exactly she was needed. She figured Elle or Morgan would have been a much more appropriate choice.

“Sometimes you miss the mark,” Gideon said, hands pressed firmly on the top of the room’s table. “Let's be glad we did. He's our best chance at stopping the next attack.”

“Well, his lab had traces of botulinum toxin, but no clues as to what he's up to next,” Hanover said, walking in the room to stand near Gideon. He sounded listless, and Kit could feel the shift in the room when he entered. He was in over his head and he knew it.

Hotch didn’t look towards him, instead staying trained on Hill. “Our only chance is to make him tell us.”

Hanover didn’t seem convinced. “You think he will?”

“Once caught, these types usually do. They want the whole world to know about their brilliant plan to destroy their enemies,” Reid offered him, not sounding very impressed by Hill’s archetype.

“In case he doesn't give it up, let's play every angle,” Gideon said, angling his body away from where Kit stood at the wall. He wasn’t talking to her, that much was very clear. “We need to re-examine everything we know about this guy.”

Reid shifted on his feet, pressing his hands into his pockets. “I'll check witness reports, forensic evidence, anything that might be a clue to this guy's plan.”

Gideon nodded as Reid turned to him for approval. “A lot of lives could be at stake,” he said softly.

“I can help you,” Kit offered, keeping her voice level. She wanted to check her notebook for Reid’s medicinal distribution times more than she thought she would be helpful with his paperwork search, but she didn’t want to be in the room with Gideon anymore, and she wasn’t really doing anything just standing around.

“No,” Hotch said, now looking away from Hill and towards her isolated spot. “Colghain, I want you here while Gideon and I speak with Hill. Watch from this side of the glass. I’ll need your input when we’re done.”

“Hotch-”

“Sir-”

Gideon and Kit went to speak at the same time, causing Reid’s eyes to widen. He took his leave from the room quickly, and Hotch raised a hand to stop both Kit and Gideon before they could continue their grievance.

“Colghain will stay here and listen in while we interview Hill. Watch him closely.”

Kit hadn’t even been able to look at Hill during their short time on their side of the glass. He was a killer, and to her knowledge, she’d never been in the presence of one before. How one person could feel they were above so many others, that their feelings and their lives were more important, was lost to her, and she had no desire to look at him at all. Let alone watch him for the duration of his interview.

The room suddenly felt very cramped, though they had lost both Reid and Hanover in the moments of situational discomfort. Hotch’s eyes darted between Kit and Gideon, narrowing slightly as the physical tension in the far-too-small space between the two.

“Colghain,” Hotch said again, now gaining her attention more fully. “I want you at the window. Feel him out.”

She took a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, not able to get deep enough to make the feelings of discomfort go away. Her head nodded of its own accord, and her feet seemed to follow suit, moving towards the window and finally looking at the man sat there.

He wasn’t much. Not remarkable. He looked like a dad she would have seen at afternoon pick-up in grade school.

But he isn’t a dad at school, Kody. This man hurt people. Killed two of them, and was trying to kill others. He was using drugs and toxins to harm people. What sort of sick person could do that? Not much of a person at all.

The hatred sat like a weight in her gut, and while it was obvious Hotch and Gideon had no benevolent feelings for Hill, it didn’t belong to either of them. It was all her own.

Her eyes narrowed through the glass, and she took a breath.

“Okay. Yes, sir,” she said. She heard even footsteps pad out the doorway. Her eyes didn’t move from Hill as she continued mumbling, now directly to Hill though the glass, even though he couldn’t hear her. “Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú.”

“What did you say to him?”

Gideon.

“Sorry?” Kit said, eyes never moving from the window. She’d thought Gideon had left as well and was following Hotch, not staying behind to watch her.

“What did you say? To Hill.”

She took a breath and turned, eyes narrowing at the older man in front of her. He didn’t want her there anyway, she might as well tell him.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú,” she said, now louder. Each word was enunciated clearly, eyes not moving from Gideon’s. If he wanted to know, she’d tell him. “It’s something my Gran used to say to people with tattoos after she came to America.”

“And what does it mean?” He asked, mouth in a hard line, eyes searching her for an answer.

“May the devil choke you,” she said simply, voice never wavering.

There was a moment of silence between them. Kit didn’t shift. She didn’t fidget or rock her weight. She didn’t move her eyes from his.

“Where’s yours?” He finally asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes never becoming less severe as she tried to gauge his question.

“My what?”

“Your tattoo? Where is it?”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. She hated the way Gideon felt so smug. How it seemed to circle in the air and choke her.

“There it is,” he said, not waiting any longer for her answer.

“There what is?” she responded, not able to keep the bite from her tone.

“Trouble,” he said simply. His eyes never left hers.

For a moment she considered pushing. Considered defending herself, and telling him that she wasn’t trouble. That she was doing her job, and that he should just let her be.

She didn’t get the chance, though, as he turned on his heel and followed where Hotch had left the room.

Kit stood, staring at the spot Gideon had just been for a long while before she heard Hotch’s voice through the speaker.

She turned back to the glass, watching now as Hotch and Gideon spoke to Hill. She took in his facial expressions. His body language. The feel of his emotions, though it wasn’t easy through the glass.

She did her job.

When they finished and reentered the room Kit was in, Hotch stood next to her, looking in at Hill.

“I called JJ. She, Morgan, and Elle are headed to the party now.”

Kit nodded once, eyes still searching Hill as he sat across the glass.

“What did you notice?”

She took a breath, calmer now that Hotch was there, and that she’d had something productive to focus on. “He’s really… sweaty. That probably sounds stupid, but it’s strange to me. He didn’t give me a feeling of regret. He seemed sure of his decision, I guess, until you started to talk about taking his case. Then less sure, but he was sweating before that.” She waited for him to stop her, but he didn’t, so she continued. “He started fidgeting a lot there at the end. I don’t think it was guilt though. More like… discomfort. Like there was something else bothering him other than the two of you doing your interrogation.”

Hotch nodded, turning to look at her now. “He was sweating before we started?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m sure of it. That’s one of the things I look for when I’m watching for patients in distress.”

The three agents watched Hill for another minute before Hotch spoke to Gideon, saying, “What is it?”

“You're right,” Gideon said, “It doesn't make sense. Why didn't Hill take his own life when we had him surrounded?”

“Guys, I think we have a problem.”

Reid walked into the room as he spoke at a brisk pace, all sense that there was something wrong with his health pushed aside by his serious demeanor. “I've been looking over the victim reports. One of the victims that was originally dosed was severely diabetic.”

Kit’s eyes went wide, though Hotch didn’t seem to see the issue.

“And?” He asked.

“He wouldn't have taken any candy from the bowl at the bank,” Kit said, eyes flicking to her, and then back to Reid.

He nodded at her and said, “All of the victims were there. We know that, but how were they poisoned? I started looking at the security footage.”

He turned the laptop he was holding. On the screen was the film from the bank, in which Lynn Dempsey was meddling with the candy bowl.

“We know Lynn Dempsey replaced some candy from the bowl. Look how close that jar is to the deposit envelopes. Now, watch this.” He clicked a button, and the film zoomed in to show Lynn Dempsey’s hand on top of the stack of envelopes, right next to the candy bowl. “See that? Her hand is directly in the stack of envelopes.”

“So, you think the envelopes were poisoned as well as the candy?” Hotch asked. Kit took a step closer, eyes looking carefully at the picture.

Reid continued. “As Lynn Dempsey was dying, she kept saying something like "the end, the end." I think that what she was saying was "the envelopes." I mean, what was Hill actually testing? The rohypnol? The LSD?”

Gideon took a moment before saying, “The delivery system.”

“Exactly,” Reid said, “Botulinum toxin and LSD are the only two substances in the world toxic enough to be effective in doses as small as thousandths of a gram. Small enough to fit on the glue strip of an envelope.”

Kit found herself nodding, though no one was looking at her. She might have added more to Spencer’s finding, but Gideon’s words from earlier stopped her.

Trouble.

She wouldn’t prove him right.

“But, the CDC didn't find any evidence of poison on the envelopes,” Hotch said, face slightly scrunched in confusion. Grasping at straws, just like they all were.

“They wouldn't have. The envelopes were destroyed after the checks were deposited and processed,” Spencer explained. He started to sound a bit hoarse now, and Kit shifted her weight in sympathy of his discomfort.

“So,” Hotch said, clearly needing to process out loud at the speed he took his words. “like the rohypnol, Hill was using the candy to throw us off. To cover his tracks. To distract us from the fact that he was testing the envelopes.”

Reid was still working it over as well. “What I can't figure out is why would he poison the envelopes to test the punch?”

“Because the punch is a decoy just like the candy,” Hotch offered.

Kit turned to look at Hill. There was something they were missing. Something right there, but they just couldn't see it.

What could he still be hiding?

She watched for a moment as he started to go a bit red, Hill’s breathing seeming strained. She heard Gideon speak behind her.

“He's not finished.”

She felt her jaw go slack as she realized what was happening. Hill was choking. He’d dosed himself with the botulism toxin before he could be captured. That was why he didn’t kill himself. He’d already done it. He was dying.

He’s dying.

“Hotch!” She yelled, moving quickly out the door of the room and around the side. She was pretty sure she didn’t have the clearance to be doing whatever she was about to do, but she didn’t really care.

She heard Hotch call, “Gideon!” behind her, but she didn’t stop.

She threw the door open, pulling desperately at the chair Hill was sitting in. The chair was heavy, and with Hill sitting on it she struggled.

Hotch came up behind her, helping pull the chair out.

“Get him down on the floor!” She called. She could feel Gideon behind her, trying to move into her space and take control.

“Get his head back!”

“Shut up!” She yelled, pulling at Hill’s arms to release the hold he had on himself as the toxin paralyzed his diaphragm.

It only took a few seconds before Hill stopped breathing, tongue going slack inside his mouth as his life ended before their eyes.

“He's dead,” Hotch said simply.

Gideon was quick to respond. “He killed himself before we even got to him.”

Kit stood to her feet, slamming her hand onto the table, “Damn it!” She yelled, rounding on Gideon. “What the hell is wrong with you?! What the hell-” she slammed her hand on the table again, “-do you think I’m doing here?!”

“Colghain-” Hotch started, but Kit was already making her way out the door.

“I’m calling EMS!” She yelled angrily over her shoulder, pushing past a dumbfounded Reid standing in the hallway, and leaving all three agents in her wake.

Kit was pacing in the hallway once she finished the call. She expected Hotch to reprimand her, or Gideon to be angry with her. Reid hadn’t even said anything, though by the look of him after his revelation about Lynn Dempsey, he was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try to unpack what had happened.

She considered trying to help him some more. Pump him full of cold medicine and send him to bed. She didn’t. She just continued to pace, infuriated by the way Gideon had tried to take over. He had no respect for her, that much was clear.

Why am I even here? Why am I here with these people who think I’m a joke? Who have no respect for my job or for me? They don’t care about what I’m doing or who I am. They’re stiffs. They’re all stiffs.

“Colghain, come on.”

She looked up to see Gideon and Reid already setting off down the hallway, Hotch in their wake. Gideon’s body language suggested he was frustrated, but Kit genuinely couldn’t have cared less.

“The victims need to ingest the anti-toxin within four hours of the time they were poisoned,” Reid was saying.

Kit caught up to Hotch, right at his heels. They were moving in a way that suggested action, and she couldn’t pace and fume in the hallway anymore.

“You found the real targets?”

“They’re in the woods.”

“Do we know where in the woods?”

The SUV flew down the highway, and when they got there they were out of their seats in seconds. The four of them vaulted the wall between the car and the campsite, and Kit only slowed when she saw Reid nearly topple over. Was he dizzy? She’d have to check later.

They got to the officers waiting there out of breath, but entirely focused. Nothing but the victims mattered.

“These guys are in bad shape and getting worse by the minute,” the officer that greeted them said.

Hotch almost didn’t let the officer finish before he was asking, “Who's the sickest?”

“That one over there,” the man said.

Gideon didn’t let the officer finish before he was already yelling. “Medic!”

“He’s having trouble breathing. Hyperventilating, I think,” the officer continued, and they moved quickly.

“What time did he lick the envelopes?” Reid asked, just behind where Kit was walking. Gideon and Hotch were already near the man that was sweating heavily, his breaths wheezing with exertion.

“They said around 12:30,” the officer assured.

Kit let out a breath. They had time. They would be okay.

She came upon them as Gideon was starting to speak to the man. His tone was gentle and understanding. Not at all anything like he’d ever used towards her.

The tone she associated with him was scathing. Questioning. When he spoke to the victim, she could have confused him with one of her clinic nurses.

“I’m a federal agent. You're going to be fine. This is gonna make you feel a hundred percent. Relax and breathe. You're gonna be fine.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice weak, but the panic flooding off of him reduced to worry.

Kit moved to another one of the executives, speaking softly and assuringly as they were administered the antitoxin. She wished she could be of more help, but the EMS workers had it covered. That was their job. At that moment, she was a federal agent. Just like Gideon.

She settled in the seat across from Morgan on the jet. He put on his headphones and crashed almost immediately, and Kit envied his ability to sleep so easily.

Her mind kept drifting to Hill. To the way he died on the floor of the interrogation room. To Gideon trying to get in her way, or take her job as she attempted to help the dying man. To the way she’d yelled at him.

Ari and Monty would never believe it if she told them she’d lost her temper that way. Monty was their spitfire, at least at work. In the clinic there wasn’t a cooler head than Kit’s. But something about the way Gideon treated not only her, but those all around him, bothered her deep in her gut. She watched as he was gentle with Reid, and people he didn’t know, but never with other members of the team.

Now, she figured he probably didn’t tell everyone else they were trouble. She was trouble. Just her.

Her hands moved to help tuck her legs under her, brushing gently on the tattoo just higher than her ankle. A sprig of holly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

She waited a moment before pulling her backpack onto the seat with her. She grabbed the blue pills from where she’d purposefully stashed them that morning, and then sat up taller, leaning over the back of her seat to where Reid had all but thrown himself.

Gideon was sleeping across from him, but she could see that their youngest wasn’t asleep at all.

“Reid,” she said quietly.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Um, yes?” His voice was rough again, sounding almost congested.

“Here. Before Hotch finishes making his coffee.” She passed over the pills and a bottle of water she’d snagged from the nurses station at the hospital the day before. She’d saved it for this exact purpose.

Reid looked surprised for a moment before sitting up, sniffling before accepting the offering. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning back to sit in her seat correctly without another word.

She wasn’t mad at Reid. She was mad at Gideon. He made her feel small, and unimportant, and stupid. That wasn��t Reid’s fault.

But Gideon was Reid’s mentor, and she had no room in her emotional baggage to be friends with the pseudo son of her antagonizer.

She scratched down the medication in her notebook before shoving it back into place in her bag. A moment passed before she heaved a sigh, glancing to Morgan and pulling out her own iPod. It wasn’t a long flight. Soon she would be back in her apartment, maybe even before Ari left for the day, and she could process about Gideon. She could process about Reid. She could process about Lynn Dempsey, coding in her hospital bed. She could process about Hill dying on the floor, right in front of her.

-----

Kit got to the metro station in record time. The redline had only three minutes until it was supposed to pick up for the night, and Kit pulled her coat tighter around herself. She’d left quickly, only going up to the sixth floor to grab her thermos from two mornings before. She’d wash it before she was due to be in the BAU the next morning, and Hotch had even told them they could have a soft start, since they got in so late.

She was wondering if she should have given Reid the nighttime version of the medication she offered. She didn’t really think about him having to drive home, and drowsy was probably not the best choice for driving across DC on a Tuesday night.

“Do you have any more water?”

“Cac!”

Kit spun around, hands at the ready, only to find Reid standing two feet behind her. His eyes were wide, nose bright red, and fever flush covering his cheeks.

“Reid! What the hell!”

“I thought you said that was a rude word,” he rasped. No one had really spoken after they got off the jet, and Reid definitely sounded worse for wear.

“What?” She said, eyes narrowing. “It is. What are you doing here?”

A wave of confusion came off of him at that. “Um, what do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the metro tracks. “What are you doing here at my metro stop?” She scoffed quietly, not letting him have the chance to lie to her. “You can tell Gideon that I take the metro just like any other person. Monty and Ari and I share a car, and normally I’m leaving the office before eleven. You don’t have to, like, spy on me.”

She watched as his eyebrows hit his hairline. He was confused, but she didn’t care. She was tired and her emotions were starting to creep back up on her. She wasn’t going to meltdown on the metro, and she was not going to meltdown in front of Reid.

Not after what he’d already seen.

“You… what?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she continued. Thankfully, the metro pulled up at that moment. She stepped onto the train and turned to face him again, gesturing to his general being. “Also, you look terrible. Don’t come in to work tomorrow.”

“Wait, no, Dakota-”

“Stop.” She said, putting every bit of force into her words, but making sure she didn’t sound aggravated enough for someone around them to try and jump in. The last thing she needed was a good samaritan to misunderstand their situation. “Just stop. Goodnight, Reid.”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before Kit moved away from the door and took a seat. She put her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

She didn’t notice him step through a door farther down, sinking into his own train seat, fevered forehead pressed against the cold redline glass as the train pulled away from the now empty stop.

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Second Child Restless Child #SCRC #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gaelic/irish #OC #female OC #Can anyone tell I hate Jason Gideon?#1x13 Poison #gap fill #TW illness #TW hospitals #tw minor character death #it's that one lady

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talesfromthegameff14 · 4 years

Text

Closing In

The trip back from the Dorel’s wasn’t a quick one, Aya choosing to wander the labyrinthine paths of the Goblet before heading back to the confines of family. The decision wasn’t a conscious one, heart and mind automatically shying away from it. As he told Arha, sometimes home was the mouth of a shark.

He never thought he’d agree with her, one more point in favor of never saying never. How did a dream turn so suffocating so quickly? Was it because one dream was given up over another? Was he wanting too much? Or, was it not enough?

“Is that something you chase, being a legend?"

"Any pirate, sea or sky, who doesn't want to be a legend is entirely lacking in ambition.”

Brem’s words caused him pause, part of the reason he left so soon after that enlightening moment, paired with the wide grin that suited her so well. Ambition was not something Aya lacked, if anything he had too much. A point Doma beat into his mind and body over and over in the years he fought there. And now? Ambition was set aside in favor of love and family. Things he’s craved since the boy watched what a family should be from the shadows in the Uyagir caves.

The warmth of the air was welcome, his thoughts chilling him to the metaphorical bones. As usual for him while he was working something out, Aya let his feet take him where they would, walking under the shadow of the tall towers, past the steaming pools of water, and down a familiar set of stairs. The sands were quiet, cleaned up and raked smooth in preparation for the games. Habit had him checking on the installed shield generators needed for the next group of fights even as his thoughts wandered.

Mouth of a shark... He’s heard it said too often, a phrase that the Coeurl seemed to prefer, it fit the tribe. To say something hurt wasn’t enough, it had to be poetic, flowery not unlike snippets of poetry hidden in conversation. A convention that Aya was slowly coming to understand. How else to describe a place that had equal odds of being warm and comforting or making him bleed once the threshold was crossed? How else to describe a place that was both a safe haven and a place to watch your tongue, to be guarded, wary?

Say the wrong thing and silver rimmed gold eyes turned away to hide the disappointment. Reach for too much and hate and revulsion would scream across every nerve. Try to care and risk get denounced and shoved away. Trust and risk having the hand you were reaching to help shove you away instead. Offer love and have it forgotten and dismissed time and time again. Is this what family was? A constant scramble to protect oneself with moments of sublime sweetness scattered among it just enough to make one want to keep trying?

“I could find this in the caves, or in Doma.”, he said out loud to no one in particular as the shadows swept over the sands, now imperfect from his footprints that crossed over towards the wall that nominally protected the fighters, and the Games Master, from being tossed off the cliff below. The truth of that statement rung through his veins, the sharpness of the realization leaving more hidden wounds that he could ill afford to take. Frustration mounted as his eyes glazed over with unshed tears. The growl that follows is paired with two fists crashing down on the stone railing before he draws the back of one hand across his eyes.

Too soft, your worse than your father!

Go back to the caves, that’s where weaklings belong.

Only sissy’s cry.

Nhamah must be punishing me for giving me such a feeble brother!

Look at him, so frail that he’s crying after a simple beating!

Words from his past echoed in his horns, seeming to ride on the hot, desert wind that traveled up from the canyons below. Was that what this all was? Weakness again? Settling for the safety of family while playing at doing something good by hunting the Void with the Pack? Even leading again felt like a lie, she’d take it back when she dealt with Arden. If Zareen dealt with him, if the others would trust. He scoffed at her words that he was going to tear the family apart, but? Isn’t he doing that to his own? He swore he’d never cause either of the men he loved so much pain that they’d look at him with hate in their eyes. Not like...

But, that’s exactly what he did.

You aren’t my Pappo!

His shoulders slump, the xaela looking defeated when that memory is swirled around him on the wind. It doesn’t last long despite the despair and self hatred bubbling up like lava. Fire, the cleansing fires of rage were right on hopelessness’ heels, seering away the morass and leaving a type of clarity behind. There was something else on the wind, but it was drowned out by the wordless roar of defiance that echoed into the emptiness. Chest heaving from emotion, Aya stares out into nothing, standing in silence until he snarls to himself. “I am not weak. I will take what I want, all of it. If they hate me for it?” He snorts softly, “It’s nothing new is it?” [Brem owned by @eyesofsteelandsky ]

#shadows #OC stories #ffxiv rp #mateus rp #ayanga uyagir #also Khenbish

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stars-and-branches · 4 years

Text

Fun stuff to do while self-isolating

Websites:

1. Flight Rising - A cute dragon breeding browser game, good for 15-30 minutes of entertainment.

2. Kiss Anime, Kiss Cartoon, Kiss Comics - Free anime, cartoons and comics available for binging. USE AD BLOCK and antivirus when browsing through these websites, otherwise, pop-ups and ads will be unbearable. No links provided because these websites change domains and URLs often.

3. TV Tropes - I can get lost on this website for hours reading about the tropes and plot points my favorite media use. I recommend this especially for writers or people interested in fiction.

4. Bored Button - Randomly sends you to interactive websites, great for relieving a couple of minutes or to laugh at something silly, like a website that allows you to slap Captain Kirk.

5. Archive of Our Own and Fanfiction.net - These are the giants of the fanfiction writing community and are home to a vast collection of stories about your favorite characters.

6. Goodreads - This is a good place to go to find book recommendations, make lists of what you want to read, and keep track of reading goals.

Youtube Channels:

1. Jessica Kellgren-Fozard - A 50s aesthetic combined with educational videos about disability. Jessica has a lovely personality and has served as a well-loved voice of the spoonie community.

2. Acoustic Trench - Videos of Acoustic music featuring a golden retriever, what’s not to like?

3. Rare Earth - This channel explores the lesser-known stories of people all around the world.

4. Simone Giertz - She builds robots that don’t work and has a lovely personality!

5. Mike Boyd - He constantly works on learning new skills and uploads his journey on his channel.

6. ElleOfTheMills - Elle Mills makes vlogs about her life. The videos are so high quality that watching them is like watching a movie.

7. Crash Course - They don’t need an introduction but this channel is good to watch while in isolation, both to learn something new and for students to keep up with their studies.

Videogames:

1. Stardew Valley - This is probably one of my favorite games. You get to run a small farm, befriend the townsfolk, and explore the many secrets in the game. Relationships in this game are lgbtq+ friendly! This game is available on most platforms and is relatively inexpensive at $10.

2. Outer Worlds - This game is brought to you by the studio that made Fallout: New Vegas. This game is beautiful and has a complex interesting storyline. All of the companion characters are well written and likable (One of which is an ace lesbian!). This game is available on the PC, Playstation, and X Box. It’s more expensive than the previous game on this list but it more than deserves the triple-A price tag of $59.99

3. Night in the Woods - This game is much more story-based than the other games on this list. The plot is wonderful and grapples with issues of mental illness and young adulthood. The price sits somewhere in the middle of #1 and #2 in this list at $19.99 and is available on PC, Mac, Linux, and Playstation 4.

4. Undertale - This is one of those games that needs no introduction. It’s a quirky pixel RPG with moral choices that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Undertale costs around $10 and is available on the Nintendo Switch, PC, and Playstation 4

5. Runescape - This is one of the oldest MMORPGs out on the market and is free to play. Runescape has an engaging crafting system and a wide variety of fun quests. While it is free to play Runescape suffers from some pay to win elements. This game is available on the PC and is in the early access phases of becoming a mobile app.

6. Albion Online - Albion Online is a large MMORPG with its strengths in its large scale PvP battles, combat system, and crafting system. This game is free to play with an optional subscription.

Mobile Apps:

1. Amino - This is a lesser-known social media app home to thousands of online communities. Fandoms, hobbies, roleplaying, and various other interests dominate the content here.

2. Animal Crossing Pocket Camp - This is a small, cutesy animal crossing game, enough to tide everyone over until new horizons releases on the 20th.

3. The Arcana - A tarot themed dating sim! Lgbtq+ friendly and filled with beautiful art. The characters are well written and the plot is filled with intrigue.

Podcasts:

1. Welcome to Night Vale - I can’t say too much about this one without spoiling it, this podcast is best listened to without knowing what to expect.

2. The Adventure Zone - A D&D podcast hosted by the Mcelroys, full of witty characters and funny moments.

3. Duolingo - Available in Spanish and French these podcasts are perfect for practicing your target language without leaving home.

Activities:

1. Bake

2. Start a project you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t had the time to do.

3. Draw, paint, etc.

4. Start a diy craft

5. Cook

6. Do some spring cleaning!

7. Read

8. Go on social media

9. Binge shows/movies on your streaming service of choice.

10. Start a garden

11. Pick and press flowers

12. Spend time with your pets (if you have any)

13. Call/text loved ones.

14. Color in an adult coloring book.

15. Pick up a new hobby.

16. Journal

Feel free to comment/reblog with more suggestions!

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carlesmeislife · 5 years

Text

Esme Cullens Biography: Redone

@escullen and myself have worked together to rewrite Esme’s biography from the twilight wiki to better fit our collective headcannon. We worked to create a biography that is much more compelling to read and brings some fans a much more detailed bio.

I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

We both hope you enjoy it.

Thank you.

p.s. - thanks for all your help jordann

Rewriting Esme Biography from the Twilight Wiki page.

Authors Note/Trigger Warning: This version is made of many headcanons, and is not PG or sugar coated like the original.

HUMAN LIFE

Esme Anne Platt was born in the early hours of January 1, 1895. She grew up on a 100 acre farm on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio, where she had a very normal childhood. As a teenager, her playful, mischievous nature often got her into trouble. In the summer of 1911, At the age of 16, she fell out of a tree, while attempting to draw the roof of the family barn, and broke her leg. Her parents were upset with her childish behavior, scolding her, as they took her to the hospital. Since the local doctor was out of town, she was treated by Dr. Carlisle Cullen. He treated her so kindly, and talked with her, showing interest in her intelligence and personality, encouraging her to pursue her dream. He moved out of town not long after that, but Esme never forgot the kind doctor with whom she had gotten along with so well. Initially wanting to move west to become a school teacher, she was pressured by her parents to stay and marry. In the autumn of 1917, At the age of 22, in an attempt to please her parents, she married Charles Evenson. He seemed to be a nice person in the beginning, but she soon realized that Charles was an abusive man. He often drank too much, was verbally, physically, and sexually abusive to her; slapping her, threatening her, insulting her. She pleaded her parents to let her come home, unable to stand the undeserved wrath of her husband, but Her family urged her to keep quiet about the abuse, and Esme had no choice but to endure it. Much to her relief, in January 1918 her husband was drafted during World War I, finally giving her some peace.

Esme enjoyed a happy period of time while Charles was away, but when Charles returned in January 1919, his abusive persona resurrected only a few weeks later. Despite the prohibition in place, Charles would obtain alcohol from boot-leggers, and he drank heavily, partly in an attempt to mask the horrors that haunted him from war. Esme always ended up paying the price. For months he abused her, injuring her severely, multiple times. Her blood marked several places in the house where she could not scrub it off. She began to think about running, and started saving bits of change to escape. Charles discovered the money, throwing it at her and in a drunken rage, beat Esme unconscious and raped her. Shortly after, Esme found out that she was pregnant. She didn’t want her child to grow up in such a dangerous environment. One day while Charles was at work, she packed a small bag, bought a train ticket, and ran away to live with her cousin in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Nearly in her fourth month of pregnancy, When Charles found her whereabouts, she fled again, this time to Ashland, and posed as a war widow. In order to support herself, she became a school teacher, temporarily fulfilling her childhood dream. The child was born in on January 19, 1921, only to die from lung fever 2 days later. Esme was heartbroken, and felt that she no longer had any reason to live, as she attempted suicide by jumping off a cliff, into the icy water. When she was found by two fishermen at the bottom of the cliff they took her to the local hospital. Her condition was so bad, that the medical staff didn't even attempt to revive her. She was immediately brought to the morgue, although her heart was still beating faintly. Dr. Cullen was working there at the time, and remembered her as the ever-so-happy young girl he treated 10 years earlier. Unable to believe that someone as vivacious and beautiful as she would meet such cruel fate, in a moments decision, out of fear of losing her, he decided to save her by changing her into a vampire. Her blood was so appealing to him that he nearly lost his control when he bit her a second time. He snuck her body out of the morgue and ran home with her in his arms, praying he hadn’t been too late. She was still for a short while until the venom caused Esme to regain consciousness. She was in excruciating pain but happy to see Carlisle again.

VAMPIRE LIFE

When Esme first awoke from her transformation she was disoriented. She recognized Carlisle’s voice and the other man he’d been speaking to while she was, what she assumed she’d been, asleep. The pain in her throat was nearly unbearable and the light streaming in from the window was almost too bright for her eyes. Her senses were overly sensitive- the sunlight was overwhelming, the noises of the forest just outside sounded too close, she could smell things she’d never smelled before. Carlisle explained what happened and that he turned her into a vampire in order to save her life. He assured her that she was safe now, and that neither him nor Edward would hurt her in any way. Much to his surprise, Esme was not upset with his act, and she accepted her new life much easier than Carlisle or Edward had. Although she did take some time to warm up to both men, and was battling with several mental illnesses in the first weeks and months. Esme and Carlisle fell in love over the first year that she adjusted to vampire life. He proposed to her on a chilly, windy night after they’d finished hunting. They were deep in the forest sitting alongside a stream that had become a favorite place of theirs. He hadn’t planned to propose that night but after watching her wade her feet in the water and happily skip rocks, he couldn’t stop himself. Before he knew what was happening, he was down on one knee in the middle of the water. They got married in the spring of 1922 after a short engagement. They honeymooned at a secluded cabin in the Canadian wilderness for two weeks. The real challenge for Esme in her early years was the blood lust, and she lost control of her thirst a few times. Though she hasn’t slipped up since the 60’s, she has killed twelve humans in her time as a vampire. In time, Rosalie and Emmett were transformed by Carlisle as well, and Alice and Jasper joined the family, becoming her surrogate children, though Esme has a special place in her heart for Edward, because he was the first of her adoptive children.

TWILIGHT - Esme first appears in Twilight when Edward takes Bella Swan to meet his family at their home outside of Forks. She and Carlisle are both warm and friendly towards Bella, and Esme welcomes her with open arms, acting as though she were already part of the family. This is due to her gratitude of the happiness Bella had brought to Edward. Knowing that her son had created a song inspired by his love for Bella, Esme asks Edward to play it for her on the piano, which he does. It is mentioned that he had already composed several pieces for Esme since she loves to hear him play.

The Cullens later invite Bella to play baseball with them, and she and Esme act as umpires. Before the game begins, Esme tells Bella a little about her human life and says that she is thankful that Edward and her have come to love, as he was her first and favorite adoptive child. She even stated that she had always worried that he would never find true love. When James's coven arrives, the Cullens try to pass Bella off as a vampire, but James catches her scent, and attempts to attack her. All the Cullens spring into action to protect Bella, much to the nomads' amazement. James' coven leaves and the Cullens return home, though James and Victoria have begun to hunt Bella. Esme swaps clothes with Bella, so that they could try to disguise her scent. Esme remains at home with Rosalie to protect Bella's father during her escape to Phoenix with Alice and Jasper.

Esme does not play a major role in the movie, and is seen only a few times. She first appears in the kitchen, preparing dinner with Carlisle, Emmett, and Rosalie, when Edward brings Bella to meet his family. Esme becomes increasingly excited once she realizes Bella has arrived (catching her scent, like the rest of the Cullens). She is seen again during the baseball match where she acts as umpire with Bella. When the nomads arrive and James attempts to attack Bella, the Cullen family spring into action and form a protective barrier between her and James' coven.

NEW MOON - Esme is seen briefly at Bella's eighteenth birthday which Alice organized; she shares an embrace with Bella and wishes her a happy birthday. Alice gives Bella a present from Esme and Carlisle, which is two plane tickets to Jacksonville to visit Renée. While opening her present, Bella cuts her finger on the wrapping paper and Jasper attempts to attack her. Edward shoves Bella out of the way to protect her, but she crashes into the table containing her birthday cake and a pile of plates which smash, and cuts her arms on the broken shards of china and glass.

Once Jasper is subdued, the rest of the Cullen family, with the exception of Carlisle, smell Bella's blood, and are suddenly ravenous. Emmett and Rosalie drag Jasper outside and Esme follows them, apologizing to Bella and deeply ashamed that she is tempted by the smell of her blood. Carlisle cleans and stitches up Bella's wounds and she leaves; in the living room, she passes Esme who is cleaning up the spilled blood.

When she and her family moved up North, she occupied herself with restoring a 17th century house in the forest north of the city of Ithaca.

Esme is not seen again until the end of the book, when she, Carlisle, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie go to pick Edward, Alice and Bella up from the airport after Bella and Alice prevented Edward from committing suicide. She is very grateful to Bella for having saved Edward's life, and makes her son promise never to scare her like that again. The next day, Bella asks the Cullens to vote on whether or not they are willing to turn her into a vampire and let her join their coven. Esme votes "yes", and says that she already considers Bella part of the family.

ECLIPSE - When a rogue vampire snuck into Bella's house to get her scent, Esme and her family allied with the Uley pack to watch Bella and Charlie.

Esme is present at Bella, Edward, and Alice's graduation, and the party held afterwards at their house. After realizing that someone is creating an army of newborn vampires to destroy the Cullens and get to Bella, and refused by the Denali coven's aid, Esme genuinely accepts the Uley pack's willingness to join forces with them, as Jasper is an expert on newborn vampires, and teaches them how to fight them. While watching Jasper and Esme train for the upcoming battle, Bella discriminates Esme's fighting skills as weaker, compared to the rest of her family. However, she does show enough skill to handle her own opponents.

In the movie, she first appears in the forest while chasing Victoria with her family and some of the wolves. During the battle, she can be seen fighting the newborns with Carlisle as her partner.

THE SHORT SECOND LIFE OF BREE TANNER - At the end of the battle, Esme and Carlisle find an intimidated newborn, Bree Tanner, and offer her asylum in exchange for surrender. She agrees immediately. When Jasper tells them that the Volturi are coming, and that their protection over the newborn will cause them more trouble, Esme and Carlisle insist that they should do their best to help the girl and manage to talk him into letting her live. However, despite their attempt, she is still executed by Felix on Jane's command.

BREAKING DAWN - At the beginning of Breaking Dawn, Esme is present at Bella and Edward's wedding, and helps Bella to change into her going-away outfit after the ceremony and reception party. As a wedding present, she allows the newlyweds to stay on Isle Esme, a small island off the coast of Rio de Janeiro that Carlisle presented her with years ago, for their honeymoon. She grows close to Bella's mother, Renée, before the wedding.

When Bella becomes pregnant, with her and Edward returning to Forks, Esme sides with Rosalie and Emmett to protect Bella and her baby because that is what Bella wants, something that also affects Carlisle. She was not as hovering as Rosalie was, but she was there for Bella the moment she needed anything. She is affectionate towards Jacob and his pack when they break away from Sam's pack to protect her daughter-in-law, and she and Carlisle especially are extremely grateful for their sacrifice. Esme provides Jacob and his pack with clean clothes and food, and offers to let them sleep in the beds in the Cullens' house, though most of them would decline.

After Bella gives birth to Renesmee, a human/vampire hybrid, Esme welcomes her granddaughter into the family with open arms and a fierce love, even caring for her while Bella is in the process of becoming a vampire.

In the first part of film, Esme gives a speech about Charlie and Renée, bringing their daughter into the world, and promises to cherish and protect her forever. While Renesmee is unborn, the pack prepares to attack them to prevent the baby from being born for fear of what the baby might be able to do. While the Cullens suffer starvation, Esme does her best to care for her family and Jacob's pack. She is able to stay well composed, as she is accustomed to starving herself; a result of her locking herself up for weeks after every slip up. As Bella's pregnancy nears its end, Esme accompanies Carlisle and Emmett in escaping the pack's observation. Esme gets caught and almost attacked by Brady Fuller and Collin Littlesea, but Emmett and Carlisle come to her rescue. They return in time to prevent the pack from killing the rest of their family, and then await Bella's conversion into a vampire. The birth of Renesmee and the success of Bella’s transformation breaks the tension between Esme and Carlisle, as they reconnect and bond over their granddaughter.

For Bella's nineteenth birthday, Esme and the rest of the Cullens give her and Edward a little cottage in the forest that they renovated. There is an extra room which Esme hadn't found a use for, which later became Renesmee's bedroom. She also gives Bella guidance about how to act human in order to prepare her for Charlie's confrontation.

Three months after Renesmee's birth, Irina mistakes her for an immortal child and reports this breach of vampire law to the Volturi. Esme is devastated when two of her children, Alice and Jasper, leave without notice, and is led to believe that they had abandoned them all. She and her family then gather a large number of vampire friends to be their witnesses, testifying that Renesmee is not an immortal child but a half-human, half-vampire hybrid. After a brief confrontation with the Volturi, Jasper and Alice return with another hybrid to prove their case, though they are able to prove that Renesmee is not dangerous, and the Italian vampires leave in peace. As their group celebrates their victory, Esme opens her arms to welcome Alice and Jasper back into her family. Once the threat has passed, the Cullens are able to return to their normal lives.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE - Physically, Esme is the oldest member in the Cullen family, being changed at the age of 26. She is 5’6’’ and is described to be extremely beautiful, to the extent where she reminded Bella of "the ingenues of the silent-movie era", and meeting her was like "meeting a fairy tale—Snow White, in the flesh": a heart-shaped face with a warm compassionate look, billows of soft caramel-colored hair, delicate eyebrows, and a small slender figure that was less angular and more rounded compared to the rest of her family as (she was changed not long after giving birth to her son. Her human eye color was brown. After her transformation, many of her blemishes, bruises, and scars faded, though several remained visible to the vampire eye as faint silver markings. They are mostly from her ex-husband, and one is from Carlisle where he bit her neck.

PERSONALITY & TRAITS - Being born on January 1, there were fireworks off in the distance in the celebration of the New Year. Her parents always told her that was were she got her colourful personality from. As a child Esme was a curious, adventurous, and bright young girl. Her father hunted and raised livestock, so she was never afraid to get her hands dirty by plucking a pigeon for dinner, or mucking out a stall. As long as she wasn’t the one who had to kill the animals. Once or twice during her preteen years, Esme let loose a few of her father’s captured animals. As an adult, Esme is an extremely warm, kind-hearted individual who is gifted with the ability to love the people around her passionately. She has always had strong maternal instincts, which is why she is able to open her heart so easily to her adoptive children and Bella. This is due to the death of her first and only child when he was only a few days old, during her human life. The trauma of this event, as well as the years of abuse from her ex-husband, left Esme with extreme PTSD, anxiety, depression, stress, trust issues, and thoughts of her suicide attempt for many years into her vampire life. She was quiet, shy, nervous, and heavily secluded herself for the first few weeks of her new life. She warmed up to Carlisle and Edward quickly enough when she felt safe in her environment. She had many triggers in her early years, some which have faded with time, and others she still cannot handle. Most remind her of her abusive human husband; these include: the smell of whiskey, heavy footfalls, work boots hitting the wooden floor, slamming doors, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor; a trigger that was born from the events of the night that her drunk husband raped her after knocking her unconscious. Carlisle and Edward both respectively stopped carrying coins after she had a panic attack caused by the sound.

She was extremely nervous about her wedding night with Carlisle, after the negative experiences she had in the bedroom as a human. But Carlisle was incredibly reassuring and gentle with her, trying his hardest to not trigger any memories. Carlisle’s own nervousness helped comfort her as well. It was the only thing that Esme felt she had the slight advantage due to having more sexual experience than Carlisle.

Esme is described as being as intelligent as her husband, and a very kind and gentle person. The people around her are genuinely drawn toward her gentle personality.

Esme is also very creative and artistic and enjoys renovating old properties. Throughout her years as a vampire, she has studied and earned degrees in architecture, art, and photography.

POWERS & ABILITIES - Upon her transformation, Esme did not develop any special talents like Edward's telepathy, Alice's ability to see the future or Jasper's ability to control emotions. However, her ability to show passionate love to the people around her was enhanced (as with all emotions after the transformation) and this has become her most prominent feature throughout the series.

Bella comments in Eclipse that Esme is not as skilled at fighting as Jasper, Edward or Alice. This is probably due to her loving nature - meaning she most likely hasn't had to fight much in her life. However, Esme should not be underestimated in battle, as Eclipse showed she is more than capable of fighting if needs be. Esme, along with the other Cullens managed to fight off an entire army of newborn vampires created by Victoria and survived.

OCCUPATION - Esme is not employed like her husband but, as a very creative and artistic person, she works as an architect and enjoys restoring old houses both for her family to keep, and to sell when she has fixed them. Esme is an incredibly talented artist- she donates a number of sketches and paintings to different museums and galleries all over the country under false names. In New Moon, Alice tells Bella that Esme has been restoring a 17th century house in the forest north of Ithaca, and in Breaking Dawn, she restores a cottage that's over a hundred years old on the Cullen estate for Bella and Edward. Her desk is said to be stacked with plans and blueprints. Most are of dream homes for the family when they move locations. She has built or restored all of the family homes, including the house on Isle Esme. She has earned degrees in architecture and art, and has studied photography.

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents - As a child she was curious, adventurous, and much too brave for a little girl to be, but also obedient. As a young girl, she would help her mother with cooking, cleaning, gardening, and sewing, and her father with feeding the few animals they owned.

Esme’s relationship with her parents became strained as she grew older. She was reprimanded by both her parents for being “unladylike”. Her mother was much more caring and concerned than her father was for her, when she fell out of the tree in 1911. Both of her parents pressured her into marrying before she “ended up as a spinster”, and they discouraged her “foolish” dreams of moving out west to become a teacher.

Her mother urged her to stay quiet about the abuse that Charles was putting her through, while her father told her harshly to stop telling tales and embarrassing herself and her husband.

Though Esme had a great resentment and disappointment in her parents for not helping her during her human life, she still loved them, and was deeply saddened upon learning she would never see them again. It took some time but she eventually found it within herself to forgive them. She would never understand why they reacted the way that they did- she was a mother herself and would have done anything to help her son, would do anything to help her vampire children.

Charles Evenson - In Esme's human life, she was married to Charles Evenson. All of her friends had already married, and her parents encouraged her to marry Charles, who was a family friend and had good prospects. She agreed to the marriage only to please her father.

He was abusive, however, and shortly before her suicide attempt Esme, then pregnant, ran away from him. The baby died soon after birth and Esme jumped off a cliff in an attempt to end her life. Her body was taken to the hospital morgue though her heart was still beating, and Carlisle Cullen found her and turned her into a vampire

She resented Charles and what he did to her for years after, but her loving and kind nature made it impossible for her to seek any type of revenge on him, unlike her adopted daughter Rosalie later did to her own abusers. Esme was determined to move past the pain Charles inflicted on her and sought out happiness in her new life.

Esme had conflicted emotions towards Charles death when Edward returned home, and admitted to killing him as his first victim, in 1927. She was upset with Edward for going anywhere near her past life after expressing earlier on that she did not want either men to go after him. She hadn’t wanted Charles’ darkness anywhere near her boys whom she saw as the picture of goodness. However, she had to admit to herself that she was glad he was dead and could not inflict the same pain on any other woman.

Esme never told Charles about her pregnancy, fearing that if he found her, he would have the power to take the child from her after it was born. He only learned what happened to his wife and child right before his own death, as Edward tortured him slowly.

Carlisle - Carlisle Cullen is Esme's second husband, and the man of her dreams. He is also her creator. They first met in 1911 when Carlisle treated Esme's broken leg after she fell from a tree. The two clearly left a strong impression on each other - Esme found no other man who measured up to him, and Carlisle’s affection for her was strong enough that he turned her into a vampire when he found her dying in a morgue, after a suicide attempt following the loss of her newborn child in 1921. During the transformation, Esme wasn't sure if she was in heaven or in hell, but was nevertheless grateful for the chance to meet Carlisle again. She could hear both Carlisle and Edward talking to her during her transformation, and only wanted to escape the burning fire to see Carlisle. After he explained to her about what he had done, he expected her to be furious; to his surprise, she took the news quite well, and it did not take long before they were married.

The relationship between Carlisle and Esme is built on a strong spiritual and intellectual bond, aided by their intense love for each other. Esme has never regretted becoming a vampire as she is able to spend eternity with someone whom she loves, and Carlisle's own love for her has never diminished. Being a vampire has given her a freedom that was something out of her wildest dreams. While Rosalie and Edward at times resented Carlisle for changing them, Esme thanked him numerous times; something that Carlisle often asked her not to do. She did not blame him, but there was a part of him that felt guilty for damning her to immortality. Their marriage became strained when Edward rebelled against Carlisle’s way of life in 1927 and did not improve until a few months after their son left. Edward’s departure hurt, but the two of them learned a great deal from their first marital disagreement. When Edward returned in 1931, he noticed that the couple seemed to be even closer. It was as if they had somehow acquired his telepathy when it came to each other. Their relationship also took a hit again when Bella’s pregnancy drove a wedge between them; with Esme opting to protect her daughter-in-law and the baby, while Carlisle sided with Edward, both in fear of the pregnancy costing Bella her life, and in fear of losing Edward in the process.

Carlisle bought Esme an island in Brazil for their 50th anniversary, and named it "Isle Esme". It has become a very special place for the entire family, and a very intimate one for Carlisle and Esme. They’ve shared some of their very favorite moments together on their island.

Edward - Edward Cullen was Esme's first adoptive son, and was turned into a vampire by Carlisle shortly before she was. Initially, they pretended to be brother and sister, but after Esme and Carlisle fell in love she began to pose as his adoptive mother. They care for each other deeply and Edward hates to cause her pain.

Edward originally didn’t tell Esme about his telepathy, worried she would shut down, emotionally, if she found out that he knew how bad the abuse she had been through really was. It wasn’t until she had been with them for several weeks, and Esme began having feelings for Carlisle, that Edward revealed to her that he could read both of their minds, and hinted that Carlisle was quite smitten with her too.

Esme admits to Bella that Edward means more to her than the rest of her "children" because he was her first adoptive child, and is very thankful that he has found his true love in Bella. Throughout their years together she had worried that he would never find his soulmate, until Bella came along. Esme welcomed Bella into the family right away and treated her like another daughter. Esme fondly criticizes Edward and says that he is too much of a gentleman, as he told Bella that she fell off a cliff rather than jumped.

Rosalie - Rosalie Hale was Esme's first adoptive daughter, though it was Carlisle who turned her. Esme was always very affectionate towards Rosalie and Rosalie grew to love Esme just as much. Before Rosalie transformed, she had met the Cullens before and was very jealous of their beauty, especially Edward's and Carlisle's. Esme tells Bella that she and Carlisle originally hoped that Rosalie would be a mate for Edward, but then she found Emmett and they fell in love.

After Emmett joined the family, he and Rosalie were very passionately involved for several decades and destroyed numerous houses during their lovemaking, forcing Esme and Carlisle to kick them out on several occasions but always taking them back in after a short time.

Rosalie strongly resents her inability to have children, as female vampires' bodies cannot change to accommodate a child. She acknowledges that Esme, though disappointed that she cannot have children of her own, doesn't feel as resentful about her infertility because she has her, Edward, Emmett, Jasper, and Alice as substitutes to her lost child.

Esme and Rosalie were both abused by their human partners, so they quickly bonded over that in Rosalie’s first year as a vampire, and it was probably why Esme was so eager for Rosalie to join the family.

Emmett - Emmett Cullen was Esme's second adoptive son. He joined their "family" in 1935 after Rosalie found him being mauled by a brown bear and brought him back for Carlisle to transform him.

Although Emmett can sometimes be a handful, Esme loves him as much as she loves her husband and her other "children". Though she had kicked him and Rosalie out a few times for ruining the houses that she and Carlisle bought for them.

In Breaking Dawn, when Bella challenges Emmett to an arm-wrestling match, they are about to use Esme's favorite antique dining table when Alice points out that Esme will be upset if it gets broken. Emmett agrees, and this implies that he doesn't want to upset his mother.

Whenever Emmett challenges Jasper or Edward to a physical match that escalates to a real fight, Esme would get upset at them, repeating that she doesn’t tolerate violence of any kind in her home, even if it’s pretend.

Alice - Alice Cullen is Esme's second adoptive daughter. Not much is known about Esme and Alice's relationship, but Esme loves Alice as much as she loves her other children, and they are willing to do anything to protect one another.

When the Volturi come to destroy their family, Alice and Jasper leave Forks without a proper goodbye; Esme is the most devastated, going to the point of sobbing despite her lack of tears; thinking that they have abandoned the family, but respects their decision to leave. However, Alice and Jasper return during the confrontation with the Volturi with the hybrid Nahuel and a battle is avoided. Upon their return, Esme greets them with a tight hug.

Jasper - Jasper Hale is Esme's third adoptive son. Not much is known about Esme and Jasper's relationship. When Jasper joined the family, Esme had a hard time accepting him at first after learning of his involvement with the Confederate Army. But she pushed the resentful feelings aside to avoid conflict within the family, and losing Alice, as she took a liking to the young vampire quickly. But Esme loves him as much as she loves her other children, and they are willing to do anything to protect one another.

When the Volturi come to destroy their family, Alice and Jasper leave Forks without a proper goodbye; Esme is the most devastated, thinking that they have abandoned the family, but respects their decision regardless. However, Alice and Jasper return during the confrontation with the Volturi with the hybrid Nahuel to testify in their favor and a battle is avoided. Upon their return, Esme embraces them in a tight hug, overjoyed to have them back.

Bella - Bella Swan is Esme's daughter-in-law, married to her son Edward.

When Bella first comes into the Cullens' lives, Esme notices the change in Edward and is grateful to her for it, as she had previously worried that he would never find the kind of happiness the rest of them had. After Edward and Bella started a romantic relationship, Esme accepts her into the family and loves her as much as her other adopted children, which she admits when Bella asks to join their family.

After Edward and Bella's wedding, Esme lets them stay on Isle Esme for their honeymoon and renovates a cottage on the Cullens' land for them to live in with their newborn daughter, Renesmee.

Renesmee - Renesmee Cullen is Esme's granddaughter, and the biological daughter of Edward and Bella. During Bella's pregnancy, though it endangers her life, Esme sides with her, Rosalie and Emmett to protect the baby because she believes that Bella should be allowed to make her own decisions and understands her desire to have children.

After Renesmee was born, Esme comes to adore the baby like the rest of the family, even sacrificing her second-favorite silverware to keep Nessie entertained. During Bella's transformation, Esme would cradle the baby to sleep, while also sharing the experience with Rosalie and Jacob. She worries the first time that Bella meets Nessie, as Bella has only just transformed into a vampire and they are unsure of her self-control, so she convinces her to feed before meeting her daughter, as it will make it easier for Bella to control her thirst.

Jacob - Jacob Black is a shape-shifting member of the Quileute tribe and a close friend to the Cullen family. Jacob initially disliked Esme and her family due to the natural enmity between vampires and shape-shifters, but after an alliance was formed to protect Bella from Victoria's army, they were able to tolerate each other better.

During Bella's pregnancy, Jacob forms a renegade pack comprised of himself, Seth and Leah Clearwater. Esme is deeply grateful for their sacrifice and feels genuine affection for Jacob's pack, providing them with food, clean clothes and even offering to let them use the beds in their house if they don't want to sleep outdoors. She and Jacob become even closer after he imprinted on Renesmee, and it is implied that he has also been accepted as part of the family.

In Book 2 of Breaking Dawn, Jacob mentions that Esme's hospitality reminds him of his own mother.

#esme cullen #esme anne platt #twilight #twilight renaissance #redoing esme's biography

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oh-ranpo · 5 years

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more than a pretty face. (2)

Pairing: Ben Hardy x OC AN: This is going to go back into the past a little bit, just before the Golden Globes. Just as a little heads up. All of this is completely fictional of course, but just so you have an idea of the timeline here. Let me know what you think! Tags list is open, just send me a message to be added. Warnings: Cheating, drinking

All anyone could talk about were the Golden Globes. Even though it was still a few weeks away, as soon as the boys found out that they were nominated, there had been instant celebration and constant talk over what they were going to wear and what they were going to do if they won.

Charlie had been so excited for them, knowing just how much they all deserved it. While Ben had already been over the U.S. for a while staying with Sophia, once the nominees were announced, Gwilym, Lucy and Allen had flown over to celebrate. Charlie had suggested throwing a party at her place, since it was the biggest, and they had happily taken her up on her offer. She was the only one in the group who had a townhouse that could accommodate everyone who was sure to be coming.

Normally, Charlie might have been a little more apprehensive about having so many people she didn’t know well in her living space, but she was willing to make an exception for this. It was such a big moment, and the perfect way to start the awards season.

“Thank you so much for letting us have this party at your places, Charles,” Joe said cheerfully, as he wrapped his arm around his brunette friend. Charlie could tell that he had already had quite a bit to drink, considering he had broken out his ‘Charles’ nickname that he knew she despised. It only reared its ugly head when he was drunk and when he knew that she wouldn’t get mad at him.

“Of course, Joey. You guys deserve it,” Charlie replied, smiling brightly at him.

There was loud music playing in the living room, and there were people milling about all over the place. Most people Charlie recognized as either other cast members from Bohemian Rhapsody, or as friends from other movies. No one had told her exactly who had been invited, only to expect a lot of people to come. They weren’t wrong.

As Charlie moved to see to it that the bar was fully stocked, Joe bounded off to greet someone that he hadn’t seen in a while. The party had been going for almost an hour now, and Charlie still hadn’t seen Ben or Sophia anywhere. She couldn’t complain though. Not having to see Sophia’s face was more than enough thanks for throwing this party.

The crowd seemed to get denser the closer to the kitchen she got, and just as Charlie was able to push her way into the room, a voice called her name and she felt her stomach drop. She hesitantly turned in the direction of the voice, and put on her best fake smile as Sophia’s best friend, Wren, moved towards her.

While Wren wasn’t nearly as bad as Sophia, the entire time that Charlie had known her, she had been trying to sleep with Joe. As far as Charlie could tell, Joe was nowhere near interested, but that didn’t stop Wren from asking about him anytime she had the misfortune of bumping into her. Also, the fact that Wren was here meant that Sophia was also there somewhere. The thought made Charlie nauseous.

“Charlie, oh my gosh, I’ve been looking all over for you! What an amazing party!” Wren’s blue eyes were wide, and Charlie had a hard time telling whether she was being genuine or if she was just faking it in hopes of getting in good with Joe. Either way, Charlie wasn’t buying it.

“Thanks, Wren. Of course, it was all put together by Joe and Rami. I just provided the space.”

Wren’s face lit up at the mention of Joe’s name, and just as she opened her mouth to launch into twenty questions about him, Charlie was knocked to the side, a sarcastic ‘sorry’ being muttered as someone pushed past her. She wasn’t at all surprised to look up and see Sophia smirking smugly at her, while Ben trailed behind her like a lost puppy. His eyes met hers for a brief second, and Charlie thought that she might have seen a bit of an apology in his expression, but he had disappeared into the crowd before she could be sure.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go and check to make sure the rest of the kitchen is one piece. I’ll talk to you later,” Charlie excused herself, ignoring the fact that Wren’s face fell at her dismissal. Deep down, Charlie hoped that the big crowd kept her, Wren, and Sophia as far from each other as possible.

The urge for another drink consumed her, and Charlie grabbed a plastic cup from the stack at the end of the bar and made her way down to where the keg was sitting. There were several people hovering around it, but they all parted for her as she grabbed for the tap. After filling her cup up completely, Charlie turned to make sure that everything else was in order, and was surprised to see that all the drinks had already been restocked. She figured Rami or Lucy must have come in at some point, and made a mental note to thank them later.

Charlie pushed back through the crowd, and when she made it back into her living room, she smiled when she saw Rami, Lucy, Joe, Gwilym, Allen and Ben chatting happily amongst one another. Lucy was perched on Rami’s lap in the lounge chair, and Joe, Gwil, Ben, and Allen were all smashed together on the couch opposite them. Rami looked up and smiled as Charlie entered the room, drawing everyone else’s attention to her as well.

“Charles!” Joe cried happily, and Charlie rolled her eyes. He eagerly patted the armrest next to him, but she just shook her head. Sitting next to him would require crawling over almost everyone’s laps, and she wasn’t about to do that.

“Are you guys having a good time?” she asked, bringing her cup to her lips to take a drink. All of them nodded simultaneously, each one wearing a giant smile with the exception of Ben.

“Oh, it’s just wonderful. Thank you so much for doing all of this for us, Charlie. You are the best,” Lucy gushed as she removed herself from Rami’s lap and walked over to wrap her in a hug. Lucy was always so sweet, but just like with Joe, Charlie could tell that she had already had quite a bit to drink. All of them looked like they had.

“Really, it’s nothing. Hopefully in a month we will be able to have an even bigger celebration.”

Lucy left one of her arms draped across Charlie’s shoulders, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t normally the touchy-feely type, but when it came to this group, it was something she had been forced to get over quite quickly.

It was several more minutes before Charlie realized that, besides Lucy, it really was just all the guys. Sophia was nowhere to be seen. The thought of having her running amuck in her house made Charlie nervous, so she quietly excused herself to see if she could locate her. She didn’t say anything to anyone about what she was doing, because she knew if she brought it to Ben’s attention, he would get offended and the entire night would be ruined. Charlie cursed under her breath when she realized that there were still a ton of people around, making her search even harder. Sophia was not a tall person, so spotting her in the crowd was going to be difficult.

She started with the main floor, searching through the dining room and kitchen, but found nothing. She then headed into the lower level where people had set up some drinking games, but the crowd was sparse, and after one glance, Charlie could tell that she wasn’t down there either. She could feel a knot form in her throat at the thought of her being on the top floor, where only her bedroom, the guest bedroom, and another bathroom were located. When she made it upstairs, at first, the area looked empty. But then, Charlie noticed that the guest room door was shut. She was just about to reach out and open it when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Charlie? What are you doing?”

She must have looked suspicious, because when she turned to face Ben, he gave her a questioning look.

“I was just checking to make sure everything was okay up here. I mean, this is my house. I can go wherever I want,” she huffed in response. “What are you doing up here?”

Ben narrowed his eyes and gestured down the hall towards the bathroom.

“The bathroom downstairs was taken and Joe said that there was another one up here.”

Charlie nodded curtly, and then both of their attention was stolen by a loud crash and then a giggle coming from inside the guest bedroom. Charlie turned quickly, and Ben laughed.

“Sounds like someone is having a little fun in there.”

Charlie cringed at the thought, and reached out to push the door open. Regardless of who it was, she didn’t want someone getting it on in her guest bed. She was already going to have quite the mess to clean up.

As soon as the door swung open, Charlie inhaled sharply when she saw a half-dressed Sophia sitting on the edge of the bed while another man was sprawled out across the floor. The loud thud had apparently been him falling off the bed.

“Soph- Sophia?”

For a moment, Charlie had forgotten that Ben was right behind her. In his curious state, he had moved closer to see who was causing all the commotion, and for the first time since she had met him, Charlie felt sorry for him.

“Oh my God, Ben! Honey, it’s not what it looks like!” Sophia struggled to remove herself from the tangle of sheets, but Ben was already gone. Charlie could hear his footsteps racing down the stairs, and the man that was on the floor leaned up against the bed, clearly confused as to everything that was going on. Sophia grabbed her shirt and shorts in haste, but when her eyes landed on Charlie, she glowered at her.

“You did this on purpose!” she hissed, pulling her shirt over her head and stumbling over towards the doorway. “You’ve always been jealous of Ben and I!”

The accusation made Charlie laugh, and even though Sophia was giving her a look that could kill, she didn’t feel threatened in the slightest.

“Oh no, sweetie. You brought this upon yourself.”

When she finally stumbled back into her pants, Sophia pushed past Charlie in the doorway and disappeared down the stairs, leaving Charlie alone with the stranger.

“I think it goes without saying, but you really need to leave,” Charlie said, as she pulled the door closed behind her so the man could get changed. A few seconds later, Gwilym bounded up the stairs, a bewildered look on his face.

“What just happened? Ben came storming through the living room, mumbling something about leaving and then Sophia chased him outside with her shirt on wrong side out.”

Charlie tried not to laugh, considering the delicacy of the situation, but before she could reply, the man exited the guest bedroom and sheepishly squeezed past them to head downstairs. Charlie’s eyes met Gwilym’s and a look of understanding crossed his face.

“Damn, poor Ben.”

The sympathy that Charlie had been feeling for Ben dissipated and instead frustration took its place.

“This has been happening for a long time, Gwil. You know it, I know it, we all know it. It’s his fault for not opening his eyes to it sooner.” A sad look crossed Gwilym’s face, and Charlie already knew what he was going to say before he said it. It was the same thing all the guys had been saying when the issue got brought up. “And no, love is not that complicated.”

Charlie made her way back downstairs, and saw that several people had already left. The mood of the room had shifted considerably, and without saying, people seemed to realize that something had happened. The rest of the BoRhap crew still sat in the living room, but their eyes were watching the stairs, waiting for her to come back down and explain what had happened, even though they were all sure they could guess.

“Is he going to be okay?” Allen asked first, as Charlie took the empty seat next to him. Charlie shrugged.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

A somber kind of quiet fell over the group, a complete contrast to the upbeat dance music that was blasting through the speakers. The evening’s celebrations had been ruined, and now all anyone could think about was Ben and how he was handling what had just happened. Rami excused himself after a few minutes, and Charlie knew that he was going to go try and find him.

“He shouldn’t be alone right now,” he murmured, as he pressed a parting kiss against Charlie’s temple, and Lucy followed him out.

A few more people filtered out, and Joe took it upon himself to go down and make sure that everyone else knew that the party was over. Before long, it was just Gwilym, Charlie, Allen, and Joe left in the house and someone had turned the music off.

“Do you think he’s going to take her back?” Gwilym asked awkwardly, after a few more minutes of silence. Charlie was still sitting next to Allen on the couch, but Joe was leaning in the doorway across the room.

“God, I hope not,” Charlie breathed, and Joe laughed. She hadn’t meant for it to come out so loud.

“For his sake, I hope he doesn’t either. Ben’s too good of a guy to keep having his heart broken like this,” Allen added.

Charlie felt a little confused at his phrasing but didn’t say anything. Was this not the first time Ben had a bad relationship? It didn’t really matter. She could only hope that tonight was the last that she saw of Sophia.

Permanent Tag List: @dreamer821 @haileylansley @aylinnmaslow @yourealegendroger @gotnofeelgotnorhythm @justgivemethekeys @mads459 @trickster-may @taylorroger-s @mercurys-bike @ksqueenie @musiccureseverythinglove @mespetitestortues @tomhollandsquackson @secretsweetscollectionblog @jennycidesstuff @ladycataztrophe @tini-monster @hoemazzelloo @ceeeece @discodeakyy @burt-macklin-fbi @killerqueen-gunpowdergelatine @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @theonlyone-meeeee

Tags: @harryskillerqueen @violetpond @lovethis-lovethat @allie-of-asgard @alexfayer @sigrid-stans-rogerina @rogers-rhapsody

#ben hardy #ben hardy fic #ben hardy x oc #ben hardy story #ben hardy angst #bohemian rhapsody #angst #love #slow burn #fanfic #story #more than a pretty face story

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kitsuneiisms · 5 years

Note

Rain!

//Headcanon: Selkie loves the rain more than anything.

No matter where one goes, nature will be teeming with life. That is a given, a rule of the world. Garreg Mach, of course, is no exception; Throughout the gardens, the courtyards, and even the graveyard, life can be found by an astute observer. And where there is life, there is water.

Rain. Rain gives life to the creatures of Fódlan. From the grass beneath their feet, to the crops they feast on, to the fauna themselves, rain sustains and gives life to all. However, water is not just a source of sustenance; it is an omnipresent force, a dangerous one that none should underestimate. Crashing waves can erode entire cliffs, forceful tides can sweep an unsuspecting youth down an out of control river.

And, of course, perhaps one of the most important, on this particular day, water turns solid earth into slippery mud. That is, if one were to ask Selkie. True to form, the young kitsune was elated on the first rainy day that greeted her since her arrival at Garreg Mach. And today, when it rained, it rained hard.

She ditched her classes, of course. Her chores for the morning were left incomplete as well - Selkie was sure someone would help prepare breakfast. Eventually. After all, to her, rain meant freedom - it was freedom.

As the kitsune girl ran, barefoot through the muddy plains below the Monastery, it seemed like all her cares were gone to the wind. With every step she took, every twirl, every jump, even as she slipped and tumbled down the hill she found herself on, her mood was nothing short of ecstatic.

“Rain! Oh, I love the rain! I was starting to think this place would never get any good weather! Woohooooo!”

Selkie’s shouts and cheers could likely be heard for acres around. She didn’t care, though; for today, she was free. And free was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since the day she ran away from her caretaker in the deeprealms, and lived on her own for the first time.

As Selkie rolled to a stop, laying on her back in the mud, an elated sigh escaped the girl, and she let out a giggle as she lay there, unmoving, rain pelting down on and around her. Her thoughts turned back to that day, so similar was the weather now; the same shade of overcast skies, the hills, the forest nearby. She could remember it all like it was yesterday; her deeprealm, her mother, her caretaker, Tsuki. Her eyes slowly closed, and her mind wandered back to those days.

-~-

“Young lady, you will not disobey me. Get back inside, now.”

Selkie felt nothing but contempt as that voice rang from behind her. She could feel her fists clench, and she turned around, bare feet pressing further into the muddy path that led away from her home. The rain was coming down hard today, pelting her and tearing into the dirt all around.

“You’re going to catch cold - and look at you, you’re filthy. We’ll need to draw you another bath to clean up that mud. If you get inside now, you might not fall ill, and perhaps I’ll be lenient for today.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in anger, she felt her feet digging further into the mud.

“No! I’m not going back inside, and you can’t make me! I want to go see mama and papa, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do!”

Tsuki scoffed, and her face mirrored the anger on Selkie’s. “It’ll take you years to find your way out - and by that time, they’ll have come looking for you, and then I’ll be the one who has to answer for your recklessness! No, you’re coming back inside, and that is that!”

Selkie actually laughed, prompting an angry groan from her caretaker in response. “You can’t order me around anymore! You’re not my mama - my mama loves me, which is more than anyone can say about you! You’re mean, you’re strict, and you’re everything a mama shouldn’t be!”

A look of pure rage crossed Tsuki’s face, but only for a moment before she calmed down with a sigh. “Selkie, if this is about this morning, then I apologize, but you left me no choice! You’re a princess, Selkie, and you must start behaving like one! Your mother entrusted me to take care of you, and that means I make the decisions here. You’re a growing woman and it’s time you stop with all this childish nonsense. No more games, no more playing; It’s time for you to grow up.”

Tsuki had been standing on the porch of the estate’s main house, safe from the rain. However, now, she slowly stepped down into the mud - on her face was a horrible grimace, worse than Selkie had ever seen, even when she had torn her precious satin curtains to shreds. She had to give Tsuki credit - it seemed like she was actually trying, now.

But now was too late. Years too late.

“Puh-lease, Tsuki,” She retorted with a grin. Seeing her caretaker’s face shrivel as she tried to contain her anger over being called her name instead of Ma’am really made this all the more bittersweet. Mostly sweet, however.

“You won’t make it out there alone, Selkie. I’m here to protect you, too. There are people who want to hurt you, and I can’t let them-”

“I’m not some stuffy princess, and mama wasn’t either! If she was here, she’d understand! I... I’ll find her! I’ll find my way out of this place, and I don’t need your help to do it! She won’t make me hold any books on my head, or not let me eat dinner, or, or... or hit me when I mess up...”

Selkie bit her lip as she felt her eyes start to sting, and she shook her head, wiping them with one sleeve. She couldn’t speak any more, and the only sound was that of Tsuki’s slow, methodical steps through the mud. Her eyes met Selkie’s, and for the first time in the kitsune’s life, she found what looked like genuine compassion and remorse in them.

“I had no idea you felt this way... I’m sorry, Selkie.”

“You should be.”

-~-

“Hey! Hey, I think I found her!”

Selkie’s eyes shot open as a familiar voice assailed her ears. A yawn, a stretch, and she was sitting upright; the rain had calmed to a drizzle, and she gave herself a good shake to get rid of most of the mud that clung to her body. Off in the distance, she could see the familiar armor of the monastery gatekeeper, near sprinting his way over to her. Even as he slid, slipped, and near tumbled in the mud, he kept on his way.

Normally, this would be the point where she ran, but something inside stopped her. She merely stood, staring, as he made his way carefully down the hill she’d recently tumbled her way down, slowing his descent now that she was obviously not running away.

A blank, curious stare from Selkie greeted the gatekeeper as he finally slid to a stop below her - running in the mud in armor. Never making that mistake again.

“Miss Selkie! Are you alright? You didn’t turn up for breakfast, and you weren’t in your room, so we feared the worst - the professor sent us out to search for you!”

She blinked, realizing she’d been staring the whole time, but no words escaped her. The expression of relief on the guard turned back to worry, and he spoke once more.

“Oh, your clothes are all torn up and muddy! Was there a fight? Are you hurt? Come on, let’s get you back home - we’ll set up a fire and some cocoa, and you can just take it easy, okay?”

“You mean... I’m not in trouble?”

The gatekeeper shook his head, giving Selkie a pat on her shoulder. “No trouble here - we were just worried about you! Next time, if you’re gonna run off, just let us know, all right? For now, let’s focus on getting back home. This mud is rough to run in, I’ll tell you that much.”

The gatekeeper slowly turned to other topics as he chatted on, asking her questions, making sure she was okay - Selkie couldn’t help her wide-eyed expression the whole way back home. Even when she returned through the main gates, shivering and soaked to the bone, where she expected anger or disappointment from students, faculty, there was only relief that she was safe.

She wore a bright, toothy grin for the rest of the day.

#godsmercie #Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ғᴜɴ ɢᴀᴍᴇ﹗(memes)#Is ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʙɪʀᴅ﹖(inbox)#Tɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ sʜᴀʀᴘᴇɴ ᴍʏ ᴄʟᴀᴡs﹗(drabble)#(this was way longer than I intended)#(wholesome gatekeeper saves the day)#(drabble more like dabble)#(amiright)

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miravess · 5 years

Text

Old Enemies, New Friends

Introducing my gloomy Hunter, Mira! And featuring a few other folks. Killy and Stoomdorm belong to @newbabyfly and their husband, Nika belongs to @one-hell-of-a-nerdy-butler. I hope I didn’t butcher any characterization!

Fair warning, it’s a tad long, and tumblr’s text formatting is wack.

“Here?” Mira paused her headlong sprint in the center of a clearing in the maze of stacked and toppled shipping crates. It was large, wide enough for a dropship to land and the height of the stacked crates and detritus around it shielded it to some extent from Titan’s driving rain. It had probably been used as a helipad for offloading freighters back when there was anything on the moon besides Hive, Fallen, and an ever-dwindling garrison of Guardians. Shura, her Ghost, nearly invisible against the grey metal and driving rain in her drab blue-grey shell scanned the area and bobbed a small nod of agreement,

“I think this is as good as it gets.” Mira pulled off her helmet, letting it clang to the deckplate at her feet. The noise, even muffled by the curtains or rain, echoed loudly through the labyrinth of metal around them. It would draw the Silent Fang to her and, one way or another, the hunt would end here. Mira had tracked these Silent Fang and their Baron halfway across the ruined and half-submerged cities of Titan, picking them off from the shadows. But at some point, the Fallen had turned the game on her and the Hunter had become the hunted. That ended here.

She shed her tattered and sodden cloak and pulled her cannon from its holster at her hip. It was an old Hakke model, all sharp angles and simple lines. It had been gifted to her by Lord Saladin, and his golden wolfshead crest still glittered dully on the cylinder. Mechanically, she checked the weapon. Eight bullets left. Her shotgun and machine gun were long empty, discarded days and miles and deaths ago. Eight bullets, and how many pursuers? Fifteen? Twenty? More?

Mira closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. The Silent Fang would approach under stealth, and the driving rain and intermittent lightning would only confuse her sight, make her twitchy, make her waste bullets shooting at ghosts of movement. Until she could draw them out properly, she would fight blind, as she had in the Hellmouth pits on Luna, in the Light-forsaken corridors and cells of the Dreadnought, in the polar-dark pits deep under red Mars, and as she had over the past weeks in the Arcology-mazes of Titan.

The frontrunners arrived. Two of them, hunting ahead of the pack. She heard them scrabbling over the crates above her and to her right.

“Stay low,” she whispered to Shura, who had already secreted herself among the folds of Mira’s discarded cloak. “Hopefully they think you’re dead after that Vandal winged you, and I’m pretty sure I’ll need you before the fight’s over.”

One of the newly arrived Silent Fang charged her from behind, hoping to finish the job even before their Baron arrived, to earn glory and Ether. Mira shot them in the head without turning around, hearing the body crash to the deck and the hiss of escaping Ether. So much for glory. The second came at her from the right, more cautious now, ducking and weaving. It availed them nothing. Mira’s cannon cracked again and the bullet tore through the assassin’s chest, sending them spinning away.

More Silent Fang had arrived now, following the sound of the gunfire. Mira could hear them moving into the clearing where she had chosen to make her stand, claws scraping for purchase on the rain-slick metal. One set of footfalls was heavier than the rest; their Baron was here. Mira listened for those heavy footfalls and turned towards them, calling out in Eliksni,

“What are you named, Baron?” Awoken physiology was ill-suited to the rasping, guttural language, but she had spent long enough living and fighting alongside the House of Wolves to make herself understood. The greeting was a formality; she knew the Baron, and the Baron knew her. The Baron paused, perhaps taken aback at being addressed so formally under these circumstances, but returned the greeting in kind,

“I am Kirexses, last of Silent Fang. You are known to me, Miravis, shadow-in-the-light, Kell-killer.” Mira opened her eyes as the Baron stepped forward, shedding her stealth. She was small and lean for her status, scarcely larger than a Captain, but still nearly two feet taller than Mira. Her face and body were crosshatched with old scars. Her lower arms were thin and atrophied, and one of her upper arms had been severed just above the elbow, in these lean times, she had clearly not had enough Ether to grow it back. In her remaining upper arm she held a long arc-blade, notched and sparking, raindrops cracking into plasma along its edge. Mira nodded slowly,

“And you are known to me, Kirexses. Oathbreaker, sister-killer.” A grim smile split the Baron’s scarred face,

“My sister chose her lovers well. I see now why she chose you. A pity she loved you more than living. Still, you have given us good hunting. Better hunting than she did.” Rage boiled through Mira, but she forced it down. Years of hunting and killing and dying had brought her to this moment, and she would not squander it with rash action. She wanted to scream, to empty her cannon into the flickering half-forms around her, to scour this rain-lashed clearing with her incandescent fury. But she knew it would be useless. She had to be smart, she had to be cold, like the remorseless killers she faced, like the Void Light glinting ever so faintly at the edge of her mind. She was low on ammo, and the Light felt faint and guttering, so close to so much Hive corruption. But two could play the game of provocation. Mira looked Kirexses in the eyes and spat onto the deckplates between them,

“No more hunting then.” She snarled, “How does it feel to stand where you will die, Traitor?” The Eliksni have three words for “traitor.” One is more akin to ‘liar,’ and denotes an Eliksni who has reneged on a vow or promise. Among certain more devious Fallen circles, it has come to be used as a sort of backhanded compliment, much as a human might use ‘sly.’ The second means a traitor to House or family and is seen as a potent affront to any Eliksni that considers themselves civilized. The third and final Eliksni word for ‘traitor’ means a traitor not to House or kin but to all it means to be Eliksni, to be alive, to be a thinking, feeling being, to be more than a mere animal, to be more than Fallen. It is an insult of the gravest and vilest order. And it was such a traitor that Mira called Kirexses.

There was a moment of silence, then the Baron howled something unintelligible and the Silent Fang charged en masse in a wave of rippling, distorted light. Mira shut her eyes again and steadied her breathing, listening to the chaotic thunder of the ring of approaching Fallen, searching for the slightest gap, a break in the line to slip though. She found it. She waited until the last possible instant, until the ring of assassins was so close she could smell the ozone tang of their arc-blades, then in one fluid movement she tossed down a grenade, a howling blob of pure Void, and flung herself towards that tiny gap in the ring, dipped into a graceful roll, and vanished. Carried on by their momentum, the frontrunners among the Silent Fang stumbled into the Vortex that whirled where Mira had stood an instant before, and Mira permitted herself a barest shred of savage satisfaction at the screams of the five or six of them that the Void swallowed, flensing them apart at the atomic level. To their credit, the others recovered quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

Mira dropped out of stealth just as she drove her knife into the spine of one of the assassins, holding the twitching corpse upright to protect her left side as she raised her cannon and brought down two more with quick shots to the chest, flinging their bodies backwards and hampering those behind them. Sloppy, but that was the beauty of these massively overpowered Hakke guns. When you don’t have time to shoot accurately, shoot a big enough bullet that it doesn’t matter.

Mira dislodged her knife and kicked the Silent Fang she had skewered with it towards two more who were charging her from that side, fouling their advance. With the fight fully underway, the Silent Fang had dropped their stealth, and Mira opened her eyes, noting that Kirexses had hung back and was watching the fight, leaning on her blade, obviously hoping her assassins would finish the job for her, or at least provide her an opening to stab Mira in the back. Mira gave ground steadily, circling to keep the remaining Silent Fang between her and the Baron.

Still backing away, Mira fired two more shots. One took the head off of the nearest assassin, but the other went wide as its target twisted to the side, reaching Mira and thrusting a crackling arc-dagger at her face. Mira brought her knife-arm up, slamming her forearm into the Fallen’s wrist just behind the knife so that it passed harmlessly past her head, in the same motion twisting sideways to avoid the Fallen’s off-handed punch, pressing her cannon to their chest and pulling the trigger. The bullet passed clean through that Fallen and killed another behind it. The moment’s entanglement had cost her though, and she was nearly surrounded again. She parried another arc-blade but was forced to leap back again as she felt another shear through the armor just above her knee, leaving a deep, cauterized gash. Another arc-blade sank into her side before she could pull away and for a sickly instant she smelled her own charring flesh. She lashed out with her knife and the owner of that blade toppled away, their throat cut, gushing ether and foul blood. She continued giving ground, parrying, dodging. She had flipped her cannon around and now held it by the barrel, using it as a club to break arms and crush skulls. She had but one bullet left and it had a very specific name on it.

Two more assassins fell, knife-cut, and another, skull crushed by the cannon’s heavy grip. But more arc-blades got through Mira’s guard and cut away at her, shredding her already battered armor and tearing into flesh and muscle. The pain was nothing, but she could feel her body failing her, even her unnaturally tough Guardian physiology giving way under the relentless assault, unable to properly heal. She kept backing away, continuing her circle around the clearing, trying to keep the remaining assassins in front of her, her world narrowed to a slit, darkness closing in at the corners of her vision, threatening to swallow her.

And then, suddenly, she was alone. The last Silent Fang died almost chest to chest with her, their hands wrapped around her neck, her knife buried in their chest, eyes level. The moment was almost intimate. Then the light went out of the assassin’s eyes, their hands slackened from around Mira’s neck, and they slumped to the deck. She gasped, staggering, her vision swimming, trying to steady herself. Where was the Baron? Where was Kirexses?

A heavy footstep behind her and she whirled, trying to bring her cannon up level, but she was too slow. Her arms felt like lead and her head swam. Kirexses’ form filled her vision, and she felt a dull shock as the Baron’s arc-blade ripped through her breastplate and passed clear though her, scraping between her ribs before punching out her back. She tried to stumble backwards, but she was stuck on the blade. Kirexses had deactivated the arc-field around her weapon and all it was now was a dully-serrated rod of steel thrust through Mira’s body, holding her in place. She coughed blood onto the Baron’s face as Kirexses leaned down to bring herself eye to eye with Mira,

“My sister would be proud of you, little shadow,” Kirexses whispered, and for the briefest moment Mira thought she saw sadness behind the Baron’s eyes. “When you see her, tell her I am sorry.” Out of the corner of her fading vision, Mira caught the small, dim speck of light speeding towards her. She grinned a ghastly, bloody grin,

“Tell her yourself.” With one last effort she grabbed the handle of Kirexses’ weapon and keyed on the blade’s arc-field, flinging herself sideways and allowing the weapon to tear its way out of her side. The shock killed her almost instantly. But Shura was there, a blazing pinprick of light that pulsed outwards, bathing the falling Guardian in healing radiance. Mira was alive before she hit the ground. She caught herself and whirled, hearing Kirexses’ scream of rage and fear, reaching deep within herself, looking for the Light. It was dim and distant, struggling beneath the Hive’s smothering presence, but it was there, and she seized it, drawing two long blades of shimmering Void and swinging them to meet Kirexses. Mira’s first blow severed the Baron’s remaining upper arm at the shoulder, sending her arc-blade spinning away across the deck. At the same instant, her second blow sheared down through the remains of the Baron’s other upper arm, and the lower arm below it. The third blow removed the Baron’s last lower arm, and most of her leading leg, sending her topping to the deckplates at Mira’s feet. All this passed between one heartbeat and the next. Mira’s Light guttered out, the blades fading from her hands.

Kirexses half-knelt half-lay on the cold metal, silent and shuddering from shock and pain. The stumps of her arms twitched uselessly as if they still thought themselves whole and useful. She tried to look up at the Guardian standing above her but could not move her head. Mira knelt down before the broken Baron, retrieving her cannon from where it had fallen from her momentarily-dead hands and pushed the cannon’s barrel under Kirexses’ chin, forcing her head up so they were eye to eye. A long, silent moment passed between them,

“It’s not fair,” Mira found there were tears in her eyes, “that you go to be with her and I do not.” Kirexes’ reply was a barely audible whisper, and Mira had to lean in to hear her,

“She is patient, little shadow. She will wait for you. I will tell her of your love.” Mira’s answering smile was thin and pained,

“Thank you.” She squeezed the trigger. Her cannon barked one last time, and then all was silent.

The noise that escaped Mira’s throat was more animal than human. Years of rage and grief denied and buried, forced down behind cold calm and quiet precision, all given voice at once. Shura gave her Guardian space, gave her this moment of release, but she knew they had to move. The gunfire and subsequent burst of Light would surely attract any Hive lurking nearby, and they were in no fit shape to fight.

Shura gently nudged Mira’s side,

“Mira, we have to go. The Hive will be here soon, and I don’t think I can rez you again.” Mira nodded slowly, and hauled herself shakily to her feet, standing over the corpse of her oldest enemy.

“Was she truly the last?” Shura asked. Mira shook her head,

“I don’t know,” she paused and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, “and I don’t think I care. I’m done hunting, Shura. Let’s go home. Think you’ve got enough juice for a transmat back to our ship?”

“I really don’t kn-” Shura was interrupted by a sudden mechanical roar that drowned out the noise of the rain and ocean. Mira clapped her hands over her ears as a Guardian dropship came screaming out of the low clouds overhead, firing retrothrusters to cut its hurtling descent and levelling out hardly a hundred feet overhead. It circled Mira once, then came to rest over a particularly tall pile of shipping crates. Hearing the distinctive hum of an incoming transmat, Mira momentarily averted her eyes from the flash of grainy light, then looked up to regard the figure now standing atop the metal cliff before her. A flash of lightning gave Mira a second’s clear view of a Warlock, robes whipping in the downdraft from the ship’s engines, a seething ball of corruscating Void hovering above their outstretched hand. Mira held up a finger, then walked the short distance to retrieve her helmet, strapping it on and activating the voxcaster.

“Hello up there!” Mira called, “And how are you this fine afternoon?” The Warlock shrugged,

“From the looks of it, better than you.” Mira analyzed the voice. Low and cold, but melodic, probably female. And just a bit tinny. Maybe a bad helmet voxcaster, more likely an Exo. “Are you Mira Vess?” Mira was suddenly glad for the concealing mask of her helmet, as she doubted she had successfully kept the surprise from her face. Her mind raced. Who the hell was this? How did they know her name? She struggled to keep her tone casual,

“Does this ‘Mira Vess’ owe you glimmer?” The Warlock seemed taken aback by the question, then laughed quietly,

“Not that I know of.” Mira sketched a shallow half-bow half-curtsy, keeping her eyes on the Warlock,

“Then, I am she.” Nearly a full minute of unspeakably awkward silence passed. If Mira had been expecting an introduction, none was forthcoming. Eventually, growing ever more perplexed, she felt compelled to break the silence. “Well, it seems you have me at a disadvantage here.”

“I like it that way.”

“I, uh, meant more in the sense that I don’t know your name.”

“I like it that way too.” Mira let out an audible, exasperated sigh,

“Alright, well can you at least tell your friend to come out? Makes me twitchy having a gun trained on my ass.” It had been a clever move, transmatting a Guardian down behind her while the ship was firing a quick burst of the retrorthrusters to stabilize, hiding the distinctive glare and noise of transmat. And Mira would probably have fallen for it, if she hadn’t used the same trick a dozen times herself. The Warlock gestured with her free hand and a Hunter stepped out from behind another stack of the endless shipping crates to Mira’s left. He had an assault rifle tucked under one arm, trained on her. His free hand held a grenade, primed and ready, Solar Light dripping between his fingers. These two were not taking chances. Mira shook her head, spreading her arms wide, “While I appreciate your caution, friends, I’m not exactly in any shape to be a threat to either of you.” The Hunter eyed her up and down, noting the hacked and bloodstained armor, and the ring of Fallen in various states of dismemberment. He lowered his rifle a little,

“She’s right, Stoom. I doubt she could even drop a grenade at this point.” The Warlock didn’t budge,

“Where’s your ghost, Hunter?” she called down,

“Nice and hidden until I know just what you two intend.” Mira kept her tone pleasant, but there was ice behind it. “Now are we going to stand her jawing until the local Arcology’s-worth of Hive come to say hello?” The Warlock, apparently named Stoom, a name that rang a distant bell for Mira, shrugged,

“I don’t really see how that would be a problem. For us at least.” Mira turned to face the Hunter,

“Ok, she is really not helpful. Are you two here to retrieve me, or take me out? Because either way I’d love to get a move on with it.” As if to reinforce her sentiment, the keening shriek of a Hive wizard cut though the rain and engine noise, and then another, close enough that Mira almost jumped. She was gratified to see the Hunter’s head whip around, searching for the source of the sound, taking his gaze off her for a moment.

“Killy!” The Warlock snapped, and he refocused on her. Realization dawned on Mira,

“Hang the hell on,” she said, turning to face the Hunter and Warlock in turn. “Killy? Stoom? Like, Stoomdorm-2? Aren’t you two kind of a big deal or something? What in all the hells are two of the Vanguard’s finest doing all the way out here talking to little old me for?” Killy sighed, stashed the grenade in a belt pouch and lowered his rifle,

“Don’t play coy, Mira. The Vanguard wants you home and you’re, well, ‘a noted flight risk’ I believe was how Zavala put it.” Mira forced a laugh to cover her surprise,

“Oh do they now? And in what status am I to be delivered?” Stoom gestured meaningfully with the ball of Void she still held,

“Ikora did specify ‘alive,’ but that does leave us a substantial amount of leeway.” Another series of Wizard shrieks rent the air, these closer than the last, and this time answered by the deck-shaking roar of an Ogre. Mira threw up her hands,

“Alright, fine. Can we just get out of here? I’ve been killed on this soggy, Light-forsaken excuse for a moon way too many times.” Stoom and Killy shared a nod. Killy slung his rifle over his shoulder and the Void Light in Stoom’s hand flickered out. Killy raised an arm, circling it above his head and the ship shifted slightly so it hovered directly overtop of them. Wordlessly, Killy transmatted up to the ship. Stoom pointed upwards,

“You next.” Mira sighed and gestured Shura to her, then locked onto the hovering dropship and transmatted aboard.

Mira found herself in the cramped hold of an old Kestrel-class jumpship. She pulled off her helmet and drew in a deep breath of the clean, albeit recycled, air, realizing for the first time how accustomed she had become to the brimstone stench of Titan’s methane-rich oceans. Killy was already seated on one of the low benches that lined the walls, removing his helmet to reveal an Awoken with stern, lined features and close-cropped hair. Stoom joined them a moment later, taking a seat next to him. Her helmet stayed on. Another Awoken Guardian, a Titan from the blocky pattern of his armor, leaned out of the cockpit door, looked Mira up and down, and winced dramatically,

“Shit, Hunter. You look like we both need a drink. Better find a seat. Gonna be a bumpy ride out.” Something about the Titan’s emphasis on ‘bumpy ride’ came across as ham-handedly flirtatious, but Mira was in no fit state to respond even with her usual biting sarcasm.

Mira seated herself across from Killy and Stoom and strapped herself in as the jumpship roared up and away, jerking through Titan’s turbulent atmosphere. Even strapped tightly into the ship’s safety harness, the turbulence was unspeakably unpleasant, and Mira was glad she hadn’t eaten anything substantial in a few months. After a few minutes that seemed like days, she felt them break free of the moon’s gravitational pull, the roar of atmosphere giving way to the eerie silence of open space. The pilot stuck his head in from the cockpit again,

“Alright,” he announced, “since our engines took a pounding on the way in, we’re sublight back to Earth. Shouldn’t be more than twenty or so hours. Still,” he paused to shoot a broad wink at Mira, “plenty of time to get to know each other, right?” The Titan disappeared back into the cockpit. Mira turned to Killy,

“Who’s that? And is he always like that?”

“Oh, Nika? That’s actually the best behaved I’ve seen him in forever. I think you scare him a little. Although that’s never stopped him before.”

“Just the opposite, in fact.” Stoom chimed in. Mira could almost hear the grin in her voice. She sighed deeply, leaning back against the wall behind her, releasing herself from the safety harness.

“So what’d she tell you about me?” Mira asked, “Dreadful things, no doubt.” Stoom cocked her head, confused,

“Who? Ikora?”

“No, that Praxic psychopath, Aunor. No way you got to me without her or one of her little rats trying to warn you away.” Stoom winced, anticipating Killy’s lie,

“I have no idea wha-” Stoom cut him off, her synthesized voice flat and expressionless,

“She told us you’re a dangerous, violent loner. That your obsession with the Hive is, at best, creepy, and at worst a threat to City. That your vendetta against the House of Wolves has pulled you away from being any use or help to the Vanguard often enough to make the Vanguard seriously question your loyalty. And that every fireteam you’ve ever run with is either dead or missing.” Mira stared at her for a long moment, looking genuinely taken aback, then let out short, raspy laugh,

“Well, Aunor might be a violent nutcase with an explosion fetish, but she’s not a liar.” The surprise on Killy’s face was obvious. “What, you expected me to try and tell you I’m a perfectly normal, well-adjusted, rule-abiding hunter? Do those even exist?” Killy shrugged,

“Well I think I turned out ok.” Mira turned to Stoom and raised an eyebrow,

“Did he?”

“He’s alright.” In spite of herself, Stoom was developing a cautious respect for this strange, lonely Hunter. She was at least satisfied that Mira probably wasn’t an immediate threat. Killy leaned in,

“She also told us you’d thrown in with the Drifter. Why? Do you trust him?” Mira laughed humorlessly,

“Trust the Drifter? No. Absolutely not.”

“So why’d you do it?” Mira hadn’t noticed Nika come back into the cargo bay from the cockpit. Damn quiet for a Titan. Or maybe she was just exhausted. She took a moment to consider her answer before speaking,

“The Drifter’s a bad man. A liar, a cheat, maybe even worse. But he’s been alive for a hell of a long time, and I respect that. Besides, he knows things. Things about the Hive, the Taken, the Nine. Things I aim to find out.”

“Sure,” Nika cut in, “but at what cost? Is it really worth it? Turning your back on the Vanguard?” Mira paused again, looking over each of the Guardians in turn.

“Look. I can tell none of you are exactly new here. But I suspect I’ve got a few years on all of you, so allow me to dispense some hard-earned wisdom. The Vanguard aren’t just great Guardians, they’re good people, some of the best I’ve ever known. But sometimes being on the side of the good person doesn’t mean jack. Sometimes following good people just because they’re good and righteous gets everyone you know and love dead, really dead, forever dead, on an airless rock two-hundred thousand miles from home. Sometimes the good people die and the bad people live, and I have a lot to do before I die my last death.”

“You were there, at the Great Disaster, weren’t you?” Stoom asked in the silence that followed Mira’s quiet outburst. She knew the answer, having read Mira’s file -what of it wasn’t heavily redacted- on the way to Titan. Mira nodded,

“Sure. Who wasn’t? What makes me special is I walked away in one piece. Eventually.” Stoom recalled having read in that file how Mira had vanished in the wake of the disastrous assault on Luna, deliberately ignoring a Vanguard ship sent to retrieve her and direct orders to disengage. How by all accounts she had wandered the labyrinth of tunnels around the Hellmouth for months before a fireteam was eventually dispatched to capture her and all but drag her home, delirious and, by all accounts, changed. In the dim light of the cargo bay, it occurred to Stoom that Mira’s luminous Awoken eyes burned the same sickly green as Hive soulfire.

“Did you, though?” Killy asked, quietly. The sincerity of the question caught Mira truly off guard, and she recovered slower than she would have liked,

“Sorry, Hunter. But you’ve got to get to know me a lot better than this before you get to know any more of my tragic backstory.” All four laughed, and the somber moment passed.

Mira slept most of the rest of the way back to Earth. A deep, mercifully dreamless sleep. Several times she half-woke to hear Shura chatting quietly with the other Guardians. Tower gossip, mostly. Shura never complained about their long stints away from the Tower and the Traveller, but Mira knew she always missed the company of other Guardians and their Ghosts more than she let on. Once or twice Mira heard her name spoken, but she was simply too exhausted from weeks upon weeks of sleepless hunting and fighting to rouse herself. She trusted Shura to be discreet, to not say anything she wouldn’t say herself if she were awake.

Mira was eventually fully woken by the staticy chatter of comm traffic from the cockpit. She recognized the usual pattern of hails and responses, challenges and codes. Since the Red War, security around the Earth had increased exponentially. She pulled herself into a sitting position and strapped herself back into the safety harness, bracing for another bout of atmospheric turbulence. Nika was a good pilot though, and reentry was no more unpleasant for Mira than was inevitable.

After a brief argument with Tower security over an expired Vanguard landing clearance code that gave Mira a sense of just how long these Guardians had been hunting for her, Nika set the dropship down in one of the Tower’s innumerable hangers and joined them as the cargo bay filled with the quiet hiss of depressurization, the locks holding the ship’s ramp clanking open in noisy sequence. Mira pulled on her helmet to shield her eyes and ears from the blast of light and noise would assault her when the ship’s ramp dropped. She’d been away for too long, she knew, and braced herself. Even so, the sudden blast of light and sound hit her like a solid wall. The dull roar of mingled mechanical noise, shouted conversation, and hurrying footfalls grated on her mind even through her helmet’s protective audio baffles, and the late-afternoon sunlight nearly blinded her even filtered through polarized lenses. Everything was too loud, too bright, too quick, dragging her attention one way and then the next in dizzying succession. Her mind was still stuck in combat readiness, and everything looked and sounded like a threat. Every shadow held a hidden assailant, every curious glance cast her way seemed full of suspicion and veiled aggression, every weapon looked ready to fire on her. She shook her head, trying to concentrate through the fog of sensory overload and paranoia, her vision clouding and twisting. Someone tried to grab her arm to steady her as she nearly fell down the ship’s ramp, but she shook them off, taking a few stumbling steps before finding her balance, slapping the side of her helmeted head several times to clear it.

“I’m ok.” she said, more to herself than any of the three Guardians watching her with obvious concern. Their worry only grated on her frayed nerves. She felt foolish and out of place and it irritated her. Others had noticed her awkward exit from the dropship too, and now she felt many eyes on her, too many. It made her nauseous. Without looking back, she set off in the direction of the Consensus Hall, noting the sound of three sets of footsteps falling in behind her. She turned back to the fireteam that had brought her here, forcing a pleasant tone through her irritation,

“Pretty sure I can find my way from here. It hasn’t been that long since my last visit.” None of the three guardians budged. Nika smiled brightly,

“Flight risk, remember?” Mira heaved an aggravated sigh and started back off towards the Consensus Hall again, her entourage in tow. As she walked and her head started to clear, it occurred to her that the civilized thing to do would be to apologize to the three Guardians, who had clearly come a long way and risked life and limb to retrieve her, for her rudeness. But the fact of the matter was she simply had no idea how to go about it. So she proceeded on stony silence, letting them think what they would of her.

It was a long walk, but on some level Mira was glad of it. Whatever inquisition awaited her in the Consensus Hall, she needed time to try and steady her nerves, calm her racing mind, force herself back into what she called her ‘civilized mindset.’ The others kept silent, either respectful of her troubled state of mind, or simply unwilling to engage her after her outburst.

Eventually, they came out onto a bustling courtyard, fully open to the sky above. Across the stretch of worn flagstones and low ornamental shrubs, set into the wall of unadorned concrete, stood the imposing double doors of the Consensus Hall. Stoom, Killy, and Nika followed her across the courtyard and up to the doors, where she paused and turned to face them. Unsure of what to do or say, she removed her helmet and gave them a short nod,

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you around?” Nika dipped an elaborate courtier’s bow, while Stoom and Killy simply returned her nod, their faces unreadable. Not waiting for a response, Mira turned to face the massive doors, and shoved them open, disappearing inside.

Mira entered the Consensus Hall fully expecting to be met by a figurative, or possibly literal, Consensus firing squad. She had prepared herself the whole walk here to face Zavala’s hard, disapproving stare, Hideo’s strident condescension, Jalaal’s wearying sarcasm, Aunor’s probing, leading questions. Instead, the hall was quiet, empty except for a lone figure standing at the far end, hands clasped behind her back, staring out the great window overlooking the city below. The figure was cast into stark silhouette by the lowering sun, but her profile was unmistakable. Ikora Rey turned and silently beckoned Mira to come stand with her by the window.

The two stood side by side in silence for several minutes, looking down on the great city spread out beneath the ever-present bulk of the Traveller.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Mira?” Ikora asked, not taking her eyes off the cityscape below. Mira nodded slowly,

“I think so.”

“And are you ready to be a Guardian again?” The words were spoken flatly, with no tone of reproach, but they stung more than any direct insult could have. Mira bit back an ill-considered retort, searching for the right thing to say.

“I don’t know.” She admitted eventually. Ikora turned to face her,

“The City needs you.”

“Needs me?” Mira made no effort to keep the bitter incredulity from her voice. “Last I checked I was a, what was it? A ‘dangerous, violent loner?’” Ikora sighed,

“We both know the Praxic Order bears no love for you. Aunor’s file on you was created under my auspices but…” she trailed off without finishing the thought. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. “Mira, the Vanguard is in crisis. Now more than ever we need our veterans. We need Guardians like you. Your knowledge, your insight.” Mira looked at her askance,

“Ikora, cut the crap. You’re not thinking of offering me the Vanguard position are you?” Ikora shook her head,

“Traveller no. You’d never accept anyway, and I expect Aunor would quite literally explode. But the truth is there are almost no credible candidates left.”

“Shiro?”

“Alive, but no one’s heard from him directly in a while.”

“Bray?”

“We both know she’d never do it. Besides, Zavala would have a stroke.” Mira grinned,

“Eris.” Ikora shook her head in mock amazement,

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?” The two shared a moment of quiet laughter.

“No luck tracking down Lady Efrideet I guess?” Mira asked eventually. Ikora turned to her, her eyes narrowed in half-serious suspicion,

“No. And I don’t suppose you’ll be the one to tell me?” Mira shook her head firmly,

“Due respect, but even if I knew, Efrideet’s probably the only Guardian in the system I’m more afraid of than you. At least you’d kill me in a fair fight.” Ikora silently arched a single eyebrow. “Probably.” Mira amended. The two lapsed into a long moment of silence. Mira was the first to break it. “Who else from the old guard is even left?” She asked, “Hunters-wise, I mean.” Ikora sighed deeply,

“A few, scattered around the system. But the fact of the matter is that being a good Hunter also has the effect of making one largely unsuited to Vanguard duty, or at least highly resistant to the idea of serving in such a capacity.”

“A catch twenty-two if I ever saw one.” Both Guardians fell into another period of silence. Eventually, Mira had to ask the question that weighed on her. “So. Why call me here? Why send a whole fireteam, undoubtedly with better things to do, to hunt me down?”

“Among other reasons, to seek your advice.” Ikora answered simply. Mira barked a short, grim laugh,

“Shit, you must be asking just anybody these days.”

“Mira,” Ikora’s tone was chiding, but kind, “you know I value your counsel. Yes, I’ve spoken with many Guardians about our current… predicament, but few with your perspective.” She paused, fixing Mira with a wan smile, “Or, for better or worse, your candor.” Mira nodded slowly, gathering her thoughts. This whole meeting was not going anything like what she has prepared for, and she found herself once again on the back foot,

“Right. Ok, you want my two cents so here goes. The Vanguard’s lost its teeth. There’s a whole lot of Guardians out there that have all but gone rogue, breaking from Vanguard protocol in ways that would have gotten them in deep shit back in the day. And that’s not even counting the ones waving around that ‘Dredgen’ title the Drifter’s handing out for Traveller knows what reason. Guardians are getting wilder, and no one’s reining them in, keeping them on track.” She smiled wistfully, “That was one of Cayde’s greatest strengths, you know. He’d make these assignments sound like we were going over the Vanguard’s head, pulling one over on you and Zavala. But then it would always come around to fulfilling some Vanguard objective or another. Gave Guardians with a more anti-authoritarian streak an outlet. But now,” she gestured vaguely out into the evening sky, “well, a lot’s changed. Honestly, Ikora, what’s-” She cut herself off before finishing a rash thought, pausing to choose her next words carefully. Ikora sensed her hesitation,

“I didn’t send one of my best fireteams to hunt you down across half the system to bring you here to be diplomatic, Mira.” Mira chuckled drily,

“Well, fine then. What’s even the point anymore, Ikora? Of the Vanguard. You and Zavala can’t seem to see eye-to-eye since Cayde bought it. The Praxic Order’s running things like an inquisition, more so than usual, I mean. The Drifter’s all nice and cozy over in the Annex doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing. The Factions, such as they are these days, can’t seem to do anything more useful than bicker and seize valuable resources for their own purposes. Guardians are spread out all over the system, isolated, working at crossed purposes for powers unknown, answerable to no one but themselves. Are you ever going to stop it? Rein in the Guardians, bring the Factions to heel? Set our efforts in some productive direction?” She paused, meeting Ikora’s gaze fully for the first time, “Could you even, if you wanted to?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Mira blinked, surprised by the frankness of the answer. Ikora held Mira’s Hive-green gaze. “But if past precedent is any indication, we’re coming due for another catastrophe. I fear whatever comes next could very well break us, shatter what fragile unity we’ve managed to cultivate here. There are a lot of new Guardians, Mira, who will look to their veteran peers for inspiration and guidance. When they do, I would very like like you to be here to help guide them.” Mira’s heart sank like a stone. Anything but this. At this moment, she would have preferred the firing squad. She wasn’t a leader, a mentor. Not anymore at least. That part of her had died years ago on Luna with the rest of her fireteam and friends.

“Ikora I…” Mira dropped her gaze away from Ikora’s, fumbling for the right words, “I don’t even know if I can. I’m not…” she gestured vaguely at herself, a rush of grief and guilt overwhelming her, “I’m not exactly…” she struggled for the right word, “I’m not exactly whole, I’m not who I was. Every time I come back I feel like I’m missing more of myself. I can’t even remember-” her voice caught and she choked back a growing lump in her throat, “Ikora, I can’t remember her face anymore.” Mira hugged her arms to her chest, feeling suddenly very small and very alone, unable even to look at Ikora. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’m who you want me to be anymore.” She felt scattered and distant, like she was falling apart on some soul-deep level, and somehow watching it all happen from outside herself. She didn’t want Ikora of all people to see her like this. She turned on her heel and took a few faltering steps towards the door, slowly steadying herself as she walked,

“You owe me, Mira Vess.” Ikora called after her, her raised voice echoing in the empty hall. Mira jerked to a halt. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” The Warlock’s tone was hard as steel and just as cold. “All these years, whenever I dragged you back from whatever Light-forsaken corner of the system your bloodlust drove you to, I always let you go again. I never called upon the debt you owe me. This time is different. This time you stay.” It was not a request, it was not even an order, it was simply a statement of fact, and Mira had no more power to deny it than she did to deny the name Shura had given her, or the Traveller’s Light that coursed through her undying body.

Almost against her will, Mira found herself turning, walking back to stand before Ikora, head lowered, eyes burning with unshed tears, still unable to look the Warlock Vanguard in the eyes. Ikora extended a hand and Mira instinctively flinched away for a moment before collecting herself. Ikora placed two fingers beneath Mira’s chin, tilting her face up so their eyes met. Mira’s face was a twisting mask flitting between grief, anger, fear, and a thousand other emotions as she tried frantically to master herself. Where before she had been unable to meet Ikora’ gaze, now she could not look away. The Warlock’s eyes were as dark and depthless as Titan’s seas, unforgiving as Mars’ deserts, cold as Luna’s dead sky. The two stood this way for what felt like an eternity, Mira struggling to steady her reeling mind, Ikora simply waiting, content to let the Hunter either get control of herself or wear herself out trying. Eventually, Ikora spoke,

“Will you honor your debt to me, Mira Vess?” Mira opened her mouth to speak, failed, licked dry lips, and tried again,

“What would you have of me, Ikora Rey?” She said, her voice barely a whisper. Under normal circumstances, she would have laughed at her own stilted formality, but in this moment it felt right somehow. Ikora nodded, satisfied, dropping her hand from Mira’s chin. Mira started as though awakening from a trance, realizing she’d been all but holding her breath.

“For now, I need you to rest and heal. Reintegrate yourself. There are patrols to conduct and Strikes that would benefit from your touch. Shaxx and Saladin would be glad to have you back in the Crucible, and I imagine the Drifter would be very interested indeed in including you in whatever his most recent lunatic scheme is.” Mira nodded slowly,

“I understand.” Her voice was quieter and shakier than she would have liked.

“Mira.” Ikora’s voice was quiet, but firm, “whatever part of you is missing isn’t out there. You won’t find it in the broken skull of a Baron or in the flayed heart of a Broodmother. You’ve been out there in the black for too long and it’s eating you alive. Come home, while there’s any of yourself left to do so.”

Mira exited the Consensus hall and stood outside the great double doors for a few minutes, blinking in the last rays of the setting sun, collecting herself before venturing back out into the chaos. It was evening now, but the courtyard outside the Consensus Hall was still busy, with groups of Guardians and civilians hurrying about and frames hauling crates of supplies and weapons to and from the various hanger bays on this level.

In contrast to her awkward entry onto the landing pad earlier, no one spared the lone Hunter a second glance, and she was very glad of the anonymity. The constant noise and movement still unsettled her a little, and she kept having to stop her hand from falling to the cannon at her hip, but the jittering in her mind was quieting by the minute. It would be hard to readjust to city life, but she was going to give it a try. She had no choice. Neither she nor Ikora had spoken of the nature of the debt Mira owed. They had no need. Mira had never forgotten that it was Ikora who had interceded on her behalf when she had been dragged back from Luna after the Great Disaster, half mad, incoherent and reeking of Hive sorcery. Had it not been for Ikora, she would likely have spent the rest of her unnaturally long life in an isolation cell, or simply been purged at the hands of the Praxic Order’s absurd lust for purity. Mira shuddered and rubbed the strange patterns of scars on her cheeks and brow that even the Light could not fully heal. She owed Ikora her life, what remained of it, and now that the Warlock Vanguard had finally called upon that debt, Mira would honor her word.

She wondered if her old apartment on the lower levels was still there or if it had been reclaimed. She probably hadn’t been in it more than once or twice since the Tower was rebuilt. She decided she’d find out later. For now she needed some time to wander, to get a feel for the place again, breathe the air, see what had changed in her absence, and what remained the same.

Very little had changed, she found. She wandered the Tower as the sun slipped lower and the web of lights that kept the corridors and courtyards bathed in eternal day flickered on. It was a peculiar sensation for her, readjusting to civilization, to being surrounded, for the first time in a long time, by beings who not only didn’t want to kill her, but paid her no particular mind. She imagined some might find it isolating; she found it unbelievably comforting.

Almost without thinking, she found her steps taking her to one of her old haunts, a usually-deserted stretch of parapet-wall overlooking the wilderness beyond the City. There was a small abutment there, an empty platform jutting out into empty air, unoccupied but clearly meant to hold some form of armament. For whatever reason, this platform had remained empty even after the rebuilding, and it was here that Mira had always gone to sit and escape the hustle and bustle of Tower life. There was no railing so Mira walked right up the the edge and sat down cross-legged, letting the gentle wind tug at her cloak.

The sun had set somewhere behind her, and while its last faint glow still lit the higher levels of the Tower above her, the valley far below was already shrouded in night. Mira was thankful for the fading light. With her eyes still ill-adjusted to Earth’s bright sunlight and the constant glare of electric illumination, she had been nursing a pounding headache ever since she arrived.

Hearing the quiet scuff of footfalls close behind her, Mira patted the concrete beside her without looking up. A moment later, Killy lowered himself down next to her, dangling his legs off the edge,

“You’re a hard woman to find, Mira Vess.” Mira regarded him archly,

“Not hard enough, I guess.” For a moment, Killy looked genuinely hurt, but he quickly realized there was no venom in Mira’s words and smiled,

“My fireteam and some of our friends are heading down to the city for a bite to eat, figured I’d invite you along. You probably haven’t eaten a real meal in what, six months? There’s a killer ramen joint in the east district we like to meet at.”

“East district. Maki’s?” Killy looked surprised,

“You know it?” Mira laughed,

“Sure I do. I just can’t believe that old bastard’s still alive. I think he’s older than I am, you know.” Killy rose and offered Mira a hand up,

“Come on. It’ll be my treat this time, and I’ll introduce you to the family. They’re good folks, once you get to know them. Maybe we’ll even get to work on learning that tragic backstory of yours.”

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny fiction

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