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early2000smovieimagines · 3 years

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Meeting and Dating Royce Clayton

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I know the walls are supposed to be soundproof so I’m just gonna pretend that the ghosts can make you hear what they want when they want.)

- Being related to Cyrus had it’s perks …you supposed. You were aware of his “eccentric” work so when he died; let’s pretend he really did die, you were given the haunted house of hell.

- Considering Cyrus was dead and you would be living in his home alone; and possibly because his “lawyer” found you attractive, you were made well aware of what you would be getting into …but in this economy?

- Truth be told, you didn’t quite believe the lawyer when he told you that ghosts were being held prisoner in the home. You knew that Cyrus worked in the paranormal but you didn’t expect the reality of your situation; the fact that there were tangible entities locked up in your basement, so when you were brought down there and told to put on the glasses …well, lets just say it was a shock.

- So there you are, walking tentatively behind the lawyer as he acts tough, making jokes and borderline flirting with you; though you aren’t paying much attention to what he’s saying. The ghosts glared as they watched the two of you, well, most glared, others stared or watched with sick interest.

- You were so focused on watching the leering Jackal that you hadn’t even noticed the other figure that had suddenly materialized beside it. It wasn’t until you’d felt another set of eyes on you that you noticed; out of the corner of your eye, that the cage you were standing next to was no longer empty.

- Gasping, you whipped your head around and found yourself nearly nose to nose; separated by glass, with the one and only Torn Prince.

- The lawyer made a joking comment behind you about the ghost and said apparitions grin faltered as his eyes flickered towards the other man who guided you away from the cage with a hand. And, soon enough, you were being led back up the stairs, leaving the angry spirits behind you.

- The thing about living in a “haunted house” is that you can’t just pretend that it isn't; as much as you may try. After living a perfectly average and sometimes boring life, the thought of having tangible evidence of ghosts is your very own forbidden fruit ...so soon enough you return to the basement.

- Initially, you were obviously drawn to the more grizzly and disturbed individuals; perhaps occasionally the sadder ones if it was one of those days, but it was only a matter of time before you found yourself fixated on one ghost in particular; maybe if only for said spirits fixation on you.

- Every time you went downstairs ...there he was ...staring at you. A part of you was scared but another part of you ...the lonely, horny part of you ...sort of liked it.

- He only ever stared. Never swung at you, never acted aggressive, never even glared. He just ...stared.

- There’d been a few days where you waited to see what he’d do, sat down on the floor in front of his cell and resigned yourself to watching him back. He’d smile at you then, smile and walk around his cell, glancing back you every now and again to see if you were still watching.

- After some time, he’d mirror your position on the floor and watch you back with the same amount of intensity for as long as you sat there. Any attempt you made at speaking to him was futile, he never answered, not until about a month after you moved in.

- You’d had a busy week, busy enough that observing ghosts was the last thing on your mind. Well, the spirits were the last thing on your mind until you were going to bed and heard a harsh banging coming from somewhere in the house.

- Your immediate thought was that someone was breaking in; as implausible as that was, and so, you hesitantly picked up something hard and began to investigate.

- The farther from your room you got, the more you realized that it wasn’t coming from anywhere anyone could get in from, it was coming from the basement. With a sigh of relief yet a bit annoyed, you crept down the steps and looked for the culprit.

- Royce; it was obviously Royce, his chest heaved slightly as he panted from the effort of his actions (does he even need to breathe). You folded your arms and met his eyes as you stood in front of his cell.

“You do realize it’s nearly midnight, right?” He merely watched you like he always did.

“Okay,” you said, sighing and nodding your head at his silence. “Okay, yeah.”

- You turned from him and began to walk away before something stopped you. Before he stopped you.

“You look like a dream.” He’d called out as your back was turned and you immediately froze.

- Turning around, you eyed him in surprise, watching as he stared and toyed with his bat. As any rational; or perhaps not so rationally, person would, you backpedaled and stopped in front of his cell again.

“You just talked,” you stated before furrowing you’re brows and clearing your head with a shake. “What did you say?”

“You. Look. Like. A dream.” He emphasized each word with a step forward.

“This is incredible.” You spoke in disbelief.

“Thank you.” He’d replied with a bit of a grin.

- And thus, you began to speak with him quite often, whenever you could really. He was charming, cocky and confident in his own right; even though he was dead. You liked him, even if it was strange.

- That being said, when he asked you to let him out ...you were hesitant. You’d been warned against trusting the spirits so your immediate thought was that he’d been trying to fool you into releasing him all along. You’d quickly excused yourself and kept away from the basement for a bit of time, thinking the whole thing through.

- After some time, you’d decided that you’d take the chance, crept downstairs, carefully unlocked the door to his; you’d checked it to make sure about seven times, cell and let him out.

- You slowly stepped out into the hall after you did so, watching as he walked out of the glass cage with a smile. Your heart beat harder and harder as he gazed at his surroundings before focusing on and approaching you.

- Before you knew it, he was in front of you, his cold hand reaching out and trailing down your arm.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?” You whispered and he met your eyes, smiling in response.

- The two of you shared your first kiss about a week or so after you let him out of his cage. That lawyer had called you as the two of you were sitting together and after a minute or so of you speaking to him; and Royce hearing his attempt to ask you out leaving his mouth, the ghost had pressed his lips to yours.

- In an instant, the phone was forgotten and the lawyers attempt to get you for himself was ruined.

- But while your relationship with the living man was killed before it even began, your relationship with the spirit was only just beginning.

- As we saw, Royce can’t leave your home; not unless he’s released for good, so pda isn’t exactly possible. He’s an indoor boyfriend that can only really give you affection when you’re alone.

- Touchy, touchy, touchy. He’s been alone for a long time and was only about seventeen when he died so he’s at that “prime age” for being a horny, little bastard man.

- Cold touches and kisses. He’s dead so....

- Cheek strokes.

- Coaxing kisses; especially when you first start dating.

- Having kisses peppered across your face and body.

- Feeling a cool weight against some part of you and just knowing that it’s him.

- Sitting on his lap. I assume that it’s possible if he can touch you, right?

- Making out and heavy petting. He’s a bit of a whore for you.

- Occasionally, he’ll ask you to take off “those stupid glasses” so that he can see you as you are and look at your face up close. It’s a vulnerable, intimate sort of moment for the two of you when you don’t know what he’s thinking or how he’s looking at you; and he’s just full on lovestruck staring at you.

- He calls you a few pet names; things like “doll” “kitten” and “angel”, but when hes in a more serious mood, he just sticks to your name.

- He likes to spoon you from behind when you’re cuddling. He likes having you pressed right up against him.

- Him just rubbing your legs when you’re sitting together because you’re soft and he’s completely in love.

- Jumping and jolting because of random cold touches on your bare skin.

- Getting thrown over his shoulder. Even in death, he’s strong and agile as shit.

- Dressing up in 1950s clothing every once in a while just to surprise him. He nearly cried the first time you did. He got all misty eyed and his voice got that stuck in your throat, emotional tone to it; the image is burned in your memory.

- Having him teach you old school dances. He likes watching you fumble around and giggle shyly; he thinks it’s adorable.

- Listening to stories about his life. You can’t help but feel a little melancholy seeing the way his eyes sparkle and the smile that finds its way onto his face as he relives those little past experiences.

- Taking photos of his beloved ballfield and other places for him to see how they changed over the years.

- Letting him tell you baseball facts and recount the different games that he listened to over the radio or saw in the stadium.

- The first time you held his bat (not a poorly hidden innuendo) was borderline erotic for him. A pretty girl touching his prized possession and paying close, careful attention to it? His mouth went dry and he needed a little recovery time before he could speak.

- Movies and tv dates.

- Picnics and candlelit dates in one of your huge, empty glass rooms.

- Laying on the floor together, holding hands and staring up at the clouds through your skylights.

- Please give him a compliment; he wants your praise so badly. You’re literally perfect and he’s got half his face burnt off, he’s a little self conscious.

- He’s sort of shy about his face. He doesn’t like you looking at “it” too much but at the same time, he also gets insecure when you don't look at him. Just try to look at him without focusing on the …burnt side; at least at the beginning of your relationship.

- Being welcomed home by a whispering noise and a pair of glasses coming skidding towards you on the floor.

- Randomly just getting the faint smell of smoke, coldness, and old cologne; or just being able to smell that whenever you’re near him.

- It’s probably not best to have guests over. He’ll be in your ear the entire time, asking you who’s who and trying to make you talk to him, and I doubt most people would handle accidentally seeing a ghost loose in your house; and learning that he’s your boyfriend.

- Calming him down and trying to keep him that way when he gets a rush of anger.

- Cradling his head to your chest/stomach as he’s on his knees, his whole body heaving while he pants and tries to not destroy your house in a fit of rage over something. Royce is a ...troubled individual.

- Given his past, one can assume that Royce is a sort of impulsive. You might have to try and convince him to think things through. Though how much harm can he really do at this point, right?

- He’s dead and your alive, he’s stuck in your inherited house and you wander the streets alone. Your relationship is complex and admittedly difficult, how couldn't he get jealous?

- Royce sort of gets jealous of everyone, just to varying degrees. Your family and friends are meh; he’s more so just envious of them at times but he doesn’t start problems over them. It’s when people; usually men, who aren’t related to or aren't completely platonic with you come around that he actually gets jealous and contemplates …getting rid of them.

- You’re living in a house full of spirits that most likely want to murder you ...and then you’re going into the real world where literally anything could happen to you and he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing. Of course he’s protective of you!

- That being said, a dark part of him sort of wishes that something would happen to you, not because he wants you to be hurt or because he doesn’t love you, but because he loves you so much. Your relationship is hard for the both of you but he’s the one that can be completely deserted if you chose to leave. He always feels extremely guilty after those thoughts but rest assured, he still has them sometimes.

- The two of you have quite a few fights, he’s just that kind of person. Most of the time it’s stupid bickering but depending on what you’re fighting about, he can get really angry, raising his voice and yelling, maybe making threats; which is when you leave and lock him away behind you.

- When you’re angry at him, all you have to do is take off the glasses and stay in your room …but god he hates it. He gets so, so angry whenever you do ...until his anger morphs into a sort of fear; a fear of you really getting sick of him. As silly as it may be, he can’t help but grow nervous, wondering whether you’re ever going to acknowledge him again.

- He’ll watch you as you go about your day, initially throwing a few tantrums, yelling at you and banging on walls with his bat. He’ll wait for you to forget to close a door or when you willingly leave one open and hesitantly come in, calling out your name in such a depressing tone that you can’t help but feel bad and accept his apology.

- He doesn’t tell you he loves you extremely often but he does say it; usually during very sincere and sweet moments. It’s always memorable whenever he says it.

- You might not know what the future entails but you’re enjoying each other’s company and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

#the torn prince imagine #the torn prince headcanons #the torn prince headcanon #the torn prince imagines #royce clayton imagine #royce clayton headcanons #royce clayton headcanon #royce clayton imagines #early 2000s movie imagine #early 2000s imagine #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie headcanon

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 3 years

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I was going to save this until tomorrow morning, but then I remembered I have stuff to do in the morning and I’ll be traveling again, soooo gonna finally get this fic officially rolling tonight.

*Originally I was going to call this fic ‘The Romancing of Ruby Rose,’ but I didn’t really like how it just focused on Ruby when it’s a Bright Eyes OT3 fic, so I decided to make a last minute change.

*this fic is based off a set of three asks sent to me by @misstrashchan, the first being:

Oscar's learnt how to pick up on Ruby's emotions better than most in a short time. So he doesn't fail to notice how hard Ruby- and it appears Penny as well- are crushing on one another. He tries to encourage Ruby to ask Penny on a date, but for some reason, they keep bringing him along.

and now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!

How to Grow a Romance in 3 Easy Steps

Step 1: Planting Rose Seeds in the Garden

I fell in love with her the moment I saw her silver eyes.

A shiver runs up Oscar’s spine. He stares at the last line of the story, as if the intensity of his gaze will make it change to something else entirely. His stomach twists uncomfortably into knots. Oscar can imagine, far too easily, what it feels like to fall in love with a silver-eyed person. The way one’s heart skips a beat. The rush of heady emotions.

He’d chosen to read this book of fairytales to forget about his problems for an hour or two (and maybe find a deeper understanding of Ozpin along the way, since it was Oz who collected the stories for the book once upon a time). Not to be reminded of his woes.

Oscar sighs. He closes the book with a light thump, tosses it to the side, lies on his back, and stares at the ceiling. When they were first getting settled, Jaune had given him the choice of top or bottom bunk in their Atlas dorm room. Oscar chose the top. It gave him a little more privacy, distance, from his teammates. Oscar likes Jaune, Nora, and Ren, they’ve become his friends, but they can be a bit much at times too.

There are times, like now, where Oscar enjoys being able to think without being asked what he’s thinking about. He’s not quite sure how that conversation would go, and he’s not eager to find out. There are far more important things they need to focus on than something as insignificant as a puppyish crush. He never even considered romance an option before leaving his aunt’s farm. He shouldn’t now.

Because, because it doesn’t matter how he feels about Ruby. Not in the slightest. Ruby doesn’t feel the same way about him. He doesn’t make her heart race. She doesn’t smile softly, tenderly at him. Not like she does at…

Oscar rolls over and groans into his pillow. It would be much easier to endure if it were literally anyone else who managed to gain Ruby’s affection. Literally. Anyone. Else. ANYONE.

Other than Penny Polendina.

Oscar hadn’t known her before, at Beacon, like everyone else had. After talking to them, he found out Jaune, Nora, and Ren hadn’t known Penny too well either back then. She’d been closer to Team RWBY, and especially Ruby. Oscar had wondered, after witnessing how Penny and Ruby just looked at each other, if there’d been something more between them back at Beacon. He’d asked. His three teammates looked between themselves and admitted they didn’t actually know.

Although JNPR and RWBY were close in their academy days, some things still didn’t leave their respective teams, Jaune explained. It wasn’t until after the Fall that they’d learned that Ruby had known Penny’s true nature for quite some time before the tragedy in the arena, for instance. They kept their own secrets too. Ren and Nora had revealed their past to Jaune, and their late teammate, Pyrrha, but not to RWBY.

(Pyrrha Nikos, for the record, remains an entirely separate topic Oscar isn’t sure how to think about. He knows none of his friends consider him her replacement on Team JNPR. Even though his name technically has a ‘P’ in it and Ironwood was more than willing to register him as the new fourth member of JNPR in Atlas’s databases, they’d instead insisted on calling themselves ORNJ. It causes some confusion since Jaune is still the team leader, but, for them, it works. Both to represent who they are now and keep the memory of who they were then in tact.)

Back to the point, if there were anyone (outside of Ruby), to choose to have a crush on, Oscar completely understands why Penny would be that choice. She’s like no one else he’s ever met, and not just because of the robot thing. Okay, yeah, the fact she can fly is pretty cool. But, more than that, she’s sweet. She’s one of the most kind-hearted souls he’s ever met.

Most importantly, Penny doesn’t see Oscar as just the boy who’d tagged along with her actual friends because their old headmaster had taken up residence in his head. She sees him as a potential new friend in his own right. She’s gone out of her way to make him feel welcome in Atlas. She didn’t really have to do that. Especially not when she’s so busy herself being Protector of an entire city.

It makes it impossible to dislike her. And really, it’s flat out unfair to dislike someone just because the person you happen to have a crush on has a crush on them anyway.

A part of Oscar wishes he did dislike Penny. That part of him is convinced that, if he were just to channel all his heartbreak over not being the one to catch Ruby’s eye into negative emotions for her, it would be easier to cope. Every other part of him knows it wouldn’t be. Not truly. Not in any way that counts.

Oscar’s scroll vibrates. He sighs to himself, but reaches over to pick it up to read whatever message has been sent to him.

Text from Ruby Rose:

Hey Oscar, later me and Penny are gonna to go to that arcade that you told me FNKI told you to check out, wanna come?

Oscar stares at the text as one minute passes by, then another, and a third after that. Yes, he’d told Ruby about the arcade. Team FNKI had told his team about it after one of their training bouts. It was apparently one of FNKI’s favorite places to unwind and destress. He’d told Ruby about it because he knew how much she enjoyed video games.

(He figured it could probably be a great place for some kind of first date between her and Penny, as well. At least, that’s where Oscar would have taken Ruby if he’d ever been able to ask her out.)

(Look, if Oscar is never going to get his chance to admit his true feelings, the least the two of them could do is just go out with each other already. Ruby and Penny really have no subtlety whatsoever in masking their emotions and he wants them, both of them, to be happy.)

Oscar had even encouraged Ruby that maybe Penny would enjoy going to to the arcade with her, as gentle nudge in the right direction, when he told her about it. She’d been receptive to the idea. Oscar had been happy to see Ruby so excited (sure he couldn’t be her, or Penny’s, happiness, but he could bring them together so they could be that for each other).

But now they want him to come with them. And third wheel their date.

Unless they don’t consider it a date? Which, okay sure, knowing them, they probably don’t. But still.

For the first time in his life, Oscar wishes he’d paid just the slightest bit more attention to his aunt’s gossip on the going-ons of the closest town to their farm. None of it was particularly interesting, but a lot of it did seem to revolve around who should be in a relationship with who. Maybe some random tidbit from back then may have now proven helpful in figuring out this current situation of his.

A quiet voice in Oscar’s mind (one that’s definitely his own and not Ozpin) reminds him its not his job to play matchmaker between his friends.

(Though, he does need to direct his restless crush emotions somewhere and ensuring Ruby and Penny’s future happiness seems a good a place as any.)

Oscar grumbles to himself. He’s about to type out a reply saying, no, he’ll be busy, he can’t come. Sure, he would like to, because he does enjoy spending time with them, but he’s not certain he should.

He gets another message before he can send his out.

Text from Penny Polendina:

Ruby said she already invited you to the arcade, but I just wanted to say I’d be excited if you come too! More friends = more fun!!!

Oscar knows he can still say ‘no’. He doesn’t have to go just because Penny has now asked him too. But she’s his friend, and he cares about her (a lot), and she gets so little time off to spend with friends, any friends, including him. If she and Ruby aren’t seeing this outing as a date anyway? Well, then he can just let that be something he figures out how to push them toward later.

After taking a deep breath, Oscar messages back asking after details, like when exactly in the day they were planning on going.

#rwby #bright eyes ot3 #oscar pine #ruby rose #penny polendina #whirls writing #how to grow a romance in 3 easy steps #is a mouthful of a title #but one i think fits better #also each chapter is titled after each of the ships that make up the ot3

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tfw-no-tennis · 3 years

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ani....morphs.....

ok so picking up after the david trilogy, which hit hard as FUCK, we have book 23, which basically was a semi truck that ran over my corpse, jesus christ, they really followed up the david trilogy w/all that....

23 was so so good and also painful. its the culmination of a lot of tobias’s characterization in the series thus far and also we finally get the reveal we’ve been waiting for about elfangor....ooooh man

and there was a lot of painful stuff in this book but the worst imo was tobias wondering if it were possible that somebody wanted him and would take care of him, only to have it all come crashing down in the worst way when it turned out aria was visser three in morph, ouch.

that was so brutal augh. and when he figured it out and just crash landed and kept thinking about how he wanted to die and how he was stupid to think he could have a home...bro get these kids some THERAPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so yeah that book was absolutely brutal but also so good...and it further fleshed out the animorphs working as a near-flawless team, w/the whole setup of tobias meeting w/the lawyer being so airtight and well-planned

also more free hork bajir!! its cool that there's stuff happening w/them offscreen, I like that

I literally had to take a break from reading the books bc the david triology + 23 was like so much, and also bc the olympics were on and all my time got dedicated to watching those, but then I opened 24, not sure what to expect, and BAM it was the helmacrons lmaoooo

I don't even remember the helmacrons but ig a lot of people hate them? lmao so that whole reputation preceded the book and I was like oh wow time for a change in tone

which wasn't wrong but also I liked that book?? I was never bored, even tho the whole thing was patently ridiculous and also had very little bearing on the overarching story

but I think it would be a standout if it were a TV episode w/a good budget - the visuals were amazing even in text, and I can imagine all the cool shrinking/growing/cellular stuff would be WICKED cool visually (ideally 2d animation but an ant man-esque live action adaptation wouldn't be terrible if they had the budget for it)

whatever let me dream. so yeah I didn't hate the helmacron book even tho the helmacrons themselves were...sure something. lmao I think they come back? that should be interesting

next book is the arctic one, we have yet another alien of the week style adventure - I liked this one too, it felt like more plot-y stuff happened since they destroyed the base, and marco’s POV is always fun

I do find it funny/interesting how sometimes when the animorphs do something - like in this book, destroying that base in the arctic - it doesn't really seem to impact the yeerks much/it doesn't get brought up much after that. and then other things like them destroying the ground-based kandrona get mentioned a lot (that example is understandable tho bc that WAS a big deal). its just hilarious to me how blowing up entire building complexes has become so routine that it isn’t even worth mentioning at this point

Also I adore when they meet other random people/kids and are chill w/them, like w/that kid they met in the rain forest earlier on w/the time travel

the descriptions of the brutally cold weather were great. I hate the cold so I was like oof this is a nightmare lmao

also ig that was the first ghostwritten book and I did kinda notice it was slightly different than usual? maybe? I could be imagining it tho

okay but book 26 tho...BOOK 26. bruh

that was SO good and I really didn’t know what to expect - but when we finally revisited Jake’s dream w/crayak I knew it was gonna be good (but I didn’t expect it to be a chess game war epic..!)

basically I loved it. SUCH a good Jake book - I really appreciate his character now as opposed to when I was 10 and often overlooked him (sorry jake).

similarly, when I was a kid and read these I sympathized a lot w/the chee and felt bad for them towards the end of the series when they had to get more involved in the war (genuinely don’t remember what they even do but ik I felt bad)

but now I've basically 180′d and I'm like damn those chee sure are hypocrites huh.

like they could solve So many of the animorphs problems but their stringent adherence to nonviolence leads to them actively getting in the animorphs way sometimes? and obviously pacifism is a complicated topic, but in this case it also intersect w/the whole ‘child soldier’ thing, and as beings who are insanely old and wise, the chee probably shouldn't just leave all the dirty work to a bunch of literal middle schoolers

aaaaanyways. there’s so much I love about this book. the iskoort! they were sure something. and the ‘plot twist’ that they are actually 2 beings, the Isk and the Yoort - and the Yoort are essentially Yeerks - that slapped. the symbiosis of it all!

I loved the part where they all realize what this means, that this is why Crayak wants the iskoort destoryed - because someday the yeerks might come across them and realize parasitism is not the only way. I love it!

alas I don’t recall the iskoort returning in the story (but also my memory is terrible so who knows?) but still that would be cool

basically I feel like this is the book where Jake Truly comes into his own as a leader, in every sense. he outmaneuvers Crayak, and even the ellimist, who’s yanking them around in his own way

the scene where jake shoves the howler off the cliff and jumps off and morphs and acquires the howler...that was fantastic and tense.

also the murder is definitely becoming more overt. I mean, it has been for a while, but it isn’t really pointed out as much anymore. oof

more on the chee - as Jake points out in this book, and other characters point out in other books - the chee could have saved the pemalites, but instead just stood by while their creators were slaughtered. on the other hand, jake says, what do the chee do AFTER they’ve killed the howlers - where to point them next? when is the end of their violence?

buuuuut also standing by while atrocities occur is pretty damning, as is frequently mentioned in this series - from the very beginning, when marco initially doesn’t want to get involved in the war at all, and the other animorphs basically tell him that turning his back on the war and acting like he doesn’t even know it’s happening would be immoral and cowardly (which imo this reaction helps to push marco in the direction he ends up going, but I digress) - this topic comes up again in 19 when cassie quits the team and rachel is upset bc she sees it as cassie elevating her own feelings above the greater good (as in, as long as cassie feels good about how she acts, it doesn’t matter how much preventable evil the yeerks are committing while she turns away). etc etc. but that’s essentially what’s happening w/the chee - even tho they help w/intel, the lack of any sort of Action on their part means that they’re essentially allowing awful things to happen when they could prevent them. this is rambly but basically...animorphs deals so much in grey areas, and the chee are noticeably black and white in their actions, despite falling, in a meta sense, in an extremely grey area. its such good, thought provoking writing!

anywayssss I keep talking about the chee lmao what else was there. oh YEAH jake and cassie kissed for the first time awww that was super cute

and ofc immediately marco teases them as asks jake if he’s gonna kiss him next, and all I can say is...marco is a bicon

also I love the background worldbuilding w/the iskoort, how they have all these groups and guilds and stuff - its not dwelled on much, which actually works really well to give the world/species a sense of lived-in realness

okay oh man and the reveal at the end that the howlers were just like...children who thought the whole thing was a game...AUGHH man that’s sooo fucked

like, when jake morphs the howler and has rachel ready to knock him down in grizzly morph if he gets out of control due to the howler’s murderous instincts, and he morphs to find that the howler is...playful, like a dolphin morph. SUCH a good fucked up sense of dawning horror there

and the fact that as far as I can tell the chee KNEW this, but wanted revenge anyways, so they let the animorphs assume that the howlers were Evil On Purpose

also I love smaller moments, like jake seeing that ax is ashamed for briefly running away during one battle w/the howlers, and then entrusts him w/an important task bc he knows that ax will see that as redemption - and when everyone thought jake was dead and were so happy when he wasn't (they all love each other so much im gonna cry about these child soldiers augh)

basically that book was so good

man one thing I absolutely love is that the longer the series goes on the more obvious it is that andalites, despite inventing morphing technology, barely use it themselves

like, most of the andalite characters we see barely morph. its kind of a last resort to them, as they’re already plenty dangerous in their regular forms

meanwhile for the animorphs, that’s all they have to fight with. that’s their only weapons against the yeerks, and its so fun to see them use the power in so many varied ways, and so creatively, while the andalites have barely scratched the surface of their own technology

its also interesting to contrast against the yeerks who start out w/absolutely no technology, and the andalites share some but not all of their technology w/them...its too bad that morphing technology was just starting out cause that would’ve been interesting

like imo a lot of the conflict w/the yeerks could’ve been avoided if they could just nothlit into better forms - of course, there’d still be plenty of yeerks who want to go start wars or w/e, just like pretty much any species in the series, but a lot of yeerks would probably be like ‘yeah I'm good’ and just chill out as nothlits

also people online love to talk about how humans are alienfuckers and would definitely have sex w/sentient aliens and whatnot, and while I'm not saying that's untrue, its just funny bc in animorphs the truest alienfuckers are definitely the andalites

as of the hork-bajir chronicles, we now have a second instance of an andalite morphing another species to be in an inter-species alien romance (and eventually have kids)

speaking of, I don’t think I’ve talked abt the hork bajir chronicles yet??? even tho I read it a while ago lmao

HBC was great...I honestly haven’t really run into an animorphs book I’ve actually disliked at this point, I’m sure it’ll come w/all the ghostwriting and whatnot, but I’ve liked at least some aspects of every book

anyways HBC was great, and it’s funny bc I remember that I read this book as a kid, and yet rereading it now I didn’t remember a single bit of it lmaooo

I really liked the framing device of the free hork bajir telling this story to tobias. I also liked how we know from the beginning that this story wont have a happy ending - we know all the hork bajir end up enslaved by the yeerks, but it’s still somehow hopeful at the end? I think this is largely due to the framing device tbh.

also I love toby, and I love that the First free hork bajir named their kid after tobias ;_;

and oooh mannn I LOVED the different POVs from this book. all the characters were so interesting! aldrea was fascinating - I really like the increasingly negative view of the andalites that the readers are getting, all while maintaining the sense that they aren’t like, actively evil, just that they have their issues - like aldrea’s arrogance, and the general andalite arrogance which lead to the loss of the hork bajir. also, who knew andalites had their own brand of sexism? Ls

I did like getting a female andalite tho, that was cool. and dak was really cool, he was such a good, compassionate character who was able to maintain his morals in an interesting way throughout the story

and VISSER THREE...or should I say esplin 9466, because he’s not visser 3 yet...getting his ‘origin story’ was excellent - I really like how we’re learning about visser 3 backwards - we start off the series w/him as the main villain, and he’s campy and menacing, and then we see him in the andalite chronicles as a power-hungry sub-visser trying to climb the ranks and eventually getting alloran as a host, and then back even further here, w/the start of his focus on the andalites and the beginning of his ambition. its been very cool and interesting to see

plus, the beginning of the yeerks as we know them! seerow! alloran! it’s a party and nobody is having a good time, except for some of the yeerks.

I like how it’s pretty obvious that the andalites are well-meaning with their interactions w/the yeerks, but go about it the wrong way - they give them enough technology that the yeerks realize there’s a whole world out there to experience, and then they blockade the yeerks on their planet and tell them they can’t leave. nnnnot the best approach imo

again, as I said above, I’m interested in how things could’ve gone if the andalites had given the yeerks morphing technology early on - could a lot of the conflict have been avoided, or would it have been worse? the yeerks seem pretty evil in this book, immediately jumping to enslave anyone they can. otoh we hear from esplin that not all yeerks like having host bodies, and find it overwhelming, preferring to swim around in the yeerk pool as a slug - I assume as host bodies became more available this type of thinking was probably stamped out in yeerk society or w/e, but there are a lot of interesting what-ifs in the situation

I loved the scene where esplin first experiences having a host, and immediately knows he can’t go back. there are a bunch of great sensory descriptions, and it’s a nice scene to pinpoint as a foundational moment for the visser three in the current story, who spent a lot of time and energy getting what he sees as the best possible host body, an andalite

I find it interesting how much visser three clearly respects the andalites, even while constantly deriding them. and you can see the origins of that here as he immediately focuses in on the andalites, working to become an expert on them in order to make himself useful enough to move thru the ranks

another thing I like is how esplin seems a lot more crafty and ambitious than the visser three from modern times - I would guess that reaching his goal (andalite host body) and being given all that power was detrimental, playing on his weaknesses instead of his strengths. basically, I don’t think it’s ooc or anything, I can see how HBC-esplin became animorphs-esplin, especially w/TAC in between

as for seerow...poor dude. you really do have to feel for him, because you get the sense he really did just want to be kind to the yeerks, but it was borne from a place of pity, and he (and the other andalites) consistently held too much power over the yeerks for the species relations to ever be truly equal and functional

AUGH I have so many thoughts about alien space politics. omg. I need to talk about the actual story lmao

so yeah I also feel for aldrea, she had a rough time, watching her entire family die and being thrown into a hopeless war

and then the andalite council or w/e not listening to her bc she's a girl AND seerow’s daughter...oof

also, I really really liked the running theme of the andalites - specifically aldrea - looking down on the hork bajir as ‘simple’ and constantly underestimating them, especially dak

and I like how this is portrayed as a bad attitude for aldrea to have, and she still remains and interesting and sympathetic character even while having obvious flaws. it’s about being 3-dimensional baby!

and oh man I love that dak realizes that aldrea looks down on him, and his entire species, but he can see that that’s how the andalites are, and it all connects back to the beginning of the story w/the yeerks, bc the andalites looked down on the yeerks and treated them with pity and kept them pinned under their proverbial thumb ‘for their own good’ and look how that turned out

but dak is wise and kind enough to not hate aldrea for this, even acknowledging when she’s using him, but not pushing her away because he recognizes good in her too - and she ends up changing, partially because of his faith in her

and I feel like it can all be compared to that scenario of like - a hypothetical creature that lives in a 2D world suddenly being thrust into a 3D world, and comprehending what its seeing, and understanding that there’s so much more out there outside of the flat lines of its world - and then its dropped back into 2D-land with the knowledge of all the stuff its missing out on, and no way to get back to it or explain it to anybody else

I loooove that ‘trope’ or w/e you wanna call it, and it’s done beautifully here w/the yeerks - whos the say they wouldn't have been fine in their pool swimming around; as esplin said, a lot of the yeerks were terrified of having a host, it was only from the andalites’ perspective that their lives were sad and pitiful, and the andalites showed them what the world could be like, and then said ‘no, you can’t travel the stars like we do, you have to stay here on your planet and do what we say.’

and then again, w/the hork bajir - dak talks about how, even though he drinks up the knowledge that aldrea gives him, in the end it might have been better to just have lived peacefully, not knowing what was in the sky or the Deep - as aldrea says: “It was too late for Dak: he knew that the stars were not flowers.”

plus the hork bajir having to go from a completely peaceful species who don’t even understand the concept of violence, to a bunch of soldiers fighting a war...oof

basically everyone in this story uses the hork bajir. the yeerks use them as hosts, the andalites use their planet as a convenient place to dump seerow and then take their sweet time coming to help, and the arn created them as means to stabilize the planet, but block them off from their society and refuse to help when the yeerks come

like, the arn modifying themselves to be un-infestable by the yeerks and then being enslaved for physical labor instead? oof guys. if they had teamed up w/the hork bajir resistance things might have gone better, but probably not

more on aldrea - throughout the story I was always thinking ‘how am I supposed to see her? as a good person, or as a bad person?’

as a POV character, especially a ‘good guy’ andalite, you just start off automatically thinking of her as a good person, but as the story goes on, she starts getting lost in revenge and begins using dak and the hork bajir, and you’re left wondering if this is a story about her slide into darkness, and then towards the end of the story her character development culminates in her making the decision to stay w/the hork bajir, and the be with dak, and that’s about when I went ‘ohhh right this is animorphs so every character is pretty much gonna be grey’

I feel like that moral grey-ness was on full display w/aldrea, and I really enjoyed that. I love so much when characters who are good do bad things, for good or bad reasons, especially in media like animorphs that’s aimed at kids. it’s so compelling.

oof, and the ending when aldrea convinces dak to mobilize the hork bajir and teach them violence...and dak asks her if she’s ever killed another andalite, and she’s horrified, and says of course she hasn’t, and he says that that’s what she’s asking him, and all the hork bajir, to do - to kill their own people, even if they are being controlled by the yeerks. biiiig oof. I love that dak can keep up w/aldrea and her andalite supremacy attitude - it seems that the non-andalite characters who get along best w/the andalites are the ones who wont take their bs

what else happened....oh my god how could I forget about alloran, and his quantum virus. oooof. I like how we find out about alloran in parallel to visser three, in the same backwards way - in animorphs he’s the tragic host of visser three, in TAC he’s the disgraced but still semi-respected war-prince who becomes the first ever andalite controller, and here he’s the guy who decides to commit some war crimes because, hey, we haven’t tried that yet

but yeah that was fucked up, I love it. I’ve said it before I think but I like that alloran isn’t some perfect martyr tragically taken by the yeerks - it’s a lot more compelling that he’s a very flawed person who was taken as a controller partially due to his own bloodthirstiness.

but yeah, the part where aldrea morphs alloran and ‘sneaks’ into that room was great. aldrea’s dedication to disposing of the virus is a great indicator of her character development - it really feels like the straw that broke the camels back w/re: to the andalites not being what she thought they were, w/their tardiness coming to help the hork bajir planet and the way her father was treated being the precursors to this realization. it all culminates nicely in aldrea saying ‘fuck this actually’ and nothlit-ing into a hork bajir.

and it’s really tragic but realistic that even though aldrea and dak end up seeing eye to eye at the end and getting together, the virus ends up being released anyways (and fails in its objective to stop the yeerks from using the hork bajir - the whole thing was p much a lose-lose situation oof), and aldrea and dak still die fighting a hopeless war

but then we have the free hork bajir on earth, including toby, who, like tobias, has andalite ancestry, but no DNA to show for it - I like that they have that connection as well as tobias being her namesake

so yeah I enjoyed that one and its many-layered themes

WOW this got long uuuuuhhh ok I think i’ll leave this one off here. at the time I’m actually finishing the writing and editing, I’m on book 35 lol so I have some backlogging to do. never fear, I have a lot to say....

#lj reads animorphs #animorphs

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randomoranges · 3 years

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sometimes my life is an actual sitcom. i wish i could say i made this stuff up, but now, i legit met a guy while selling a shoe rack who came back to chat me up post sale bcs he thought i was pretty. he then proceeded to tell me a million times in one hr and has since been very over the top about being into me. as much as it’s nice to have attention u also gotta pace yourself. hes so over the top it’s ridiculous and also getting more annoying.

also never fucking send ppl semi nude photos unprompted wtf is wrong with yall.

anyways i live vicariously through teacher au and use real life shit to put the characters through the same thing. today i vibed with edward.

this takes place before he and étienne are together

this is a blurb. i just needed to get a thought out of my system

edwards answers are legit what i wrote

the gag of all of edwards exes having names that start with c continues XD

Unsolicited

Edward knows he technically shouldn’t, but he’s bored at work and for once, the kids are actually quietly doing their own thing. He decides against his better judgement to open Facebook and scroll aimlessly for a moment or two, while time goes on. It’ll give him a chance to see what exciting lives the rest of his friends are living and envy those who aren’t stuck at work.

He quickly notices a red little number up on the top right corner to signal that he has one unopened conversation and for a moment, he wonders which of his friends would have messaged him. There hadn’t really been any ongoing chats at the moment, so he’s pleasantly surprised and looking forward to hearing from his friends.

He’s only a little disappointed when he sees that it’s not from any of his friends, but instead from a guy he’d met just last Friday in the most strangest of ways. (His friend had hosted a garage sale and had asked for help. Edward had gone. He’d brought along some of his own stuff. This one man – Charles – had bought his old wooden shoe rack. Charles had chatted Edward up. They’d exchanged contact information and had more or less chatted since then. It was a strange way to meet someone – but, not the strangest.)

Charles is – cute and they had a pleasant chat. Edward certainly hadn’t minded the attention, even if it had come from out of nowhere. He’d been looking forward to meeting up with him again, but as the days had gone on and their conversations had progressed, he’d found himself slowly losing a bit of interest over Charles’ over-eagerness.

There were just so many times Charles could say he thought Edward was attractive in an hour before it got redundant and annoying.

Edward was flattered Charles was interested in him, but Edward didn’t want to rush this either. He’d just gotten out of a serious relationship and with the end of the school year looming close, he had other things to deal with. Once summer break arrived, he would have more time and more energy. In the meantime, however, he didn’t need this stranger he barely knew to wax poetics and tell him he wished to wake up beside him to see how he woke up – or whatever garbage he’d been told. Edward was willing to give this a go, but he wasn’t looking to settle down and get married with Charles after knowing him for three days and it quite honestly felt as though Charles had already booked their venue at times.

He was – over the top and intense. Edward had appreciated the fact that Charles had told him he’d found him attractive when he’d first seen him and he liked that he had actually returned to chat him up. It had been a little weird when Charles had called him his beloved and stranger still when he’d apologised from taking up his time and keeping him away from his friends when they’d talked that first time, but Edward had let it slide and had almost found it charming – in its own bizarre way.

Now, it feels as though Charles is trying too hard, when really he doesn’t have to. Edward thought he was attractive, had even told him so and was more than willing to see where this would lead. but if However, if Charles doesn’t slow down, Edward will back out and move on. (Which reminds him – there’d been that whole other conversation where Charles had told him that he looked forward to living their lives together and that he didn’t want to lose him. To which Edward had politely told him that it would be best to get to know each other first.)

Edward wants some fun – not some intense long-term lovey-dovey besotted nonsense. At least – not after three days of talking with the man.

Still, he opens the conversation, curiosity, and boredom getting the best of him, and at first, it’s nice, until Charles asks him if he could have a photo. Edward lets out a long-suffering sigh and is glad his students are too busy with their work to notice.

Charles has asked to send him a photo right now, of all things.

Edward is so not in the mood for any of this.

“No. I’m in class teaching. My students are taking a test.” He writes out. He doesn’t care if he comes across as annoyed, but this man is being irksome in his own infatuated way and it’s – pathetic. He likes the attention, to a degree, he enjoys feeling wanted, but Charles needs to calm down his ardours.

He leaves it at that and doesn’t bother with Charles for the rest of the day.

By the time Edward’s done, he heads to his car and figures he’ll check again to see if he’s gotten a new message. There is still part of him that is curious about this whole ordeal and so he’s a little bit pleased when he sees that Charles has sent him a few messages after their last chat.

He’s less enthused when he gets to the last one.

The first was in regards to the whole photo debacle, saying maybe next time. The second mentioned that he was going for a jog. And the last message – the kicker really, was a photo Charles had sent of himself, shirtless and thankfully from the waist up.

And to think Edward had nearly sent him a post-work exhausted face selfie for the fun of it.

He grumbles, puts his phone away, and figures he’ll deal with it when he gets home.

It’s not that he necessarily minded the photo – he did find the guy attractive to a point, but – it had been unprompted. Unsolicited. He hadn’t asked for a photo. He hadn’t been expecting a shirtless photo. He wasn’t in the current mood to receive such a photo. He could have been at school on break and gotten this photo.

He’s angry and annoyed by the time he gets home.

Edward putters around and leaves Charles on read. It’s one thing going after sex and expecting these photos and it’s another to get them out of the blues. He lets his friends know of this debacle and relishes in their reactions. He’s glad someone gets it.

Finally, after making dinner, playing a few rounds of video games, taking a shower, getting his lunch ready for the following day, and having a nice chat with his friends, he decides to answer Charles.

“Even if a photo of a woman, man, or person shirtless may be nice to receive, it’s always better to send it with consent and with fair warning. Especially when you’re not expecting one and that with my work, there are often children nearby.”

He doesn’t expect an answer so quickly, especially since it’s been five hours since the photo was sent, but Charles, true to form, answers. Edward laughs out loud when he reads how very sorry Charles is and how he genuinely thought Edward would appreciate it. Edward sighs again and groans, passing a hand through his hair.

He tries to find a polite way of trying to get this man to understand and he’s only a little surprised by how easily the words come to him, “There’s a time and place for everything. You don’t send these types of photos willy-nilly whenever you feel like it. There’s context, time, mood, etc. Consent and fair-warning. Imagine you were sitting with your family, friends, or kids and you received such a photo without warning. You can’t assume that the person on the other side is in an appropriate setting to receive these types of messages and images without checking beforehand.”

It’s at times like these he wishes men could be less – like this. He likes a good shirtless photo just like anyone else who’s into men, but he hates that this seems to be a norm. And at least this was only a shirtless photo! He doesn’t want to think of the number of times when he was having a nice conversation about literally anything unrelated to the human body, only to find himself with a photo of a man’s junk, completely unprompted.

Sometimes, he almost wishes he were into women just to be spared this.

Edward figures he’s given Charles enough etiquette lessons for the night and puts his phone away. He pulls up something decent to watch on television and does his best to forget about the incident for now. If anything, he reminds himself, he doesn’t need to commit to anything with this besotted Romeo.

FIN

#teacher au #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #au #fic

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flovey-dovey · 3 years

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LoZ: BotW is on my mind again

So, this is an old collection of pet-peeves of mine by now, considering the game and the DLC has been out a while, but like... I’m not the only one who -literally- immediately went to Gerudo Desert to try out my brand new bike only to have my dreams crushed upon learning it’s not an all-terrain vehicle despite going through all the rather terrain-based bosses again- plus one additional boss/dungeon- right?

Like, you still need the seals to get around quickly in the desert? Not even any camels in the desert to mimic the deer as an alternative to horses. But sure, go ahead and drive around on the sand of a beach to your heart’s content! :D

It’s not even named Vah Epona or something, even though it looks like a horse/unicorn and is what I presumed to be a super neat mini-Divine Beast with the other DB’s combined elemental powers/immunity... But nah, it’s just a bike that can’t ride on one specific kind of sand Just Because. Like- not just (desert) sand, but imagine being able to glide across chasms or ride over lava or over rivers! That’d be cool! Really cool! Kind of OP, but cool!

What makes even less sense than that, though, is how and why all the Gerudo- including the children- are wearing high heels. In the desert. Where it would perhaps be THE MOST uncomfortable place to ever wear high heels. There’s not gonna be enough doctors to help all those broken ankles, I’m just saying.

But speaking of DLC that requires a lot of effort but has an incredibly dissatisfying payoff once you know its limits, the One-Hit Obliterator. An excellent strategy and satisfaction-inducing weapon with as much risk as reward to wield but one that only lasts as long as its tutorial and literally nowhere else.

Just... Why tease something like that, why program something like that, if you’re only going to force the player to use it ONCE and in ONE location??? That’s such a huge waste! Why did I pay and put effort into what turned out to be nothing more than a really stinkin’ useless decoration!?

Listen, if I wanna risk dying in one hit to get back at a gang of recolored Bokoblins for spotting me before I could tactfully blow them up from the shadows, that’s my decision.

Also, speaking of enemies, anybody remember the Dead Hand? I haven’t seen them in a while and I’m worried about him. He’s my favorite horrifying monster of the series, you see~ Well, one of them. Actually, now that I think about it, there’s not a single Redead or Gibdo who shows up to the party that I can recall seeing, either. You’d think in a land that has been positively ravaged by death and demise (haha), there’d be at least one. All the bodies must’ve gotten vaporized by all the robos or something. No Poes though. Or Like-Likes, or Guay, or Leevers, Wolfos, Bubbles, Wallmasters... you get the idea.

It can (probably) be argued that there is some diversity of enemies in BotW, and while the Lynels and Hinox are cool and interesting enough, the enemy diversity doesn’t go more than two inches before delving into what are essentially recolors. Bokoblins and all are fine, but why are there- at minimum- 6 different versions of them?? (Only one flavor of Molduga though, interestingly enough. Boy, there’s... not a lot in the desert, is there..?)

But seriously- why are there so many recolors when we could’ve had at least one Redead? It would’ve even made thematic sense...

Hey, also, real quick, why can’t you swim under the water? Am I the only one who found that odd? Lost a rupee to a tragic 5 inches of depth since my little Link toes couldn’t grab it. I legit still think about it sometimes. Just like how I still think about how there wasn’t an iron boot or hookshot of any kind to help.

And that’s about it for now I guess. Agree or disagree, that’s fine. Have a good.

#rant #text post #loz botw #legend of zelda #breath of the wild

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adokle · 4 years

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HumanoidDudesFun by JoeAdok

A character line-up built up using fake lore. The idea here is creating a species group that humans and some other human-like creatures would fall into, much like how the sonic-like characters would fall into the Mobian label. For now, I'll call them Sapiens/Sapians. So its a mix of races from Archie, The OVA, Aosth and the games, along with some mythical things and actual primates. I guess "in story", there'd be a reason why the humans are pretty much the only ones left in modern society, much like there's a reason why the echidna and tazmanian devils are "gone".

Some old stuff, with some additions (Trolls, Cascadians & Hunt).

And now, some extra, possibly redundant notes(?) about these dudes.

Human - Just your garden variety humans, you know how it goes. Pretty much the normies and most common of the bunch.

Overlander - Quote unquote "devolved" humans. So humans. A rare gene causes 4 fingered hands, its commonality is overblown.

Arthurian - An elf-eared people of two variations. A green-yellow skinned CO2 breathing type, and a type resembling common humans aside from ears and a higher rate of less common hair colours.

Djinn - A people of varied appearance. They had an affinity for magic and are pretty much remembered now in fiction as genies and the like.

Merman - Literally fishmen. There’s lots of stories about them in history, not so much in the modern day.

Zeti - A horned, vividly skinned and long lived race native to what would become the Lost Hex. I hear that there's less of them nowadays. Like six, something like that, probably.

Troll - Considered extinct, but they could use magic and shapeshift, so who's really to say?

Ergaster - Like cavemen, or something. Either evolved/were absorbed into one of the other groups or went extinct. It is a mystery unless you're like, an anthropologist or something.

Chimera - What you get with a human and a non-human if anything at all. Super-rare. Like really rare. Like double genetic lottery rare. I still don't think you get just how rare this is.

Snowman - An isolated group found north of the Holoskan ice caps. Native Holaskans are their only contact with the outside world. That, and maybe documentary crews.

*Sonicman* - Just your friendly neighbourhood Sonicman. (He's just a human despite his proportions being drawn like he’s from New Donk City here.)

#sonic #adokleart #joeadokart

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perfecttimeseleven · 4 years

Link

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 3 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE FIVE

(REMINGTON and JAY are still seated at the living room table. REMINGTON is leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, bored. JAY is leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, frustrated.)

REMINGTON

I can’t do it. All the voices are too loud, and the “Joyce” one is quiet as shit. It’s like, I‘m listening for “Joyce”, right, but out of nowhere another voice is like “Birds!” and I’m all like “Fuck!”

JAY

(fed up, without looking at REMINGTON)

Try again. It might help if you say “Joyce” along with the voice.

REMINGTON

Can’t you demonstrate? I really won‘t judge.

JAY

(still not looking at REMINGTON)

No.

REMINGTON

C’mon, just take off your little ring there — I’m guessing that’s the accessory you use and just...do your magic.

JAY

No.

(REMINGTON lets her head fall onto the table, exasperated. Jay lifts up a foot and is about to kick her hair when REMINGTON suddenly raises her head again.)

REMINGTON

Were you about to kick my hair?

JAY

Maybe. Maybe not.

REMINGTON

Better have been maybe not. My hair is my best feature. You should get it. I mean, you have lots of good features — like girl, you’re fucking hot — but your hair is pristine.

JAY

Thanks?

REMINGTON

You know what I don’t get?

JAY

(lowering her foot)

A lot of things.

REMINGTON

(ignoring JAY)

Why animals attack me. Is that…normal? I get that it was the sign I needed help with this, but…

JAY

You’re not special. Animals sense the “perfection” in us. In the whole several-human-reincarnations-in-a-row thing. Stay away from zoos.

REMINGTON

Hm. Come on, show me how to do the thing —

JAY

(betrayed)

No!

REMINGTON

Please! I’m really stupid. You’re smart and beautiful and experienced in this and beautiful. I’ll owe you one. Plus, your sugar daddy Dr. Morello’s gonna be pissed if we spent all this time sitting here and accomplished nada.

JAY

Oh, God, please never string those words together in that order again —

REMINGTON

And then he’ll dock your pay from nothing to less than nothing.

JAY

Oh, that makes so much sense. How would he be a hypothetical sugar daddy if he doesn’t pay me? That’s the opposite —

REMINGTON

Do you want your nonexistent salary to suffer, you sadistic bastard?

JAY

If I do it, will you stop talking?

REMINGTON

Probably will.

(JAY takes off her ring and places it on the table. The moment it leaves her hand, she winces.)

JAY

(in pain)

Aghh!

REMINGTON

(shocked)

Shit. Do I call 911?

JAY

(forcefully)

No. Just...watch this. Focus...

(pauses)

Here, this voice’s word is Clara...and then...say the word if it helps...

(pauses, gripping the table with both hands)

Clara...Clara...there. I’m in.

(With a painful movement, JAY grabs her ring. The moment she touches it, she relaxes.)

JAY

You’re welcome for that. Don’t fucking say a word.

(pauses)

Your turn.

(REMINGTON takes off her bracelet and places it on the table. 6. Love is a Constant.)

VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS. HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE. JOYCE. JOYCE. JOYCE.

JAY

Remington? You good? Did it work?

REMINGTON

(strangely tenderly)

Joyce?

(Suddenly, REMINGTON lunges forward and hits JAY's hand. JAY drops her ring onto the table. Almost immediately, she freezes.)

JAY

(also incredibly tender, but even more shockingly because this is JAY we’re talking about)

Clara?

REMINGTON

(overjoyed)

Joyce!

JAY

(gently)

IS IT REALLY YOU? DO I DECEIVE MY MIND?

NEVER IN MY DAYS DID I THINK I WOULD FIND

A KIND OF LIFE AFTER DEATH, NEVERTHELESS YOU!

REMINGTON

Yes, Joyce! It’s me!

JAY

Clara!

REMINGTON

DO YOU RECALL THE EVENING WHEN WE FIRST MET?

JAY

OH, YES, I RECALL!

REMINGTON

AT THE GATE BETWEEN OUR GARDENS, RIGHT AT SUNSET?

AND YOU WORE THAT DRESS, CRIMSON,

JAY/REMINGTON

WITH THOSE BUTTONS LIKE FLOWERS?

REMINGTON

Yes!

JAY

I WAS TOO SHY AT FIRST TO EVEN TELL YOU MY NAME.

REMINGTON

YOU WERE SO SHY!

JAY

BUT WHEN YOU SMILED, MY FACE FLUSHED UP, AFLAME.

YOU MADE ME FEEL AT EASE.

REMINGTON/JAY

WE TALKED AND WROTE FOR HOURS.

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

NOT QUITE TOGETHER, BUT, MY DEAR,

WE CAN SEE LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

UNSURE WHERE THIS IS, BUT I HAVE NO FEAR

SINCE I KNOW LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

REMINGTON

I RECALL ALL THOSE SUITORS WHO’D COME TO YOUR DOOR,

AND

REMINGTON/JAY

WITH EVERY PASSING YEAR THERE’D SEEM TO BE MORE.

REMINGTON

I WAS BAFFLED WHY YOU STILL CHOSE TO SPEND YOUR AFTERNOONS

WITH ME.

JAY

OH, WELL, I WAS FORCED TO MARRY AFTER YOU PASSED.

A RICH MAN, OLD, BUT WITH MONEY AND CLASS

WE HAD NO CHILDREN. HE PASSED AWAY. I LIVED OUT THE REST OF MY DAYS LONELY.

REMINGTON/JAY

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

NOT QUITE TOGETHER, BUT, MY DEAR,

WE CAN SEE LOVE IS A CONSTANT.

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

UNSURE WHERE THIS IS, BUT I HAVE NO FEAR

SINCE I KNOW LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

REMINGTON/JAY

I’D FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH I TRULY MISS

OUR TALKS, LONG AFTERNOONS, YOUR TENDER KISS

OH, WHAT I’D GIVE TO LIVE WITH YOU AS MY WIFE.

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND EMBRACE ME, MY LOVE

FORGET THESE HIDEOUS BODIES WE’RE TRAPPED INSIDE OF

OH, HOW I’VE YEARNED FOR YOUR TOUCH ALL MY LIFE.

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT...

(Someone is knocking at the door between the kitchen and the living room. It’s DAISY.)

DAISY

Remy? Jay?

(DAISY knocks again.)

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT

DR. MORELLO

Are they still in there?

DAISY

I’m pretty sure. Hang on. Guys?

(DAISY knocks a couple more times, louder.)

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT

(DR. MORELLO and DAISY enter to see REMINGTON and JAY embrace.)

DR. MORELLO/DAISY

Janette!/Remy fuckin’ Ratatouille!

(DR. MORELLO immediately notices JAY’s ring and REMINGTON’s bracelet on the table. He grabs JAY’s ring and shoves it in her hand. DAISY takes REMINGTON’s bracelet and does the same. JAY instantly snaps out of her trance.)

JAY

Holy —! God! Remington!

(pushing REMINGTON off of her. REMINGTON stumbles a little, almost falling off the table.)

REMINGTON

Shit!

JAY

What the hell was that?

(JAY quickly slips the ring onto her finger, evidently very embarrassed. REMINGTON regains her footing.)

REMINGTON

Eh, who cares. Let’s pick up where they left off —

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

No!

DR. MORELLO

Remington! Jay! Get down from the table immediately. Sit down!

REMINGTON

(noticing DR. MORELLO and DAISY for the first time)

Oh, shit. Hello. Sorry.

(REMINGTON and JAY make their way down back to their chairs. DAISY nudges DR. MORELLO.)

DAISY

See, I hate to say “I told you so”, but I told you so.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, what happened here?

(There’s a pause.)

REMINGTON

I think we got possessed. By dead lesbians.

DR. MORELLO

Oh.

REMINGTON

The word is most definitely Joyce now though. She’s, uh, she’s got Joyce.

JAY

You know how one of my voices is, uh, named Joyce? And how her word is Clara? She’s Clara.

REMINGTON

I guess Joyce and Clara knew each other back in the day...both in the literal and, uh, biblical sense...

DR. MORELLO

There’s really no need for profane hand motions. Go on.

REMINGTON

And then, well, we ended up in a situation when both of our accessories were off —

JAY

You mean your accessory was off and then you slapped mine out of my hand.

REMINGTON

Clara slapped it out of your hand. Anyway, then we got possessed.

DR. MORELLO

Okay.

REMINGTON

Yeah. Um...what do your big doctor brains think about that?

DR. MORELLO

I...I have never seen anything like this before...but I’m guessing the explanation is actually quite simple.

JAY/REMINGTON

What?

DR. MORELLO

The word a voice says is its most recurring thought manifesting itself as an imprint on the soul. Now, a person has to be quite important to someone if they’re, quite literally, all they think about. And for that to be something going both ways...these ladies certainly had an exceptional bond.

DAISY

Star-crossed gal pals.

DR. MORELLO

Yes. Soulmates, if you will.

JAY

Hold up. “Soulmates” as in Clara and Joyce were just one in a billion, or “soulmates” as in my soul and Remington’s soul?

DR. MORELLO

We have no way of knowing right now, but from what I think — well, this is quite a rare case, especially the fact that an echo of a previous life was able to take over the current host...I’d conclude that, yes, you are “soul-mates”, quite literally.

REMINGTON

So! How ‘bout it, eh, soulmate?

JAY

(ignoring REMINGTON)

That can’t be a real thing, can it?

REMINGTON

Only one way to find out!

DR. MORELLO

Now, seeing as you have actually uncovered some important information, you may have recreational time for the rest of the evening. I need to look deeper into this. Uh, there’s some video games in the cabinet. I’ll be in my office upstairs. Also, I was going to come in here to let you know we’re having pizza for dinner. It should be coming in half an hour.

DAISY

And I made sugar cookies.

(DR. MORELLO leaves dizzily. He looks like he has a headache.)

REMINGTON

Swell! Some quality soulmate time?

JAY

Someone get her away from me.

(DAISY looks back and forth from JAY to REMINGTON. She’s a smart kid. She knows when she should leave people alone.)

REMINGTON

Oh, I get it. You’re too good for me.

DAISY

I’m...gonna head out.

(DAISY exits.)

JAY

Listen, kid, you don’t know shit about me. I don’t know shit about you. It’s better if it stays that way. I don’t know what he’s talking about with this soulmate shit, but I do know that you don’t want to get involved with me and my life.

REMINGTON

Oh, ha. ’Cause you’ve got some kind of “issues”?

(JAY is silent.)

REMINGTON

Wow. Damn, I didn’t know someone could be this angsty in real life. With your wearing-all-black deal and e-girl hair and ear piercings and shit? Ooh, I bet you pierced them yourself with, like, the finger bone of a shark you strangled or something.

JAY

Sharks don’t have fucking fingers. And no; I got them pierced at a mall Claire’s when I was 11.

REMINGTON

(finding this funny)

Off brand, but okay —

JAY

Yeah. Fucking loved Claire’s. Still do. What about it?

(There’s a pause.)

REMINGTON

(quietly)

Nothing. Claire’s is valid. You’re a lady of fine taste.

(REMINGTON and JAY are silent for a moment.)

REMINGTON

They called our bodies “hideous”. Did you hear that?

JAY

Yeah, that was uncalled for.

(They both chuckle a bit awkwardly.)

REMINGTON

Sorry for earlier. It was my fault.

JAY

(tensing back up)

Yeah, it was.

REMINGTON

You could’ve told me listening to your voices...hurt.

(pauses)

How does that even work?

JAY

Didn’t tell you ‘cause I knew you’d ask that.

(pauses, before sighing)

I’m...in a peculiar situation. See, once the voices started to manifest in my soul’s earlier hosts, they...joined groups, or organizations. Similar to this one, but more serious. Cult-ish, almost. They’d dedicate their shitty lives to preserving the goodness of the soul to continue the line of human hosts. One organization like that a good half of my voices was involved with — it was large and thriving and would track down new hosts.

REMINGTON

That’s cool, but why does that...cause pain?

JAY

See, look past the single word a voice presents itself as and you “unlock” the memories of that person. Over time, the more you listen to them, the more they become an interactive collection of memories — almost a voice that reacts to your thoughts.

REMINGTON

So you can talk to them?

JAY

I guess.

REMINGTON

Wack.

(pauses)

Still don’t get why that causes pain.

JAY

We’re humans. We’ve got a limited view of morality that’s shaped by our society. Our perception of “good” or “bad” is probably different than what ultimately is considered by the universe as “good” enough to give a soul a human life. And...some of my voices have views of good or bad that are...incredibly outdated.

REMINGTON

(knowingly, slyly)

Ohhhh.

JAY

What?

REMINGTON

Your voices probably tell you to...ah...hee hee.

JAY

(more frustrated)

What?

REMINGTON

To, ah,

(pauses)

Pray the gay away —

JAY

God.

REMINGTON

They detect your sinful lusty thoughts about the incredibly attractive woman sitting across from you and go “oh, no, dear Janette —“

JAY

Oh God.

REMINGTON

Yeah, don’t pretend I didn’t hear that! “Oh, Janette, you mustn’t! Thinking about holding hands before marriage was already stepping on the line, but this? Oh! Unacceptable!”

JAY

No.

(pauses)

Though in a weird way, you’re on the right track.

REMINGTON

Ha!

JAY

Not like that.

(pauses)

It’s a lot of things, combined. See, I, ah,

(sucks air through teeth, evidently uncomfortable)

don’t fully identify as female, I think. I mean, I use female pronouns, but...I don’t know. I don’t fucking know because I don’t have room to figure out who I am. Don’t even have my fucking brain to myself. It started when I was a kid, but, throughout the years, it’s just gotten worse and worse and now — they just...scream at me. And it’s fucking loud. It’s so fucking loud.

(7. Bad Luck.)

JAY

IF I THINK I’M SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHAT I’VE TOLD THE WORLD I AM,

I’VE GOT TEN VOICES TELLING ME OTHERWISE.

IF I DON’T EXACTLY STRIKE MYSELF AS A WOMAN OR A MAN,

EACH ONE OF THEM DOESN’T HESITATE TO PULVERIZE

WHATEVER CONCEPTION OF MYSELF I HAVE AN INKLING OF

THAT DOESN’T FIT THEIR TINY MIND.

YOU’RE LUCKY YOU HAVEN’T FREED YOUR VOICES YET.

YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE WHAT YOU FIND!

THESE TEN SUCKERS HAVE WASTED THEIR YEARS

LIVING LIKE BEES IN A HIVE,

TRAINED TO MAINTAIN THE SOUL’S PURITY.

WHAT A TERRIBLE WAY TO STAY ALIVE!

THEY’RE STUCK UP, SHITTY PEOPLE —

REMINGTON

EVEN JOYCE?

JAY

EVEN JOYCE.

YOU KNOW, IT FUCKING SUCKS TO BE A "CHOSEN ONE"

‘CAUSE IT JUST MEANS YOU NEVER GET ANY CHOICE!

THEY SAY "JAY! YOU’RE PART OF A LEGACY!”

“JAY! WITH YOUR HELP, WE’RE GONNA GO SO FAR!”

“JAY! THIS IS YOUR DESTINY!”

“C’MON, JUST PLAY YOUR TINY ROLE IN PRESERVING THIS SOUL.”

“JAY! YOU MUST STAY CLEAN AND PURE!

A HUMAN REINCARNATION WE GOTTA GUARANTEE!"

WELL, SORRY YOU GOT A HOST SO IMMATURE —

IT WAS YOUR BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME.

AS A KID, I’D DO ANYTHING TO REBEL.

I’D STEAL SHIT AND I WOULD LIE.

I WAS A BIT OF AN ATTENTION WHORE, IF YOU COULDN’T TELL

AND I BET YOU CAN GUESS WHY.

TO PISS OFF THE VOICES, OF COURSE, JUST FOR FUN!

I’D NEVER REALLY BEEN FORGIVING.

THEY CALLED ME "ABOMINATION" SO I GAVE THEM ONE.

BEING AT WAR WITH YOURSELF’S A NEAT WAY OF LIVING.

OH, AND WAY BACK WHEN I WAS FOUR,

MY FATHER LEFT MY MOM AND ME.

HE THOUGHT I WAS A FREAK OR A BURDEN OR A CHORE;

MOST LIKELY, SOME COMBO OF THE THREE.

MY HOUSE GOT SET ON FIRE A FEW YEARS BACK

BUT THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT STORY.

SUMMARY: MY MOM PERISHED IN THAT ATTACK.

IT WAS DEPRESSING AND A BIT GORY,

SO EVERYONE GOES

"JAY, WE’RE SO SORRY ABOUT IT!"

WELL, I DON’T NEED YOUR BULLSHIT APOLOGY!

AND DO YOU REALLY CARE HOW I FEEL? I DOUBT IT.

DREAM ON, YOU CUCK. YOU’RE FRESH OUTTA LUCK.

"JAY! YOU DIDN’T DESERVE IT!"

WHAT’S SAD IS I DON’T AGREE

NO ONE’S GOT THE GUTS TO ADMIT IT WAS JUST

THEIR BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

UNLESS YOU’RE LOOKING FOR YOUR LIFE TO GET WORSE,

LEAVE ME ALONE.

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

YOU GOTTA TRUST ME ON THIS; IT’S LIKE A CURSE

SO LEAVE ME ALONE.

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

UNLESS YOU WANNA END UP A CORPSE IN A HEARSE,

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

YOU GOTTA TRUST ME ON THIS; IT’S LIKE A CURSE

SO LEAVE ME ALONE!

"JAY! YOU’RE PART OF A LEGACY!”

“JAY! WITH YOUR HELP, WE’RE GONNA GO SO FAR!”

“JAY! THIS IS YOUR DESTINY!”

“C’MON, JUST PLAY YOUR TINY ROLE IN PRESERVING THIS SOUL.”

JAY! WHAT A FUCKED UP KID! ON THAT, EVERYONE CAN AGREE!

JAY! OH, I’M SORRY YOU DID,

BUT IT WAS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME.

(gesturing to REMINGTON, imitating her)

"JAY! DON’T YOU WANNA HANG OUT?”

“JAY! C’MON, LET’S GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER!"

(to REMINGTON)

CAN’T YOU GET MY SIGNS OR DO I HAVE TO SHOUT

“MOVE ON BECAUSE I’M JUST A WASTE OF YOUR TIME!’

"JAY, WHY ARE YOU BEING SO RUDE?"

I’M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU! CAN’T YOU SEE?

ANYONE AND EVERYONE I LOVE IS SCREWED!

IT’S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

#perfect times eleven #transcript #px11 #jay mazziotta #remington long #Rupert morello #daisy noxx #musical theatre #musicals #podcast

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theonewiththefanfics · 5 years

Text

Hawkins’ Charm (Part 4/?)

Synopsys: They had gotten out of Hawkins. After all the shit that had happened, all the heartache and pain, Billy and the Reader had gotten away from that hellhole, building their life in California as he had dreamed. But when Max’s graduation rolls around and they go to celebrate, it’s as if the Upside Down was just waiting for all of them to return. And it has a bone to pick.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x f!Reader; platonic!Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: blood, mentions of injuries and death, fighting, swearing

Word count: 3345

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE BILLY’S ACTIONS AND THE THINGS HE’S DONE! THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU, WHEN REALLY LOOKING AT IT! SPOILERS FOR S3! READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!

Y/N’s heart felt as if it was about to break out of her chest, her arms clutching onto a crowbar she’d found under one of the bus’ seats. Steve’s back was just as tightly pressed against the inside wall, as was hers, his own fingers wrapped around a sturdy looking piece of wood, yet she still felt like there was nothing separating them from the Demogorgon. Tears had started to stream down her face pretty much instantly when they both dropped down to hide inside the hull of the vehicle. “Do you think it heard us?” Y/N whispered, trying not to move a muscle in her trembling limbs. Steve shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not about to ask it.” “We have to get out of here.” “Yeah no shit,” he hissed, extending his neck to see out the front window where the Demogorgon was still lurking, moving at a snail’s pace and sniffing each and every corner. It looked about a hundred and fifty feet away, but it was still a risk to leave. They could slam up against something sharp, and if the sound wouldn’t give away their position the scent of blood definitely would.

Y/N was desperately trying to look around the interior for anything they could use against it. She remembered that it hated warmth, despised it, so fire would be a sure way to incapacitate it for a moment, if not even gravely injure it. Her Y/E/C eyes befell on a graffiti can. “What are you doing?” Steve asked, hands gripping his weapon tighter. She just shushed him with a look and passed her crowbar to him. Barely breathing, Y/N leaned to stand on all fours and crawled her way down the aisle. Just as her fingers were about to reach for the can, she heard the Demogorgon approach. Y/N completely pressed herself against the floor as Steve did to the side of the bus. The fear was all consuming by that point. Sure, she’d fought one of those pieces of shit before, she had fought even bigger monsters, but there was something about the Demogorgon, that Y/N couldn’t quite shake. Maybe it was the fact it had been the thing that started it all – taken Will, killed Barb and had turned her life upside down. Quite literally. Or maybe it was the fact she was no longer fighting for herself or for her friends. Y/N had a family. A husband and a daughter that meant the most to her in the world, so the fact that the Demogorgon could so easily rip it away was not something she liked to consider. They could hear the weird noises it emitted, as it walked around the junkyard, slowly moving further away from where Steve and Y/N were hiding. He stretched his neck a bit further out to look at where the Demogorgon was, and after deeming it safe, Y/N crawled forward a bit more and got a hold of the can. She couldn’t tell if it was half full or completely empty, at least not by the weight of it, so the only way they’d be able to check was if she shook it and pressed on the nozzle. “It’s gonna be loud,” Y/N muttered, looking at Steve. He nodded. “I know…" then something dawned on him. "Wait, do you have a lighter or something?” Shit. She hadn’t even thought about how she’d light it up. Y/N’s main concern had been getting the can and now testing it, not figuring out if by the lucky chance it was usable, they had anything to flame the paint up with. Instinctively Y/N patted down Billy’s jacket, for the first time ever hoping to find either matches or a lighter, but of course, there was nothing. He hadn’t smoked in years. Her mind wheered with the possibilities of what they could do. “Do you think there’s something here we could use? There’s no way kids don’t come here to smoke or drink,” she muttered, scanning the bus again. “Maybe,” Steve whispered back, still tracking the Demogorgon’s moves, the crowbar his new best friend until he could get his hands on his trusty nailed bat. “And there could be some stuff of use in the other cars, but are we sure we wanna risk it?” “Steve,” Y/N whisper-yelled, “we’re gonna have to risk it either way. There’s zero chance we can take it on with a rusted crowbar and a wooden plank. Fire’s our best bet.” “And if it’s empty?” A pregnant pause passed. “Then we run like fucking hell.”

***

The junkyard might’ve been a twenty-minute walk through the woods from Tina’s, but with a car, with having to weave their way through the town, no matter how small Hawkins was and no matter how fast Billy was driving, it was still way too far away. “Take a left!” Robin yelled, as he almost missed a turn, the tires screeching against the road and leaving black marks in their wake. She looked to the side, watching as Billy’s knuckles on the wheel turned from white to almost translucent, eyes boring into the street like he could see invisible marks Y/N had left there that would lead them to Steve and her. “They’re gonna be okay,” Robin tried to somewhat soothe him, but his grip only tightened, and his foot pressed on the gas pedal harder. “They’ve dealt with this before.” “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Billy grunted and quickly looked in his rearview mirror to see Nancy practically decimate the path behind them, her headlights shining brightly before they disappeared as she took a quick right to pull up on the other side. “They’re alone, in a junkyard with whatever the hell kind of a monster the Mind Flayer has released now. No weapons,” he slammed a hand on the wheel, and Robin tightened her hold on the shotgun. “And it’s my fault,” he let out a bitter chuckle. “I called her a mood killer and told her to go home, ‘cause I just fucking needed to prove to fucking Tommy H, Tommy H! that I was still the King of Hawkins!” “Look,” Robin started and then pointed to where a forest road led to the junkyard, Billy quickly turning that way. “Yeah, you were a dick, when she just wanted to relax with her friends, and your ego might’ve gotten in the way, but this is not your fault.” “Really? Then whose is it?” “I don’t know!” she practically screamed. “Probably whoever opened the Gate!” Whoever. Opened. The. Gate. “Fuck,” they breathed simultaneously. The Gate was open. Had to be. There was no other way to explain how something from the Upside Down could be here. “Do you think it’s the Russians again?” Billy asked, trying to think of something else other than his wife fighting off a monster, and maybe, potentially, losing the battle. “I don’t know,” Robin shook her head and loaded two rounds into the gun. “It wouldn’t make any sense, cause the people Hopper called to help us out four years ago made sure to lock everything up.” “And do you trust what they said?” “I mean given how they poured cement over each and every door, and Joyce was there to oversee it, yeah. I trust her.” It didn’t make any sense. The only other option was that the old access point in the Lab had been opened. “I mean, the Russians did apparently have their own Gates,” Robin suddenly remembered a conversation she’d had after the whole thing had gone down, hands slightly shaking at the thought of what was to come. Would it be as bad as it had been the first time around? Billy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What like in Moscow or something?” “I don’t know. All I know is that the last time Joyce and Hopper grabbed some commie dude, and he told them they used to have their own Gates, but something always prohibited them from fully working, so that’s why they came to Hawkins. This is like the source of all that Upside-Down shit.” Of course, there’d have to be something completely wrong with this already godforsaken town. “So, you think they did what?” Billy bitterly chuckled, “hopped on a boat and sailed here? Or did they send ‘em through the post?" Robin was not on board with his attitude despite understanding where he was coming from. “Look, I said I thought I saw a weird humanoid thing with a flower for a head. Nance said that means it’s probably a Demogorgon, and the last time, that shit could make portals wherever the fuck it wanted. So, maybe there’s a Gate open somewhere in Russia, and it just decided to move on its own to where the pull is the strongest?” They had slowed down to a crawl, headlights turned off before Billy had to kill the engine. They’d make the rest of the way on foot as to not give away their position. “There still has to be a gateway open in Hawkins,” Billy whispered opening up the trunk and taking out a bat he kept there. Clara was a huge fan of baseball for some reason, and he had decided for her fourth birthday they’d go to a game and ask a player to sign it. “It might be able to survive with a Gate open so far away, but it wouldn’t be able to function. Trust me,” he gave Robin a painful look. “I’d know.” “We need to see El,” Robin muttered, whispering as they neared the junkyard. “Maybe she can help us find out what the fuck is going on. “After we save my wife.” “And Steve.” Billy just gave her a look of dejected confirmation before they stepped out into the dark woods. Y/N would always be his first priority. Her and their kid. His grip grew tighter around the bat.

***

They had miraculously managed to evade the Demogorgon, up until that point. Together Steve and Y/N had made their way across the junkyard and towards the tiny path that led into the forest but not before scouring every possible car. She was still holding onto the graffiti can like it was her last lifeline, which it might as well have been. “The one time his disgusting habit could’ve been useful,” Steve had muttered to Y/N after they had searched the third car for something to ignite the fumes if there were any left in the can. Their feet moved against the gravel with way too much noise for their liking, but the Demogorgon seemed to be far away enough, it wasn’t picking up on it or didn’t deem the prey noteworthy if it did hear them. “Quiet,” Y/N hissed with a motion to the trunk as Steve popped the back open. It seemed to be a relatively new car in the yard, at least it hadn’t been there when they were teenagers, the paint was still shiny, the light from the moon bouncing off its sides, compared to the rusty beasts lying around. A trash bag, what looked like a ripped-up sheet with stains littered across the fabric and a can of gasoline was what was inside. Gently, Steve grabbed the handle and lifted it up. Clear as the day, they heard liquid slosh around the cannister. And yet, still, with the additional fuel they could use, there was no way to ignite it. Something in the woods behind them cracked, and their heads whipped around. A low rumble echoed across the field. It was a rumble that Y/N would recognize even dead before it disappeared. “Billy,” she whispered, hope lacing that single word, but during the little moment of happiness, she had let go of the trunk's hood, as had Steve for he had grabbed onto the crowbar with both hands thinking it was the Demogorgon when it closed with a loud slam. The monster whipped its head around from where it had been sniffling, opening up its grotesque mouth and releasing a screech. Her first instinct was to drop down and hide, but someone from the opposite side yelled ‘hey!’, and they took it as their opportunity to flee. “Run!” Steve yelled, setting off in a dead sprint. A gunshot rang out, the bullet whizzing past their heads, and Y/N instinctively ducked, the graffiti can rolling out of her hands and under a pile of metal scraps. “Shit!” Y/N scrambled towards where she thought it could’ve gone but had to recoil when something sneered directly into her face. It seemed to be a Demogorgon, but it wasn’t big enough, more so the size of a big cat or a small dog. A hand grabbed at her collar yanking Y/N back, the crowbar in Steve’s hand meeting the back of whatever that thing was. “Watch out for Demodogs!” he yelled, and a bullet from the shotgun Robin was holding met its head, the beast recoiling away but not dead. Y/N’s eyebrows scrunched up. “Demowhatnow?” “Demodogs!” Steve was gripping at her hand and pulling her away to the bus to take cover, as more and more of those things surrounded them. “The year after the first incident, Dustin found this weird lizard thing, and it turned out it was a Demogorgon, only not fully evolved.” “So, you’re saying that those things,” Y/N pointed at one of them, “become that?!” By that, she meant the Demogorgon making its way towards them but being fended off by Nancy who had made a Molotov cocktail from a whiskey bottle she’d snatched from Tina’s, the end of her blouse and a lighter. A lighter! “Nance!” Y/N yelled. “There’s a can of gasoline in the trunk we were looking in!” “On it!” The Demodogs were pressing in on them. She could hear the yelps from them when the thud of a crowbar or Billy’s bat met flesh, Robin taking as many out with her shotgun, Johnathan keeping Nancy safe by creating a wall of flame as he spilt another bottle of whiskey around them and lit it on fire. It was unmistakably Billy’s arm that wrapped around Y/N's middle and pulled her behind him. “Get to the car! Now!” She wasn’t going to argue, seeing as she was the only one without a weapon, and where she was stubborn, she also knew how to read the situation. With one last look at Steve to know he was going to be okay, he nodded giving her the green light, and Y/N was running. But she didn’t get far. Pain exploded all across her back, and a metallic taste invaded her mouth as she was slammed onto the ground. Bright spots danced across her vision, and it was hard to take in a breath. It was like a belt was slowly being tightened around her neck. She thought she vaguely heard someone yelling her name. Someone vaguely sounding like Billy. Y/N tried to answer, to call out for him, but her tongue was made out of cotton, and lips wouldn’t move. Her fingers went to grab at whatever was prohibiting her from taking in a breath when she was met by fingers with razors for nails. Y/E/C eyes instantly sprung open to see the Demogorgon leaning over her, its mouth open as if waiting for her to give him permission to eat. Of course, that was not going to happen. With as much strength as she could muster, Y/N kicked at the knees of the Demogorgon, and for a brief moment, she had taken it off its balance, allowing air to start flowing once more. Quickly she turned on her stomach to crawl away, but her oxygen deprived limbs were too slow, and the agonizing feeling of claws digging in her back and dragging her away made her vision go black. For a moment, Y/N opened her eyes and saw the junkyard illuminated by a circle of fire and a horde of Demodogs surrounding her friends and the one person she could never live without. Then everything turned to darkness.

***

Robin didn’t have any more bullets, and she was fighting the Demodogs off by simply slamming them with the shotgun. But the fight didn’t last much longer. In a way, it was a miracle, as the surviving Demodogs retreated back from where they’d come from, hissing and growling. But at the same time, it didn’t feel right. Sure, they were battered and bruised and tired, and they had no complaints about no more fighting, but that’s when they were the weakest, the easiest to be killed. Billy was sporting a nasty cut on his shoulder from one of the paws of the Demodogs, and it was hard to keep ahold of the bat the pain making bright white spots dance across the inside of his lids whenever he blinked. “What are they doing?” Johnathan asked, completely confused as they’d stood back to back while struggling to defend one another. “They’re retreating…” Robin stated the obvious, but it seemed so improbable it was needed for it to be pointed out. “Why – why are they retreating?” “Guys?” Steve butted in, “where’s Y/N?” “I told her to get to the car,” Billy responded, and it was those words that made him dash towards where he’d parked the Camaro by the junction. He’d never been a religious person, the Virgin Mary that always hung against his chest had been his mother’s, but for the third time in his life, he prayed. The first time had been when the Mind Flayer had injured him. He had prayed for death to come quickly. The second time had been when Y/N was in labour. He had prayed for everything to go as smoothly as possible. Now he was praying to find his wife in the safety of his car, but when he was fifty feet away, he didn’t need light to know she wasn’t there. “Y/N!” Billy roared but was only answered by the silence of the forest. “Y/N!” Four pairs of feet joined him and looked at the distressed man as he pulled at his hair and kept yelling her name “Maybe the Demogorgon was chasing her, and she decided to run,” Steve threw out the idea, hoping for it to be true, but everyone had a gut feeling it wasn’t. Nothing was ever that easy. “No! Fuck it took her! I left the keys in the car! If she would’ve made it, she would’ve slammed on the gas pedal.” Billy chucked the bat against the door, and it left a sizable dent in it. He didn’t care about it anymore, he didn’t care about anything else anymore. His wife was gone, missing, and it had been his fault. His fault she was hurt, his fault their daughter could possibly have to grow up without a mother. His fault. “Let’s go,” Johnathan’s voice brought him out of his self-loathing. “No,” Billy shook his head. “I gotta find her.” But he had nowhere to start. Nancy tried to reason with him. “That’s what we’re gonna do, but it’s pointless to scour the woods in complete darkness with barely any protection. We don’t know where the Demodogs are or the Demogorgon. El’s at our place with the rest of the Party… She can help. She can find her.” “Do you promise?” Billy asked through tears that he could barely keep at bay. “Can you promise me she’ll be alright?” “I can’t,” Nancy’s lip quivered at the admission. She couldn’t lose another friend, but she also couldn’t swear that they’d find Y/N alive. “But El’s our best option.” He kicked the dirt by the wheel of the car but nodded. El was their best option. “Come on,” Billy wiped his face down, a trail of dirt and tears left in the wake of his palm. “The sun's coming up.” With the first scarlet rays of the new day, Billy and Robin climbed into his car as Nancy and Johnathan went back to theirs. He'd find her. And if he didn't he'd burn Hawkins to the ground.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Hawkins’ Charm tag list: @genius2050 @aiifandomsunite @ashleymarieriffle @littlefool-smalljester @infinitelycharmed23 @llcalumllhoodll @benevolentgemini @rxmanovbby @euphoniumpets @krazykatykat456 @believerofall @cracked-sidewalk98 @ccidk @babechief @meganmj @blackhood5sos @fml9603 @noodlenerd101 @universefinds @kuroidesuchloe @im-a-stranger-thing @grxxn-gardxns @springholland @beforethebraces @robinisourlesbianmom @queeneliza108 @neenaw-neenaw @lexisntthatweird @choicesismylife @mckenzie2020 @kcd15 @snuggleducky @reckless-sofia @didyouseetheflair @silver-winter-wolf @jay-ta-blog @hopeless-lovex0 @anyasthoughts @robinismyqueen @yeah-butyourenot-dacremontgomery @mcrganstarks @psychoticobsession @cutehipstergirl25 @sbfandom @mickmoon @jackyfrost01 @txhmine @dark-princess99 @morgangrice18 @changingmylifestyle367 @graveyard--baby--666 @sweetdayme4427

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @sweet-ladyy @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

A/N: I apologise for any grammar mistakes, I’m pretty tired, but I wanted to put out this part :D

P.S. my tags are always open :)

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flyswhumpcenter · 4 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

Choo choo, the Sickfic Express has just arrived in Galar, straight from Oreburgh City!

First fic of 2020 is a sickfic oneshot. How rivetting. I've very recently beaten Pokémon Sword and loved it! I found myself really loving the characters, what they are and what they've already become in my mind, so I couldn't help myself but type what I know best... A sickfic. Also, this fandom needs more of this stuff, so here. I'm providing. Is this story OOC? Chances they are. Was it absolutely a blast to write? You bet. I'm probably gonna look back on it later down the lane and be uncomfortable with how I depicted the characters; but you do need to discover the characters first, and what better opportunity for that than a little sickfic with some angst and pre-rel dramatic tension? Anyway, I hope you'll like this lil' thing I busted out in literally a couple hours. I forgot how fun it was to write without worrying yourself over continuity or already established elements like in Earth Never Stops... Btw, this fic was originally requested to me as a FE3H fill for Hubert, so I decided I'd most likely use another square on my card for him. Sorry Nonnie for this, my inspiration got the best of me yet again!

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Candles in the Rain

Summary: Is feverishly staggering through the damp streets of Hammerlocke under the rain with very little hope to feel warmth again and even less sense of direction a fitting end for a former Champion now that he's been defeated once? Scratch that: he doesn't have the time or brain power remaining to process such a question. Or: Leon witnesses a miracle in the form of a little dog and a childhood friend.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield (post-canon/game: beware for spoilers) Relationships: Pre-relationship Leon/Sonia

Wordcount: 3.1K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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The streets of Hammerlocke are covered by a thick layer of rainwater, typical early winter in Galar. Nobody dares going against the terrible weather, which isn’t unlike the flooding that almost ate Kabu’s region of origin, or rather how he once described it based on bedtime stories, a couple thousand years ago. Honestly, after what Galar just went through, he can believe the tale to have been real all along, no issue there…

As always, he’s lost in the grand city of his main rival, and that frustrates him. He’s cold from the water having filled his shoes and wet his hair for hours and hours on end, not even the fire of the camp being able to make him feel warmer. If it wasn’t for his partners’ demands, urging him to stop camping in the wilderness and find a Centre already, he’d have surely stayed in the Wild Area and biked to a better spot. Ah, he misses Postwick, now. At least, he can’t get lost in Postwick, there’d be Hop and his now-Champion best friend, if not Sonia paying them all a visit, and there’d be the warmth of his childhood home… Gods, perhaps he does miss the peaceful life of a ten-year-old whose only contact to the Gym Challenge is dreams of grandeur.

Ah, if it didn’t rain so badly, Charizard could be warming the both of them as he tried to make his way to the nearest Centre.

Despite his best efforts to remain proud and confident, he ends up having to lean against a wall to stop a coughing fit from suddenly urging itself out of there. He must look pathetic and he does wish, deep down, that someone would get out of their house for a reason or another, recognize him like literally everybody in Galar; but his pride and brand would be on the line, and nobody is fighting against the terrible, terrible weather today. He’s all alone in the streets of the city, pushing himself from the wall with wobbly arms, trying his hardest to remember where to go with slow, hazy thoughts…

Even if he was cold merely moments before, his head now burns. He feels too hot under clothes that are wildly unfitting of such a muddy season, despite the hair rising on what is exposed of his arms. A Cramorant stole his jacket when he was training, a Linoone tried to steal his stuff, and he ended up having a Pokemon knocked out and losing most of his healing items in the kerfuffle. It really hasn’t been his day, lately…

His chest hurts. Not from the outside, as if he had injured himself in one of the falls he endured trying to feel from the Wild Area with no Pokemon to battle with and the slippery grass constantly trying to get the best of him, but from the inside. He doesn’t doubt the possible existence of bruises under the shirt that sticks to his limbs like a second, drenched skin; but this isn’t it. It intensifies when he coughs and it rattles strangely. When he tries to ignore the excruciating weather wishing for his demise, he hears the strange sounds his breathing now makes. He doesn’t know them so, in a moment of out-of-character lack of reason, he gets scared of them and vaguely wonders about worst-case scenarios.

It isn’t just his chest either. It’s his throat, it’s his mouth, it’s his feet, it’s his legs. Everything in his body is tired and screaming for rest, but he cannot provide it for any of his own self at the moment, stuck trying to navigate with what little he can distinguish with almost-closed eyes from how much he has to squint. His eyes can’t focus anymore, this much he realizes with a bitter sense of resignation, so everything he sees is blurry, including the weird gooey stuff he keeps coughing out whenever he can’t breathe anymore and has to stop for who knows how long.

He trips over his own unmade shoe tie, losing in one fell swoop what was left of his balance, and falls right into the rainwater that has accumulated on the ground. It sounds and looks and feels like it’s the end, that this is where his journey ends: in some damp street of a city that he has never been able to find his way in, alone, cold and hot at the same time, rain burying him with the rest of the pavement. Not that he even thinks he has the energy to go on… Not like that. Not when his strength, the only thing he thought he had left, has all but given up on him too. Truly alone in a time where, sitting against a giant wall, he realizes what has been going on and poisoning his breath. Hah, ironic.

Still, this isn’t how he should admit defeat. He’s been won over now, and recently at that, and it’d be more than a shame for him to all but give up now. He needs to bring his team to the Centre, he can’t not try taking his revenge on the new Champion, he can’t not at least prove his superior battle skills to Raihan yet again, he just can’t leave Hop, and Sonia, and everyone else like that…

So he rises up once again, on weak arms and unsteady legs, almost tripping over himself, shoulder stuck against the wall. He won’t let this be the end of him.

Even with a new resolve, it still doesn’t make it much better for him. Unless there’s a miracle happening right before him, he’s stuck with his heavily weakened state trying to find a place whose location he has no idea. His phone doesn’t seem to be able to show a map, its signal disturbed after whatever happened to it while he was looking or doing the polar opposite, so he’s stuck with his truly inefficient sense of orientation.

But it’ll be okay. It’ll have to be okay, because he needs to see Hop become a Professor, to buy Sonia’s new book, to rematch the Champion and his Leader friends, to give his team at least one more chance to shine. It’ll be okay, surely it’ll be okay, of course it’ll be okay… It’ll be okay, because this is all a terrible nightmare he’s going to wake up from, where he isn’t stuck in the torrential rain with a fainted party and very little hope of finding way out.

It’ll be okay, oh so okay…

He tumbles and falls over again, this time hitting the ground with no grace whatsoever, most likely scratching elbows and knees in the process. Even rising his head up as not to cough in water when a fit claws at his throat again takes most of the energy he has left, only for his blurry sight and cottoned-down hearing to spot the first good thing in who knows many hours: a familiar yelp and vague brown-and-yellow figure rushing towards him.

With a trembling and feeble hand, he tries reaching out to the Yamper who has guided him so many times out of dangerous situations, only for an oh so familiar voice to yell in his direction. Still, it’s hard to know if it’s real or just his imagination. Ah, well; he’ll have to see when he’ll have woken up. If he even wakes up from the darkness starting to invade his vision…

“Yamper, where in the world are you running like that?!” This creature never stops running, doesn’t it? “Yamper, wait for me!”

If she’s used to her trusty furry assistant running around everywhere it goes and pursuing it, Sonia has to notice there’s something odd in the air. Yamper never goes this fast, especially not in a city where it could smash muzzle first into people. There’s an urgent feeling to its yelps as it runs in one precise direction.

As suddenly as Yamper started running when she had just gone out of the vault to investigate a little bit more into the Galar mythos she had become a specialist of, it stops right in its tracks in a little street she’s frankly never seen nor noticed before. With how much it’s raining and how unlikely it is to stop pouring soon, she doesn’t want the both of them out for much longer than needed.

She stops to regain her breath, hands on her knees as she folds in two, wet red hair hanging from her head. Yamper stays in place, running around her in circles, then disappearing from her view into the old, little street covered in rain and shadows. It doesn’t seem to have any intent on leaving soon.

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“Why did you… bring me here…? Seriously, it’s raining Growlithes and Purrloins…!”

Still, Sonia gets herself together and goes on to follow her “assistant”. There’s dread building in her chest and stomach that she can hardly ignore… She’s seen enough movies as a teenager to know where this is going. She’s going to end up tangled into some messed-up situation, isn’t she…?

Her heart skips a beat when she notices a very familiar person lying face down on the pavement, drenched to the bone. A person who hasn’t given her any response or sign of life for a few days.

Someone who’s gotten lost in Hammerlocke again.

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When he wakes up, everything feels different than the last time he’s been awake. It’s all white, dry and soft. He stills feels too hot and too cold, breathing remains a chore and he wishes he wasn’t there anyway; but he supposes he’s now safe and, honestly, he can’t think of anything much worse than treading through the torrential rain with little strength left.

Now, if he knew what the thing on his face was, he’d be doing a bit better, but his arms feel like they’re made out of lead and he lacks the energy to rise them to his mouth and at least touch it…

“Leon?”

The voice, even if it’s muffled, is undoubtedly Sonia’s. He can’t quite put a finger on why exactly, yet he feels like this confirms something. If his chest didn’t feel so heavy and full, he’d have sighed in relief. That doesn’t prevent him from coughing again when trying to respond to his own name.

“Let me do the talking, okay? I’m sure you have a metric ton of questions to ask, but for the love of Galar, spare your voice unless necessary.”

Now that his vision is focusing again, he notices both the pipe inserted in his wrist and the frown on her face. She seems less than content with something. What, he doesn’t quite know, and thinking hurts his head even further than it already bothers him, heavy on his neck despite resting on a pillow. Speaking of which, where is his stuff? His clothes?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sonia rises from her chair and puts her hands on his chest, putting him back into his mattress. “You stay here and don’t cause anyone any worry more than you’ve already done!”

He’s confused as to why she’s so adamant on him not doing anything. No speaking, no moving… If he didn’t feel this drained and lethargic, he’d absolutely get back at her with playfulness. Well, that does kind of answer his own question, doesn’t it? Or, at least, it seems to make sense to his brain which has troubles keeping up with the situation…

Yet, he sees a small smirk contrast with her frowned eyebrows. She seems… pained. Pained by what, or who, he doesn’t know; he’s most likely at least partially responsible for it, because she wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“I don’t know how you’ve ended up in that situation exactly, Leon, but you’ve managed to surpass yourself in terms of putting yourself in harm’s way. You’ve scared us before, but not to that extent!”

“I…” His voice sounds hoarse and it absolutely feels that way. “It’s complicated…”

“Your entire party was fainted, safe for Charizard who was about to follow; you somehow bricked your phone in the process and ended up catching more than a death of cold. Where were you during all that time?!”

Sonia sounds a bit too scared for someone who’s facing her childhood friend stuck in a bed.

“The Wild Area…”

“That’d explain why you were soaked to the bone when I found you lying in a puddle… You’ll have to excuse me for using that crude language, you scared everyone on that one!”

It’s his turn to ask a little question, even if the state of his body makes him want to remain quiet. Still, no matter how intelligent she is, Sonia doesn’t read minds, so he’s somewhat forced to go through with it if he wants his answers.

“Where are we?”

“A clinic in Hammerlocke. I forgot to add you also scared the ER staff with how bad your breathing was.” Has to be that irritating wheezing sound he’s hearing since he’s woken up. “By the way, since I know you’re going to ask me about that, your team is safe and doing much better now. They’re all gently resting in their balls while you recover.”

He misses Charizard and everyone else already. He owes them a big apology, that’s for sure, but he’s also certain his brain can’t process much right now. Sometimes, you just need to admit yourself to have been defeated… even if it bothers you to no end.

Sonia paces around for a little bit before sitting down on the chair next to the bed, arms still crossed. She sounds more than frustrated, and, well… He can’t really hold it against her, can he? He already can barely hold anything against her to begin with, considering how much they’ve lived through together; it’s not today, in these circumstances, that he’ll try finding a reason for her not to be frustrated. Who knows how long he’s been gone without giving news: he frankly, forgot how quickly or slowly time was passing while he was wandering through the Wild Area.

“At least, you’re still here and breathing with us. Just, if you could not do that ever again, it’d be better, you know? I can’t always be there worrying after you when I’m now a Prof! Arceus, I don’t even imagine what sequence of events has thrown you into such a state. You looked absolutely pitiful when Yamper found you.”

He tries to puff at himself to ease the tension he feels rising, but all he ends up doing is coughing. And coughing. And coughing.

“What did I say about sparing your voice? Tch, you’ll never change, will you? You’ve always stubborn, after all, so there’s no reason that’ll change now. That’s part of your charm, I suppose.” She shrugs before suddenly darting her eyes away from him. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have to worry! You were the Champion of Galar for more than ten years, why would I be afraid of you? That makes very little sense, haha!”

“S-Sonia…”

He only now spots the dark rings under her eyes and the hair pulling out of her ponytail, one strand at a time. How long was he out for, and for how much of that time was she there, exactly? (Hey, he does work fairly well, for someone who can’t stop sweating and whose entire frame is shaken up by chills at irregular intervals!). Too many questions, too little available brain space, he guesses…

“Go for it, make fun of your good old friend who still hasn’t gotten the memo. I should have been like Hop and blindly believed you’d come back to us, as you’ve always done…”

Oh, right, Hop! How is he doing, has he advanced in his research, does he still worry for him? Well, sadly, it’s not the time to think about his brother: his childhood friend seems to have a meltdown right in front of him.

“Why?”

Sonia stares at him, completely silent, eyes wide. Seems like she doesn’t have an answer to her own interrogation, until pain comes back on her face like the wave crashing on the shore.

“You don’t… think it’s ridiculous?”

“What?” His throat doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at having a conversation.

“Everything! We swore we’d trust each other, but look at me, worrying over you as if we were still kids running in the fields with the Wooloos… And I’m telling you all that while you’re cooking on the inside! Really, isn’t that ridiculous?”

Gathering his breath and his strength, he rises up with shaky arms against the bedhead, pillow still preventing his head from entirely lulling over his shoulder from how heavy it is. Whatever he’s caught, it’s one hell of an affliction he’s found himself with. Still, if it’s for Sonia, if she’s this distraught over the situation (he did almost pass away), he can put up with the migraine, the difficult breathing, the mask over his mouth, the lethargy, the chills…

“I’m sorry, Sonia.”

He does cough immediately after apologizing, as expected. For once, she doesn’t reply immediately, doesn’t make a witty remark; instead, she looks confused and maybe embarrassed, considering the red he can see with the eyes that still refuse to entirely focus for more than a few seconds.

“Sorry for what? And, again, spare your voice, you…”

“For all of this.”

Her expression softens, eyebrows drooping and eyes shining brighter. Even if it’s slight and his eyes almost miss it, she finally smiles.

“How long…?” He’s interrupted by a fit.

“How long you’ve been out?” He nods, still trying to calm his chest down. “Around half a day. You did wake up at some point but immediately passed out again. No wonder why you don’t remember that.”

He now points at her with an unsteady finger. “Why are you… Oh, how long I’ve been here?” He nods again. “Most of that time, I’d say. I’d also say I fell asleep at some point too…”

She crosses her arms again, just as his vision starts weakening again. It’s back to sleep, right?

“I think we both need our rest. I’m also certain Hop is waiting at the door, so you’ll even have a guardian angel watching over you, isn’t that super cool? And if you attempt rising from that bed, you’re sure to be put back into it in mere seconds!”

He’d try laughing if it didn’t trigger such a massive reaction from his lungs, so he decides to just nod instead.

“See you later, Leon. Goodnight.”

He waves at her, the lethargy still reflecting in his slow and sloppy gestures, but that’s fine enough for now. Her smile is worth it, isn’t it?

Absolutely worth trekking through the rain with full lungs and little energy left…

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon leon #pokemon sonia #lionheartshipping #sickfic #hurt comfort #pre-relationship #pneumonia #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #leon (pokemon)#sonia (pokemon)#otp: watchful eyes of gold

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aswallowssong · 4 years

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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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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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I'm not sure if you got my request because i didn't had internet when i sent it, so i'll write it again xd Do you think Dick (and the batboys in general) are famouse like Bruce? Because in the comics there's not any clue about it, i've never seen anyone say something like "oh look! Its Dick Grayson!, y'know, Wayne's first ward/son And its a shame, because reporters would make such a hard life to all of them, it would maka a good narrative tool

Honestly, this is a prime example of that inconsistency I rant about, and also DC’s refusal to just COMMIT on even the most basic aspects of their universe like….uh…how many kids does Batman have.

afhsahfklahsklfhal

Like, you would think that would meet the MINIMUM requirements of “shit you should probably have figured out and make sure everybody’s on the same page with” but DC’s like….nah, that’s not important.

So I mean…..I’m reasonably certain - like this is just my personal belief, but I’d put money on it being right, lol - but I think the primary reason there’s so little mention in the comics of how Bruce’s kids are viewed in the public eye/how much the public are aware of them (in the New 52, at least, as pre-Flashpoint there was a lot more plot around that kind of thing, especially back in the 80s and 90s)……

…is because 90% of the writers and editors have no clue either, and nobody wants to be the one to ask, and like, open that can of worms. I 100% think you could ask five different writers at DC which kids Bruce has OFFICIALLY adopted in this current continuity, and get five different answers, lol.

There’s been so much handwaving about Dick’s status ever since Spyral, and again - I think its because nobody bothered to think through the logistics of the Hypnos/global-mindwipe machine BEFORE writing it into the story, and then once it did occur to any of them to like….wonder just how specifically it worked, they were like, fuck it, better just be as vague as possible. So, according to Grayson, everyone Helena didn’t program into the exclusion list before the satellite was activated should have no recollection of Dick Grayson, which is why he was able to ‘go back to his old life’ and be Nightwing again, without worrying about his secret identity having been unmasked…..

But what does that mean for his official identity as adopted son or even just ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne? People can’t have NO memory of Dick Grayson and still remember that Bruce Wayne took in a kid named Dick Grayson. I mean, as far as I can tell, the overall consensus in the comics seems to be that after the satellite was activated, Dick just kinda started from scratch as ‘Dick Grayson’ like, he was free to be himself again, but it was like he was a blank slate/came out of nowhere as far as everyone else was concerned. But again, that means as far as anyone outside of their close circle of family and friends know….Dick Grayson is a non-entity to Bruce Wayne and the two have no history.

Which I mean, is fairly shitty and you’d think if nothing else, there’d be massive story potential there for delving into Dick’s character and his relationship with Bruce and examining how he felt about ‘having his old life/identity back’….except with the caveat that as far as the world is concerned, his life and identity don’t and have never included his father.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaaah.

But even WITH that, plot holes persist, and abound, because…..why didn’t the satellite erase the Court of Owls’ knowledge/memory of Dick? Even before Luthor gave Cobb those goggles and files to help him with bringing Ric into the fold, Cobb clearly was already stalking Ric and knew exactly who he was….the Court obviously already had that doctor in place while he was still in recovery…so, whoops. I mean, you could probably come up with an explanation about the Court, via their own tech and resources, having had some protections in place 24/7 that kept the satellite from affecting them even though they weren’t on guard for it specifically…..but again, Occam’s Razor….I feel like the real answer is DC just didn’t care enough to think things that far through. Especially since the average Bludhaven citizen, like Bea, at least didn’t seem totally blown away when Ric revealed to her that amnesia aside, he was supposedly some rich billionaire’s adopted kid….which again suggests that as far as the writers were thinking, people in general are familiar with the idea that Bruce Wayne has more than one kid.

Then you’ve got Jason’s whole situation, and to be honest….I really only have the vaguest idea what’s going on there, because reading Lobdell books is against my religion, and I am a devout and deeply spiritual person, as you all probably can tell. I mean, I know that there’s something going on where like, Jason had himself legally resurrected in the public eye and is openly referring to himself as Bruce Wayne’s formerly-assumed dead foster kid……but like, is that the official official word, or would other writers if you asked them say they’d been operating under the assumption Bruce had adopted Jason too at some point in the Rebirth timeline, or….idek, man.

I…..honestly don’t have the faintest fucking clue what to make of the many back-and-forth retcons about Tim and his parents and his official place in the Batfam/relationship with Bruce, and am actually slightly terrified of even trying to make sense of that clusterfuck of a Gordian knot, so my official stance on Tim is to just like….back sloooooowly away from the anthropomorphic-migraine-masquerading-as-a-backstory, without like….agitating it and accidentally setting off another multiverse Crisis birthed wholly from just that one all-consuming black hole of a retcon.

I mean, there’s a reason I basically just shoehorn all the kids’ official pre-Flashpoint family statuses into anything I write in Rebirth continuity, and that’s not just stubbornness and my refusal to play the “now this kid is adopted…now he’s not…now he is again….except he’s not….oh he’s adopted again…..oh wait now he’s not again" game.

Its like. Also for the sake of my sanity and stuff.

(And also hahahahaha fuck you DC times infinity, every time you use the words “blood son,” or “real family” in a comic, or have one of Bruce’s other kids refer to Bruce as “your father” when talking to Damian, as if that’s not an utterly bizarre and roundabout way for any sibling to refer to their mutual parent and thus I j’ete REFUSE to acknowledge it as valid….ahem, anyway, my point is, every time they do that in a comic, I double down and headcanon Bruce throwing a random as fuck gala for literally no other purpose than to remind all of Gotham that he has half a dozen kids and they’re all better than everyone else’s. Ugh. Kill it. Kill the “blood son” nonsense with fire and lightning and also lots of stabbing maybe).

Anyway, that’s my official stance on DC’s stance on Damian in the books.

Then as far as Cass goes….ugh, her origins were pretty much utterly butchered by the New 52, which IMO has also failed to give us Cass and Bruce bonding and dynamics sufficient to Sate Mine Ire™, sooooooo…..I mean, my perception of the current canon is that Cassandra’s official status is “secret mystery foster child that nobody really knows about,” but because I do not care for that and there’s the whole not sufficiently sated ire thing I mentioned, I officially reject this canon and willfully replace it with pre-Flashpoint Bruce and Cass love and adoption. DC’s welcome to kiss my critically acclaimed hiney if I’m doing it wrong.

Which brings us last, but certainly not least, as its only this way because I go sequentially and Duke is still Shiny and New comparative to the others and will be until the next inevitable fostering/adoption/clone hi-jinks bumps him up the sequential ladder (except I randomly switched Damian and Cass around this time because LOOK I DONT MAKE THE RULES, THERE ARE NO RULES i hvea Adhd hiccup sob leavem e aloooone soooooob)…..

Duke’s official status, much like the rest of the Batkids, can be summed up as Honestly, I Really Don’t Have A Fucking Clue And Am Just Winging This Whole Thing.

I mean, there’s less inconsistency with him, due mostly to the fact that so few writers other than Snyder use him (boo, hiss, and not just because I hate having to give Snyder credit for stuff - look, I love his Duke, but I loathe how he writes Dami, its a thing, I just…don’t get me started). But what inconsistencies there are….well….they’re a bit glaring.

Basically one major storyline showed Duke as being an official foster kid/ward of Bruce’s and living out of the Manor with Bruce and Damian and occasionally Tim when he’s not off road-tripping around the multiverse….and then Batman and the Signal had Duke in the care of his uncle, who was stated to be his legal guardian and Duke was constantly sneaking out in order to meet Bruce in the special Signal-cave he built specifically for Duke to operate out of so he didn’t have to like, drive all the way out to the Manor to change just so he could then drive back into the city and patrol. And then Batman and the Outsiders just said fuck all that, here’s Duke and Cass hopping hemispheres with the Outsiders every other issue, so apparently nobody’s making unscheduled visits anywhere back in Gotham to make sure these two are where they’re legally assumed to be, which again, for the record is…..*error, source not found*

LOLOL and the really fun thing about this little back and forth is I’m pretty sure allllll these conflicting takes are all the work of the same writer. Like. GET ON YOUR OWN PAGE, DUDE.

Also, again I have to assume the “Can’t Be Bothered To Give A Shit, Or Maybe They’re All Just Really Bad At Logic” curse has struck again, because….uhhhh…..

….at no point anywhere in Duke’s stories have I seen Bruce or literally anyone else express concern about the fact that Duke living with Bruce as his official foster, like he definitely and clearly was at some point at least…..means that literally every single one of his We Are Robin friends who knows that he was taken in by the Batfam (and there’s several of them who know this)….like, by the transcendent properties of You Can’t Honestly Think They’re That Dumb, that’s a good five or six civilians out there who probably took all of five seconds to play connect the dots and figure out the Wayne family, having officially taken Duke in on paper…..is pretty likely the Batfamily.

I mean, I like all of Duke’s friends and would definitely headcanon/write them as all being trustworthy and able to keep this knowledge to themselves for Duke’s sake, if nothing else, but I mean, its pretty unprecedented for Bruce to out himself and all of his kids/allies by extension, to like, that many civilian teenagers all in one swoop….

…sooooooo, you’d think, AGAIN, logically, maybe, perhaps, this is the kind of thing that should be brought up in a narrative somewhere as a plot point worth delving into, y’know, just for shits and giggles and maybe a little bit of that whatchamacallit - oh right, character development, but.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaah.

*throws up hands and does the I Can’t Even Shuffle all the way home*

In conclusion:

DC is a mess. The official/public status of each and every Batkid is a mess. Except for Damian, the blood son, but we have that pencilled in on the schedule to be killed with fire and also stabbing, so he can get filed under ‘just a fucking mess’ with the rest of his siblings. Hashtag Solidarity.

I mean, I say just write or headcanon their official status however you damn well please, and it’ll STILL be more effort than I believe DC has put into organizing and staying consistent with all of this, and thus STILL make more sense than what we currently have to work with.

*Shrugs* If they don’t care enough to provide a clear canon blueprint to follow when mapping the Bat Family Tree, I can’t be bothered to care if the one I make up myself happens to contradict one single mention of one kid’s official status as claimed by one issue of one book.

Especially if it was written by Lobdell.

Jason’s just a foster son my ass. grumble mumble bitter vengeful swears and a pox on all DC’s houses. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE HATE ADOPTION SO MUCH, INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW AND ALSO FUCK YOU.

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sagitta-magica-series-glaciales · 4 years

Text

As part of @the--sad--hatter celebration I decided to get back into fanfiction writing again. It's been quite a while since I last posted ffs anywhere so please don't judge too hard. (I am open to constructive criticism tho)

I also have no idea how to do a read more on mobile and Google isn't helping. Advice is appreciated!

King's Spear - Regret

Pairing: Loki x Reader (more or less)

Warnings: Violence, blood, cursing, choking and there's a detailed description of a surgical procedure. Just so you know.

Word count: 3366

Working for Tony Stark had its ups and downs. Ups included a very generous pay, flexible work hours and a very chill relationship with your boss. The downs included mostly working alone to keep his penthouse clean and his secrets in general. The staff knows everything and the less staff meant the less leaks of professional and/or private information. You've been a private nurse and housekeeper for a business partner of Mr Stark until your former boss peacefully passed in his sleep. Stark had offer you the position half jokingly half serious and you jumped at the opportunity. Ms Potts had given you an extensive list of tasks but also a lot of explanations. It was a cushy job and you mostly only had to look out for Iron Man parts lying around.

Speaking of, Mr Stark only let you in his workshop to clean it with explicit permission. This was less about industrial espionage and more about you beeing killed by some unfinished prototype. And he had put off giving you permission for quite some time. Getting rid of all the oil stains and renovating whatever wall had to suffer this time took a while. And since Mr Stark was away on some "thing" as he had put it, it would be a good opportunity. But he had been away for two days and hadn't called yet.

"Jarvis, how dangerous would it be for me if I simply started to clean the workshop?"

You had dusted and cleaned everything that was long overdue and were now desperately looking for something to do. Things got boring when Mr Stark wasn't around. You were sitting on the couch in the living room, facing the beautiful New York skyline.

"If I guided you there'd be no danger but the workshops doors only open with Mr Starks permission."

You sighed.

"Fine. Do you have any work for me?"

"No. But I do have a call from Mr Stark for you."

You perked up.

"If it isn't the boss. Do you finally let me in the workshop or should I just take a vacation?" you joked.

"Y/N where are you?!" his voice sounded urgent and worried.

"I'm in the living room. Why? What's up?"

"You'll probably get some dangerous company soon! Hide in the workshop! It's the safest place! I'm on my way and-"

The elevator dinged and the doors slowly opened. You jumped up and blue eyes met yours. A tall, dark haired man accompanied by a group of military looking people stepped out of the elevator.

"And what do we have here?" he chuckled darkly.

You booked it as fast as you could. You heard some yelling behind you, but you didn't turn around. Your steps echoed through the hallway and with a panic you realized that there was another set of steps. You had no idea who these people where and you had absolutely no desire to figure it out. You sped around a corner and saw the workshop doors open. Good Jarvis.

You quickened your steps and when you threw yourself through the doorway you dared to look behind you. The black haired man was dangerously close behind you!

"Jarvis!" you yelled and the doors shut with a bang before the man had reached you. Breathing heavily you stood there staring at the closed doors. A loud bang at it made you jump and shriek.

"Are you alright?" Mr Starks voice echoed through the workshop.

"Y-yeah..." you said trying to steady your voice.

"Listen Y/N, I'm on my way. Loki is powerful but theoretically you should be safe in the workshop."

"Theoretically?" you sounded more panicked that you had wanted to.

"Don't worry. Nothing is gonna happen to you. See you soon."

With that he hung up. You swallowed hard.

"Jarvis, who is this Loki guy?"

"This is classified data but given your situation I'm sure Mr Stark won't mind."

Another bang at the door. You stepped slowly backwards.

"He is the adopted brother of Thor, a god from Asgard. He has attacked many people over the last two days."

"A god?!"

"That does not mean he's invincible, Ma'am."

You laughed nervously. A god was trying to break down the door in front of you to kill you. Just because you were associated with Tony Stark. You should've just stuck being a nurse instead of a housekeeper. What were a few crazy junkies threatening you occasionally in the ER or some grabby old pervs compared to a literal good trying to murder you?

"Careful Ma'am!" you had slowly taken more steps backwards when Jarvis stopped you. You had almost stepped on a piece of armour.

Another bang.

"...he's gonna get through that door, right?" you had asked but you already knew the answer.

"Well when he does you might be able to defend yourself." Jarvis said.

He started to give you instructions and while your hands were shaking you pulled through. It was something you were good at. Even when everything fell apart you didn't panic. You focused on the problem at hand.

Jarvis showed you the surveillance camera in front of the, by now very dented workshop doors.

Loki seemed to lose his patience with the doors and probably you too.

"Don't think you won't pay for this insult, little mortal!"

A shiver ran down your spine. Hopefully Mr Stark would arrive soon. You were done with the preparations and got in position.

You saw Loki raising his staff and blast the doors, through the camera. This time they finally gave in.

You twitched in your hiding spot.

"This game is over."

He slowly stepped into the workshop, his eyes darting around. Searching.

"Oh, how much will I enjoy torturing you in front of Stark."

Riveting. You would wipe that smug grin off of his face. Just one more step...

You pressed a button on the small remote in your hands. The fake wire underneath Lokis foot erupted in a small explosion yanking him off his feet. Now it was on you to grin smugly. You heard him groaning while trying to get up again. Another push. Another small explosion flinging Loki through the workshop. You didn't wait for his reaction this time and ran for the busted up doors. You were almost there when a hand grabbed your shoulder and yanked you back. You flew backwards and your back connected with the workbench making you whince in pain. Before you could regain your bearings a hand closed around your neck. You breathed in sharply and the pressure on your neck intensified. He wasn't cutting of your breathing but he made it quite hard for you to catch some air.

"You are not Starks beloved but I'm sure your suffering will hurt him greatly. And after what you just dared it will bring me great satisfaction to hear you scream."

Loki was dangerously close. He trapped you between the workbench and his body, pressing you backwards. You could feel his breath on your face. Fighting for breath you pressed out:

"Guess the feeling is mutual!"

Your right hand shot up to Lokis face and a beam of energy errupted from the Iron Man glove on your hand flinging Loki off of you.

You ran as fast as you could out of the workshop, throwing the glove behind you. You couldn't take it with you even though you really wanted to. But Stark didn't have a spare portable ARC reactor in his lab so Jarvis had made you connect the glove to the reactor that powered the whole tower by cord.

It seemed like the rest of Lokis forces had left the penthouse at this point. You found the door to the maintenance room for the elevator and punched in the code on the control panel. The door unlocked and you slipped in.

"Mr Stark is close. I think its safe to assume that you're out of the worst for now Ma'am."

You breathed out in relief and leaned against the wall. Your throat hurt and your hands were still shaking. But you had fought and survived. And hopefully Stark would kick Lokis ass hard.

Jarvis connected your phone to the surveillance cameras and thus you were able to watch what was happening in the penthouse. First there was your Boss buying time and being... well himself. Everything happened so fast, before you knew it aliens were raining down New York. You had to go, you had to help the people! But Jarvis wouldn't let you out even though you begged him to.

"Mr Stark gave me specific instructions."

"I don't care! People are dying and being attacked and I could help them!"

"It is too dangerous, Ma'am."

You groaned in frustration. All you could do was wait.

You saw Thor and Loki fighting on the balcony only for Loki to flee.

"Loki is gone now. Can you at least let me go now?"

"...but you need to stay in the penthouse."

"You wouldn't let me go even if I tried." you mumbled when the door unlocked.

Cool air was breezing in through the shattered windows. You looked outside and saw the utter chaos and carnage. You should've been down there, helping those injured! Instead you were stuck here because your Boss thought you were a fragile little maid. Okay, he was probably just worried cause he liked you and you understood his point of view but this was infuriating.

You walked towards the bar. If you ever needed a drink in your life it was at that moment. The last time you had felt this dejected and angry at the same time was shortly before you had quit your job at the hospital. Being a surgical nurse had been tough enough but one of the doctors had made your life a living hell. A Neurosurgeon who thought he was gods gift to humanity and treated anyone he thought lesser than him accordingly.

You scanned the bottles when a loud thud on the balcony made you turn around.

Loki!

You immediately ducked behind the bar. Just when you thought things couldn't get worse things turned to utter shit when the Hulk of all people showed up as well. You peeked over the bar. Lokis was basically giving a speech about how much everyone sucked. Delightful. But before he could get out another word the Hulk grabbed him and threw him around like a rag doll. You hid behind the bar again. Partly as to not attract the Hulks attention and partly cause you didn't want to see what was happening. The sound of smashing flesh on the ground was bad enough. Even if it was Loki.

Things got quiet and with a roar the Hulk jumped out of the broken window.

You peeked over the bar again. Loki was literally smashed into the ground and was only producing a pathetic whining noise. Even as a god all of his bones must've been broken. Suddenly he started to cough badly and spit out blood. Your brain connected the dots instantly. One of his ribs or multiple had probably punctured his lung, thus collapsing it and now blood was probably slowly filling it making him suffocate on his own blood. It was a gruesome way to die. You had seen it before. While coughing up more blood he tried to turn to the side but whinced in pain and stopped. He'd probably die from this.

You stared at him for another moment. Cursing yourself quietly you shot up and ran to your supply closet, getting a pack of disposable gloves and desinfectant. Then you ran back to the workshop to get some small tubes. You hurried back to the living room, grabbed some small towels from the bar, a bottle of water and a knife. And a bottle of whiskey. You gulped hard when you knelt besides Loki who in between coughs was looking up at you.

He was suffering, you could see it clearly.

"W-what are you-" He spit out more blood before he could finish.

"Something I'm probably gonna regret." you answered while trying to open his robes. They were made of leather and even the sharp knife you had picked up had trouble cutting through them.

"I'll heal. Don't bother." he pressed out between coughs.

"Loki, you are literally drowning in your own blood. And I doubt your special healing can move ribs back to where they're supposed to be, or can it? "

He just gave you a defeated look.

"Yeah I didn't think so. You mind?"

You pulled out one of his small throwing knifes that were embeded in his clothing and tested its sharpness on his sleeve. It wasn't sharp enough. Loki seemed to realize what you wanted to do and pulled out another knife from seemingly nowhere. You took it from his shaking hand and nodded. Swiftly you cut through his clothes to reveal a strong and pale chest. Immediately you saw the broken and partly squished ribs underneath the skin.

You poured desinfectant on his chest, Lokis knife and your hands. Then you put on gloves. You breathed in calmly once and looked at Loki.

"This will hurt. I know it seems impossible but try not to cough and lie as still as possible."

He gave you a look of doubt but tried to lay still.

You had seen these kind of surgeries often and helped perform them. But all on your own under these conditions? You tried not to think about it.

You placed the knife on his skin. A mix of desinfectant and blood filling the air. You started to cut. Loki barely twitched. Letting you work on him.

You flipped up a big portion of skin to expose his ribcage and left lung beneath. Two ribs had punctured it. You could see others already partially healing. It was fascinating. You grabbed the first rib and tried to carefully move it back into place. But it had already partially healed in the wrong position. You muttered under your breath.

"Okay, this will definitely hurt." you said and pulled on the rib hard breaking it again.

This time Loki did twitch and pressed his eyes shut in pain.

"And once more." you said pulling at the other rib. He tried not to whince but failed miserably.

"I am so sorry." you said out of reflex. This guy had tried to kill you not even an hour ago and now you where apologizing for saving his life. You pushed all unnecessary thought back. Focus.

You had to drain the lung of the blood. You picked up one of the small tubes you had brought and desinfected it as well. Then you inserted it into the lung and started to drain the blood into one of the towels. No need for you to kneel in blood.

Loki looked at you. His eyes seemed unfocused.

"We're almost done. Don't worry."

You couldn't be entirely sure if you'd gotten all the blood out. But you hoped that his divine healing or whatever would take care of the rest. And all the germs. Desinfectant or not, this was certainly no sterile operating room.

You put the skin flap back and saw it immediately starting to heal itself albeit slowly. It wasn't instantaneous. But still heaps faster than human healing. The other lung seemed to be intact and thus you sat back with a sigh and degloved.

You had actually done it. Mr Stark would probably fire you but after today you might've quit anyways. You drenched another towel with the water you brought and offered it to Loki who was breathing more camly now and turned slightly towards you. He took it and started cleaning himself.

You reached for the whiskey and took a hefty swing. What a clusterfuck of events. You took another swing. Before you could set the bottle down Loki snatched it out of your hand and took a big gulp himself.

"If you want my professional opinion, that's a really stupid idea."

He shot you a look and took another gulp.

"In case you haven't noticed, I seem to have come up with a lot of stupid ideas today."

You had to chuckle. He smirked but then got a very serious expression on his face.

"Why did you save me?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I tried to kill you and yet..."

"Maybe I'm also full of stupid ideas. Or maybe I want to see you brought to justice. Or maybe..."

You looked him directly in the eyes.

"Or maybe that's just who I am and what I do. Don't make me regret what I did, Loki."

You didn't know if there was even a shred of empathy within him. But if there was you hoped that your words had reached him.

He didn't break your gaze. Seemingly weighing your words in his mind. With a sigh he sat up properly. Showing no traces of pain or discomfort. He took your hands into his. You were confused but didn't pull away.

"I understand. With these hands you selflessly saved my life. I am indebted to you. And I shall do everything in my power to repay this debt so you will never regret what you did today."

Green shimmering light emitted from his hands onto yours.

"Woah! What are you doing?!"

You tried to get away but Lokis grip was tight. He calmly said "It's an oath. So I shall never forget about my debt."

"Loki, what are you doing?!"

Thors thunderous voice erupted from behind you. You turned your head and the god was already coming closer, closely followed by your Boss.

"Get your grabby hands off of my housekeeper!" Mr Stark ordered.

The shimmer vanished and Loki let go of you. You instantly shot up.

"I do not intend to harm her." said Loki calmy which only elicited a dry bitter laugh from Mr Stark.

"You very much intended to harm her just half an hour ago! Y/N are you okay?" he pulled you behind him.

"Yeah, just shaky."

"And to answer your question brother..." Thor stepped closer towards Loki, anger on his face.

"...I made an oath. I owe this woman a blood debt and I swear to repay her." Thors face fell in shock, while Mr Stark only turned to you.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I.. Eh... Well, I sort of saved his life. He was about to die. It was messy. And well... I am a nurse after all so I..."

You were at a loss for words.

"But I have no idea what he means by oath and blood debt!"

Loki gave you a confused look.

"You said you don't want to regret saving my life, thus I pledged my allegience to you as a proof of trust. Without you I would not exist in this world any longer. As such you have reign over my being until this debt is repayed." he explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?!" you and Stark exclaimed in utter disbelief.

"That is so not what I meant when I said this!"

"It was not? Then what did you mean?"

Loki seemed honestly puzzled by your reaction.

"That you please don't kill me or anyone I care about!"

"But this could be very useful to us." Thor mused looking between you and Loki. "He has pledged his loyalty to you and thus has to follow all of your orders."

"She's my housekeeper! Certainly not a megalomaniacs babysitter!"

"Well with the oath he is more her babysitter than the other way around."

The two started fighting when the rest of the heroes arrived including the Hulk which kinda freaked you out. Your head was spinning. A blood debt, an oath, an allegience. You had no idea what to think and wished for more whiskey to just wash this day away.

You felt someone coming up close to you. It was Loki, by now in shackles.

"I promise that you won't regret what you have done for me today" his voice full of determination.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you already kinda regretted it.

#Loki x reader #Loki x you #avengers fanfiction #Loki fanfiction #Loki

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