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phis-corner · 4 years

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demon’s daughter

I didn’t expect people to like this? Here’s chapter two!

Masterlist Chapter 1 [Chapter 2] Chapter 3

“Again.” Shiva’s commanding voice rang through the training room. “Straighten your hind leg to maintain your balance.”

Three year old Marinette obeyed, launching her small body into another series of attacks on the training dummy with her fists.

“Again. Your form was sloppy.”

“Again.”

The pattern continued until she was too exhausted to hold herself up and collapsed. Shiva tutted. “Still weak. I suppose we will have to end there for today. Dismissed.”

Marinette painstakingly picked herself off the ground and made her way back to her tiny living quarters.

.o0o.

Marinette parried another strike from her trainer, unflinching as the blades clashed millimeters away from her face. Her five year old arms shook with the effort to hold the blade there, and she ducked and rolled when the strain became too much.

She turned just in time to meet another strike before knocking her trainer’s blade to the side and slashing with her own katana. They trade blows back and forth until she sees another woman with auburn hair enter the courtyard, followed by a boy that has her hair and facial features.

The moment of hesitation is enough. Her trainer’s katana slashes across her chest, tearing through her skin and flesh and definitely scraping a lung. The pain is something she has never felt before, and she had already gone through the first round of torture resistance.

It burned, and she couldn’t breathe. The last thing she sees before everything goes black is Lady Shiva’s frown, the boy’s look of mild curiosity, and the concern that flashed through the auburn-haired woman’s eyes before she stuffed it down.

.o0o.

Marinette woke in the sickly green waters of the Lazarus Pit with a new bloodthirsty voice in her head. The first healer that came to check on her was murdered with her bare hands. As was the second, and the third.

It took months to learn to control the voice, the urges to kill. When she realized she had taken another three lives, she cried, but only when she was alone. Crying is a weakness that she could not show.

She returns to her room after another day of training to find the auburn-haired woman from a few months ago sitting on her bed.

The woman introduces herself as Talia al Ghul, and tells Marinette that she is her mother.

Her grandfather is the Demon’s Head, and the boy she saw, her twin brother, Damian, is his heir.

Marinette asks why she is ranked so low if her brother is the Prince. Talia’s eyes harden.

“Ra’s is a fool. He believes that women are not worthy of power, and can do nothing to maintain it. But you will prove him wrong, daughter. I refuse to raise an unworthy child.”

Marinette trains harder after that.

.o0o.

But harder isn’t always enough.

The second time she died, it wasn’t because she was not a capable fighter.

The second round of torture resistance took place a year and a half after her first death. She withstood the pain, only letting out the tiniest whimper in the beginning, which earned her another ten lashes, but in the end, her body gave up from the injuries.

She bled out, still bound in chains, and woke up in the Pit again, the murderous voice back with a new vengeance.

Marinette accidentally took another life, but she promised herself it wouldn’t happen again. She would gain control of this madness. She would.

She refused to think of what would happen if she didn’t.

.o0o.

When she turns nine, Lady Shiva deems her worthy enough to claim her spot as the Princess of the League, and so she moved into the larger quarters, meant for the family of the Demon’s Head.

Talia was proud, but she did not outwardly express it. Marinette read it in her body, the way she was trained to.

Her twin brother was… distant. He refused to accept a sibling, refused to accept that she can be the Princess while he is the Heir. He acted just like Ra’s, the man he will grow up to replace.

Marinette supposed they saw her as unworthy not only because of her gender, but because of her deaths. She thought that Damian might have died too, had the trainers not been too afraid to kill the Demon’s Heir. She doesn’t point it out. It wouldn’t do her any good.

One month after she moved in, Ra’s demanded that she spar Damian. Talia and Ra’s bore witness to the spar.

Damian drew his katana, scowling at her all the while. Marinette remained unfazed and took her own battle stance opposite him, feeling the comforting weight of her steel war fans in her hands.

They launched at each other at the same time, slashing and parrying and slicing and dodging. Damian gives her a shallow cut on her right cheekbone. Marinette retaliates with a slice on the forehead. The spar goes on for three hours before Ra’s ends it, having seen that there will be no winner.

Ra’s was hard to please. Marinette did pass his judgement for being worthy in battle, but he would never fully accept her the way he did his grandson. That was alright by her. Ra’s was not the kind of person she wished to have the opinion of anyway.

Damian was also a lot more willing to talk to her after that spar, and Marinette finally learned what it was like to have a companion her own age, even if he was a bit arrogant and rude at times.

.o0o.

Marinette flies awake with a start, and for a moment, she forgets where she is. Wayne Manor. Father. Safe.

“Good morning, ukhti.” Damian greets, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

Marinette snorts derisively, sliding easily off the top bunk and landing lightly on the floor. “Do I ever, akhi?”

Damian’s face softens. “It is still early. Would you like to spar to get your mind off things?”

“Of course.” Marinette gives her twin a rare smile. “We must change into more suitable clothes first though.”

Ten minutes later, the twins silently creep out of their room and start the hunt for the training room, exploring the Manor as they go. It takes half an hour to find the correct location. Marinette and Damian occupy opposite sides of the sparring mat as they start warming up.

Marinette relishes the pull of her muscles as she stretches, the feeling grounding her into reality. Once they finish, they settle into their fighting positions, each eyeing the other apprehensively.

Damian makes the first move, as the more aggressive of the two. Marinette swiftly dodges his fist and sends a quick kick to his chest. He catches her foot and uses her own momentum to throw her over his shoulder. Marinette twists as she falls, and hits the ground in a perfect three-point landing. She lunges again, and Damian charges forward to meet her in a whirl of fists and kicks, blocks and blows.

At some point, they notice Alfred enter the room, but he merely stands off to the side and watches, so they continue sparring. Not long after, he is followed by a lithe young woman with short black hair, a pale teen who has massive eye bags, and a familiar man with a white streak in his dark hair.

Cassandra Cain. Timothy Drake. Jason Todd. Batgirl, Robin, and Red Hood. Alfred clears his throat, and both of them part, barely even sweating.

“Is something the matter, Pennyworth?” Damian asks in a snobby tone that makes Marinette want to smack him over the head (didn’t his training ever cover socialization? Hers definitely did, but maybe that’s because she was a female.) so she does so.

Being treated as a prince from birth certainly inflated his ego. Damian glares, but does not retaliate. Good. He knows he is being rude.

“I wished to inform you that breakfast is ready and the rest of the family wanted to come and meet the two of you.” Alfred says neutrally.

Cassandra then gives them a friendly smile and a wave, while the boys stay where they are, calculating eyes roving over them. Marinette can’t really judge them for that- she has already scanned all of them for weaknesses too, though there weren’t many.

Damian sniffs. “I do not see why Father chooses to keep these imbeciles around now that he has a blood son and blood daughter.” Marinette smacks him on the head again, because his attitude is getting a little irritating.

“They are not here for you to demean, brother.” She hisses in Icelandic. “Father has deemed them family because they have proved themselves worthy. You well treat them with respect, or I will treat you the way you treat them.” Damian grumbles, but thankfully quiets.

Marinette quickly gives the others a small curtsy. “My apologies for my brother. He can be quite abrasive, but he is learning. It is an honor to meet those whom our father considers family.”

Cassandra responds first, patting each of them lightly on the shoulder, making sure to keep her posture relaxed and non-threatening. “Sister. Brother.”

Jason and Damian stare each other down, and Marinette internally sighs. Men and their need to have… what was that phrase I read online? The biggest penis energy? Jason breaks the silence.

“Damian al Ghul. Ibn al Xu’ffasch. Grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, Heir to the Demon’s Head. Never knew you had a sister.”

Damian shifts protective towards Marinette. “I learned of her existence last year.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Timothy frowns. “Grandson of Ra’s al Ghul? As in the grandchildren of the man who is not only obsessed with Bruce, but also the head of the League of Assassins? These are assassin children?”

Cassandra frowns, hurt. She points to herself. “Assassin child.”

“I’ve been in the League too, Replacement.” Jason shrugs.

“No, you don’t understand.” Timothy shakes his head. “These are Ra’s grandchildren, kids that Talia gave birth to after some questionable activities with Bruce. Who’s to say that Ra’s didn’t plant them here as moles? Why should we trust them?”

Marinette feels a pang of hurt against her will. “Ra’s al Ghul may have been my grandfather by blood, but he was never more than any other assassin in the League to me. He was the one who took me away from my brother at birth. He is the reason why I have been died twice and been revived both times by the Lazarus Pit. He is the reason why I only got to meet my twin last year, and you think I would work for him, act as a spy for him, when I finally escape the League to live with my father?”

“Whatever.” Timothy spits. “I still don’t trust you.” He pivots and walks out of the room.

Marinette reads a fear in his body language, but it isn’t fear of their skills, or fear that they might kill him. It’s a fear of being replaced, and suddenly, she understands.

“...You don’t plan on betraying us, right?” Jason asks suddenly.

Damian huffs. “Tt. Of course not, Todd. I wish to become Batman one day, and betraying Father’s cause would be extremely counterproductive to my efforts.”

Sometime during their encounter, Alfred had disappeared. Cassandra heads to the exit, and gestures for them to follow. “Come. Breakfast now.”

Timothy does not show while they eat, and neither does Father. Alfred nearly has an aneurysm when he learns that Marinette has never had chocolate (a side effect of being a low-ranked assassin) and immediately starts stuffing chocolate-covered pastries into her hands.

“I insist that you try one.” Alfred says. “You will find it quite delicious.” Marinette obediently takes a bite, and a delightfully rich flavor fills her mouth.

She has never known that food could taste so good, and says as much. Alfred’s pleased face, Damian’s small smile, and Cassandra’s grin make her feel warm inside. Evidently, there is a lot she doesn’t know about the world, but she is excited and willing to learn.

.o0o.

Marinette and Damian carry out their plan after the rest leave for patrol (sans Jason, who was still benched because of his ribs) and believe they are asleep.

They change into the darkest, most flexible clothing they can find in their room and silently slip out of the window after disabling all the alarms. Wayne Manor’s security measures are evaded with some effort, and they are out in the midst of Gotham City in almost no time at all.

Ubu has not tried to hide at all. He is entertaining two women when they burst in, already having disabled the cameras around the area just in case.

“Leave, harlots.” Damian spits at the women, as Marinette charges the much larger man. Her steel fans glint in the light as she slashes.

Ubu does manage to escape the apartment, but the twins easily catch up to him even though he runs through the traffic. The drivers don’t seem very disturbed. It must be a normal occurrence in Gotham, to see a hulking man running from two children with swords and fans.

Damian tackles Ubu, but after a half-hearted attempt at interrogation, in which the man purposefully riles him up, he raises his sword, the angle indicating he intended to kill him.

“Akhi, no!” Marinette cries, and she sees a blur of blue and black as her brother is tackled, sword flying out of his grip. She snarls, flicking open her fans and ready to hurt whoever attacked her brother, but stops when she realizes who the man is. “Nightwing.”

Richard Grayson sighs. “The psychos keep getting younger.”

Damian growls, launching himself at the larger man with a battle cry. The fight lasts about six minutes before Nightwing manages to tie her brother up, hanging from a streetlamp with a gag in his mouth. Marinette was trying to get them to stop all the while, to no avail, and she didn’t want to step in for fear of hurting either brother.

Nightwing turns to her. “Do I need to tie you up the hard way too?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Thank you for finally acknowledging my existence. If you had actually listened, Nightwing, you would know that your offer is not necessary. My name is Marinette. My twin is Damian, and we are Bruce Wayne’s biological children. Hello, older brother.”

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Taglist: @moonlightstar64 @dast218 @our-preciousss @novicevoice @pawsitivelymiraculous @trippingovermyfeet @miyla-lokidottir @consumeconstantly @mochegato @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @azuremayscarlet @iloveitwhen @bran-thecreeper-stark @no-username2544

Permanent Taglist (always open): @wannajointhecrabcult

some of them didn’t work for some reason. I’m sorry!

note: if you asked to be tagged in either taglist, you have been added even though the fic’s taglist is closed because I am a total pushover. I probably won’t respond to your comment, but I will add you when I see it, and I’m almost always active.

#maribat #demon's daughter au #i still can't tag #my writing

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hyacjnthus · 3 years

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did someone ask for *dramatically takes off sunglasses* nico di angelo angst? nope, nobody asked for it

it’s been sitting in my google docs drafts for like months so here you go. read it on AO3

_____

who is in control? by plantedpluto

_____

For demigods, Friday was going great. It was just before Capture the Flag when Nico had followed Will into the infirmary to tidy it up. They both knew, especially with the skills those had learned from the Giant War a few weeks ago, people could fight brutally and Will might be stuck there for a while.

As Nico was flipping through the pages of Lou Ellen’s file - mostly potions-gone-wrong related injuries, screams erupted from down the hill, and Cecil Markowitz came barreling into the infirmary.

He was coated in water, a few cuts on his arms and a bite that looked like it came from a fish. Something wasn’t right. Something big wasn’t right.

“It...It’s Percy!” Cecil winced, waving his hands frantically as he talked. “He’s destroying the camp, summoning everything from the ocean!”

Will took Cecil by the shoulders to set him down, then looked back at Nico. He had a look that Nico knew anywhere, but now was the time to ignore it.

“You cannot be serious,” Will said, his voice hard.

“Will, you know what he can do.” Nico explained, a tinge of panic in his own voice. “If anyone can stop him, it’s me.”

Before Nico could leave, Will gripped his wrist, pulling him closer, and connected their lips together. Will had that warm and reassuring feeling, somehow more than usual. When they reluctantly pulled apart, Will hugged him. That only made Nico’s abrupt departure even worse.

To hide the fear, Nico sent a joking salute to the room with a smile, then left with the faux emotion dropping.

The scene was utter chaos. The magma of the lava wall had turned black into what he assumed was obsidian, a few cabins - including his own- crumbled to their individual materials, centre hearth completely extinguished with Percy standing over it, enveloped in water.

Nico hadn’t been very good at math, just now being tutored by Will to catch up, but he did try to calculate in his head the best plan of action.

Why was Percy doing this? Attacking camp with his powers? How were the gods, including Poseidon, just sitting there watching as their children avoided being slaughtered? Thank the gods there hadn’t been any casualties, but some were in such critical condition that Nico could feel their life force draining.

Prime example, Lacy from the Aphrodite cabin was whimpering on the ground, several cuts and bites on her skin. Nico knelt to her side, carefully running his fingers along them.

“Lacy,” Nico whispered, “It’s going to be okay, you’ll be just fine”

She picked her up under the knees and behind her head. He pressed his fingers to her neck and thanked the gods once again that she wasn’t dead. “Miranda!” he shouted at the closest child of Demeter. She looked inharmed, yet still in shock.

“Oh my gods, Lacy…” she muttered. “Nico what—“

“Take her to the infirmary, tell Will it’s critical, I’m going to stop Percy.” he explained before parting ways.

As Nico reached the middle, standing in front of the hearth, Percy’s white glazed eyes flickered to him when Nico drew his stygian iron sword. Riptide reflected in the water, glowing bright in the sunlight.

“Percy!” he called, purposely gaining the son of Poseidon’s attention before he could choke Pollux anymore. “What in Hades are you doing?”

Percy said nothing but let Riptide clatter to the stone. Was that a sign of surrender? Did he somehow begin to fear Nico when they were forced to fight against each other?

Nico placed his hand on the ground, summoning stone to lift him to almost Percy’s height, a few skeletal soldiers climbing their way up the sides, blocking Nico from the oncoming shark Percy decided to flick his way.

“Percy, stop this!” Nico begged, more soldiers replacing the crumbling ones. “You're destroying your home, what is wrong with you?”

Again, Percy would not answer, but his eyes flickered from clear, sea green to white and hazy. He was fighting for control, he was fighting against his power, he was fighting against what possessed him.

“Eidolon.” Nico whispered to himself. He needed Lacy, to charmspeak Percy out of his daze. Just as he heard Piper had done. But the oldest of the children of Aphrodite were gone, except for…

“MITCHELL!” Nico called to the splintering cabin ten. No answer. He called again, a boy stumbling out that he could barely see. Nico turned to Lou Ellen who appeared beside him, ready to fight, “Retrieve Mitchell, guide him to Percy for charmspeak.”

Lou Ellen nodded and a few warriors leapt from the top, fell to 201 individual pieces, then reassembled in a moment to follow the daughter of Hecate.

“I can destroy you alone, without destroying Percy Jackson.” Nico stated.

“Can you, son of Hades?” the possessed Percy asked, his voice like ice water. It made Nico shiver, almost like he was feeling someone die.

Yet, he really was feeling someone die. He was feeling himself die.

Nico could barely breathe. He felt like someone was squeezing his throat, someone repelling him closer and closer to Percy. He was forced to his knees, a feeling of heaviness towards his head. The chaotic nature of the sound around him seemed hollow until there was none, and tears streamed his face.

He could see his hands becoming paler, shriveling up like raisins when his blue and red veins depleted in colour in accordance with his leaking eyes, ears and now, nose.

Nico forced himself to his feet, fighting Percy’s control, pushing his palms firm on the stone to resist being smashed back down. He felt like he was doing push-ups with ten bricks on his back.

Getting to his feet, almost too weak to fight, he willed the undead to tear away the stones and crawl between the cracks close to Percy.

With one final thrust of his hands, an order, the undead attacked Percy and Mitchell whispered something in Percy’s ear. The son of Poseidon and Hades slumped down at the same time, undead crumbling to a pile of bones, retreating with the sloshing water back to the ocean.

__________

Nico felt himself get pushed up from behind, then laid gently across Percy’s knees. The eidolon was gone and he was captured in Percy’s sea smelled embrace. Percy tried to reach out for enough water to heal him, but no amount of ambrosia and nectar could replace all the blood that Nico lost that was now seeping into the grass.

Nico had minutes to live.

Percy studied Nico. His skin was transparent to the point where his veins were clearly visible under his pale tone. Dark blood seeped from his ears, starting to dry in clumps. A few tears escaped his eyes along with dark blood from the outside ring, eyes sunken in. Drops of blood from both nostrils slid down onto his lips and chin, which in turn spilled sideways as he was held.

“You controlled me,” Nico muttered.

“Not on purpose, I promise.” Percy said, feeling his eyes well up with tears. He furiously swiped them away, then stroked the hair from Nico’s bloody face.

“You’re Percy.” Nico enunciated, like he was reminding himself he succeeded. More glistening blood seeped from his lips as Percy nodded. “Your face…” he whispered deliriously. “Can I hold it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Percy said, drawing Nico’s hand to his cheek, holding it there.

“I didn’t realize the blood—“ Nico tried to pull away, but Percy kept his hand the way it was. If this was the comfort he needed, Percy could oblige.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Percy urged. Nico didn’t say anything to that. His breath hitched in his throat, Percy realizing he was forcing his body to stay alive for longer, for what he needed to say.

“I’m scared to die,” he finally croaked.

“You’re going to Elysium,” Percy insisted. “You are. You’re dying a hero’s death.”

Nico laughed precariously. “I’m not scared for me.”

Will, Percy realized.

He was terrified of leaving Will alone. He knew how much the son of Apollo had been through; losing his brothers in the Battle of Manhattan, becoming a counsellor for tons of his siblings at fourteen, losing and saving more after the Battle with Gaea - no teen like him needed to live like that.

For the first time ever, Nico sobbed - hard. Tears dripped down either side of his face, spilling down to his ears. More blood escaped his lips which only made Percy’s heart clench more.

“Please, don’t let him be alone,” Nico begged, his breath shallow and almost gone. “Don’t let him ever be alone...please.”

Percy let his forehead touch Nico’s when the son of Hades’ body went slack, and his pupils contracted like he’d been having a staring contest with the sun.

Not for one minute did Nico di Angelo fixate on himself, he was afraid for Will. Nico didn’t fear death, he feared the loneliness he knew his love would feel, and that pain hurt him more than the wounds that had slowly killed him.

#warning: major character death #nico di angelo #percy jackson #will solace #solangelo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo

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akaluan · 3 years

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Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 5

Kisuke jerks awake at the sound of footsteps, the breath catching in his throat and one hand reaching for his blade—

“Woah, hey, just me,” a vaguely familiar voice announces even as the footsteps halt. “There’s no danger around.”

Kisuke scrubs at his face, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind, and then glances blearily up at the healer. “How long…?”

The young man shrugs and casually walks an arc around Kisuke, never coming within arm’s reach, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. “I was gone maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Not sure how long of that you were asleep for.”

Kisuke grimaces at the answer and forces himself straight despite the exhaustion weighing on his limbs. If anything, he’s even more exhausted now than he was before he closed his eyes, but he refuses to show any more weakness—

A bowl of miso soup appears in front of him, fragrant steam wafting from the bowl. He blinks at it, then up at the young healer in question, uncertain when the man had time to make — or even just heat up — anything for him.

(Damn.)

(He hates being like this!)

(Especially around unknowns.)

“Eat,” the man says sternly as he sits down with a bowl of his own, clearly taking his own advice. “I know you probably don’t want to, but your body will thank you later.”

Kisuke makes a face at the man, then carefully picks the warm bowl up and starts to eat without any more fuss; he knows the man is right, everything he’s ever learned agrees with him, but it still burns to be told to eat as if he’s a recalcitrant child.

“I should probably introduce myself,” the young man muses after a moment of silence. “Sorry about that, I’m Sora.”

“Kisuke,” he introduces himself, then twitches towards the doorway as a sound catches his attention—

There’s a tiny child standing in the doorway, with brilliant orange hair and wide, wary brown eyes. She’s staring at him, her little hands clenched tight and her body tense, and Kisuke… Kisuke doesn’t know how to react.

She’s smaller than any child he’s ever met before and clearly terrified of him as well, though he has no idea why; he’s not exactly an imposing presence at the moment, Benihime aside, though he is a stranger, so… perhaps that’s the reason? He has no idea.

“It’s alright, Hime,” Sora says gently, setting his bowl aside and beckoning to the little girl. “Do you want some food?”

Hime nods shyly and then darts across the room, giving Kisuke a wide berth in the process, and practically glues herself to Sora’s side.

Kisuke considers the picture they make as Sora rises and heads back to the small kitchen with Hime, trying to figure out their relationship; Sora looks far too young to be Hime’s father, but the wisps of power that Kisuke can sense from both of them indicate a familial relationship. Siblings, perhaps, or maybe cousins, Kisuke isn’t entirely sure.

Not that it really matters, he reminds himself, shoving his curiosity aside in favor of refocusing on his food. Whoever they are, however they’re related, it’s none of his business.

(No matter how curious he is.)

Sora returns to the table with Hime still glued to his side, and Hime promptly settles in Sora’s lap the moment he sits back down, a small bowl of soup cradled carefully in her hands. Sora seems accustomed to it, at least, so Kisuke sort of hopes it is her usual way and that it isn’t because of him.

He tears his gaze away from them. Focuses on his food. Reminds himself that Sora insisted he stay so there’s no point in worrying about it.

Tomorrow he will see Erich, will assure himself that Erich is fine, and then… then he’ll do… something.

(He’ll figure it out later.)

(He’s too tired right now.)

(Later will be fine.)

\\\

The sound of footsteps down the hall wakes Kisuke at a frankly horrific hour — the sun isn’t even above the horizon yet! — and he rolls over with a groan, pulling the blankets high over his head.

(Morning people are the worst.)

(Ugh!)

He manages a bit more sleep before the drumming of tiny feet racing down the hall wakes him once more.

(At least this time the sun is over the horizon, but damn these people are early risers!)

Kisuke rubs a hand over his face, debates burying himself in his borrowed bed for another few hours of rest, and then reluctantly sets the thought aside and drags himself out of bed: the sooner he’s up and about, the sooner he can check on Erich.

(The sooner he can set his worries aside and figure out what his next step will be.)

(He still hasn’t decided.)

(Doesn’t know if he wants to decide.)

(Doesn’t even know if Erich will allow him close—)

(No.)

(One step at a time.)

“Morning,” Sora says as Kisuke steps into the main room, then nods towards the table and adds, “Take a seat, I’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

“Maa, you don’t—”

“So I’m supposed to ignore you and just feed myself and Hime?” Sora asks sharply, then closes his eyes and take a deep breath, shaking off the edge of anger in the process. “Erich won’t be awake for another hour or so,” he says with confidence. “So sit down, eat, and let me make sure that I didn’t make a mistake last night when I let you go to bed without checking you for injuries first.”

“Ah, I’m fine, you don’t—”

“Kisuke,” Sora bites out, then tips his head back to stare at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Stop arguing with me,” he says in exasperation. “You aren’t burdening me or whatever else is going through your mind right now. I have more than enough food to share with you, and healing is what I do for the townsfolk here. Just… let me do my job. Please.”

Kisuke grimaces but concedes the argument with a nod. He’s fine, he knows he’s fine, but he can use this opportunity to assess how skilled a healer Sora is.

Healers — actual, trained, powerful healers — are rare out in the wild-lands, with most people resorting to the more reliable methods using herbs and poultices and a simple needle and thread to keep a body together. Those skills, at least, can be passed on to anyone with the patience for it, unlike Healing.

So he sits across from Hime, and he settles his mind, and he watches as Sora dishes out breakfast and brings the trays to the table, setting one in front of Hime, one next to her, and the third in front of Kisuke: it’s a very traditional looking meal, with miso soup, rice, some seared fish, and some vegetable sides, but Kisuke’s portion is certainly larger than he expected to receive.

(Not many people understand exactly what it means to be a Shinigami, especially in regards to their food intake.)

(The consideration is… nice.)

Before he can remark upon it though, Sora is kneeling next to him, power gathering around one hand, and—

Waiting.

Expectantly, but waiting, instead of simply reaching out to touch. Sora’s power is calm-patience-focus to Kisuke’s senses, but it doesn’t stray far beyond Sora’s body, just pools around his right hand and stays there.

(Not entirely untrained, then.)

(Good.)

(He can work with that.)

Sora doesn’t move until Kisuke nods, and even then he doesn’t do anything abruptly: he just casually leans in, telegraphing his movements in a manner that feels like habit, and sets his hand on Kisuke’s shoulder. His power slides into Kisuke’s body like water, not a single rough edge present, and slowly spreads out, lingering in all the myriad scrapes and bruises and minor wounds that Kisuke had picked up during the previous day’s combat.

Kisuke breathes through the uncomfortable sensation of a stranger’s power wending beneath his skin and forces his mind to focus, forces himself to pay attention—

Sora is not exactly an unskilled healer, Kisuke decides as the young man carefully heals him, and he’s certainly not an unpracticed healer, he’s just… not trained to the level Kisuke would expect of a Shinigami healer. Through no fault of his own, of course, but gaps in knowledge can be deadly, especially out here.

As Sora withdraws his powers and pulls back, Kisuke gives the young man a considering look, debating if he wants to offer lessons, if he wants to share Shinigami secrets with an unaffiliated healer—

“Thank you for letting me check,” Sora says with a small bow, interrupting Kisuke’s thoughts. “Forgive me for ignoring you last night. I knew you’d been fighting, but—”

“You were exhausted,” Kisuke cuts in with a shake of his head. “We both needed sleep more than I needed healing.”

Sora grimaces at Kisuke’s words but gives a shallow nod of agreement. “This time, yes. But—” he cuts himself off and looks away, rising to his feet in order to move to his spot at the table next to Hime. “Never mind,” he murmurs as he sits back down. “Please, eat. And let me know if you need more. I know approximately how much Erich needs after a fight, but I’m unfamiliar with a Shinigami’s precise needs.”

“This will be plenty,” Kisuke reassures Sora even as he files away the man’s clear displeasure with his current level of skill; with luck, that means Sora will be open to some lessons, especially if Kisuke can convince Tessai to be Sora’s teacher.

(It’s just good business to have trained healers in places where Kisuke frequents.)

(Really, that’s his only motivation.)

(Whatever else Sora does with his lessons is up to him.)

Kisuke takes a few bites of food, considering how best to ask, then decides to simply go for it. “Would you want to learn more healing skills?” At Sora’s wide-eyed look, Kisuke shrugs awkwardly and focuses on the food in front of him. “I could ask a friend if he’d be willing to teach you, if you want. Tessai wasn’t an official Healer when we were Shinigami, but he knows more than enough. And… if he doesn’t want to, I, uh… I’m not unskilled, just… not the best at teaching people,” Kisuke can’t help but ramble as Sora continues to simply stare at him.

Sora’s chopsticks click against the rest as he sets them down, the sound weirdly loud in the silence that falls as Kisuke stops talking. At his side, Hime blinks up at him and then across at Kisuke, clearly understanding that something important is going on, but not entirely certain what.

“Ah… sorry if that was out of line,” Kisuke mumbles, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders at the attention. He doesn’t know if — or how — he’s stepped wrong, but an apology seems prudent.

(It’s the best way he’s found to deal with these sort of mistakes, especially when he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.)

(People always seem to overlook that when he apologizes.)

“What’s the catch,” Sora asks, his brows furrowed and something dark-wary-suspicious creeping into his presence.

Kisuke blinks. “Catch?” he echoes in surprise, then pauses, frowns, and slowly says, “I’m not expecting anything except future healing in return.” He meets Sora’s gaze firmly, hoping to convince the young man of his sincerity, and adds, “I’m an ex-Shinigami, and so is Tessai. This is where we live now, so… doesn’t it make sense to offer? Someday, one or both of us might need a skilled healer.”

Sora watches him, wariness slowly fading, then nods once and picks his chopsticks back up. “I’ll think on your offer,” is all he says on the topic.

“Let me know whatever you decide,” Kisuke says as he turns back to his meal. “The offer will remain open.”

Sora hums softly, a touch of disbelief in his tone, but says nothing else.

Kisuke figures that’s the best he’s going to get.

(The offer’s there and that’s all that matters.)

(That’s good enough.)

#erich/kisuke #erich von rerugen #urahara kisuke #prompt fill #yep! that's who healer guy is <3

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walkwithheroes84 · 3 years

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Saved By the Bell (2020) Thoughts

When the original Saved by the Bell ended in 1992, I was still in elementary school and certainly hadn’t watched it’s first run. But over the years - via repeats - it has become something of a comfort show for me, that I turn to when I’m feeling down or just need something cheesy to chill out to. So, hen I heard about a reboot on the Peacock network, I was unsure.

Now, having finished the ten episode season in just two days, I’m really hoping people give this show a chance. It knows what it is and what it is the child of and it lovingly pokes fun at and embraces it. All while actually showing real issues that people are facing today.

Here are my real-time after thoughts on each episode. Warning for spoilers.

1.01: Pilot

Zack becoming Governor to get out of a parking ticket and then having no idea what to do is a very Saved by the Bell plot line. But, I love that he's not getting away with doing a bad job and the people of California actually seem to be upset with him. Also random, but - I wonder if Kelly is a doctor and why she hasn't kicked Zack to the curb if he's become such a skeevy person? I guess it is true love.

Jessie and Slater and still adorable, even as platonic friends. However, it's sad that she's kept her son so dependent on her and that it appears that Slater peeked in high school.

Lexi and Mac would be completely unlikeable if played by anyone other than Josie Totah and Mitchell Hoog. Right now, they are just unlikeable, but could grow as the series goes on.

Devante and Aisha are good and I look forward to their characters being explored more.

Daisy is fine, but I don't think she's a strong enough character to be the "lead". Many reviews have called her the "lead" and the "character viewers follow the most" and I'm not sure the character is strong enough for that. Haskiri Velazquez is capable in her role and is doing fine, but the character is a bit bland at the moment.

Principal Toddman: finally a principal that is trying to make a difference and isn't bumbling around and letting the students get away with anything.

The "running for school president" story felt straight out of the old series, with Lexi and Mac doing it for a parking space. But, I liked that in the end (it was 2 days show time and just 30-something minutes our time) they only let Daisy have the job because they didn't want to give up their spring break - not because they learned any sort of real lesson.

From previews I was a little worried that they might try and go with a Mac/Daisy pairing, and I really glad that it doesn't look that way. Yes, it feels like they might pair them down the road (if the show gets a season 2 and beyond), but for now Daisy seems more annoyed with him and Mac seems indifferent to her. It looks like the show might go with Jamie/Aisha, which could work.

1.02: Clubs and Cliques

The theater clique is basically so cliché that its amusing. I love that they were all desperate to get Devante involved and keep him in the group chat, but he was just so disinterested. Lexi's line that she would fall for him if he kept ignoring her? Ha.

Jamie's inability to basically function as a normal fifteen/sixteen year old is alarming. The fact that he couldn't tell he is bad at football and that he makes raw food? Like, Jessie, who did you raise? That said, the football team having a "Feelings Helmet" was just amusing to me. The Bayside students are just so over the top insane.

There is a large part of me that wonders what the heck happened in the raising of Mac. Kelly had six siblings. She was raised in a working class family. I can't see her raising her son to be this entitled brat who apparently calls her stupid. And, I honestly can't see Zack allowing his son to end up an idiot who just floats through life.

But, I guess that's the point of the series: the Bayside students are all clichés and over the top archetypes of rich kids. None of them are really all that likeable and I find myself rooting for Devante, Daisy, and Aisha while wanting Mac, Lexi, and Jamie to grow up.

1.03: The Bayside Triangle

Knowing that Jamie and Lexi have been friends since they were little kids and she now has a crush on him and doesn't know how to handle it? Very relatable and makes me like her a bit more. She's right - for a lot of reasons, it can be weird to have an old friend like you.

Aisha trying so hard to fit in with the Bayside students is a bit sad, actually. It feels like she's giving up a part of herself to be who they think she should be.

Mac and Jamie's fight felt like it was straight out of the original series.

It's sad to know that Zack and Slater are no longer friends. I wonder why.

Devante is totally my favorite at this point. He just wants a fresh start and it's sad that Aisha and Daisy suspected him of wrongdoing because of his past.

Again, the fact that the students do all this weird stuff and no one at the school seems to notice or care . . .I feel that is purely making fun of the original show, but I love it.

1.04: The Fabulous Birchwood Boys

Lexi and Devante need to become best friends and stay best friends forever. Let's keep it platonic and fabulous. Also, his friends from his neighbor? I need to see more of those boys.

Jamie and Mac Freshmen year? Dorky as all get out. Lexi's fear that no one would like her. So heartbreakingly real.

Daisy having access to money for one day and becoming an entitled monster...that also felt very real. And, I'm really glad that she didn't take the easy way out and said she was sorry to the other members.

Since Mac never even asked Post Malone and since he got the other kids back - I'm starting to think the kid has more depth and empathy than I originally gave him credit for. That or Daisy is rubbing off on him. If they did Daisy/Mac down the road, I think it could work.

I felt so sorry when Lexi realized that Jamie had asked Aisha. I think they are headed for a Lexi/Jamie/Aisha love triangle, and I have to say that while I see Lexi/Jamie (because of her crush), I don't see Jamie/Aisha just yet.

Finally, Slater obsessing over the gym floors? He really did become a stereotype of a gym coach.

1.05: Rent-A-Mom

Jessie still having anxiety about caffeine and knocking what she thought was caffeine pills away from Mac was great.

Speaking of which - poor Jessie and her marriage. :( How did she end up with such a wishy-washy husband?

Slater and Aisha bonding while trying to making the team tougher was great. I cannot believe Jamie gives heartfelt speeches before games. What the hell, man? They really are pushing Jamie as the "sensitive man-child".

Jamie also mentioned that he was starting to like Aisha, but I still don't really see it. Am I alone in this? A start of a friendship, sure. But, a romance within the next few episodes - that would move too fast. Then again, it is a "teen show" and romance on those tend to move quickly.

Lexi and Mac trying to help Daisy was kind-of sweet in a weird sort of way. I like the looks into the home lives of the gang. It gives us a better understand of who they are as people.

1.06: Teen-Line

DeVante clearly facing racism and even classism at Bayside was really well done. I love that Lexi was ready to help him, because he has become such a great friend to her. Those two have really bonded and I love it.

Mac becoming a payphone, but not realizing it kind of made me smile. But what was even better was the way the school completely went into chaos after the students lost their phones. It couldn't have been more than three hours and the school already looked like a deleted scene from a post-apocalyptic film. Oh, and Mac using the rope to get in and out of the room, while the rest of the group used the door. . .loved it.

Aisha and Jamie. . .I feel like she's with him because he's attractive and sweet. There doesn't seem to be any real depth to their relationship. Though to be fair, there isn't much depth to Jamie's character - he's a satellite love interest to Aisha and Lexi.

1.07: House Party

Lexi finally seeing that she is a good (or at least better) person? I like that she is growing. Out of all the characters, I think she has gotten the most character growth (out of the kids) this season.

So. . .Mac does all his schemes because he's scared of being abandoned by the people he cares about and feels neglected by his parents? It's cliché, but. . .okay.

I'm still not really feeling Aisha/Jamie, but I'm not hating it. The relationship lacks depth, so I'm not terribly invested. But, I'm sure if I went back and watched any of the TNBC shows (without my nostalgic glasses on) those romances won't have much depth either.

Daisy trying to go wild, but instead having to be locked in a closet and making out with a coat? Eh, I get that they were poking fun at the darker and "edgy" teen soaps, but, eh.

Slater really grew during the episode and realized that it's time to leave high school behind and start acting like a real adult, and I'm proud of him.

1.08: The Todd Capsule

Lark looked amazing. I'm so happy that she is doing so well these days.

So now we know where Screech is: on the Space Station with Kevin the Robot.

I was actually sad to learn that Kelly didn't follow her dream of becoming an actual doctor and is instead selling a fake wellness brand or some nonsense. Though, I will admit the Zack/Kelly scenes had me giggling a bit. They have become so shallow and weird, but I'm living for it. And when Zack said she was the only woman he's ever been with? That was a great jab, at least to me, at the way teen shows always do the "one true pairing" thing.

So glad Jessie now knows that Slater still has feelings for her. Can't believe her husband is having an emotional affair with one of his characters. This show can be so ridiculous.

The time capsule was a great addition to the episode, especially as they remembered all the plots that didn't make sense or were just weird: Jessie's caffeine addiction, putting on a ballet so Zack could graduate, saving a hotel in Hawaii.

How dare the gang (expect Lisa, who is a Queen) not remember Ron-Ron!

I hate - hate - that the PTA basically went behind everyone's back and is going to use the money to send the Douglas children back to their school. Yes, they can use the money to buy new things, but they will still have issues in that school. It's pure racism and classism.

Devante having a crush on Nadia (I think that's her name?) is super cute.

Loved Lexi and Daisy bonding and Lexi seeing that sometimes guilting people into things works just as well as being fake-nice. Though, you think she would have learned that by now.

So, Mac has always struck me as a character that is straight out of a 90s teen sitcom, and he still acts that way. But, I love that the show is trying to show some depth to him: he's acting out for attention from his dad. He has modeled his whole personality after his dad's high school personality in order to get attention. It's a storyline that has been done a million times (and will be done a million more times), but it fits his character.

1.09: All in the Hall

The Douglas principal saying that every few years people try and come in to "save" the school ,but than get bored and leave, because they've already gotten what they want - to feel good about themselves? Yeah, I felt that. It was so true to life, the way people rush into some new cause and than abandon it once they have gotten praise or its no longer trendy.

So happy to see Principal Toddman standing up Jade and sticking up for his students. He and Devante should have more scenes together. I like how they play off one another. I really just love Devante - he's probably my favorite.

Aisha finding a way to stay at the school via sports was very smart, but I can also see how Daisy would see it as selfish. Aisha does have a way of thinking about herself first and than others after. I think that has to do with her ultracompetitive nature - she wants to win, even if it mean leaving others behind.

Jamie got a bit more depth in this episode - finally. It was sweet that he wanted Aisha to stay, despite only having dated her for six weeks or so. He went about it completely wrong, but it was sweet. It's good that he sees that he's more emotionally intelligent than anything else.

The Aisha/Jamie stuff - eh. I never felt it to begin with, so it was no big. I'm glad that they sort of acknowledged that while he loves her, she just likes him and it was a relationship built more on physical attraction and sweet moments than anything else. I mean, they are fifteen.

Mac and Lexi feeling empathy and trying to help Daisy was nice. It's clear that they have both grown to care about Daisy (and Devante and to a lesser degree Aisha). I also enjoyed the small tease of Mac/Lexi with them both agreeing that they would totally hook up, because they are both so hot. Who doesn't love two shallow people admitting they are shallow? Though, I still think the writers are slowly - maybe - setting up something with Mac/Daisy. Maybe. Possibly.

I laughed out loud when Daisy ran into Jean (or is it Dave?) at city hall and he just kept denying that they had met before, but they clearly had.

Daisy's breakdown and her nearly doing drugs and the group hug - complete with Jamie discussing some random talent show we never saw (a jab at the original show airing episodes out of order?) - was just so classic teen sitcom. I loved that they pulled back from that by showing Mac reaching for the joint during the group hug.

1.10: Showdown

Overall the season was much better then I thought it would be and I'm really hoping that they are able to work in a season 2. I don't know if they could do several seasons, but I think they could probably do 2-3 more seasons of 8-10 episodes each. They still have a lot to focus on: relationships, class differences, the fall of the Morris family, Jessie's marriage breaking down and how that plays out with Jamie and even Slater, etc.

I really liked the two throw away lines of: Zack asking "Remember Tori?" and Kelly responding with a confused: "Huh?" and then Kelly quickly telling Mac that his father is not Jeff.

I wouldn't say Zack learned a valuable lesson, so much as he realized that he only wanted to stay Governor because he didn't want to be a loser. Which I guess is a lesson in a way, but he's still a bit of a slime ball.

I'm so glad that Slater told Jessie he was sorry for teasing her in high school because she protested and that he's happy today's teenagers are more willing to speak out about their beliefs. And, I'm even happier that Jessie stood up to her stupid and selfish husband.

Aisha and Daisy ganging up on Devante and than realizing that the clicks at school need a common enemy was great. What was better was Lexi, who has had the most character grown this season, willingly becoming the scapegoat.

Mac still needs to work on his daddy issues, but he's getting there. Hopefully he and his parents can really bond during quarantine.

Jamie telling Lexi that the only reason he wasn't sure if he wanted to date her was because she's been mean in the past was very sweet. Do I think the show is headed for Lexi/Jamie? Yes. Do I think it will last? No.

I still have a feeling that, at some point, they will do a Mac/Daisy pairing. Or at the very least have Mac develop a crush on Daisy, which will be interesting to see.

Other thoughts: I love that the show was able to poke fun at the clichés, corniness, and weirdness of all the late 80s-early 00s teen sitcoms/dramas that people my age grew up on; while at the same time exploring current day issues, without getting too preachy or pushy. They used pop culture well, without it feeling overly done. Someone else has mentioned in several threads that the show reminds them of the show Community, and I have to agree - it really does have an "early" Community vibe to it. I know a lot of shows are being cancelled or not renewed due to Covid, but I really do hope they give this one a second season. I really want to see where they go next.

Cast List:

Main Haskiri Velazquez as Daisy Jiménez Mitchell Hoog as Mac Morris Josie Totah as Lexi Haddad-DeFabrizio Alycia Pascual-Peña as Aisha Garcia Belmont Cameli as Jamie Spano Dexter Darden as Devante Young John Michael Higgins as Principal Ronald Toddman Elizabeth Berkley Lauren as Jessie Spano Mario Lopez as A.C. Slater

Recurring Mark-Paul Gosselaar as Zack Morris Tiffani Thiessen as Kelly Morris Ed Alonzo as Max Cheyenne Jackson as René

Guest Lark Voorhies as Lisa Turtle

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cursed-and-quirkless · 3 years

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Chapter 1 - The Curse

Hello all! Welcome to my first MHA fic! This is the first part of a series about if Izuku was a quirkless vigilante, because I really love that trope.

TW: This fic, the first part especially, has some themes of injury, death/being on the verge of death, and ideas of suicide. No suicide is attempted, however. If these ideas bother you, please be cautious. To skip the first part, do not read until the first “~” symbol. There is also weird church stuff (that’ll make sense when you read), so if that makes you uncomfortable please be cautious. Thank you, hope you enjoy!

Ao3: queenofliterature

They say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Izuku never thought that was accurate until now.

There had been plenty of times he had almost died. When a shot rang and the muzzle of a gun flashed, the only thing Izuku thought was run, dodge, never anything about who he was, or how he got here.

Now though, now he understood.

Izuku blinked his tired eyes, focusing on the grey sky. The city was surprisingly peaceful, though maybe that was the falling snow coating the sounds of the bustling life under him. Or the ringing in his ears.

Eyes swollen with exhaustion refused to close for too long. If he fell asleep now, he would never wake up. And as much as he lied to himself, Izuku wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Hypothermia was settling quickly into his bones, his shallow breaths obvious against the cold night. But the gentle flakes tickled his nose, and all he felt was relief when they touched his fevered skin. Besides, he wouldn’t be dying of the cold tonight, the pools of blood gathering steadily underneath him was a testament to that.

Maybe if Izuku tried hard enough, he could roll off the edge. The rooftop had no railing, and if he stretched his arm just enough, he could dangle his hand over the streets below. But that wouldn’t do, he wanted to see the sky when his body finally let go, and his eyes closed and never reopened. Besides, Izuku could barely even move his fingers, let alone roll his entire body. No… he was stuck here.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Perhaps it was the fact that his blood was sluggishly trailing out of his body this time instead of the threat of instant death but…

His mind began to drift.

He was happy.

The middle class apartment he lived in with his mother and father always had the drapes thrown open, rays of sun keeping the apartment a comfortable temperature and bathing the bright green house plants.

His mother would playfully yell and scream, the damsel in distress. His father and him were the heroes.

He doesn’t remember much of his father, but he remembers the warm feeling of his chest, of the hot and smoky breath that would tickle his ears and ruffle his hair.

His father’s hands would hold him in the air as he flew to rescue his mother from the villains that had taken her.

Most of his peers probably wouldn’t want to spend their 5th birthday in the doctor’s office, but to Izuku it was the best present his parents could give him. He should have had a quirk by now, Kaccan said so. But if it was taking this long, it should have been cool and powerful! Just like Kaccan’s!

Izuku buzzed in excitement as the doctor read his file and looked at the x-rays they had taken in the big machine they put him in. Maybe he’d get telepathy, or fire, or a combination! Kaccan and him would grow up and be an unstoppable team and they’d share the rank for Number One hero (no matter what Kaccan said) and they’d save people and fight villains and-

“Quirkless.”

And just like that Izuku’s world shattered. The doctor’s uncaring drawl barely pierced his mind as his stomach lurched.

“W-what?” His mother questioned tearfully. His father simply sat there, eyes clouded with something Izuku would never understand. Sure 20% of the world was quirkless, but most were old and that number was dying out everyday. Only .01% of Japan’s population remained quirkless. And Izuku was now one of them.

When Izuku awoke the next day, his father was gone, and his mother wasn’t surprised.

There was no explosion, no shouted words, no hits or screams. His father was simply gone, any traces of him lingered like a ghost. Sometimes Izuku thought he had made up his father, the only proof he had that the man existed were the pictures Mom had kept in the trunk beside her bed.

It was raining the night he got diagnosed, as if the heavens were weeping for the shattered dream of a crushed child. He sat for hours watching the video of All Might saving all those people at the factory, hitting the replay button until his fingers hurt.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

Izuku heard the door creek softly behind him, but he didn’t turn around, he didn’t need to. “S-see that Mom?” Izuku’s tiny voice cracked, and he finally turned around. His mother already had tears springing to her eyes, and Izuku would realize later that’s the moment he would never see his father again.

“He always has a smile on his face, no matter how bad things get.” Izuku’s voice was slowly breaking down along with the little boy. “Even when things seem impossible, he never gives up.” Izuku will never forget the look on his mother’s face, the pain and the sorrow.

“Do you think… I could be a hero too?” Izuku already knew the answer to that question, he saw the answer in his mother’s eyes. His mother rushed forward, gripping him tightly and nuzzling into his hair, murmuring apology after apology. Her touch burned and the ache in his chest choked him, but Izuku didn’t bother to fight her off.

Izuku doesn’t even remember his father’s last words to him.

Izuku and his mother went to church the next day.

His mother was aching for a sense of normalcy, and some foolish part of Izuku believed his father would be there waiting for them.

His father was half japanese, but he never told Izuku what his other half was. Hisashi’s parents and siblings chose to follow the Christian faith, though what branch Izuku also didn’t know, he never paid attention. There was a small church half an hour away from the Midoriya apartment, and Hisashi thought it would be good for the small family to have a sense of community.

His mother must have opened up that day to the pastor before Sunday Service, because that was the first time Izuku was called a curse to humanity.

The little boy sat in the pew, hunching over as every word the pastor said pierced his heart.

“The quirkless are a scourge, a curse, a remnant of the days of old. They are a reminder of the sins of man!” Izuku’s eyes pricked at the cheers coming from around him. “We must stay strong in the face of adversity!” The cheers were stronger this time. Whatever his mother told the pastor must have sunk deep into the man’s skin, because they spent the next hour listening to the talks of plagues and scourge and punishment that were the quirkless population, all while he looked at the little green-haired boy.

After the service, all Izuku wanted to do was disappear. Going home would mean facing the unnatural quiet that now suffocated the once bright household, and staying here meant facing the lingering glares and whispers. His mother was in the restroom preparing for the semi-long trip back when Izuku heard footsteps approaching.

“Hello, Izuku.” The pastor greeted with a soft smile. He supposed it should be comforting, but all Izuku felt was fear.

“H-hello.” A meek voice greeted back.

“Your mother told me of your condition. I just wanted you to know I meant every word I said. But I can help.” The pastor offered, and despite the dangerous glint in the man’s eyes, Izuku perked up.

“You can?” Izuku asked cautiously. Maybe this would make Dad come back! And he could make Mom happy again! Izuku’s heart clenched when a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Come, child, it's not your fault. The children of God are innocent, you are being punished for the misgivings of your ancestors.” The gentle words of the pastor did nothing to ease the bile growing in Izuku’s throat. The more Izuku fought, the tighter the bruising grips became.

“W-wait.” Izuku protested as he was dragged away from the restroom. “My Mom! She’ll wonder where I am!”

“It will be a nice surprise for her, don’t you think?” The pastor ignored the protests and continued dragging the boy through the church.

“What-what’s gonna happen?”

“Simple, child. We’ll get the Devil out of you. It may hurt but I promise you’ll be better for it.” The pastor reassured. Thi wasn’t right. Mom and Dad said never go with strangers! But… the pastor wasn’t a stranger, he said he could help?

“Can we ask my Mom, p-please?” Izuku gave a powerful tug, and that seemed to be the last straw.

“Foolish child! Your mother does not understand what needs to be done! I do!” The others in the church startled at the noise, but turned away when they saw what was happening.

Izuku didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t like it! In a last attempt, Izuku lashed out and bit the man’s hand, pulling away with a gasp when the pastor yanked his hand back.

“You evil child!” The pastor screamed as Izuku ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He remembered the way to the restrooms, he just hoped his mother would be there. He wanted to go home! He wanted to play hero and be held by his dad and be tucked in by his mom when he fell asleep on the couch!

“Mom!” Izuku screamed when he spotted green hair. The woman quickly turned around from the couple she seemed to be frantically talking too. Izuku’s own eyes matched the tears that were streaming down his mother’s face.

“Izuku!” Inko yelled in relief as her little boy crashed into her. “Baby, where were you? I was worried sick!” Inko cried.

“M-mom, the p-pastor, h-he, a-and-” Izuku couldn’t get any of the story through the spasming of his little lungs. Through hiccuping sobs, Izuku heard the frantic footsteps of the pastor approach him, and he buried himself further into his mother’s neck.

“Pastor? What-what happened?” Inko hesitated at the teeth marks on the hand of the pastor. Her little boy wouldn;t do that for anything.

“H-he said.” Izuku’s little sobs broke her heart.

“Said what, Baby?” Inko coaxed, ignoring the man above them.

“G-gonna get the Devil out.” Inko’s heart dropped, knowing the implication.

“You were gonna beat him?” The horrified whisper reached the poster’s ears and he scoffed.

“Not him, the scourge. The boy may feel pain, but it would make him better.” The pastor declared. Perhaps if Inko hadn’t already been in pieces, she would have yelled at him. Perhaps if her husband hadn’t left and her son wasn’t falling apart she would have defended her son, but for now she had enough.

“Izuku, we’re leaving.” She said to the pastor just as much as her son, and Izuku saw the glance towards his blackened wrist.

It was the first time his mother ignored a bruise, but it would not be the last.

The drive home was quiet, and Izuku didn’t think he would ever get used to the silence that now permeated his new life.

“Mom?” Izuku spoke up, his timid voice uncomfortable with breaking pure silence. “Everything is going to be okay, right?” He just needed to hear those words as his world was crumbling beneath him, ‘It will be okay’.

“Izuku, my baby, there will be many more like him. From now on I want you to walk to and from school with Katsuki. No detours, nothing.” Izuku nodded at his mom’s serious voice. “We’re gonna get you a phone, I want you to text me everyday at lunch, and before and after school, and when you get home.” Izuku nodded again, and kept doing so as more rules were given to him.

When they got home that afternoon, his mother shut down. From afternoon till night, Inko Midoriya held an empty tea cup, not having the energy to fill it. She sat at the table, and tried to remember the deep voice of her husband that floated around the kitchen like embers, and the light and airy voice of her child that bounced against the walls.

Now all she heard was the stone cold silence of a shattered household.

Meanwhile, Izuku sat at the computer. Mom didn't bother to enforce computer time. So he watched the video, over and over again until it somehow pierced the unfeeling void that was beginning to set in. It never did.

“Because I am here! Because I am here! Because I am here!”

He realized that night with a bitter numbness he was already forgetting what his father’s laugh sounded like.

Izuku was finally beginning to understand, he knew he was a plague on his mother and father’s life, an infestation in his own skin.

He knew he was a curse.

~~~

Disclaimer: Nothing against any religion. Just as long as you don’t use it to hurt others I don’t care what religion you are/aren’t, this specific church, however, was very radical and was based loosely on unfortunate experiences I had in churches with some personal issues of mine. I just thought it would be interesting to explore how radical groups like this would see quirklessness.

I don't usually do this, but each chapter is gonna have a song I think that fits it!

Chapter Song: i can't breathe by Bea Miller

I have a Discord, and this fic has a channel! Same with Tumblr

Discord: https://discord.gg/UpWvDzKC5R Tumblr: cursed-and-quirkless

#quirkless midoriya izuku #quirkless deku #quirkless discrimination #quirkless izuku #quirkless au #cursed au #please read warning #izuku will be adopted eventually #its a surprise who #not Aizawa #although I love those stories #vigilante deku

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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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maaaddiexo · 4 years

Text

Chapter Eleven | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book One: Roses]

Synopsis: With World War Two ravaging the world, no one is safe and no one is happy.

Despite their protests, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie are evacuated from London and sent to live in the English countryside with an old professor. Scared and unhappy, only the youngest Pevensie child remains optimistic and ends up sharing her hope with her siblings in the form of a wardrobe that takes them to Narnia, a different world where they are the only form of hope to bring an end to an evil witch's reign of terror.

Rosemary Bennett has no more hope left in her heart. Her brother and father are off fighting for their country, the former having gone missing months ago, and her mother ignores her, preferring the company of a bottle over her own daughter. Giving up seems the only logical plan of action. But when it finally comes to carrying it out, she's transported to a different world, with talking animals and a prophecy that doesn't involve her. Unsure as to why she is there, she must navigate a new world and ponder the possibility that maybe - just maybe - she doesn't actually want to die.

*Warning: this book deals with depression and suicide. Though mental illness isn't what this story revolves around, the act of suicide and depressive thoughts are intertwined with the plot and act as 'backseat drivers' to the novel.

[Chapter Twelve] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

“Hey."

Peter glanced behind him and from the corner of his eye, spotted Rosemary climbing the last of the hill. She was breathless and smiling as she took a seat down next to him.

"How'd you find me?"

"Aslan told me you might like the company. And your sisters are going down to the river and well, even though I lived last time, I'll be avoiding water for as long as I can," Rosemary laughed under her breath at the joke only she would understand. "But I can see why you've been up here for so long. The view is magnificent."

"Definitely not something you'd see back in England."

"Definitely not," Rosemary agreed. "I suppose that makes our time here all the more precious."

"If only I knew why we were here in the first place," Peter muttered.

"I should be asking that. You're here because of the prophecy."

"The prophecy doesn't mean anything. Not to me, at least. I still don't believe it's meant for me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to lead an entire army against a Witch and then become King along with my sisters and missing brother. It's unbelievable."

Rosemary shrugged, pulling at the grass. "Somebody has to do it."

"Yeah, but not me!" Peter laughed humourlessly. "I'm no hero."

"And what makes a hero?"

"Someone who can lead and save these people. I've lost Edmund to some crazy lady and I almost lost Lucy in the river. A real hero wouldn't make those mistakes. A real hero would win."

"First of all, the war hasn't even begun so there's no way we could have already won. And second of all, what you're describing isn't a real hero - it's a make-believe hero. The ones we dream and read about. A real hero is someone who tries and persists in the face of failure. Maybe you haven't got Edmund back yet, but you're working on it and you've got an entire army backing you up. You'll get him back. A hero isn't just who they are at the end of it all - it's also who they are in the moment. You are a hero, Peter. And maybe you don't have a crown yet, but in the eyes of the people, you don't need one. You are already King."

Peter looked over the land again. The sea of tents dotting the green land and the sun reflecting off of Cair Paravel. They were all there not only to fight for him but with him as well. "Than-"

AH-OOO.

The two kids stood up, looking towards the woods where the sound had come from.

"That's Susan's horn!"

•

Peter ran through the woods alone after asking Rosemary to get help. The water sloshed into his boots as he ran across the shallow stream, pulling out his sword. "Get back!"

The two wolves turned to face Peter, who had his sword pointed. His attention switched between the two wolves.

"Come on," Maugrim rolled his eyes. "We've already been through this. We both know you don't have it in you," the wolf growled, trying to distract Peter as his companion circled behind Peter.

Just as the second wolf prepared to pounce, an involuntary yelp slipped out of its lips and it crumpled to the ground. On the other side of the river stood Rosemary, a longbow in hand and an arrow nocked and ready to fly. Aslan crossed the river growling before holding down the injured wolf. A small army followed but Rosemary remained on the other side of the river.

"Stay your weapons," Aslan commanded. "This is Peter's battle."

Maugrim growled, "You may think you're a king, but you're going to die like a dog." In that moment Maugrim acted on instinct. He pounced on Peter even though his sword was still raised. Lucy and Susan screamed from up in the tree as Maugrim was impaled and Peter was thrown to the ground.

After jumping from the tree, Lucy and Susan rushed to push the dead wolf off of their brother who sat up in shock. But he was alive. There wasn't even a scratch on him.

'"Thank goodness," Susan breathed, wrapping her arms around her brother.

Aslan released his hold on the second wolf and it yelped again, scampering off with an arrow still in its shoulder. "After him," Aslan commanded Oreius. "He will lead you to Edmund."

Rosemary lifted her dress and crossed the stream barefoot, offering a hand down to Lucy and then Susan. "Glad to see you two are alright."

"Peter, Clean your sword." Doing as Aslan said, Peter dipped his sword in the water and rubbed the blood off with his hands before moving back to kneel in front of Aslan. "Rise, Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of Narnia."

Peter gasped happily, smiling broadly at his sisters. "Wow."

"You deserve it, Peter. You saved your sisters."

"Not alone," said Peter. He looked at Rosemary. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"My father taught me. Though I don't think he taught me those skills for this," she laughed.

"Still," Peter said seriously. "Thank you."

•

Even though they were one Pevensie short, the night was full of laughing and dancing and plenty of food.

A large campfire had been built at the center of the camp and everybody sat, ate, and danced around it. Rosemary had shed her shoes long ago and was now dancing with dryads and fauns. She was spun and thrown around before finally ending up in the arms of Peter.

"Having fun, Your Majesty?" Rosemary teased, her green eyes bright and cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

"It's a great way to end a journey. Definitely not something I expected to experience after walking through a wardrobe. And stop it with the 'Your Majesty'. I'm not King yet."

Rosemary rolled her eyes as Peter spun her gracefully. He definitely knew how to dance. "I already told you, Peter - these people already see you as a king. Their king."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you think I could be King. Be a good king?"

"If I didn't think you were fit to be King then I wouldn't have sacrificed myself by the lake."

"You mean when the White Witch was actually Santa Claus? Ow!" Peter's teasing laugh was cut short when Rosemary let go of his hand to punch his shoulder.

"I didn't know it was Santa Claus. If I did I would've thrown you to the wolves so I could get your sword and shield."

Peter gasped. "After I saved your life?"

"I almost drowned," Rosemary laughed incredulously. "And got this! Not that this is your fault."

Peter frowned at Rosemary's hand, wrapped in a bandage. After the waterfall incident, Peter had noticed that Rosemary was fisting her hand but hadn't thought anything of it.

"When did this happen?" Peter stopped dancing, grabbing her hand and running his thumb over the bandage.

"At the waterfall. I realized I was pulling you away from the sword and into the water so I grabbed the sword. It didn't hurt though - my hands were frozen."

"Does it hurt now?"

Rosemary shrugged, "Not really. Only when I use it."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"We needed to get to Aslan's camp. A cut on my hand didn't seem to matter. Besides, it's been cleaned and wrapped. No harm, no foul."

"No, Rosemary. This is what I mean. There was harm. You got hurt because I couldn't protect you."

"It's just a scratch, Peter. It'll heal."

"But you shouldn't have gotten it in the first place! If I was the person these people think I am, this wouldn't have happened."

"Peter," Rosemary sighed, grabbing his hand. Peter shook his head and pulled away from Rosemary, walking away from the campfire.

"I need to go."

[Chapter Twelve] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

#narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #william moseley #peter pevensie x oc #peter pevensie x fem!oc #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie fanfiction #love #romance #fantasy #adventure #chronicles of narnia

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Weird “One and the Same”

Ok, I am super excited for what this one leads up to. I hope you find it interesting to learn a little more about the Drev. As always feel free to question critique comment, message, give an idea or a prompt :)

“Alright Sunny, you ready?”

Sunny shrugged her shoulders and flexed her hands. The metallic frame on her back was actually pretty light, and she could still move her arms. On the Captain’s urging, she backed up under the cargo lift.

“Damn.” Someone said, “You guys really do this to yourselves for war?” Sunny craned her neck up at the human standing above her.

“Of course, wouldn’t you?” The human shook his head in astonishment but kept working.

The humans were speaking of the body modifications the Drev underwent to be better for war. Sunny had undergone two such procedures. One hand modified her upper right forearm carapace specifically to attach a modified weapon, so she wouldn’t have to worry about dropping it during battle. Her second procedure had cut two rails down her posterior shell on either side of her spine; they had originally been used to carry containers for extra ammunition. Yes, the procedures had both been very painful. Once the humans had asked about them, she had been pleased to explain, and even more pleased when the humans had come up with an idea.

Behind her there was the soft slither of steel on carapace, and then the mount clicked into place.

Captain Vir put a hand on her arm and looked up, “You ok Sunny, that’s about half weight.”

“I’m good.”

The captain gave a go to the team, and the full weight bore down on her shoulders. It wasn’t too bad. The humans came forward and began strapping her into place.

Captain Vir stepped back and looked up, “That’s what I’m talking about, now Sunny, you’ll have an extra 200 + pounds if someone is going to operate that thing, do you think you’re ready?” Sunny nodded her head vigorously excited.

“Alright,” The Captain said, “hopping up on the box behind Sunny, “Get ready.” She braced herself against the floor with a wide triangle stance, as one foot, and then the other came down on the metal frame strapped over her back. The weight grew and then evened out.

“Still good Sunny.” When she nodded, the Captain seemed pleased, “Try to walk around.”

It took her a moment to gain momentum, but once she was walking it wasn’t that bad. The rest of the crew oohed and ahhed as she trotted around the room. It was just then that Krill came around the corner paused and then let off an exasperated sigh, “Hi Krill, do you like it?” The captain teased

The look on Krill’s face almost reached reproachful, “Is that a machine gun?”

“Yes my friend, that’s exactly what it is.”

“So you mounted a machine gun on the back of a Drev, and now you are riding her like a war pony of death.”

He patted Sunny on the shoulder and grinned moving the mounted weapon so it was pointing up at the ceiling. “Hell yeah, Alright Sunny, you can back it up.” She did as told returning to the cargo lift. Vir Stepped off the “Buddy pegs.” He hopped down to where Krill waited, “So my four legged friend, what’s up?”

The little creature scrolled down on his holographic clipboard, “You received a transmission, from your brother. He’s engaged, and they are setting a date for six months from now.”

Vir broke out in a wide grin, “David? Yeah, thought so. It’s about damn time!”

“Engaged?” Sunny wondered as the battle reference for the word didn’t seem to fit in context.

Vir glanced at her, “It’s when two humans become a ‘mating pair’ as you aliens would say. Usually involves a lot of that sort of ritualistic stuff, a big party and what not.” He grinned some more, “Getting married, well good for them. They’ve been dancing around each other for almost four years now. Was almost worried they wouldn’t make it.”

Sunny watched in interest, she didn’t really know anything about human mating rituals. She didn’t even know that humans paired off. From what she understood they sort of just…. Went for it, but apparently there was a difference between a fling and actual mating, which had totally never occurred to her.

As a Drev things were a little different. Since their species culture was based entirely around war, it had become customary to include a ritual that showed your prowess in battle. It was imperative that a Drev pair off with someone equally as accomplished in battle as they were, and the only way to figure that out was to fight each other. Once an attachment was established, and those involved wished to act upon it, a day was set aside for the big fight. The terms of the fight could be set differently depending on how high status or how high profile the pairing was. You could fight, to the death, or to surrender. However, if you were to pick to the death but then surrender, you were immediately shunned and shamed; if you agreed to die, than you were expected to do it without complaining. The mating ritual was successful if both of you survived without surrender, or neither of you could gain the upper hand leading to a stalemate that lasted over a 1/25 cycle. The fight could occur at any time, and after that you were open to become a pair at any time, or, deciding otherwise, to pair with someone else. Generally, those who did successfully complete the ritual and then decide to be together often fought side by side in, what Sunny considered, the greatest example of trust and romance that one could hope for.

She sighed longingly thinking about it, at this point in her life, she had no real hope for something like that. Though she was still young, she hadn’t seen any of her own kind for some time, and even considering that, no one had ever shown interest in her beforehand.

Kind of heartbreaking…. Watching everyone else fighting alongside a companion when no one had ever even looked at her in that way. She doubted anyone here understood that. The only other nonhuman on the ship, Krill, wouldn’t understand these feelings. His species had no need for romance, everyone was just so logical that they simply mated to keep the population stable.

Meal slid away from carapace, and she rolled her shoulders, the captain stepped down from the box, his metal leg whirring slightly. He looked up at her, “Hey, why the long face?”

Sunny was always surprised to find the human understood her facial expressions. Humans were very good at that sort of thing, krill told her that the humans had a special place in their brain for that, it was called the Fusiform Face area in the temporal lobe, and apparently its knowledge could be expanded to include alien facial expressions.

“Come on, lighten up Sunny, you and I reining death and destruction, a killing machine, come on you like that sort of thing.”

She shook off her blues and nodded. She did enjoy war, and she very much like it when they could make her more deadly than she already was, so that was something. Captain Vir motioned Krill over, and too the clipboard from him looking over the message as he did. He was wearing only one boot today, just for his real leg, the prosthetic foot was clear from under his pants. He said it was easier to move when the foot was bare.

That was the first and only time Sunny had ever felt a twinge of guilt for something she had done during war. To her war was war it was impersonal, it was distant, but to the humans it was very personal, and from what she knew, though humans could survive great physical stress, and come out completely fine, they often received mental damage from war. The mental damage often being worse than the physical damage.

What she had done to Vir had likely left him mentally crippled for much longer than it had taken his leg to heal. She knew that, depending on lighting, or their interaction, or if she accidentally caught him off guard, she could still trigger old wounds. She had done that to him, after all. Yet even despite all of that he had made the decision to accept her aboard his ship, and even manage to enjoy her company, at least she thought so.

“You have siblings.” She wondered.

The captain nodded, “Yep, three older brothers and one older sister.”

Sunny tapped her foot on the floor, “So, you are not born in litters?”

He barked a laugh handing the clipboard back to krill, “Not generally. It is possible for a human mother to have up to eight at once, but that is super rare. It’s more likely to have one to two at the same time, more often one though.”

This was all very interesting, “And how far are you through your lifespan?”

He shrugged, “About a quarter, or less than if I’m lucky.”

“And how many offspring do you have?” She wondered

He barked a laugh, and nearby crew laughed with him as they walked past.

He looked up at her, “None Sunny, not a single one. I’d have to get a date first, and I’m kind of inexperienced in that department. I try not to let it bother me though, otherwise I wouldn’t go back home. My sister has been married for a while, David is getting married, Jeremy has a steady girlfriend and I think Thomas is single right now, but he tends to jump around, so I sort of expected that. How about you?”

She shook her head, “I have one brother, he is much older than me, and was paired when I was born. I just reached adulthood when the war began, and I have many years left, but I have no children. Drev consider a few things in mating, the color of your armor, your fighting prowess, and, I think this is shallow but it’s true, height. I am very short.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, “Sunny, you’re like seven and a half feet tall.”

She nodded, “Yes, and my brother is nine and a half feet tall. No one pays much attention to someone who still looks like a child.”

He shook his head, “Well Sunny, I promise your battle prowess is more than acceptable, and if blinding metallic blue isn’t attractive to your species, than I don’t know what would be.”

She nodded to him thankful for the complement.

Captain Vir turned to Krill, “Set a course for earth so we can be there a week before six months from now. I should probably set up something with the admiral to get the crew shore leave. We’d have been out long enough by then.” He looked down at Krill, “What do you think, ready to go back to earth?”

The little alien looked a little hesitant, “During winter?’

The captain waved a hand, “No, who the hell would want their wedding in winter where I live? You’d have at least a fifty percent chance of having to cancel the wedding because all the guests got snowed in.”

Krill sighed, “If I must, Captain.”

“Oh come on, you had fun the last time we were there.”

He gave the Captain an incredulous look, “ok, yes maybe, but I was also stressed and terrified the entire time. If I do that to much, I will die of a stroke. I might just go ahead and die of a stroke while we are there because I am sure you will all come up with something horrifying to do while we are there.”

The Captain rolled his eyes and crossed his arms turning to look at sunny, “What do you think Sunny, what to come with us to a death world, and then maybe then I won’t be stuck with the party-pooper.”

Earth? Wow… now that was something she wanted to see.

Sunny was ready to go to Earth.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #the drev

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lacrossepapi · 5 years

Note

stereo 2+12?

Arranged marriage + bed sharing

Ao3: link

Stiles was not a fan of most of his people’s traditions. He was of marrying age and had been for four years now, each year his father grew increasingly more anxious he would never marry. Stiles didn’t care to marry. He would rather run the ranch with his father, for his father, than be taken away to some unknown person’s home and be their maid for the rest of his life. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the only family he had left.

Stiles knew the source of his single status came directly from his reluctance to leave. He’d had offers the first few years, courting gifts gracing the Stilinski’s doorway until the men and women of the nearby village took the hint and gave up. That fact should’ve eased his father’s worry, and yet at the end of every social season his father gave him an anxious look. A look that asked “When will we host your coming out party?” A look that went unanswered. Stiles did not wish to be dressed up and paraded around in front of eligible suitors like some fancy doll. He had enjoyed watching his friends, Scott and Lydia’s debutante balls, seeing them beaming at him from the front of the room as people swooped in with offers to dance had made him happy. That kind of attention wasn’t for Stiles though, he wouldn’t enjoy people circling him like vultures looking for dinner. He didn’t want to be sold to the highest bidder.

He angsted over his future as he picked apples from the Hale orchard. The Hales were long time companions of the Stilinskis, and Stiles enjoyed the peaceful, clean aroma of the farm. His ranch always smelled of feces and rotting things, but here in the Hale’s orchard he could take in the sweet smell of the fruit bearing flora around him. His great grandfather had bartered with the Hale alpha almost a hundred years ago to trade freely between the ranch and their orchard, it had been a gift through the years of drought and disease when both families had to lean on the other.

He hummed quietly to himself as he picked a ripe red apple, a sense of ease seeping into the tension in his shoulders.

“Hello, little mischief.” Peter’s low rumble sent a shock of excitement through him causing him to startle.

“Peter! I’ll fall over dead one of these days if you insist on sneaking up on me all the time!” Stiles laughed, his cheeks flushing.

“We couldn’t have that now, could we?” Peter asked, stepping forward with a smirk on his face.

“Oh hush now. I simply cannot play with you today, I am much too distraught.” Stiles huffed, crossing his arms despite the basket on one making it awkward.

Peter stepped even closer to gently rub Stiles’ arms soothingly, “What has you so upset, pet?”

Stiles allowed himself a moment to cherish Peter’s touch, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay in Peter’s favor this way once he was married.

“I believe I have pushed my poor father’s patience too far and he is trying to marry me off.” Stiles mumbled, unable to look up into Peter’s beautiful, caring blue eyes.

One of the hands on his arms pulled away to pet his hair softly as Peter made a contemplating sound.

“I have no answers. We follow the orders of the people in charge of our well being and trust they care about our happiness as much as theirs."

The hand on Stiles’ head smoothed down his hair and rested on his neck as Peter’s other hand came up and lifted Stiles’ face by his chin.

"Now listen to me, my little mischief, your father loves you more than anything in this world. He will not marry you to someone who will hurt you or take you away from him. I would bet my life on it. You are as precious to him as he is to you. No one will separate you.” Peter’s words washed over Stiles in a wave of gentle yet fierce assurance.

Before Stiles could so much as thank the werewolf for his kindness Peter was shushing him and staring in the direction of the ranch.

“Your father is calling for you. Best you get home, little one.” Peter pulled his hands away slowly and stepped away from him with a soft smile.

“Thank you, Peter.” Stiles beamed at the older man before heading towards his home.

“Stiles don’t turn away from me! We need this. We need help on the ranch. If you were to be married our ranch becomes your and your partner’s. That means more hands to help with the cattle and the other animals. Please see reason.” Stiles refused to turn around and look at him, but the crack in his father’s voice almost broke him.

“I see reason, father. Marry me off. I will be a doting husband and worship the ground our savior walks on.” Stiles spit out through clenched teeth.

“You are not being fair. I did not wish this for you, but no one could’ve foreseen the losses we have endured. I never thought we could have lost so-” A shaky breath, “so many of your siblings."

Another pause as his father drew in a sharp, wet breath, "Or your mother. You were supposed to be our baby forever. Always with us, always protected. We’d already lost your older brother, you were our saving grace. You still are Mieczyslaw."

His father reached out and held his arm tightly, a desperate reach for something to connect him to his last living child, "Please.”

The fight whooshed out of Stiles in the release of the angry breath he’d taken to yell moments before. He couldn’t stand to see his father in such pain. He would not be the cause of it.

“I will do it. I do not want a debutante, or a meeting of the suitors. You know my tastes as well as I. I will meet them for the courting rituals and then I will decide if I will marry or not.” Stiles sighed, turning to hug his father his anger fading.

“Thank you, my sweet son”

The likelihood of the suitor being female was high if his father was looking for someone who would give up their home and move to the ranch, which is why Stiles was surprised to feel a strong, callused hand grip his in greeting.

The first step in courting was the blind meeting, allowing the couple to connect without the lens of shallow appearances. Stiles was currently blindfolded and standing uncomfortably in the middle of the parlor room, one hand out stretched and shaking the stranger he would soon marry’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Can we sit now?” Stiles asked, his feet shifting anxiously beneath him.

His suitor chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that caused a blush to creep up Stiles’ neck, before gently guiding Stiles to one of the nearby chairs and releasing him as he sat down.

“Is that better?” The stranger had a deep melodious voice, that Stiles rather liked.

“Yes. Thank you, good sir."

"Call me Peter, pet."

Stiles had ripped off the blindfold before Peter had finished speaking, shock striking him dumb.

Peter Hale was grinning at him from across the table set with tea. The grin that over took Stiles’ face was so broad it ached, but he did not care.

"Peter! I thought you were never to marry?” Stiles heard his own breathlessness and blushed further.

“I knew what your father was seeking in a mate, and taking care of your ranch is a small price to pay to spend the rest of my life with my beautiful little mischief.” Peter’s grin melted into a soft smile as he stared into Stiles’ eyes.

“What do you say son?” Stiles had forgot his father was still in the room, too caught up in the joy coursing through him.

“Yes! Of course! I’d be honored to have and love Peter for the rest of my life."

"This is mortifying.” Stiles muttered into his pillow.

“Now, now, pet don’t be like that. You know we have to do this.” Peter’s voice was soothing, but Stiles could tell the werewolf was laughing at him.

“I’d hit you if these damn sheets weren’t sewn down between us.” Stiles bit out, turning to glare at his fiance.

Peter was staring at him with a heated gaze, his eyes flickering a glowing blue, “I would do something much different if the sheets weren’t sewn down between us."

Was he purring? Could werewolves purr?

Stiles was knocked out of his heated panicky thought when Alpha Hale chuckled and thumped her brother on the back of the head.

"That’s why they’re sewn, brother. Behave yourself tonight. And Stiles dear try not to toss and turn so much they’re still sewing your side in."

Stiles squeaked, having forgotten they were not alone in the face of Peter’s want, and nodded that he would indeed stop squirming.

"Oh sister you are such a drag. I am not going to ravage the poor boy the night before our wedding. We might be werewolves but we are not animals. I can keep my hands to myself.” Even as Peter spoke those words his hand was testing the strength of the stitch keeping them apart.

“We will not break the stitch, Alpha.” Stiles smiled at her reassuringly.

She laughed again, this time throwing her head back with mirth, “Oh you poor sweet boy, you do not know who you are to marry. Peter’s had his eyes on you since you two were young. He will not last long after you are wed."

Stiles could feel his face burning with embarrassment and arousal. Since they were young? That long? Peter had always been kind and oh so handsome, but Stiles had always thought himself too immature and gangly for the older boy when they were young. Now, both men, he still thought he was not attractive enough for the gorgeous, strong man before him.

"I wish I could wipe that frown away. Come, let’s see if we can still kiss with this damned sheet between us.” Peter growled, scooting closer to the tenuous wall of sheet.

Stiles laughed, a happy smile coming to his lips, as he leaned up and across the stitched wall to kiss Peter’s forehead.

“Now husband, please don’t test your alpha’s patience and be good.” Stiles whispered against his forehead, not ready to pull away.

Peter surged upwards and connected their lips in a passionate embrace. Alpha Hale grabbed Peter by the ear and separated them after a moment, much to both of their disappointment.

“I won’t say it again. Behave yourself, Peter. Stiles dear, please refrain from teasing him like that he is much too selfish to follow tradition if you taunt him.” She smiled at Stiles and thumped Peter one more time before she left them.

Now, alone Stiles found himself relaxing into the comforting presence of his soon to be husband.

“Turn on your side and let me at least pretend to hold you, my sweet mischief. Tomorrow we will be wed and I will be able to hold you as long as I wish, but tonight we will settle for the imitation of that.” Peter insisted warmly.

Stiles did as he was told, facing away from Peter and scooting carefully back until he could feel the solid heat of his fiance behind him.

Tomorrow they would be wed.

#steter #peter/stiles #stiles x peter #peterstiles #arranged marriage #bed sharing #asks #ask #verdantmoth #kyla writes #answered #ask games #two tropes

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years

Text

It was when you went missing, he rampaged through Naples, taking out anyone he considered Passione’s and his enemies. He knew your disappearance had something to do with him and the organization. He slipped up and got close to you, a civilian, and grew to truly love you. Deep down he know your relationship only left room for tragedy, but the feelings you gave him were euphoric and he didn’t want to let it go. That was his first mistake, and it had to be his last.

He eventually found the ones who were your exact kidnappers. He struggled to hold back his rage, knowing he needed to extract information of where you were being held. One of the mocked him for his anger. “Prince Charming coming to save his Prin-” stopping short when Ghiaccio froze him without hesitation and knocking the frozen man over, pieces of his body scattered all over the floor. I only need one alive, Ghiaccio thought.

Those men had no resolve; Ghiaccio getting the information he wanted in less than 10 minutes. For these weaklings to have taken you, it was an insult for both of you. He did all he could to compose himself, chewing at his lips and clenching his hands, both acts causing him to shed blood. This experience was traumatizing alone and seeing him like that might frighten you even more.

You were left in some open field in the middle of nowhere. The kidnappers never mentioned the state you were in, but he feared the worst. When he found you, he held you close, handling you with the utmost care. You were unconscious, a blow to the head was the cause, and cold, he worried you might actually be dead until he felt your faint pulse. He wanted to use White Album to get you to the hospital but it would do more harm than good. He knew things could turn out like this, and so he asked his squad for help. Something he’s only done once when he first joined and was a novice. Melone answered after ringing once. “Ghiaccio, where are you?” His tone hard yet uneasy. “I have the car ready.”

Melone arrived at the location in no more than 15 minutes. Ghiaccio cared for you the best he could in those painfully long 15 minutes, using the little first-aid knowledge he could to ease your pain. In the backseat, Ghiaccio cradled you, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around you to keep you warm. Melone shallowed the lump forming in his throat, watching his usually angry and expressive teammate looks defeated and sickly as he gently brushed the hair from your face. Melone sped through the roads to get you to the closest hospital. He made no comment as he watched with a pained expression Ghiaccio carry you into the emergency room.

That entire experience left him to question his own happiness and yours and what was best for both of you. He wanted to hold onto you more than anything, wanting nothing more to be selfish like he always has been.

It’s been a week and you were still unconscious, the head trauma had been more serious than he originally thought. I’m so fucking stupid to not have realized, Ghiaccio chastised himself. Your family had been called when you were identified. Your mother tearfully thanking him for saving you and bringing you to the hospital, thinking you were a victim of a hit and run. I’m the reason they’re in this situation, you fucking idiot, he wanted to scream. She spoke formally to him, your entire family did. They didn’t know the nature of your relationship with Ghiaccio because he asked for you to keep it secret from others.

Part of him regretted that; part of him wanted to be in there with them, to hear them recount stories of you he never heard, but he couldn’t. He sat alone in an empty room. Ghiaccio didn’t feel the ache in his chest until he sat down to weigh his options. He thought about what there was to lose by giving you up, thoughts of your unconscious figure doing nothing to help his favor. He felt short of breath and his astigmatism was causing a migraine to form.

Why the fuck did this have to happen...

When you woke up, everyone was in a frenzy. Your parents were crying hysterically and your siblings were screaming their heads off. Ghiaccio was in the hospital cafeteria grabbing coffee when it happened, he could hear it from there. He had run into your parents enough time to recognize their voices, even crying. They knew you as the man that saved their child but began to question who he really was since it’s nearly two weeks since he saved you, and he was still around. It struck them as hold, but they let it go.

He ran towards your room, splashing coffee all over the ground, his white shirt, and shoes, and pushed anyone who got in his way. Things were calming down by the time he got there, no more screams or hysterically crying, just raised voices and laughs of relief.

Ghiaccio stood by the door, everyone too focused on you to notice him. He felt like his heart was being squeezed when he saw the confusions and fright in your eyes, there was no glint of familiarity. He noticed your lips moving, trying to say or ask something but your throat to dry to be successful.

Seeing you even briefly was enough for him. He hesitated but he pulled himself back and left you with your family. He’ll come when things settle down, and so he did three days later. He didn’t know what he wanted to do yet, fighting with himself and his squad when he snapped at them for getting in his business. “You should have known this would happen from the start, Ghiaccio,” Prosciutto sneered and looked down on him, guiding him for being naive. It took the whole squad and Risotto’s Metallica to stop them from killing each other.

He stood outside your door, unable to muster up the courage to open it and finally speak to you. When did I become such a fucking coward, Ghiaccio further adding the criticism he’s shouldering.

“It’s you again.” It took all Ghiaccio could to not activate White Album. He thanked his assassin skills allowed him to develop quick reflexes along with quick thinking, realizing in that split second that it was your mother’s voice. “I don’t know what your relationship with my child is, but thank you again for saving them.” This was the 13th time she thanked him, and he felt himself go numb each time.

“They’re healthy,” looking past him and to the door as if she was looking at you at that moment. “But the head injury caused her to develop amnesia. They don’t remember much about their life. Just little things, but-” Your mother trembled and began to weep. “Not any of us.” Ghiaccio made no moves to comfort her; he could only think about you and him. Was this a blessing or a curse?

After your mother composed herself, she maneuvered past Ghiaccio to let herself in your room.

“Would you like to talk to them? I’m sure they’d like to meet the person who saved them.”

He lost his ability to speak, standing there with his mouth agape, lips trembling, wanted to say ‘yes,’ but...

“No,” is all he said, as he took a single step back.

Your mother observed him and hummed knowingly. As she opened the door, Ghiaccio gave into temptation, promising himself it would be the last time, and then your eyes met. Both your eyes widen, his wide and yours slightly. He froze on the stop, unable to tear his eyes away as you studied his face, trying to work the cogs in your head to make out why you feel like you know this man.

When he finally broke free of your gaze, he strode to the exit until he felt a hand grab his, entwining their fingers in his. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. He wanted nothing more than to feel their warmth.

“Do...I know you?” You tilted your head, trying to recognize him especially when he had such unique features and accessories. “When I saw you, I felt something my heart. I don’t know what it means, but...” you stopped, finding it difficult to find the right words to convey what you felt. You stop there silently; he still refused to look at you, staring at what was ahead of him.

“Your hand is cold,” he flinched when you brought his hand to your face, giving him a single kiss; he couldn’t take it. He made up his mind.

“Fuck off! I don’t know who the hell you are! Are you stupid? You can’t just do this shit with a stranger! The fuck is wrong with you?” yanking his hand from your own. He needed to get you to hate him. He couldn’t stand the thought of putting you in this situation again. He needed to end this in his own terms. “Don’t fucking touch me ever again unless you want to stay in the hospital permanently!”

You’re expression never changed to one of fear, just the same kind of confusion when you first saw him. A small, sad smile made its way to your face.

“I still don’t who you are, but I know you were someone important to me. Something inside is calling out to me to not let you go. I want to trust this feeling.”

Ghiaccio retorts died at his throat. He didn’t know what he looked like, but it wasn’t a face you’d expect to see on him, one of guilt, yearning, anger. Why did you have to be like this?

He took one last glance when he turned and walked away, leaving you to watch as his back disappeared in the distance.

#jjba #ghiaccio #la squadra #jojo hcs

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ashescshes-blog · 5 years

Text

DISPENSABLE or Milena Ivanov’s Journey from Sister to Duchess

written for bloodvbonerpg’s february writing prompt warning: this content contains mature themes and several triggering topics

2261, or the Abuse

“Stand up straighter. You’re an Ivanov, for fucks sakes. And--”

“Ivanovs don’t slouch.” repeated the youngest with a mocking whine to her voice. Iryna barely had time to finish the arc of her eyes into her skull before she felt a stinging pain in her arm. A cold, silk-adorned hand covered her mouth to contain her wail of pain from the ears of the rest gathered in the Throne Room.

As Iryna’s mother unclenched her nails from the meat of her youngest daughter’s arm, blood began to drip down the pale skin in thin ribbons. In the time it took the blood to crawl down her pale skin and reach her wrists the shallow crescent-shaped cuts had already healed.

The woman’s dark eyes flicked over the decorated head of her little girl to where her eldest, Milena, had taken care of silencing the punishment without being asked. As she did with everything one would not have noticed Milena’s attention wavered between helping her mother control her siblings and the procession going on before them.

The closer one was to the Hollow Throne, the more eyes were upon them. And though the entire Court seemed to be rapt with attention as His Royal Highness conducted the ceremony that all had gathered to witness; the ascension of a Lower Caste into the ranks of her betters, anyone who knew how the Court worked would have their eyes trained on their King but the rest of their senses focused on the rest of the room.

And no child of hers, only two bloodlines removed from King Albescu, would slouch so long as Olivia Ivanov remained matriarch.

Olivia allowed the ceremony to regain its place to the forefront of her attention. Not a hair out of place, nor a fluttering of her skirts as she permitted her eldest to take care of the rest.

Milena, who had carried a sour face for all the hours leading up to the event, had outdone herself at how she seemed not only relaxed among the crowd but also accepting of the implications the ceremony carried. Around the waistline of her dress she procured a scrap of cloth and wrapped it around her sister’s wrist.

Iryna clenched her teeth around young, dewey lips as she her blood was cleaned against her will.

But as with all things involving her younger siblings, Milena paid her obvious discomfort no mind and continued doing what was best for the name of the family. And though all those with five bloodlines or less in distance to the Albescu family were packed towards the front of the ancient and rusting Hall like a mass grave, no one was any the wiser.

Iryna did not slouch again.

The ceremony lasted until the sun had set over the far, forest-dotted horizon. As the appointed General, Zolnerowich, rose from her kneeling position, the King spread his arms wide in stoic silence.

Restrained applause went around the room in a large oval. The Ivanovs were not the only family with discontent about the arrival of a Lower Caste among their ranks, but they were satisfied in knowing such a feat could only be accomplished by those who went above and beyond for not only the Bone Court but the Bone King upon the Hollow Throne himself.

And tonight, with the rotted and withered face of the Vampire Blood King poised on a golden rod outside the gates to Court, they would celebrate their victory -- however temporary -- until the sun rose and turned what was left of the former King of Leeches into ash.

The doors at the end of the Hall opened and servants began pouring in single-file with candles and torches to begin setting up for the festivities. The King gave a bow and stepped off of his dais to retire before everything began, and the rest of the Court took their leave only when the side doors had closed behind him.

Olivia Ivanov stepped before her daughters; the young Iryna barely containing herself, Milena with a face of carved marble, and Zinaida who, as was expected of her, had already departed from her family to venture across the floor and rejoin her latest courter.

“Milena.” Was their mother’s only acknowledgement before she turned and departed with a small wave of heads of family.

Milena’s soft curtsy at her mother’s departure went, familiarly, unnoticed. And only when the siblings were alone did Iryna truly look frightened. Wide, doe eyes looked up to the towering figure of her sister beside her and a beat of sweat fell down her temple.

Milena’s shadow began to eclipse her and Iryna moved to flinch away from whatever she might be struck with -- though in the back of her mind she remembered they were still among public eyes and that to be punished in front of them would shame not only the sisters but the entire family -- only to feel fabric brush against her cheek.

Milena gave a soft and gentle wipe of her linen to Iryna’s head to make sure the signs of her fear were removed from sight.

“You’re a fool for mocking Mother so,” Milena muttered under her breath so that only her sister may head, “especially with the negotiations taking place tonight.”

Milena righted herself and offered her gloved hand to the child, who took it in her own. Together they departed the Throne Room as a single unit, with only Milena giving notice to those who wished them farewell. It wasn’t expected of Iryna, still a child without her first kill, and for that she was grateful.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ena,” as wince of pain as the grip holding her hand became a voice, “Milena, Milena I meant Milena.” And the grip slackened.

“Don’t apologize to me. Nor to Mother if you know what’s good for your wretched little tongue.”

“But--”

“Apologies are temporary and useless things. Do better next time. Don’t fuck up again.”

In a corridor less-crowded, Milena stopped and brought her sister to stand before her. She took a gentle knee,and smoothed her skirts as she did so.

“Embarrass Mother in front of the Court again and she won’t be merciful.”

Iryna’s face scrunched into childish confusion. “Even though…”

Her voice trailed off, but Milena waited. Iryna made an expression as if to say the rest of her statement was implied, and earned a crack over her ear for it.

“You aren’t Caste, Iryna Katya,” she chided while smoothing down her sister’s hair, “if you open your mouth to speak, the only thing that should stop you from finishing is losing your tongue.”

Iryna’s lower lip trembled as she nodded. “Even though she’s my Mother?”

Mirth of a dangerous kind flickered in Milena’s bright eyes. Iryna had seen that look only several times before; when her elder sister was eying the King, or the Throne he sat upon. It wasn’t something reserved for their meals -- it was a look for a different kind of hunger.

“You remember what she did to Father. And he was the love of her life.”

A chill ran through the young Upyr as memories she had long-ago locked away were prodded. Enough to instill terror within her; enough to make her nod fervently in silence.

Milena stood; satisfied.

“Good. Keep up your behaviour and I’ll tell Mother she can forgo your punishment tonight.”

The sisters took hands again and began towards their apartment.

2278, or the Quarrel

Milena rushed through the apartment in disarray, leaving behind her a trail of flurried papers and haphazardly-written notes that fluttered to the ground like large snowflakes.

Behind her a dutiful servant immediately sprung to action, collecting the pieces and gathering them in a neat pile in her arms.

Milena hardly noticed her, as was expected of someone serving their house, but a quick double-take caught her attention as she saw the servant glance over the contents of one of the documents.

The papers made their home on the antique carpeting a second time as the upyress slammed the servant against the wall, hand wrapped around her throat. Squeezing tightly, feeling the grind of tiny bones as the lesser upyr struggled, tried, and quickly realized it was futile to breathe.

“How dare--!”

“Milena!”

A cry of surprise, and a small infant’s gurgle behind her and Milena turned her head away from the struggling servant to whoever dared interrupt her.

Zinaida stood in the doorway, still dressed in her frock to battle the winter chill around the Court Gardens. Bundled in her arms was their young infant brother, Nika; the only male in the Ivanov family and, as of his one year on the earth, an extreme disappointment to their mother. So much so that Zinaida had taken over much of his rearing while the Matriarch of the Ivanov House continued her usual duties of ensuring their status.

A duty that was being pressed down upon Milena’s back like the weight of the world itself.

Her sister stared at the scene before her with a judgment usually reserved for those beneath her, but Milena remained unphased. Tightened her grip on the servant’s throat. She could feel the fluttering pulse beneath her hand beginning to quicken in anticipation for the end.

“How was your stroll, sister?” asked Milena casually. Zinaida’s lips pursed into the same thin-lined frown their mother always wore.

“Why are you murdering the help?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Well,” Zinaida clicked her tongue, “besides the fact the help isn’t solely yours, but belongs to the family, and I have no time to get Iryna ready for her debut tonight…”

Milena’s jaw clenched at her sister’s condescending tone. “There are others. Others who know better than to let their eyes wander.” She looked back to the flailing girl in her grasp.

“We mustn't touch what isn’t ours, lest we suffer the consequences.”

“Oh for fucks sakes, Milena, she was doing her job in picking up your mess!”

A look passed between Milena and her captive in the briefest of moments. Though her trembling eyes tried to see through the grim figure of the Ivanov choking her to plead with the one making her case, there was an understanding in the space they occupied together. The servant conceded her fight for breath. Milena’s hand tightened. The briefest snapping sound followed, and Nika began to wail in his swaddle while the hanging body went limp.

Zinaida gave an exasperated sigh as she tried to calm down the infant. “There there Niki, hush now. You’re alright… you’ll get used to big bad Milena inconveniencing all of us. Yes you will, yes you will.”

The body slumped to the floor as Milena relinquished her hold.

“Save your high horse for someone else.” She scoffed, and began to pick up the fallen papers on her own.

“I’m just telling him the truth.”

“Like his constant screaming isn’t a burden?”

“Not as much as yours.”

Milena whipped her head around to glare at her sister -- strands of hair falling out of place in her high bun and into her sight line. Zinaida had the gall to not move a muscle. Tense silence filled the space between them, before the younger upyr glanced down to readjust the fussing baby.

With her papers in hand, Milena righted herself as she stood and smoothed her hair back into her usual flawless appearance. Not only would she still be late to her meeting with the other King’s Advisors, but now she would have to explain to Mother why they needed to bring in a new Caste to serve the house. It was shaping up to be a very long day.

On her way to the door, Milena stopped beside her coddling sister. Zinaida paid her no mind as she let Nika nibble on her fingertips.

“Sister,” Milena spoke lowly as she brushed the tips of her nails through the thin strands of hair atop their brother’s head, “if you ever question me again, I won’t hesitate to seek punishment.”

The soft tone held an underlying menace that made Zinaida give the briefest of glances upwards to her elder sister. Milena, however, was focused on combing Nika’s mop.

“Fine. Not in front of the help.”

“No… I mean at all.”

“Milena…”

The next words she spoke sent a chill down Zinaida’s spine: “Learn your place, and respect mine. Or you’ll be joining the help.”

Something in the simple way she spoke warned the upyress that Milena wasn’t joking. She watched, eyes wide, as her sister bent down and kissed the crown of the infant’s head before departing.

Not another glance or word passed between them.

2289, or the Beginning

All fell silent as the King stepped forward. His eyes roamed over each of the Ivanov children, taking in their appearance, their demeanor, their stance. Four crowns of raven-wing hair met him back in supplication. Nothing out of place. Nothing flawed. It was the epitome of perfection that Olivia would have demanded from such an occasion.

King Albescu reached out an open palm. Thin pale fingers encased in a silk glove reached upward and hovered delicately over his skin -- respect shown in restraint. The hand was carried to his lips and there he bestowed upon it a chaste, lingering kiss.

“The Hollow Throne gives condolences for your loss,” he spoke with his usual softness, but in the stillness of the Throne Room all could hear him clear as day, “to lose one’s kin is a tragedy, but to lose one’s elder is something that has yet to be defined in its impact.”

Gabriel released Milena’s hand and she brought it back to rest over her front.

“The Ivanov Family is humbled by your words, Your Majesty.”

Gabriel passed the siblings to stand before the resting place of Olivia Ivanov; bare as custom dictated but decorated in ornate wreaths and weavings from the Court Gardens.

“Your sisters’ handiwork?” he asked, and beside Milena, Zinaida and Iryna nodded once, “impressive and detailed. Your love shines through.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the younger girls rang out in chorus together.

His hand, adorned with the King’s rings, hovered over one of Olivia’s long arms in silent reverence. Beyond the family and King, dozens of members of the Court watched. Some had known Olivia her whole life, others for a brief time. And some had never even seen the trails of her skirts around a corner. But for the death of such an important and pure Upyr attendance was not only demanded, failure to do so was a punishable offense.

As he took the limp hand in his, Gabriel’s eyes flickered to Milena and approval was silently spoken.

The eldest Ivanov stepped forward and, chin high, she began to address the Court.

“The Ivanov House is humbled by the presence seen here today,” her speech, carefully rehearsed, echoed through the crowd, “and could she see the faces that mourn the gaping hole created by her loss, I know Mother would be pleased at the diligence of your duties to your respective Houses. Since the crowning of His Royal Highness, may his soul be without tether--” a brief pause; silence for the Court to mourn their first King and Gabriel predecessor, “--Olivia dedicated her life to the noble art of serving the Hollow Throne without question, without expectation, and without a need for anything in return except the knowledge that she was working towards a purer line of Upyr lineage.

“And though her loss is a great one for this House, her soul can rest without tether knowing that I, Milena Athenodora Ivanov, take her place as Matriarch of the Ivanov line.”

Restrained and polite applause followed the coattails of her words. In that brief moment something came over the upyress; never before had she been given the opportunity to address the Court in such a manner, and the thrill of it filled her with a longing for it to continue. Up there, before her family, before her King, before the Court itself, Milena felt a triumphant wave of power.

And when it passed, it left an anchor in her gut -- clinging to Milena with the strength of iron chains.

She would do this again. And no power on the earth would be enough to stop her.

Milena stepped back in line and turned to watch, along with the eyes of the Court, as King Albescu brought Olivia’s arm forward. Skin broke, bones cracked and ground together, and the tang of old and respected blood caused every Upyr present to relish it with an inhale as Gabriel took the King’s Share of the Dead in the first bite.

The funeral went on for the rest of the night. In a show of “grace and decency” Olivia Ivanov had requested her funeral be a public affair; her death shared with all who knew her in life. After Gabriel, her children had taken their share before opening up the meal to the rest of the Court. Wine was brought up from the cellars and soft music filled the spaces in between polite conversation as the siblings took their places at different corners of the room for condolences to be given from those gathered.

Milena gave a short curtsy to Advisor Vasilescu as he departed. Behind him like a shadow followed the youngest Petrescu son, whispering in his ear at a level that not even the skillful Milena’s ears could pick up.

“Interesting, that you would prostrate to your equal.”

Milena’s curtsy deepened as Gabriel came to stand before her. They were alone; the rest of the Court giving a wide berth to their King and the Ivanov Head.

“Mother would have respected his presence,” she countered, and continued at the King’s raised brow, “despite his change of status, his blood is no less pure.”

Gabriel nodded and took Milena’s hand in his to give her fingers another kiss of respect.

“Olivia was a wise woman; her ambition almost without equal.”

“Almost, Your Highness?”

“Indeed.”

Gabriel’s hands came to cover Milena’s in his own, and though she was able to mask her surprise with years of practice, the intent behind the action was still unknown to her.

Their eyes met. Secrets weren’t a foreign concept to the pair. Milena had been trading in them for half a decade now and the results were far more promising than either of them could have anticipated. Secrets discovered that even the King himself had wished to keep hidden.

“The world is changing, Milena,” Gabriel nodded to the resting table, now empty from the feasting, with the decorative garlands abandoned and each flower petal dotted with Olivia’s blood. “As each member of my Uncle’s regime dies, I must replace them with those who would serve me best.”

“As you see fit, Your Highness.”

A spark flickered in Gabriel’s dark eyes. “And with those replacements I find myself wondering if there is space between the Throne and the Court itself. A space that needs filled -- a bridge between the worlds, of sorts.”

Milena carefully inclined her head, lashes brushing against her high cheekbones.

“And what might this bridge do, Your Highness?”

“Serve as conduit to the Hollow Throne. The Advisor of my Advisors, of my Generals, of all who carry title in our Court. Someone who knows the importance of our purity and who has seen to it that this shall not waver. Who can be my acting hand in all matters, public and…”

“In the shadows?” Milena offers, and Gabriel’s chuckle rumbles through them both where they remain joined.

“And in the shadows, yes.”

The two Upyr gazed deep into one another’s eyes. Finally, only after giving him space to continue, Milena spoke.

“And what title might this position carry, exactly?”

The lack of honorific was not lost on the King. “I’ve yet to decide, in truth. As one of my trusted Advisors… would you happen to have a suggestion?”

Despite the grief around them, Milena’s lips curled in a reserved smile.

“Actually, I may. How familiar are you with the old, Human titles held in this very hall?”

2296, or the Rift

Not a word had passed between the siblings the entire length of the meal. Servants came and went, bringing in plates of decadent portions and returning empty porcelain to the kitchens. Knives and forks scraped against the fine antiques; the symphony of a family without anything to say.

At his end of the table, Nika took a gulp of his wine for courage and cleared his throat.

“I’m actually, uh, glad you chose to dine with us, sister. There’s been something I’ve wanted to discuss with you.”

Milena looked up from the stack of notes beside her plate. Though she wore the mask of a thoughtful sister, her siblings gathered knew it was a facade -- that she would much rather be taking her meal and pouring over the most recent Advisor Meeting alone in her offices.

Still, at the very least she attempted to seem interested in her brother’s attempt at conversation.

“If you needed to discuss something with me, why did you not come to my offices?”

Nika frowned. “I… did. Your guards didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Their words were drowned in silence and more chewing as Nika looked back at his plate as though it was suddenly filled with new and interesting things.

Inwardly, Milena seethed that her brother was going to force her to continue the conversation. A conversation she neither wanted nor cared about the details of.

Outwardly, she set down her utensils and folded her hands together over her plate.

“What did you wish to discuss?”

In their flanking seats sisters Zinaida and Iryna exchanged furtive, worried glances.

An emboldened Nika looked across the table at his sister; her words mistook for actual interest.

“I’ve been drafted for the King’s Soldiers. Got the letter a fortnight ago.”

The chiming of utensils faded.

Milena’s head inclined. “You should be honored.”

“Well… I mean, I am,” Nika explained hastily, “but… I’m not cut out for that. Petrescu, Sobol, Medved; they’re all good for it. I’m not a take-orders kind of man, right?” He looked to his sisters, tried to ignore the pity in their eyes. “Right?”

The Duchess of Ash gave him a level gaze across their dinner. “I completely agree, Nika.”

He laughed in relief. “Good! So you can fix it?”

Across from him she picked up her glass of wine and drank deeply. Wiped the edges of her lips with her linen.

“That would be counterproductive to my enlisting you, little brother.”

Zinaida choked around the morsel in her mouth. Across, Iryna stifled her gasp of surprise with the palm of her hand. But it was Nika, eyes widening and jaw falling agape, who felt every emotion rush across his face in the span of a heartbeat, that was so taken aback he found himself scraping the wooden legs of his chair across the tile to stand.

“You what?!”

Milena stared, unphased.

After regaining her composure with a hearty swig of wine, Zinaida tried to join in. “Milena, tell me you didn’t.” The sudden icy stare she received wilted her resolve.

“Why shouldn’t I have,” she snapped, “lest he continue to disgrace our name with his scandals and frivolous outings beyond the Territory? Returning a full belly and not even a scrap to give the King?”

“That’s not fair!” shouted Nika in protest.

“No, but then again neither is life.” Milena wiped her mouth and stood to gather her things. “I will hear no more on this.”

“I’m not done yet!”

Iryna reached out to take Nika’s hand. They had always been closer than Iryna with her other sisters. It was simply the way their family worked. “Nika, lower your voice…”

“No!” he pleaded at her and swatted her hand away. “No this is madness! You have no right to enlist me by force!”

A chilly silence blew in from the open dining room windows. Milena, still as a corpse, looked on to her brother’s tantrum with a calm that made his bones feel hollow.

“I have no right?” repeated Milena. And her delicate tone instilled a worry in her siblings that had been bred, not born, and only in the recent years. Like a pond that they had dipped their toes into with their late Mother, but had been fully submerged in without warning the day Milena was elevated to the title Duchess of Ash.

Nika wavered, debated sitting back down. But the point of no return was not only breached, but far behind them.

“I have every right, you ungrateful little cur.” Her words were the only thing that betrayed Milena’s inner rage. “As head of this household I have the right. As the hand behind the Hollow Throne I have the right. As your fucking elder sister, I have every right. You waste your time, your years, your blood by gallivanting around without care as though you are without duty to this house and the name you bear. I will no longer sit idly by and let you besmirch everything Mother worked for -- everything I continue to work for.”

Milena straightened her back, though how it was possible to do so further no one present understood, and gave a slight nod of satisfaction as to her reasons. Nika, meanwhile, stood slaw-jawed at the tongue-lashing he had just received. Rendered silent; mute.

Slowly he lowered himself back into his seat. The youngest Ivanov struggled for something, anything to say in response, but the weight of what was happening had settled onto him with every vowel and enunciation from Milena’s poison-tipped lips. It was not acceptance that brought him back to his chair, but unadulterated shock.

Milena decided against retiring from dinner, and instead picked up her utensils to resume eating. Satisfaction oozed from every pore as she cut into her entree and took a dainty bite. Once ostracized for the weight of her familial burden as well as her Royal duty, she now knew her time in hiding had only been a stepping stone to this, here, tonight.

With the tip of her fork, she gestured to Nika’s unfinished plate.

“You’ll stay here until you finish every scrap. Once you have your first hunting patrol maybe you’ll learn to be grateful for what you have and the hard work it took to get it.”

Her gaze moved to her sisters, who struggled with what to say, or if they had the presence of mind to say it. But the look in Milena’s eyes worked quickly to silence them.

The meal resumed.

2307, or the Culmination

Milena’s nose crinkled the moment she stepped through the doors of the Ivanov apartment. As if it wasn’t bad enough that every stone and ornate golden carving that forged the Bone Court felt saturated with the stink of the mortal coil, to have it in her own home was simply unforgivable.

Though the Duchess held the most power of anyone outside of the Bone King himself, there was nothing that she could say or do that would convince Gabriel to rid them all of the Wicked he had taken in several years ago. She had tried, and knew this to be absolute.

The faint sound of conversation reached her ears and Milena walked brusquely through each doorway to the drawing room situated near the largest window in the apartment. Servants closed each door behind her as she went, but she paid them no mind. They knew their place.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Milena arrived in the doorway of the drawing room to find her sisters; eternal burdens on her soul, in polite conversation with the Wicked Prophetess herself. It sent a stabbing anger through her gut that while her sisters fell silent immediately after her entry, the Bone-Pledged continued on as though nothing had stopped their conversation.

It was bad enough that there was an audible chink as she set her teacup down on an antique older than her ancestors’ ancestors.

Iryna recovered first -- a socialite having bloomed within her in the last few years. Idle chit-chat aside, there was information to be gained in flirtatious banter with other members of the Court. Especially as the Petrescu and Vasilescu lines sealed their friendship with a marriage contract for their youngest cousins.

“We were entertaining, Duchess,” responded Iryna politely, “would you care to join us? More tea, I think.”

She gestured behind Milena for the standing servant to refresh the tea pot, but Milena’s raised hand stopped the Caste in his place.

“I have eyes, Iryna.”

“She’s asking about the Bone-Pledged, I think.” Chimed in Zinaida, who sat uncomfortably close to the Wicked thing. Milena would have to have her clothes burned come midnight, or risk the stench seeping permanently into the fabric.

Iryna nodded as if it was a revelation. “We wished to get to know her. Right, Bone-Pledged? She looked so lonely waiting for the Advisor Meeting to conclude.”

The Wicked remained silent as she sipped her tea. There was a challenge in her serpentine eyes that tensed every part of Milena’s body.

“So you bring her into our home, to muck up our furniture?”

Zinaida snorted around the rim of her cup. Iryna, to her credit, played the part of an embarrassed host well.

“Where else would we make her feel comfortable? She says the King has her in much smaller luxuries, right?”

The Wicked nodded. “Indeed, I’ve never seen anything so… beautiful.”

“Well, living amidst the insects and other foul things as you have, I’m not surprised.” commented Zinaida with a shrug. She and the Wicked exchanged polite smiles.

“Your sisters have been lovely hosts.”

“Get out.”

Decades of settling into a role of command with ease had instilled in Milena an authority impossible to miss, and to ignore it was out of the question. Both Upyr sisters set down their teacups and Milena felt the disturbance in the air as the servant moved forward to begin cleaning up the mess. He gathered everything onto a rusted silver tray -- even going so far as to pluck the porcelain from the Wicked’s grasp -- and moved to retreat.

Milena caught him with a gentle touch to the arm as he passed. “Throw it all away. We have no further use of it.” Her order was low, but not impossible to hear.

The twisted grimace on the Bone-Pledged’s face was all Milena needed to get satisfaction out of such a small gesture.

“Leave us.” spoke Milena again, and both sisters exchanged twin looks that spared no hesitation that they very much did not want to leave.

But dutifully they stood, gave the Bone-Pledged their soft farewells, and took the further doorway out of the drawing room. The Duchess and the Court Wicked were left alone, and tension began to flood the carpet and rot the wooden floors beneath their feet.

“You will never again step foot in this space, do you understand me?”

Milena was appalled when the Wicked laughed at her instead. “I don’t obey you. I obey our King.”

“Our King is easily swayed.”

“I’ve realized.”

In that moment Milena came to a certain conclusion. Though she had spent decades instilling the obedience and silence of her family, she had far less time to do such with the new Court pet. But just like the young Upyr child who once took her hand to walk down the corridors of their home, the Wicked, too, would realize everything was dispensable on the staircase to power.

Even family.

#bvbprompts #prompt: family matters #tw: blood #tw: cannibalism #tw: gore #tw: child abuse #tw: desecration of a corpse #c; zinaida ivanov #c; iryna ivanov #c; nika ivanov #c; olivia ivanov #c; gabriel albescu #c; elise bonepledged

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