#No. 22

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 22

Rosinante x Reader

"You got the details?" Rosinante asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"We got an Italian don." You hand him the file when you stop at a red light.

Rosinante scanned through the information. "Big mob boss, always surrounded by family."

"This isn't going to be easy," you comment, driving when the lights turn green.

"That's why they hired us, darling," Rosinante reminded you with a sly smile, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray.

It's true. You and Rosinante were the best-hired hitmen for the company you worked for. Perhaps it was because you could shoot your target in a heartbeat or that no matter what the hit is, you'd still end their existence in cold blood. However, for this particular job, you two were hired because of your stealth and ability to handle the situation when your target is in a crowded area.

"It says here to be wary of his brother Bege. Guy's got an observant eye."

"He can't see what's not there." You smirk, holding up your hand. Slowly the upper half of your limb vanished before the naked eye.

"Hmph." Rosinante returned the smirk. "Might wanna keep both hands on the wheel."

If you didn't need to keep them on the road, your eyes would've rolled out of your head.

Driving through a few more lights, you parked your car two blocks away from your destination. You got out of the car, stepping onto the sidewalk in time to help Rosinante out of the vehicle, you found out the hard way what happens when you leave the blond man to do normal tasks. If he wasn't your partner in crime, you wouldn't have guessed he's a top-of-the-line hitman.

"M'lady." Rosinante brought your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on the back as he light closed the door behind him.

You smile, your cold heart fluttering a warmth at his romantic gesture. When he freed your hand, you reached up to his tie, fixing it and adjusting his collar. His face hovered close to yours, eyes staring into the other.

"What am I going to do with you?" You hum, sliding your fingers down his tie.

"How 'bout I treat you to something special after this," Rosinante whispered, hot breath on your brushing your ear.

"I'd like that."

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

Rosinante placed his hand on top of your head. "Calm."

You smile up at him, his power now activated on you, though you snap your fingers to double-check. No sounds come from you. Rosinante moves his hand down, cupping your cheek. You kiss him and activate your powers, becoming crystal clear. You pull away, about to leave when you hear Rosinante.

"Be careful out there."

Those words warms you. Looking back, you see your partner enter the building. That makes you refocus on the task at hand and you begin scaling the building.

The plan was for Rosinante to walk among the rest of the mob, dressed as one of them, identify which one is your target and pull him out just enough so you'd have a clear shot. Once the target is down, you hop down, activate your power on him then get out. Easy in, easy out.

The hitman entered the grand hall where the party, scouting out the floor as he lit up a cigarette. Rosinante is silently grateful for the shades covering his eyes, so long as he makes little head movements, no one can notice his eyes darting around the room. Out of the corner of his vision, he spots the window opening and closing on the upper half floor. He knows it's you.

The blond makes his way over to the drinks, keeping his eyes peeled when he spots the target laughing merrily with his brother Bege. Rosinante picked up a tray of wine glasses and strolled over to the duo, offering drinks to others casually to blend in. He turned his back to the pair when he was right next to them, bumped into someone on purpose and fell back with wine glasses spilling their contents behind him and onto the target and his brother.

"What the hell?!" The target exclaimed as the red wine soaked his clothes. Others backed away from the mess on the floor. He glared at Rosinante. "Hey buddy, you should watch your step."

"Forgive me, godfather." Rosinante bowed his head. "I'll clean it up I swear."

"Impossible, you can't remove wine stains from this." He gestures to his collar shirt.

"Want me to deal with him, brother?" Bege offered.

"Ehhh, just knock 'im real good, that'll oughtta teach him a lesson."

Bege nodded. Rosinante's eyes widened, this wasn't how- Bege knocked the blond out with the back of his gun. He smirked, hearing the loud bang of a gun.

Shit. Rosinante's power wore off. Your target hit the floor but now everyone knows it's because he got shot.

"GODFATHER!"

"The shot came from over there!"

"Get them! We'll make 'em pay!"

You dashed away from your spot. Since Rosinante always used his power on you, you never knew how loud your footsteps were.

"This way! I hear 'em."

Crap. It wasn't supposed to go this way. You need to get Rosinante.

"Bastard is around the corner."

"Rosi..." you breathe through your teeth. Heavy pants express your stress. You're being backed into a corner against the window. You need to slow your breaths and be quiet.

"We gotcha now!"

The mobster turned the corner and began firing. Gunshots pierced your flesh. The window behind you breaks, glass shards flying. Their bullets push you out and you fall to the ground.

Your clear clear fruit deactivating and its spirit leaving your husk.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[fitsofgloom]

Take A Bite Outta Crime!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For She Was Afraid

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid |

CW: Magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, it used as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee

-

"You have had this power a year," Atabei hissed as soon as the door to the study closed and the two of them were alone. Her hand around his arm felt like claws digging in to his skin, she had gripped on so tight. "And you have killed two people?"

Gilly swallowed, looking around to avoid having to face Atabei directly. The study had a large wooden desk - Eliza's late husband's apparently, from the old-fashioned design, the masculine weight and size of it. Correspondence scattered across the top, with a few books at one corner, and comfortable chairs on either side.

The walls were lined with bookshelves. There must have been two hundred books in this little room, and this wasn’t even the library.

Being the young widow of a very rich man had its benefits, Gilly supposed, and it seemed Atabei’s lady love had made the most of all of them.

“Guilford!” Atabei snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, making him jump. “I asked you a question!”

"I know! I know, my sincerest apologies-... it’s just, I didn’t kill two people…. Well, I did, but it was only one done with purpose," Gilly admitted, shamefaced, stopping to touch the spine of one particular tome. This shelf held Atabei's books on magic, carefully inconspicuous in a study full of reading material. In golden relief, the title read An Uncertain World: A Treatise on the Toa Volcano and Its Magical Properties as Befits the Pursuit of Certain Sciences. He was nearly asleep from boredom simply finishing the title. "The other was… well, very much so an accident."

Atabei stood with her back to the door, arms crossed. Here at home, her hair hung loose in its thousand braids, a glimmering waterfall of black, and she wore pants much like his own and a loose white shirt.

"An accident?" Atabei huffed an irritated sigh, fixing a glare on him he could feel even without looking up to see it. "I am not as stupid as you must think me to be, Guilford."

"No! No, Beibei, not at all. I'm not lying to you." He went to her, but she did not look at him directly. Her jaw was set with the stubborn distaste he knew so well, but had almost never seen aimed at him. "The ship's captain had a weak heart. When I commanded the siren to make him too afraid to tell what he was, it gave out. I did not mean for him to die."

“And why did the captain discover what the siren was in the first place? Hm?” Her changing accent was heavier here at her home, too, the low drawl more pronounced. Her eyes flickered to his and then away again, but it wasn’t weakness.

Not with Atabei.

“You did not keep him clothed?”

Well, no. He hadn’t. But Gilly didn’t think that was relevant. “He… misunderstood the nature of my connection to the siren. He thought it was a young man, and that…” He trailed off, face burning with embarrassment merely retelling the conversation, the captain’s sly accusations and subtle threats. “Well, the captain thought… he thought…”

Atabei’s voice was desert dry and even less forgiving. “He thought you were fucking him.”

“Beibei!” Gilly’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ve never heard you speak so vulgarly!”

“And yet now you have, and I am the same Beibei I was when you first made me flower crowns,” Atabei said, and there was a gentle teasing softening her voice that made him think perhaps she wasn’t truly angry, or not so angry he could not break through it anyway. She took a deep breath. "I can see now. He threatened you, threatened to expose you, and you thought the siren could help wipe his memory clean.”

Atabei didn’t need to know any of that.

“Yes, yes exactly.” Gilly leaped on this lovely lie, so much kinder than the truth. Better than telling her about the captain suggesting he might make good use of such a fine young man with such a lovely face and strong, lithe body. Better the softer lie than the truth of Gilly’s answering negotiation into sitting in the corner and watching it happen. Better than admitting that the captain had been pushing the siren down onto the bed in his quarters when the creature had sung him into fear. Or that Gilly had made sure the ship believed fully that the captain had died in flagrante delicto with a pretty passenger, which the crew had seemed… unsurprised by.

In any case, she swallowed, keeping her eyes on the windows with their heavy drapes on the other side of the room. "Fine. I can understand the accident. And the other?”

“Not an accident. The widow Neumann, who let me the rooms I was staying in?”

“Yes, the sweet little old lady.”

“... right. That one. Well, her death had a purpose. She left me everything, you see. I am… a wealthy man these days. If I had small ambitions, I would have enough to live on in comfort for the rest of my life.”

Atabei’s eyes searched over his face. “You have larger ambitions.”

“I do. This is only how I begin, Beibei. I’ll be a king, or more, before I am done.”

She nodded. There was a distant sadness in her, as if she mourned the gift he had asked of her, that she had given him. “You want that more than anything. I am happy I could help you take the first steps on your path.”

She moved away from him to sit behind the massive desk in a well-loved leather chair, leaning back and putting her feet up, crossed at the ankles. She was so very different here at home, with the coastal breezes fluttering over the drapes. So much more herself, more like how she had been when they were children. “Is there evidence? Can they trace it back to you?”

“No, no.” He waved away her concern, taking his own seat on the other side, wishing he had a glass of liquor in hand, but… Atabei was not one for alcohol here at home, and he knew there would be none unless this mysterious Eliza enjoyed it. “I was with her, but… she signed with her own hand, steady and strong. You couldn’t possibly have said it was forged. I mean, it wasn’t. I watched her sign each and every one.”

“Hm.” Atabei looked a little confused. “And then?”

“Then she drank a glass of strychnine mixed with wine, and died.”

“I didn’t know she had such a fondness for you as all that,” Atabei said, her expression of confusion deepening, although her wry humor was still intact. She even smiled, just a little, as he head tipped back against the back of the chair. “It is a great love one must feel for one’s downstairs tenant to drink deadly poison simply to expedite the tenant's inheritance.”

“Ha! I hated her more than any other soul and I daresay she did nothing but pity me, but it didn’t matter. I brought my sea creature up with me, and had it sing to her. After a while… she began to see things my way. I did her a kindness, really, if you think about it. She would have died in terror eventually, alone in her gigantic house, her little dog chewing on her toes-”

“Guilford, please,” Atabei said, face paling. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Right. Anyway, this way she had someone she adored with her at the end, and I even gave her little dog to a friend of hers.”

“You hate that dog.” Atabei’s eyebrows raised again. “You used to joke about tossing it into the ocean for the sharks.”

“And you will yourself note that while yes, I did say that, it was a joke. It wasn’t the dog’s fault it was bred and born to drive me absolutely raving mad with its noise and that it had to be the size of a small tea kettle. The stupid thing is living a life of sheer luxury with the widow’s oldest and wealthiest friend, who has a dozen servants on hand at all times and a granddaughter who will no doubt adore the dog’s decidedly ugly smashed-up little face. And the way it breathes…” He shuddered.

“I… all right. Well, that is reassuring.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk, utterly at her ease in here. It must be her study and hers alone, now, if she kept her books on magic in here and felt them secure. “But… wait, Guilford. You said you had the siren sing.” Atabei’s eyes widened. “The siren’s song doesn’t work on women. It is well known. Only men can be fooled by their voices.”

“I know, I know, but it did work on her. And it’s worked on… three other women besides, since then. I’ve tested it.” At Atabei’s thoroughly nonplussed expression, Gilly flushed and hastened to add, “Simply to make them forget they had seen its markings, Beibei! I’m not a monster.”

Besides which, he had the siren itself to slate his lusts on now. Something about the way it still sometimes wept with his hands around its neck or dropped its human glamor to bare rows of sharp teeth without any ability to use them on him did more for his desires than any woman’s softness ever had.

The siren was a creature who should have torn him limb from limb, but Guilford controlled that power, that ferocious rage. It took real effort not to have arousal overtake him just thinking about it.

“Good. I will not aid a man who uses such a power to do harm to women.”

“I am not a man who has any intentions of doing any such thing,” He said, a little soothing, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his thighs. Downstairs, somewhere outside and presumably sitting under a tree or something, the siren began to sing. It was nonsense notes, something trifling, without any power to it.

Guilford had been pleased with it, and given it leave for the occasional making of merry tunes to pass the time, as long as it only cast a spell with its voice when Guilford commanded. He enjoyed seeing its pathetic gratitude at these small mercies, ones he could remove at any time for any reason or even no reason at all.

Sometimes he did, and forced the siren to debase itself all the more in order to earn them back.

Atabei looked over to the window, tensing slightly until she could tell there was no new magic in the air, nothing to try to override her own. Then she sighed and looked back to Gilly, nodding slowly. “Perhaps it works now because it is your will and not his? Since it’s not his magic any longer, only yours, that must go through him. Maybe that’s why… Hm. Fascinating. I will have to read more on this, try to understand…” She trailed off. “One wonders why no one has captured a siren for these purposes before.”

“Who says they haven’t?” Gilly raised his hands in question. Half-hidden by a stack of books that had never been placed back on their shelves back behind Atabei, he saw a small portrait that had been set on the floor, sticking half-out. In it he could see a woman, a man, and a little girl.

“Remember the Verenni king, a few hundred years ago?” Gilly spoke while looking over the portrait, letting his thoughts wander as he considered the family of three. “He came from the Sea Peoples, from nowhere, and it seemed like he took over every land he touched for half a century until he was killed in battle. Maybe he had a siren who sang what he wanted, and someone killed the siren first. It’s possible.”

The man in the portrait was older, hair already silvered, with a prominent beard. The woman clearly decades younger than her husband, and with the solemn look of those who must pose for hours in heavy dresses. The little girl looked very much like her, but for her nose.

“True. But why haven’t we heard of it? It should be in every history book…”

“Unless, of course, the people who come up with how we remember our histories don’t want anyone to know sirens can be so used-”

Outside, the sound of a carriage, and the siren’s song stopped. Atabei all but leapt to her feet in a sudden panic, interrupting Guilford. “Eliza! She won’t know not to talk to him-” She ran for the door and down the stairs, Gilly pushing himself up to follow her.

Atabei darted like a silverfish through clear water - he could hardly have hoped to keep up with her speed. He heard her cry, “Eliza, watch out!”

By the time he made it out the front door, huffing and puffing, Gilly saw quite the tableau.

Atabei, holding the siren’s arm with a grip so tight Gilly knew he would have lovely new bruises to appreciate before he slept tonight, was speaking in a rush to a lovely woman wearing a simple dress and tilted, wide-brimmed hat that kept the sun off her skin, with a little girl standing beside her dressed in the pantaloons and shirt common to the young.

“-was only saying hello,” The woman - who must be Eliza Howe - was saying, affronted. She had the heavy molasses accent of the northern colonies, as if she considered every word before she spoke it. “I can handle a simple polite greeting of a guest, Bei.”

There was a tremor to her voice, though, that suggested she had been relieved Atabei appeared so quickly.

“He is not a simple guest, ‘Liza,” Atabei said in return, her tone apologetic even if her words weren’t. “Remember I told you about Guilford Wentworth, and why I had to go visit him in the islands?”

Eliza turned back to the siren, who was trying subtly to pull himself free of Atabei’s grip, and failing. The monster looked away from her, confused and uncertain. Gilly felt himself think strange, strange thoughts - it has no idea what’s going on. It meant no harm. He shook himself and strode forward, catching up to the little group. The siren cringed away from his very presence, and he ignored the stir of desire that roused in him.

The little girl hid herself behind her mother, peering out with wide eyes.

“This is the thing that Guilford Wentworth captured? This? Bei, this is clearly a man,” Eliza said, and then caught sight of Gilly. Her expression pinched. “Oh, and here is another. Who... is this, then?”

“This is Guilford,” Atabei said, with a smile, gesturing to him. He bowed to Eliza, and she inclined her chin just barely to him. “Guilford Wentworth. Guilford, this is… my wife, Eliza Howe, and her daughter Sirene.”

“Siren,” The creature said, speaking words aloud for the first time. Its had an accent after losing its ocean-tongue, something that sharpened each syllable. Its eyes went to the little girl, who looked at it in something between anxiousness and wonder. Its expression was much the same. “The young are called siren?”

“Sirene,” Eliza corrected, uneasily emphasizing the differences in pronunciation. “It’s her name. She’s a girl, a-a human girl.”

“A girl, yes, this I see,” The siren said, and Guilford blinked. Had it-... used the same wry humor that he and Atabei had always enjoyed, in that sly tone? He would beat it for the pretense later tonight. Beat it black and blue and bloody and begging. “Siren is… human name, then? What I am, siren, is a name given to human girls?”

The monster stepped forward, leaning down to look more closely at the little girl even as Eliza grabbed her arm and held tight.

Its gaze reminded Guilford of his visits to the Royal Zoo, the way sometimes the great apes of the Largest Continent would watch the visitors to the zoo right back, with much the same expressions of awe and delight. Gilly thought about how deeply uncomfortable that sight made him, the bars that separated them from the people only a few feet away. The identical expressions. The reality of the strength and power the bars held in check.

“Sirene,” Eliza repeated, stepping back, her eyes flickering between Atabei, Guilford, and the siren. She looked more nervous and uncomfortable with every passing moment. “It isn’t the same.”

“Oh. I see. Hello, Sirene.” The siren emphasized the name now, too, the same way, although it didn’t seem mocking. More like it had simply decided that this was the way to pronounce the sounds, to mimic Eliza’s humanity. “I am a siren.”

“Hello,” The little girl whispered, without coming out from behind her mother's skirts. “It is very nice to meet you, Mister Siren.”

The siren’s face changed. Gilly realized, with a start, he had never seen it try to smile before. The siren tipped its head to one side. “It is very nice to meet you. Is that what humans say?”

The little girl frowned. “When they are polite it is.”

The siren made a sound - Guilford felt irrational fury when he realized it was gentle laughter, musical and melodic. "Polite is good?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, solemn as the grave. "One should always be polite, Mama says."

The siren's seemingly gentle smile faded slightly. "Mama," It repeated, voice low. "Sirens call ours mama, too."

The girl nodded, as if this made all the sense in the world. Eliza, though, gave Atabei a look of something like panic. "Bei-... What have you done?"

Atabei cut her eyes at Gilly and he cleared his throat, stepping forward, blocking the siren from the little girl's line of sight. “You don’t have to say hello to it, Miss Howe, and it is not a mister. It’s not a person. I know it looks like one, but that’s a silly little trick it plays on people. It’s more like… a dog, maybe.”

The little girl looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Her face - and voice - held a faintly hostile accusation he didn’t understand. “I say hello to dogs, too."

“Right. Well. Hm.” Gilly blushed, and wished he could order the siren to sing this whole moment out of existence for them all. It only made him angrier. “Perhaps not the best example…”

Eliza swallowed, stepping back, the girl moving with her in a stumble, slightly surprised. “Ah… Bei-... can you-... he’s very… very close to me, you see-... the sea thing is, I mean… but also your friend..."

“I understand.” Atabei pulled the siren backwards and shook its arm. “Don’t move. Let my wife go inside. Be still, sea creature.”

The siren stood, even without the magical compulsion, and watched as Eliza ushered the little girl away and back down the stone path to the front door of their home. She glanced a few times over her shoulder as she went, waving to the siren. "Goodbye, Mister Siren!"

"Goodbye, Sirene!" The siren called out. Guilford smacked it on the back right over some new marks from the belt he'd used on it last night and it cried out, stumbling before it caught itself.

"Silence!" Gilly hissed, and hit it again. And again. And again-

Atabei caught Gilly's arm in her hand and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Not here, Guilford. Eliza fears the anger of men. Her late husband was… unkind, when upset. Unkind to her."

“Of course.” Guilford nodded, already breathing hard. He pushed his glasses back up his nose instinctively. “We won’t trouble your beautiful wife with this nonsense. Simply show me where I can put it and it will not be seen by anyone other than you and I."

Atabei found a smile for him, and he smiled back, and for a moment - the two of them out in the grass of a front yard, with a rope swing tied to a large tree branch off to one side and a herd of cows lowing somewhere just beyond sight behind a hill - it felt like they were children again.

Atabei looked over the siren, who didn’t meet her eyes in return, staring down at the ground in the way Gilly had painstakingly taught it to. Her smile faded into a frown. “So, two deaths-"

"One by accident, remember!"

"... and wealth. What comes next? Where do you go after you finish your visit here?"

“Oh, that’s an easy question to answer,” Gilly said, watching as the siren, ignored again, crouched down and stared openly at a line of ants crawling along within the grass. “I’m heading to the northern half of the Largest Continent, back to visit my... mother. Where we will become significantly less estranged, thanks to this thing.” He kicked the siren lightly in the thigh, watching it wince without moving, attention still focused on the insects below it.

“Returning to the line of inheritance,” Atabei said, nodding, crossing her arms before her. “I see. And after she no doubt dies quite a tragic and well-mourned death?”

“Well… then maybe the next time we see each other face-to-face, I won’t be Gilly Wentworth, down on his luck sailor surgeon any longer. I’ll be… King Wentworth, or Emperor…”

“You aim high,” Atabei murmured. “You want to be like the Virenni King, the conqueror. They killed his siren, Guilford, if your theory is true. They killed the power he used and then slaughtered him as well, on his own battlefield, with one blow.”

“Right, well. I’ll be careful.” Gilly reached down, gripping into the siren's curls - he never tired of its soft hair, the way it tensed and shivered every time his fingers moved along its scalp - and pulled. It immediately tipped its head back, knowing the command by instinct without even needing to hear it by now. Its breath caught, and he knew if he touched beneath its jaw its pulse would be fluttering, like a horse about to bolt.

But it couldn’t go anywhere at all.

His mouth felt dry, just thinking about it.

“Your magic worked, it worked so well, Beibei. I can make it do anything I want, make anyone do anything I want, and no one who isn’t under its spell is ever going to know about it.”

-

"Except me," Atabei murmured, a strange tremulous quality in her deep voice. "Except for me, and mine."

Gilly, for the first time, looked into the eyes of his oldest friend and realized that if he could use the siren's power on women too, then even Atabei was not safe from him, not truly, and she knew it.

Atabei was afraid of him.

Gilly's eyes went back to the siren, who was looking up and watching the wind rustle leaves on a nearby tree. The creature's lips were parted, just a little, as if at any moment the song would begin.

Gilly smiled.

"Let's go inside," He said, smoothly, "And have tea."

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

For @whumptober prompts 19, 21, 22

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 22 - Watch Out

Warnings: words said in anger, grief, depression

Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint recovers from the fallout of the Avengers.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2012

NEW YORK

“Get up,” Natasha tells him, the level of despondency irritating her.

She hasn’t left him alone, and whilst she understands this depression, she can’t understand the lack of self preservation that comes with it.

He hasn’t eaten, drunk water only when she’s told him too, and barely got out of bed.

He raises his head and looks at her in a pout.

“Not today,” he says, his voice crackling.

“Today is the day we meet with Fury,” she replies, pointing to the calendar.

“No,” he sighs, “go without me,”

She rips the sheets off him, and pushes a coffee into his hands.

“There’s no, “go without me”, not for this, this is Fury giving you grace, and now you have to deal with the mindfuck that was Loki.”

Clint looks at her betrayed.

“Don’t say his name,” he says angrily.

“Why? It shouldn’t matter, he’s done, he’s gone, we won, we didn’t die.”

“Yeah cause that’s exactly how you responded when you killed Dreykov,” he retorts, meanly.

“What?”

The words feel scathing and Clint can’t seem to stop them.

“Don’t you remember? You couldn’t even make it out of Budapest, you had the nightmares, you couldn’t function without help either.”

“You dissociate and can’t cope and I take it on, but when it turns the other way and I need time to not be in the world, you force it on me.”

He feels his face grow hot as he throws words at her.

“You were compromised, just like I am, and I protected you through it, and now, you can’t even do this. Some partner you turned out to be.”

He pulls the covers over himself and turns his back on her.

She feels anger, and then sadness roll over her.

“Phil would tell you to get up,” she says, a parting shot that makes him feel like shit.

He’s right of course, but she never thought that period of time would ever be used against her as a weapon.

Grabbing her jacket, she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

.

Entering Shield by herself, she feels eyes watching. They can’t kill her with looks, but the judgement still feels hurtful. Much like when she first defected the label of double agent plagued her.

Small hurts like changing the temperature of her room, stalking her, taunting her, all protected by Clint and Maria.

It makes Clint’s words hurt all the more.

She seeks Maria, knowing she’ll be close to Fury, and finding her way to the offices of Shield, hoping for privacy.

As she passes the empty office of Agent Phil Coulson, she pauses to touch the door.

Grief floods her, as she hold back the emotion, biting hard on her lip. The arrays of bouquets that line the door makes everything more real.

She hates him a little for making her face this alone, despite the difficulties he’s facing.

Natasha moves forward, hoping Maria is actually in her office, and finding the door slightly open.

Maria looks up.

“Nat,” she says, a tone of surprise.

“Where’s Clint? He has a meeting with Fury in twenty minutes,” she says quickly.

“Can I…” she sighs and stops.

“Clint’s not coming, I can’t get him out of bed, let alone out of the apartment,” she confesses.

Maria stops and watches Natasha.

“What?”

She calls through to Fury and cancels the meeting, and tells him she’s going to handle the debrief; then grabbing her jacket, she ushers Natasha out of the room.

“Come on,” she says, to Natasha. “Let’s go see the boy.”

.

“He said what?”

Maria breaks hard, almost rear ending the car in front.

“Nothing,” Natasha mumbles.

“Nat, that’s mean, he was mean, he has no right to judge you on how you reacted from defecting from your country, killing a man who tortured you and your coping mechanisms.”

Natasha stares out the window.

“I’m judging him on how he’s coping, and how long it’s taking him to reach equilibrium,” she sighs.

“You can reason this out all you want but what he said was mean, you didn’t do anything wrong and probably, you’re one that’s been protecting him from almost everything. You even took on Fury to negotiate more time. Nat, he shouldn’t have said what he said.”

Natasha continues to stare out the window, feeling emotions pulse through her as she knows that Maria is right.

“I don’t think I want to go back,” she confesses, sucking in a stuttering breath at the admission.

Selfishly she feels, she makes a decision based on what she wants and how she feels; not wanting to face Clint or his anger again.

Maria nods.

“I’ll go, I’ve got him for a bit, is there somewhere you want to go?”

Natasha wants to be alone.

“Just drop me at Grand Central Station,” she asks, knowing exactly where she wants to go.

.

Natasha loves the view from the Grand Central Station, finds it calming to watch the people milling around from tourist to regular New Yorkers.

Even aliens could stop this place, though the marks of damage still show.

They’d tried, she thinks, to fix what they could.

She finds a seat, opens her sandwich and sits and eats, letting the noises wash over her.

She analyses the old man’s gait, determining a hip injury, an old one it seems, then turns her attention to a young woman; stylish in her heels as she stalks across the station.

Two men clasp hands in greeting and walk off together, one animatedly talking to the other as he explained something Natasha couldn’t hear.

Natasha puts in headphones, no music attached, and watches the world.

It feels different here; maybe because so much has happened but still the place functions as though it hasn’t.

Maybe that’s her downfall.

She’s trying to function with Clint as though nothing has happened, trying to make him move past it like it never happened.

But it has.

People died at Clint’s hand.

Phil died trying to protect them all.

Clint lost control of himself.

And, she supposed, they were Avengers now.

Even their jobs had changed in the space of hours.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes in frustration and grief.

The clock alerts her to the later hour as the amount of people dwindles. Past 6pm, she realises that she’d left Clint with Maria for over 10 hours and guilt builds in her chest.

She stands abruptly, making her way for the door.

“Watch out!” the lady calls, her son barreling straight into Natasha’s leg.

He bounces off her and starts to cry.

Natasha squats and looks at the little boy, offering her hand to help him up.

The mother catches up to him and apologizes profusely.

“He moves with such haste, and never watches where he’s going.”

Natasha smiles, though watery she pulls herself together to wave it off.

The boy, still crying turns to his mother.

“Can I show you something?

She uses Clint’s favourite trick and pulls a coin from his ear, and in doing so, it gives her an idea.

The little boy stops crying, and she does it again.

Even the mother is smiling.

“Thank you—“ the woman starts, “wait— are you? Are you the Black Widow?”

The words and the name feel jarring out of the woman’s mouth, and the little boys eyes go wide.

“Do you know Iron Man?” he asks.

The woman shushes him, and grabs for Natasha’s hand.

“Thank you,” she says, “my brother was on the bus that Hawkeye saved and got the people out of.”

Natasha nods.

“I’ll let him know,” she smiles.

Moving away, Natasha pushes down the anxiety of being recognised and heads home, with an idea and a story to tell Clint.

.

The takeaway sits on the bench, as she moves into the apartment, nervous if there’s any more vitriol she’s going to walk into.

Finding him showered, clothes changed and sitting upright, Clint stands as she walks in.

“I’m sorry,” he opens.

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and I don’t know why I did,” he confesses.

“I’m aware I haven’t… been at my best, but the last few months have been hard. I know it’s no excuse, I know, I need to do better but—“

“It’s hard,” Natasha finishes.

“Yeah,” he finishes.

She nods.

“Come and eat something,” she offers, and walking back out to the kitchen, and pulling the food out of the bag.

“I think you’re doing better,” she comments, “but I think we need a project. Do you remember when you taught me the coin magic trick? I think we need to learn something new.”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t…”

She nods, “I’m going to teach you some Russian. Better Russian.”

He almost chokes on his food.

“It’s going to help,” she says confidently.

“Maria’s mandated therapy weekly,” he confesses.

“I know, she told me,” Natasha replies.

“I have to go in tomorrow,” he tells her, playing with the food.

“Do you want me to come?”

Natasha still feels the sting of the words from the morning but seeing him trying so hard when the day before he’d done nothing, lessens the hurt a little.

He nods.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he says again.

“Vsyo v poryadke,” she replies.

He stares.

“Everything is in order, it is okay,” she reassured him, even though she’s not sure, even if she’s worried about the future, even about the hurt he can cause her and just how compromised she is by this relationship.

He drops his chopsticks and moves to her seat.

“Ya tyebya lyublyu,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” she replies.

.

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 22

"Glass hards, vehicular accident"

Bucky was on his feet in an instant when the alarm went off. It took him forty-four seconds and he sat behind the wheel of the fire truck. He turned on the siren, honked and floored the truck to get to the accident they were called to as fast as possible. 

“What do we have?” he asked Steve, who sat beside him. 

“Car accident,” he said. “Apparently there was an illegal car race and they forced another car off the street. Nat…” - a cop and also the woman Steve was in love with without admitting it to himself - “... said the driver is trapped and injured.” 

Six minutes later they were at the scene. Nat was waiting for them together with an ambulance and - much to Bucky’s dismay - it was Sam Wilson standing beside the car, trying to get to the driver. 

“We take over now,” Bucky snapped when he was out of the truck. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Wilson said  and Bucky threw a death glare in his direction. 

“Boys, calm down,” Nat interrupted the two of them. “We have to get the driver out of the car.” 

Bucky went to take a look while Steve already gave orders to the other firefighters. It looked bad, really bad. The driver bled heavily and he had glass shards everywhere in his skin. And the chassis of the car was twisted. 

“Is he stable?” Bucky asked and looked at Wilson and the EMT nodded. 

“As far as we can see, yes,” he said. “But we have to get him out of it as fast as possible. 

The driver opened his eyes and looked at Bucky and for a moment his breath was taken away. The man had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. And currently they were full of pain. 

“Can you hear me?” Bucky asked and the man nodded. “We will get you out in no time,” he smiled reassuringly. 

The man reached out and instinctively Bucky took his hand. Steve and the others came with heavy equipment and started to work. 

“What’s your name,” he asked and the man licked his lips. Bucky wanted to let go to help Steve and his team but the man didn’t let go. Steve shook his head and Bucky understood.

“My name is Bucky,” he said. “What’s yours?” 

“Cl-clint,” the man whispered and Bucky smiled at him. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Clint,” he said. “See that guy over there? His name is Steve. He and our friends will get you out soon. I’ll stay here with you if that’s okay,” he said and kept talking. Every now and then Clint answered but most of the time it was Bucky who talked and it seemed to calm the man down so Steve and the others could work. And it really took only thirteen minutes to get him out and then Wilson took over. They put Clint on a stretcher and shoved him into the ambulance and with wailing sirens they drove him to the hospital. 

But Bucky couldn’t forget the beautiful eyes of the man and that’s why he found himself in the hospital, too, two days later. He had asked his way through to him and then he knocked at the door. 

Clint lay in his bed, band-aids all over his face, his arm and a leg in plaster casts. 

“Hey,” he said when Clint looked up. “I don't know if you remember me but…” 

“My lifesaver,” Clint smiled. “I had hoped to see you again.” 

“Really?” Bucky asked, a smile on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Have to make up to you for getting me out.” 

“Technically I just held your hand,” Bucky said and Clint blushed violently. 

“It helped,” he said. “I thought I would die but… it helped.” 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said and sat down beside the bed. “So, what did the doc say about your injuries?  How long till I can ask you for a date?” 

[firstdegreefangirl]

Shattered Glass

Glass shatters. Lucy gasps. Liquid splatters.

Tim turns his head, then jumps up from the couch when the kitchen island blocks his view.

He steps from the carpet to the tile and hears the glass crunch under his boot.

“Stop!” He barks, when Lucy tries to move one bare foot forward. It’s a tone he hasn’t taken with Lucy since he was training her. But it’s fear he hasn’t felt since he was keeping vigil at her hospital bed, brushing desert sand away from the edges of her hair. “Watch out, there are little shards everywhere. “Don’t move your feet.”

Lucy lowers her foot carefully. Her eyes are wide, in a way they weren’t before Tim shouted at her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No, it’s alright, you were just trying to keep me from stepping -”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Read the rest on ao3 here!

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 22 (BAU x transmale reader)

No. 22 PICK YOUR POISON

Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

ALT: Ambushed

(there will be a part two fo this!)

Warnings: transphobia (from a load of people, it's the main theme), deadnaming (D/N), the t-slur/trans slur/(tr**ny) used once, outing, misgendering, probably hate crime tbh, please let me know if I've missed anything

PLEASE DON’T READ IF YOU FIND THESE THEMES/WARNING UPSETTING

Word count: 2696

No one missed the looks you received when you walked into the precinct. It was your hometown, a typical small town with its typical small-town views and beliefs. You, however, had become accustomed to these looks. Particularly those who worked at the station. When you came out and started your transition (despite the strong words and opinions of your parents), it was as though the town had frozen you out. No one would speak to you unless they had to, no one would approach you, sure, you even got beaten up a few times. You were dreading this case to say the least. 

“Why do they keep glaring at you?” Spencer mumbled as he walked close to you.

“I was a smart mouthed kid,” You whispered back, finding the best excuse you could, “And this is a stereotypical small town - they have nothing else better to do than gossip,”

What made everything ten times worse was that the team didn’t even know. You didn’t write it on your application, fearing that if you did, you wouldn’t get the job - or the team would treat you differently. You had planned to tell them you were transgender, of course, but the right time had never surfaced and you were in too deep now. You’d just have to be stealth until you retired from the FBI. And if that’s the way it went, then hey, that would be okay. 

You knew Spencer didn’t believe you, but he didn’t comment on it either, which you’d take as a win. You had a feeling you were going to need all the wins you could get with this case. 

“Officer Hart is currently working this case, so you’ll be working closely with him, if that’s alright?”

You look at the officer, the name feeling familiar and your heart jumps. Standing in front of you with a wide smirk is your high school bully, Seth Hart. You mentally groan. Just your luck. And judging by his widening smirk, he recognises you. 

“That’s perfect,” Hotch said politely before turning to you, “(Y/N), do you know Officer Hart?”

You nod, about to answer, when Seth cuts in, “Oh, yes, (Y/N) and I go way back,” He emphasises your name and it makes you feel sick. You should probably just pretend to be sick and spend the rest of the case at the hotel. 

When the team had found out that you grew up here, they had immediately asked to meet your family, curious as to who raised the Fabulous (Y/N) (Garcia’s words). The whole team had joined for the case, Garcia included. When they had asked, after a moment you agreed. Instantly regretting it, but able to go back on your decision. Although you were trying your best to come up with an excuse, but you could worry about that later. Your current problem was staring straight at you. 

Hotch, sensing the tension, nods, “Good,” He says, “I’m sure that will be helpful for the case,”

It had been hours since you all were introduced, after checking the scenes, going over the files again, flicking through suspects, you were all worn out. 

“Alright, everyone, lunch break,” Hotch declares, looking up from the file, as he turns to you, “(Y/N), any recommendations?”

You pause, thinking for a moment before nodding. “There’s a diner not too far from here,” You said. 

“Vamoose to the cars,” Rossi cheers. 

You give directions from the back, anxiety building up in your chest as you do. ‘They probably won’t even recognise you’ You tell yourself. It does little to calm you down and soon enough, you’re there. 

“Ugh, she’s back,” You turn your head in the voice’s direction, holding back a smirk when you see the woman. 

“Janice,” You said curtly, “Still a joy to be around I see,”

You’re behind the rest of the group and they’re too caught up in chatter to have noticed or heard the conversation, which you were grateful for. You were going to make it out of the case without the team finding out you were trans if it was the last thing you did. 

When you’ve all chosen your seats and have gotten settled (you sat in a booth by the window), you realise you need the toilet. You announce it with a huff before standing and making your way over. It was still in view of the team, but quite a trek away. 

“Sorry, you can’t go in there,” Your stomach drops and you pause at the door. Turning, you see Mr Miles, your eleventh grade science teacher. “It’s mens,” He says, pointing at the stick figure on the toilet with ‘MEN’ written under it. 

“What do you want me to say?” You ask, “Well done for reading?” Mr Miles glares, stepping closer to you. 

“You’re not a man.”

“Listen, I get it, you’re insecure about your masculinity, but that’s no excuse to take that out on other people. You’re getting on in years, it’s completely normal to be insecure about your little soldier at your age,” You were exhausted and had no energy to waste on people like him. “Now, I suggest we both go our separate ways. If you don’t want me in your bathroom, wait until I’ve left.”

You walk into the bathroom with a smirk. 

When you exit the bathroom, a waitress is standing there, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” She says, folding her arms. You raise your eyebrows.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re making customers uncomfortable,”

“Whatever,” You say with a laugh. You walk past her with a scoff, going up to the table the team were sitting at and you take your seat. You knew this wasn’t going to go well. 

You see the waitress talking to the manager. The team gives you a questioning look and you try your best to look innocent and shrug it off. And then the manager walks up to the table. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” He says. 

“What, why?” Hotch asks from next to you.

“No you, just-” His eyes flick to you, “You.”

“Why does he have to leave?” Morgan asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Making customers uncomfortable,” He’s not using pronouns and it makes you bite back a smile. These people were the pettiest people you have ever met. 

“Right,” You say sarcastically, “Yet he was the one trying to get a sneak peak of my dick,” Had you had bottom surgery? No. Did they need to know that? No. 

The team’s jaws drop. “Leave willingly or we will forcibly remove you.”

“He’s an FBI agent-” Hotch argues.

“An FBI agent making multiple customers uncomfortable.”

“How?” Prentiss questions. 

“Alright, I’m leaving,” You say, beginning to stand up. Garcia grabs your arm, preventing you. 

“No, you’re not.” She says.

“It’s fine,” You lie, turning to the team. “I’ll meet you back at the station,” The team tries to protest but you shake your head, “No, it’s fine, I’ll grab something on the way back. By the way, the burger’s really good,” 

With that, you stand up and begin to make your way out of the diner. You’re shaking and you can’t remember ever being this angry. You’re getting a headache from the built up rage. 

You see Mr Miles smirking and waving at you as you leave. You respond with a sarcastic smile and the middle finger - watching as his face fills with rage. Old prick. 

You’re out of the diner, about to make your way back to the station when the team catches up. You close your eyes. “What was that about?” Spencer asks curiously.

You give a tightlipped smile, “Nothing,” You say, “Just-”

“You were a smart mouthed kid?” Spencer adds, referencing the lie from before. You nod. 

“You got kicked out of the diner for being smart mouthed as a kid?” Morgan asks. You nod.

“I don’t want to talk about it, can we just grab some food and get back to work?”

After a moment of studying you, Hotch nods, “Alright. But we will be talking about this later,” You repress a groan as you quickly nod.

Spencer’s sat next to you on the drive back and he’s keeping a close eye on you. So was Morgan (through the rearview mirror) and Garcia (from the passenger’s seat). Emily, Rossi, Hotch, and JJ were all in the other SUV. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Morgan asks as he takes a left. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You respond, “You need to take a right,”

It was near the end of the case, you could feel it. It was that awkward plateau before all the answers flooded in and you solved it. You were in the break room, grabbing a coffee for you (and Spencer, who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week). You hummed to yourself as you made it, you were the only one in the room so you felt comfortable enough to do so. 

The door opened and closed quietly behind you and you stopped humming but continued to make the coffees, currently waiting on the machine. 

“Do your team even know?” You roll your eyes, turning to face Seth.

“Do my team even know what, Seth?” You ask. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Stepping closer to you as he spoke, Seth sneered, “How are they gonna feel when they realise that you aren’t the person they thought you are? That you aren’t the person that they tolerate?”

You gulped, “Seth, shut up,”

“How can you expect your team to trust you, if they don’t even know you, huh?” You shoved him back when he went to touch your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” You growled, you pointed a finger at him. “My team can trust me, they do trust. I have proven myself over and over again. So what they don’t know every damn thing about me? They don’t need to know everything about me to trust that I can do my job!”

"What's going on?" Your stomach dropped. Hotch. You turned around, seeing the team behind you. 

Seth snickered, “Nowhere to run now, (Y/N),” Breath hit the back of your throat. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Say something.

Say something, damnit! They’re all staring at you, waiting for you to reply. What do you say? You need to say something. 

“If you trust them so much, tell them. Go on, tell them pinochio. Tell them that you aren’t a real boy after all.” Seth laughs.

You open your mouth, ready to come up with a shitty excuse, yet another lie.  “I-”

You flush deeply at the laughter behind you, “God, this is just pathetic. How about I spell it out for you?” He suggested, “Since you can’t seem to do so yourself.” He turned to the team, whose faces were all painted with confusion. “She’s a girl. Woman. Female. A tranny.” Seth placed a hand over his chest as he gasped loudly. 

You feel your hands start to tremble, you shake your head - trying your best to blink back tears, “Stop,”

“Not that big tough FBI agent now, are you (D/N)?” The first tear falls causing Seth to taunt you with his smirk, “Oh this is just pathetic,” 

You’re not sure whether you want to hit him or run and hide away from the world for the rest of your life. You’re tempted to hit him and then hide away. Luckily for you, your legs are way ahead of your brain and you run, the team too surprised to chase you. Well, until Morgan snaps out of it and tries to run after you. You weave in and out of the buildings expertly, this wasn’t the first time you had to hide from someone. Although, you doubted that Morgan would hurt you. You didn’t have that doubt about Seth and his friends when you were growing up. You hide behind a dumpster and Morgan runs straight past you, you go undetected in the opposite direction. 

You’ve been out of the station for hours, it’s dark now. You can still see where you’re going, granted that’s mostly because of the dull street lights, but you can see well enough. You had left your phone at the station, knowing that the first thing Hotch would do is get Garcia to track it. You didn’t want to be found. You didn’t want to see the look of disappointment and judgement on your team’s face. You couldn’t deal with that. You had dealt with that your whole life and now all you wanted was a family and that’s what you had found here. All you wanted to do was find somewhere you fit in, where you could be who you really were and this team was the closest you had gotten to that and now it had been ripped away. 

You found the spot you used to hide in when you were young with ease. First floor of an abandoned building no one ever went in. Some teenagers a few years older than you started a rumour that it was haunted and since then, no one enters it. 

-

Glaring at Seth, Hotch walks forward. Seth coward at the glare. “Where would (Y/N) go?”

Seth gave a half-assed shrug, “Why do you care anyway?”

“He’s our family,” Rossi answered. “Where would he go?”

“Some stupid abandoned building,” Seth muttered after a second. 

“Perfect, sounds like you know where it is,” Prentiss said sharply. 

-

You sat in the corner, scowling at the wall opposite you. Seth had just ruined everything. Everything was gone. You shouldn’t have even come on this case. You should have pretended you were ill, or something! You groaned, letting your head fall back on the wall behind you. “This is just shit,” You mumbled. You kind of wished you had brought your phone with you so you could at least play Candy Crush or something. 

Your head snapped up, hearing a floorboard creak and you shot to your feet. Part of you expecting it to be Sean and his friends before you shove that thought aside. Hotch walks in first, followed swiftly by the rest of your team and your heart plummets, expecting the worst. 

“I told Hart that if he misgenders or deadnames you again, Derek will shoot him,” Garcia says, stepping forward to embrace you in a tight hug, which you gladly reciprocate. 

“You’re okay with it?” You mumble into her shoulder.

“We all are,” She replied, rubbing a hand up your back. “I promise. Look, we’re all okay with it, right guys?” 

“Of course!”

“We support you no matter what,”

“We’re family,”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” You grinned. 

“Come on, let’s get back to the station, I’m starving,” Garcia said.

Hotch nodded, “I’d like to try out that diner, I hear the burgers there are great.”

“I’m not allowed in, remember?”

Rossi patted your back with a grin, “Don’t you worry about that, kiddo,”

When the case was wrapped up, you sighed, turning to the team. “You still wanna meet the family?”

“We don’t have to-” JJ began, you shook your head.

“No, it’s fine, we’ve pretty much all met each other’s parents at this point,” You said with a laugh. “It’s my sister’s birthday and I don’t want to miss another one,” You and your sister, Clara, had always been close. She was the only one who supported you throughout your transition and you had managed to keep in contact, (despite your parents’ wishes). She was the only family member you kept in contact with. 

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Spencer commented.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” You said mysteriously, you all gave a short laugh. “Besides, it’s only round the corner anyway,”

With that, you began the car journey - Derek had let you drive. Turns out, getting outed did have it’s benefits. Within five minutes you’re out the car and walking down a road. 

“This is it,” You said, pausing in front of the door. You hadn’t been here since you left for university. It would be fine, your team was here.

With a deep breath, you knocked on the door. 

[sowhumpful]

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

[shachormet]

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 22

“They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.” | Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | "Watch out!"

Alt. No. 8

Hunting

--

Pairing: Fili/Kili or Fili & Kili Rating: T Words: 2,917

Warnings: Zombies, guns, profanity

--

A/N: How did this get so long?? Currently listening to a zombie anthology which explains the subject matter.

None of the original prompts sparked anything. So I picked an alternate prompt. And then some of the original prompts sparked inspiration.

--

Fili hadn’t known that the end of the world would be televised. He had never thought that he would watch the implosion of governments on TikTok on his phone while hiding in his basement listening to the roar of planes overhead. 

But it was.

And he had. 

Or it was until there was no more cell service. That was when he got scared. 

“Hurry up, Fili. We need to get moving.”

Fili nodded, but he did not verbally respond to Thorin’s order. There were no more requests, no more “could you’s.” Everything that needed doing was important and time sensitive. Fili was fiddling with an old GPS that Thorin had in his storage unit.

“You are such a pack rat,” Dis had admonished when Thorin pulled up the metal door that squealed loudly. The storage unit was large, but organized—Bilbo took credit for that—and they were able to quickly sort through and find what they needed.

Winter Gear? ✔ Camping Equipment? ✔ GPS? ✔ Any other old electronics? ✔ Paper maps? ✔ Tools? ✔

The thing was that the GPS unit had not only been stored away because it was obsolete once everyone had smartphones, it had not be entirely functional anymore. And sitting in storage for over a decade had not improved its capabilities and functionality. They were currently traveling using paper maps that were at least 30-40 years out of date and Bilbo’s sense of direction. They were all crammed into a cargo van that Dwalin had used to haul equipment to gigs back when music was a thing that most people had time for. They also had a trailer. Between the two they had stored a lot of things they thought they needed or might need in the future and they had place for the five (hopefully soon to be six) of them to sleep on inflatable camping pads.

It was slow going for many reasons.  

The highways were full of stopped cars. Sometimes cars had just been abandoned on the highway. Sometimes only one lane was open and everyone who still had gas to put in a car seemed to be trying to get to the same places. 

So they were using narrow, barely two lane county roads most of the time. These were better, but not by much. Cars were still abandoned. Farming equipment could also be blocking these roads along with herds of cattle who had escaped from their enclosures. These roads also had a tendency not to connect all the way through. The road would dead end for a mile only to pick up again. But it was impossible to drive for a mile through the torn up fields. So they had to detour, hope that seemingly straight roads were actually straight, and try to return to their original road.

If it had been winter they could have tried driving across the fields. Frozen earth would support the weight of the van and trailer, but the rough terrain may have done significant damage to their vehicles. But as it was, those were not options that they had to weigh. It was spring. The fields were often muddy swamps that were barely traversable by tractor. Ditches were overflowing. Sometimes roads were impassable due to flooding.

“At least we don’t have to worry about having enough to drink,” Bilbo had offered when Thorin had started cursing the incessant rain. 

Thorin had scowled.

But now they had reached an impasse. Thorin’s knowledge could take them no further. The relevant map had gotten soaked by coffee and torn. The roads were now all blurry smears. 

So they needed the GPS working.

Now.

Fili felt the pressure not just from those around him, but from within himself as well. 

Kili had a habit of not listening and not doing as he was told. 

The last communication they had with Kili was over a week ago now. They had been rationing an allotted amount of gasoline in the generator and they had called Kili on the two-way radio that Fili and Kili had left over from their childhood. Kili was told to stay put. To not leave his dorm room unless necessary. The building had a kitchen, bathrooms, exterior doors that locked when closed and you had to have a key to get inside. 

But Kili never listened. 

That’s how he had broken his arm when he was 6 and his foot when he was 15. 

Fili was hoping that for just one time Kili would stay where he belonged. Safe.

What Dwalin was working on kept making clicking metal noises that was driving Fili to distraction. “Can you not?” he snapped, looking up from the GPS unit and his tiny soldering kit.

“No.” Dwalin’s voice was firm with no inflection. And he continued cleaning the guns. 

That was the other thing.

There were guns everywhere.

And there were people with those guns. 

People who were jumpy, scared, and didn’t know what they were doing. And, more dangerously, were those that were jumpy, scared, and did know what they were doing. 

The trailer they were hauling had enough guns and ammunition to power a small militia. 

Fili had always hated guns. He had friends who did 4H for the shooting sports and they had wanted him to join. They went deer hunting and drank alcohol pilfered from their parents in thermos. Fili declined. They went to gun ranges and rented guns that you could not legally own and that was their idea of a good time. 

Fili would much rather stay at home and build model kits, tinker with electronics, and work on little things that Kili told him he should get patented. 

And now guns were everywhere.

But for good reason. 

The RN2a virus was that reason. 

Scientists were working on a vaccine, but right now there was not much hope. So far the only known infection routes involved direct contact between an infected persons’ bodily fluids and your own mucosal membranes (eyes, nose, mouth, etc.) New information was being released and retracted on a near daily basis. No one was taking their chances. 

You could recover from the disease, but having it did not give you immunity. There were people who had it 7 times before it killed them. The disease was not the worst part, nor was the death, it was the “reanimation” that came afterwards. 

Those that had been reanimated had already been given a variety of nicknames—Zombies (obviously), biters, the undead—and then there were the more politically correct terms like—infected, afflicted, and reanimated. The news very carefully did not say what they had been reanimated from. They were always careful to talk around the whole “dead come back to life” bit. But everyone knew it. Most people by now had known someone who had succumbed to the disease. 

It had started slowly. That was why Kili had still started college like he had been planning before the pandemic started. It grew slowly for over a year, with there being scattered reports of the dead coming back to life (and it being a symbol of the End Times), and then it had exploded in recent months. It hadn’t felt like the end of the world at first. It just felt like a bad flu season, then it felt like COVID all over again with “work from home” and “shelter in place” orders popping up everywhere. Fili returned to his part-time job of delivering groceries just like he had during COVID when he had been finishing up his senior year of high school online. 

“We need to move on and find a better place to set up for the night,” Thorin said. “Do you think you can finish this in the van?”

“It moves too much,” Fili replied tersely. “I’ll probably damage it when we hit a pothole or swerve to avoid hitting another fucking deer.”

“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow then.” Dwalin’s voice had a sharp edge and everyone looked at him. Then they all saw the forms moving near the distant tree line. 

—

Kili looked out the window of his dorm room into the green space that was sheltered on three sides by the building. A pine tree blocked a lot of the view, but also kept them from being seen. 

“Do you think they’re still coming?” Ori asked. 

“They wouldn’t just leave us here.” Kili scratched at some dried acrylic paint on the windowsill, remnants of a previous student’s art project.

“I don’t think they’d leave us here,” Ori said defensively. “Just that they got held up. Or something happened.”

“Something did happen. The power went out. And the radios died. That’s all that happened.”

Ori did not say anything more. He looked back at the pages of the book he was reading. The first thing Ori did when it looked like things were getting bad again and like they might all be told to stay in their dorm rooms for weeks on end was go to the library and check out a massive pile of books. Ori caught a clump of pages under his fingernails and ran them up and down. He had been on this one page of a thriller (probably not the best choice) for over thirty minutes now. 

“Do you think we should do something?” Kili asked suddenly.

“Like?”

“Like make our way to them? Maybe we’ll run into them on the way.” Kili started pacing the length of the room from the windows, past the desk to the door and back with a detour for the space between their beds. 

“And maybe we wouldn’t run into each other. We’d miss each other by a mile and then that would be it unless we both got the radios working again at the same time and were within range of each other.”

Kili grunted. And he kept pacing. And chewing at his fingernails. 

“Stop,” Ori said without looking up from the book again, even though he was just staring at the weird shapes that the negative spaces made by the words.

Kili looked up, “Stop what?”

“All of it.”

—

The brick buildings of the college finally appeared. It had taken them over a week to travel what they normally traveled in an afternoon. The town surrounding the college appeared to by empty. There were the same abandoned cars, but there was also random items like trash bins, jackets, single shoes, backpacks, and such littering the road.

Thorin drove slowly. His knuckles white. 

Bilbo reached over and put a hand over one of Thorin’s. Nobody said anything. 

Fili wanted to jump out of the van right now and charge up to Kili’s dorm, pound on the door, and demand to be let in. He was getting the feeling that nobody was going to be there waiting for them. And the silence in the van told him that he was not the only one with these dark thoughts. 

Dis stared out the window and worried her fingers.

“We’ll find him,” Fili said quietly when he took one of her hands in his own.

“I hope so,” Dis whispered. 

—

They finally found a place to park that had a decently clear path forward if they had to exit in a hurry, which was always a possibility.

“Do you remember where he was living?” Dwalin asked, stuffing a gun into the waistband of his jeans. This question was directed at Fili. Dis and Bilbo had been charged with staying with the van. They were to keep it running and ready. Thorin had pressed a small but powerful glock into Bilbo’s hands. 

“I’m pretty sure it was the one on the other side of the hill.”

“Pretty sure?”

“We didn’t move him this year!” Fili snapped. “I still remember where he lived last year. I know his campus mailing address, but that is no good because it would take us to the main student union!”

“We don’t have time for bickering,” Dwalin interrupted before Thorin could respond. “We need to get moving and get away from the city center.

“Here,” Dwalin held a gun out to Fili.

Fili held up hands, shaking his head, “No. I don’t even know how—”

Dwalin did not drop the hand that held the heavy black metal and plastic object. “You hold it with one hand, steady it with the other, keep both eyes open when you aim, squeeze—don’t pull—the trigger.” 

Fili shook his head again.

“Take it or you’re staying with your mother,” Thorin snapped. His eyes were scanning the trees and buildings of the campus looking for any signs of Biters or of students or faculty.

Fili took a deep breath and took the gun. It was heavier than he expected. Following Dwalin and Thorin he was overly aware of the gun’s weight in his hand, it kept pulling his attention when he needed to be focusing on far more important things.

--

“Are you sure it was them?”

“Ori,” Kili said, stuffing another item into his backpack. “We practically grew up in the van. I would recognize it anywhere.” 

Kili slung a duffle bag over his shoulder and then shrugged on his backpack. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his keys from the dresser even though it was likely that he would never use that brass colored key to open the door to his dorm ever again. “I saw them turn left towards the sporting fields.”

Ori shut the door behind them with a click.

— 

Dwalin flung an arm out, stopping Fili in his tracks. He had been distracted by the unfamiliar weight of the weapon in his hand.

“Biters.”

Thorin’s gun made a small sound when he turned the safety off. 

“Where,” Fili wanted to ask. But silence was one of their best protections. He scanned the trees that were just starting to turn green and the red brick buildings hoping to spot them.

“Kili,” he breathed.

“Fuck,” Dwalin swore at the same time.

“What is he doing?” 

And then Fili saw the Biters, not fifty yards from Fili and Ori.

Kili grinned when he spotted them and started waving his arms. 

Thorin made a harsh arm motion, trying to get Kili to stop.

But it was too late. The Biters had seen them.

“Goddammit,” Dwalin bit out. And he started to run, sprinting across the open green to close the distance between them, Kili and Ori, and the Biters. He squeezed off a few shots while running, but none of them hit their mark. But the noise did draw the Biters' attention away from Kili and Ori who had both frozen in place when they saw the Biters. 

There were at least seven Biters.

Dwalin ducked behind the low wall surrounding a decorative fountain. Thorin and Fili followed suit.

“Get over here!” Thorin roared.

Kili and Ori started running. Their bags bounced heavily on their backs. Ori was falling behind until Kili slowed and took a bag from him.

Fili wanted to shout at him, to curse, “Just get over here,” he gritted under his breath. His fingers were cramping where they were wrapped around the now warm metal of the gun. “Come on, Kili.”

Thorin and Dwalin fired off a few more rounds, but this time it did not draw all of the Biters’ focus. Two of them had broken away from the group and were going to cut Kili and Ori off before they reached the fountain. 

And then Kili fell.

Fili leapt over the wall before he could even consider the possible consequences.

He could smell the Biters. He could see their red rimmed eyes. Their ragged breathing was loud, whistling.

He was not going to make it to Kili in time.

Fili stopped. Planted his feet shoulders width apart. Ori brushed past him at a run. Raised both of his arms, his left hand cradling the butt of the gun and steadying his right hand. Kili was pushing himself to his feet, eyes fixed on the Biters who were quickly closing the distance. Fili leveled his gaze, both eyes open, the sight was centered on the Biter closest to Kili. 

A breathe.

And a squeeze. 

Fili did not think about the things he thought he would think if he had to kill a Biter. He always thought he would think about who they had been, who they could be again if the disease could be reversed. His mind was blank. Then he fixed the sight on the second Biter. Another squeeze. And another bloody hole in a human body that stopped moving for the last time.

Fili seized Kili’s hand and together they ran for the shelter of the wall and the protection of the group. 

“Are you okay?” Fili asked as soon as they were seated behind the wall, chests heaving with exertion and relief. 

Kili nodded. “I think so.”

“What were you thinking? We were coming to get you?”

“I was going crazy looking at the walls of that room.”

“Impatient,” Fili shook his head. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“I didn’t know if I’d see you again,” Kili admitted quietly. Fili could barely hear him over the sound of a few more gunshots from Thorin and Dwalin.

“And now you’re going to see me so much that you’re going to get sick of me,” Fili teased. “The van and that trailer are really cramped, and with two more people…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be sick of you.”

“Good.”

Kili leaned his head on Fili’s shoulder. And for a moment of silence, things felt like they were all right.

--

Taglist Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls @metztliluaa-blog @i-am-pinkie Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[one-piece-aus]

Hi! May I request Cracker for day 22 for your whumptober event if it’s not taken? Thank you!

Ahoy, anon! Thank you for your request! My apologizes for the extra wait but I do hope you enjoy the story ^-^

Whumptober Day 22

Cracker x Reader

"You have two options [F/n] [L/n]," Big Mom stated, glaring down at the man. You could feel death's dagger drawing on your back. "Either withdraw from the marines and join me or have your life taken away."

"But- but my daughter, no one will be left to take care of her- surely as a parent, you'd understand, right?" Your father could feel his soul trembling for even daring to speak to the yonko, but he had to. "I can't just leave her." He wanted to support you and your decisions.

"Hmmm, well that does make things rather difficult." Big Mom sat back in her chair before glancing at the biscuit soldier standing in her throne room. "Cracker, be a dear and bring your new fiance to Totto Land." Her eyes returned to [F/n], smiling at his frozen state. "There shall be a wedding at the Whole Cake Chateau soon, whether Mr. [L/n] is around or not."

"Yes mama," Cracker bowed his head and started heading his way out.

"What?" [F/n] turned around, staring in horror as Cracker marched out. "No-n-no! You mustn't! She's already seeing Rosi- someone, you can't-"

"Silence!" Big Mom banged her fist on her throne. "You're running my patience, [F/n]."

She leaned forward, towering over the man. A dark aura rose around her and wrapped around your father. He felt fear entangle with his soul, ready to rip the life out of him if commanded. Terrified eyes stared into Big Mom's threatening glare.

"Now, marines or life?"

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

"Oh, father!" you cried, seeing his slouched form sitting on the couch.

"[Y/n]!" He perked up, rushing over and wrapping his arms around you. "I'm so sorry, [n/n]. I'm sorry you got mixed up in all this-"

"It's alright, I'm alright," you reassured him as you hugged him. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"But [Y/n], your future-" your father worried but you shushed him.

"It's fine, it won't be so bad, as long as I have you here." You smiled, placing a hand on his cheek to wipe away a strand tear that escaped. You loved your father, that's why you had to put a mask on, for his sake.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"You must be [Y/n]," a seductive voice hummed behind you.

Reflects kicked in, making you spin around and jump back. "Who are you?"

"I'm one of the sweet four generals from Big Mom's crew." The man emerged from the shadows, standing over two times your height. "Charlotte Cracker."

You couldn't help but stare at the deep scar that run over his right eye. The bigger the scar, the bigger threat they are,  at least that's what your father always said. Trying to keep your composure, you reached into your pocket for the emergency snail your father gave you.

"If you're thinking about calling for help, don't bother." Cracker held up a smaller snail with a sinister grin, a jammer snail. He put it away, now striding around you. "Relax, I'm not here to kill ya, just here to pick up your dad's leverage."

"My father's leverage?" You flinched as he came face to face with you.

"You." His cotton candy-coloured eyes pierced into yours.

Vines of tension grew in the round. The air became thin. Your poker face painted over as you thought of what to do with your hand.

"Dead baggage won't be much use for bargaining," you told him, doing your best to keep eye contact.

"I said I'm not here to kill you-" Cracker stopped when his eyes caught sight of the grenades taped inside your jacket. "What kind of father lets his daughter carry explosives around?"

"What kind of mom lets a son carry around a sword?" you countered, finger wrapped around the pin.

"Touche," he smirked as if he enjoyed the banter. "But I suggest you don't try anything."

"Why should I listen to you?" you questioned.

"Well, if you care for your old man, you'll cooperate and come with me, otherwise mama's going have to-"

"Kill him? You almost made me laugh," you grinned, feeling some of your confidence come back. "He's a marine, I... I knew the chance of him dying on the field was likely."

"No, death would be too merciful."  Just like that, Cracker snatched away the strength you built up. "He'll be tormented, every day, every year, for the rest of his life. Now, you could run off and live your own life but what would it be like, living every day knowing your precious life is at the cost of your dad being beaten every day?"

You closed your eyes, attempting to ignore him, yet his words wormed into your ears. They crawled through your mind, creating nightmare-fuelled imagery. The imagination haunted your thoughts, causing you to shake and shiver. You hold your head in your hands, wishing for it to disappear, but alas, it only does when your crack open your eyes to gaze at cotton candy pink.

"You promise my father and I will be fine if I go with you?"

"Everything will be fine as long as you listen to mama's orders," Cracker told you, holding out his gloved hand.

You frown yet your hand grabbed his.

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

12. HEART AND HUNTER

Whumptober | Alt. 8 Hunting | No. 20 You will regret touching them | No. 22 Watch Out

In which Sam has another bad day.

Previous | Next

*****

The plan went to hell before it even started.

That night, after Thomas delivered his message, Sam woke to the sound of shattering glass.  He had the wherewithal to put on his shoes before finding Thomas in the moonlit living room.  Thomas gestured silently, and they crept through the dark house away from the intruders.  Out the side door, into the trees.

Thomas was quiet and surefooted as he led them on.

Sam ran on adrenaline.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for long.  One day was not enough time to recover from Agency training.

He tried to keep up, and Thomas checked back with him, but it was no use.  Sam fell, and Thomas was gone, swallowed by the dark.  

Sam didn’t dare call out.  He debated whether to go after Thomas or to hide.  It turned out he had no choice.

A thick arm grabbed him around his waist, a meaty hand cutting off his startled cry.

It was too much like the first time.  Sam wouldn’t let them get him as easily now.  He bit and scratched and kicked at his captor, which was about as useful as kicking cement.

His captor chuckled.  “Hey, hey!  I got a wiggly one. Ha!”

Of course it was Wallace.  Sam deflated.  He couldn’t overpower Wall, even on a good day.

Wall half dragged, half carried Sam back towards the house where a few agents stood in a ring on the front lawn.  Stedman was noticeably missing.

Ellison greeted them with the painfully familiar handcuffs.  She grinned at Wall.  “Nice catch!  Don’t worry, Morissette.  We didn’t forget the blindfold.”  She winked.  “We want to make sure you don’t miss the fun stuff.  And speak of the devil!”

As if on cue, a pair of agents arrived out of the trees.  Thomas thrashed and cursed between them, though he’d been restrained before they joined the group.  Once in the circle, they pushed him to his knees.  

Thomas glared at anyone who passed his sight.

“Great!”  Ellison clapped her hands.  “Everyone’s together.  Let’s get going.”

They dispersed, separating Sam and Thomas into different vehicles. 

…..

Sam was back in that stupid metal chair.  He was practically free, though, compared to Thomas who had been restrained almost comically in tape and metal to another chair across from Sam.

“This could have gone better,” Sam said.

“You don’t say.”

“What now?”

“We have to find Nora.”  Thomas pinched his lips to a thin line, hands clenching and unclenching against the chair arms.

“Don’t strain yourself, Tommy.”  Stedman shut the door softly and placed herself between Sam and Thomas.  “It never needed to be this hard.”

“As long as we did exactly what you wanted,” Thomas said bitterly.

Stedman shook her head.  “I tried to find someone else.  But no one was as good as you.  No one can replace you, Tommy.”

“Maybe rethink your methods?” Sam suggested.

“Don’t call me Tommy,” Thomas said at the same time.

“I’ll give you another chance, Tommy,” Stedman said, ignoring them both.  She produced a folding knife from her pants pocket and began cutting Thomas free.

Thomas watched her warily as she moved behind Sam.

Sam could feel Stedman hovering over him, his pulse racing with her out of his sight.

“Here’s the deal,” Stedman said.  “I have some, let’s say, loose ends for you to take care of.”

“No,” Thomas said immediately.  He stood.

Stedman tsked.  “You will, or your new friend will have a very bad time.”

Sam gasped as Stedman yanked his head back, the tip of her knife grazing his throat.

“He’s not my friend,” Thomas said impassively.

Stedman pressed the blade deeper into Sam’s skin.  “Watch out, Tommy.  That attitude could be his end.”

Thomas lurched forward a step.

Sam gripped the chair arms until his knuckles turned white.  He tried to catch Thomas’s eye, to guess what he was planning, but Thomas only looked at Stedman.

“You won’t do it,”  Thomas said.  “You wouldn’t get your hands dirty.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t need me.”  He came another step closer.

Stedman tightened her grip and said nothing.

“Thomas,” Sam breathed.  He shivered as the knife broke skin.  Blood dripped hot down his throat.

Thomas didn’t break eye contact with Stedman.

“You’ll regret that,” he said, low and dangerous.

“Life’s too short for regret,” Stedman replied.

Thomas quirked a cold smile.  “Just long enough.”  Another step.

Stedman released her hold on Sam.  He took a shuddered breath in short lived relief.

“I’m doing this for you,” Stedman said to Thomas.  “When you have an answer, you know where to find me.”

“The answer is no,” Thomas said.

“Think harder.”

Sam’s vision shattered as Stedman stabbed her knife into his side.

“Looks like you’ll have one more death on your hands, Tommy.”  Stedman pulled the knife out and ran.

Sam watched Thomas hesitate, gaze flipping between Sam and the open door after Stedman.  Between ragged breaths, he managed to bite out, “Go get her.”

Thomas was still undecided when Sam passed out.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Reaching Hope

CW: Self-made bandages, injured, ambushed, death threats, guns, fear of child being hurt (no child is harmed), captured

Find Marc and Beringer’s story up til now right here

For @whumptober 2022, days 11, 21, 22: self-done first aid/sloppy bandages, “Take me instead”, and alt prompt 5, “Ambushed”

-

“I feel so stupid,” Beringer says, groaning as he leans forward, resting his forehead in one hand. The rock he’s sitting on freezes his ass right through his heavy canvas pants, but he ignores it. Around them, the woods are beautiful, and Beringer keeps getting distracted, watching a bird flit from one branch to another, listening to a squirrel.

It’s all real.

He’s seen all of this on TV, for sure - knew it really existed, somewhere out in the world. But he - all of the WRU pets, training maintenance and daycare and the cleaning crew who works in the higher floors where employees are allowed to see them - understood that none of it would ever be real for them.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the big playroom at the daycare, he could see the parking lot, row after row of cars parked neatly with the sun glaring off their tops, and somewhere nearly out of sight, the bright green sign for the coffeeshop most of them stopped at on their way in if they didn’t use the complimentary coffee shop in the cafeteria. There were neatly spaced trees, carefully landscaped with patches of perfect almost fake-looking grass. The playground attached to the daycare had two small saplings still held in place by twine.

He had never been allowed to see anything like this. 

It’s totally different. He knows what it means, now, to say it’s so cold it’s nipping at your nose. He knows how pine trees smell, and it’s like the candles and air fresheners but not like them at all. He can barely keep his eyes on the trail - there was a deer, a while back, and he had been so enraptured at the sight of the flick of its tail and its crashing speed through the woods that he’d literally tripped over his own feet.

Which is why Marc is currently using a pocketknife to cut off a strip of his own shirt to use as a bandage, because they’re idiots who didn’t bring a first aid kit for this walk through the woods, hoping the trail they’re taking is the right one.

“You’re not stupid,” Marc chides him, gently. 

Beringer feels something shift in his chest, a soft flutter he shoves aside. When he swallows, he feels the safe assurance of his collar around his throat. He definitely doesn’t take the chance to glance sidelong and see the slight softness of Marc’s stomach, a hint of roundness over the muscle underneath. “You just got distracted and tripped. It happens to us all.”

“I know, but… we’re so close. And of course I manage to fall over and slice my arm open on… what, a fu-... a dang tree?” 

“Dang,” intones a soft small voice, with a tone of imperious thoughtfulness.

Beringer looks over at Mallie, who is walking in a slow circle around a tree, mouth open slightly in awe as she looks at how the moss grows on one side but not the other. 

“Nice catch,” Marc says with a wink. “You’re a dad through and through, huh?”

“Not really,” Beringer says, and wonders why the idea thrills him so much, that there might be children out there who will really be his, not just borrowed and handed back and disappearing into schools as they grow older, over and over and over again.

He realizes he might get to see Mallie grow up and his throat nearly closes with awe at the thought.

“When I was a kid, I read a book,” Marc says, conversational, not noticing how Beringer feels like he’s been hit by a train driven by time, finally stopping long enough to let him on and let him stop hovering in a limbo that never goes anywhere at all. He takes Beringer’s arm in his hands, and his touch is so soft and gentle that it makes the hairs on Beringer’s arm stand up, sends a spark racing up to his shoulder, his neck, to light up his mind. 

“Hm, kids sometimes do that,” Beringer answers, teasing to cover up the tremble in his voice, and catches the telltale flush on Marc’s face. He blushes so easily, and Beringer wonders if he even knows it.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. Anyway, my point was-... Mallie, are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Mallie replies automatically, crouched down and poking one finger into a soft bed of green moss, upper teeth gnawing on her lower lip in thought. “I’m listening.”

“Okay. Because this is for you, too, honey. I read this book where this kid got lost in the woods, or… left there, or something. And he was trying to survive, right? Until he got rescued. And he said something about how moss only grows on the north sides of trees.”

Beringer blinks, leaning forward, wincing with a hiss as Marc starts to wrap up his arm and it stings. 

“Sorry,” Marc says, tipping his head slightly to the side as he looks up. 

Beringer very nearly leans over for a kiss, stopping himself with a reminder that he’s supposed to be telling Marc thank you and fuck off once they get to Hope.

But... maybe Marc could stay for a few days to help him adjust to life outside of the Facility. He’s never been anywhere else before this, after all… He could use the help getting up to Canada.

Rumors say if you can just cross the border, you’ll be safe to start over. He can figure out who he is once WRU can’t breathe down his neck anymore. 

“No, it’s okay, just… what were you saying about moss? Does it really only grow north?”

Marc laughs. “No, but I thought it did. And when I went hiking with my dad, when I was like eight or nine, I got incredibly lost trying to follow that advice. Moss can grow anywhere it wants, who’s going to stop it, huh? It’s older than like... every other form of life, or something. I don’t know if that’s true either, actually.” He ties a knot and leans back, still crouching. “Okay, I think you’re good now. Want to start moving again?”

“Yeah, sure. How far are we, do you think?”

“I think about another hour or so of walking should get us to the perimeter.” Marc turns, looking down at the trail marked carefully through the woods. You have to know what you’re looking for, and somehow Marc does. Beringer had asked how, but all Marc had been willing to say was that some people from Hope had been caught a few years ago, and WRU knows exactly where it is and how to get there, and chooses not to. 

Beringer tries not to think about WRU knowing where the only real sanctuary on this side of the border is. If he can just get to Canada, WRU can’t touch him there, if they even know he’s alive and didn’t die in the fire.

Mallie stands up, blinking as she looks deeper into the woods. “Daddy, there’s a man,” She says, curious and not immediately alarmed. 

Marc looks over his shoulder at her. “What, honey?”

“There’s a man,” She says, pointing.

“There’s a man?”

“He just told me to shush and stop telling you things.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re not my dad, you don’t tell me to shush!”

There’s an exhale from somewhere nearby. “Shit,” a strange male voice says.

Marc and Beringer meet eyes.

“She’s got you there,” Someone else says, higher-pitched, clearly failing at hiding their laughter.

“Oh for fuck’s-...” The first voice sounds irritated now. “Okay, fine, listen you three - don’t move!” 

Marc and Beringer turn to look in that direction.

“I said don’t move, what part of don’t move-”

“Sorry!” Marc puts his hands up, and Beringer follows suit after glancing sideways at him, eyes wide. 

People step out from behind trees in every possible direction, surrounding them, a haphazard mix of shotguns, rifles, and handguns aimed at them. Mallie is a silent still figure with wide terrified eyes.

“Daddy?” Mallie’s lips wobble.

“Oh, crap, the kid’s going to cry,” Someone says. “I hate when kids cry. I used to be a-”

“Ssssshhhh!”

Mallie’s nose scrunches up - her eyes follow suit, squinting shut, and she goes red in the face as her lips start to pull back from her teeth. Beringer knows that face.

She lets out a wail, deafeningly loud, and there’s a sudden burst of movement and motion as birds take off, startled by the racket.

“Mallie!” Marc goes for her, stops short when a rifle is aimed at his head. “That’s my daughter, please let me-”

“We said don’t move!” The man holding it snaps.

“Jesus, just let him hold her,” The woman who originally laughed says. “I can’t listen to her cry this whole time, Kevin-”

“No names! Oh for fuck’s fucking sake, are you all fucking amateurs?”

“Don’t cuss in front of a kid!”

“... Don’t cuss, what are you, twelve?”

“Please,” Marc says, hands up, dropping the pocketknife and kicking it in the direction of the man aiming the rifle. “Please, that’s my daughter, please just let me hold her, God, please...”

“I-...” The man hesitates, glances sidelong to another, then back, bracing the rifle back up. “I, I said don’t move!”

“Please-”

“Daddy,” Mallie cries, “I want my daddy!” Her voice is so desperate and scared and sad. 

“She’s just a kid.” Beringer stares, helpless and hurting, then comes to a decision. He feels like his arms and legs move through molasses as he starts to turn to grab her-

Marc beats him to it. 

Mallie’s father throws himself forward and scoops his daughter up, then drops down to the ground, curling around her with his entire body in a movement of such pure and perfect instinct that Beringer hasn’t even finished raising one hand before it’s done. 

“If you’re gonna shoot someone, just shoot me, not her!” Marc yells. “But you can’t make me not hold my little girl!”

“Oh, Christ, Kevin, just let it go,” A short man says. He looks barely adult, if that, and Beringer can see tears in his eyes, too. “He just wants to hold his kid.”

There’s a gun pressed to the back of Marc’s head, but he stays still, right where he is. Mallie’s little arms are around his neck, her face buried against him as she cries. Her sobs make Beringer’s whole body ache with the need to soothe her, but he doesn’t dare move.  

“Don’t hurt her,” Marc says, voice breathless. “Please, please don’t hurt her, she’s just a little girl… She’s never hurt anyone! Please, she’s just a baby, she’s just a baby-”

“Jesus,” Someone says, and they all look uneasy then. “What do we do?”

“Kevin, go grab Brock. Tell him the alarm was two men and a little girl on the woods trail.” 

“But-”

“Kevin. Put your gun away and do what I said. I’m Brock’s second, not you.”

Kevin, jaw working angrily, nods and runs back through the woods, headed in the direction of Hope. 

Marc clutches Mallie to his chest. “Please,” He keeps begging, and Beringer’s heart hurts as much for him as for Mallie’s terror now. “Please, please don’t hurt my daughter, I brought a runaway, I’ve got a runaway-”

There’s a pause, the people shifting uneasily as they keep their weapons aimed. The woman, a muscular, tall woman Beringer knows was a Guard Dog once, looks over at Ber himself, eyeing him up and down with suspicion. “Name and designation,” She commands, voice sharp. 

A shudder of unease ripples down Beringer’s spine. He’s always hated how the handlers demand those things.

“Beringer,” He says, and puts his own hands up, shifting from foot to foot as they all move a little closer, circling around the little group. “554897, Facility 001.” Someone gasps. Beringer closes his eyes, flinching a little at the sound. “In, um. B-Berras.”

“That’s headquarters,” Someone mutters.

“We all know that, you moron,” Someone else snaps back. 

The woman looks back at Beringer. “Finish your designation.”

“I… right.” Beringer has to take a shaky breath. “Designation Facility Platonic, Child Development.” His voice is airier than he wants it to be, and he hadn’t really considered what would happen if Hope turned out to be something other than he had dreamed. Now, though, now is the time to get away from Marc for good. 

To be on his own, and leave Marc behind to whatever Hope decides to do with him.

But...

Looking down at Marc holding his daughter, kneeling on the ground with his arms so tightly around her - thinking about how much Marc gave up to get him here, leaving his entire life behind in one fell swoop… Beringer steadies himself, and makes a different plan. “This is Handler Marc Sonders,” He says, to another soft exhale.

“Handler,” The youngest man repeats. “I-I thought they couldn’t come here-”

“They can’t,” The woman says, voice low. “It’s all right, Esteban.” Her entire demeanor changes as she looks at the younger man, softens visibly. 

Beringer clears his throat. “And this... this is his daughter Maliyah Sonders. They-... they helped me run away.” 

There’s a pause, and then someone previously behind everyone else pushes forwards. It’s a young man, willowy in build and slight, with a rounded face and close-cropped hair. He asks, voice slightly uncertain, “Handler Sonders?” 

Marc closes his eyes, breathing out, and then he looks up and searches through the small crowd of heavily armed people, each and every one ready to shoot him, until he finds who he’s looking for. To Beringer’s surprise, Marc smiles in recognition. “I remember you,” He says, softly. “You were-... 098… 09844-... 5? Platonic? Companion? Sorry, the numbers are... a lot.”

“Six,” The person answers, almost shyly. “098446. And, um. Yeah, Companion.” It’s a willowy young man with a rounded face and close-cropped dark hair. He’s lowered his gun, and it points at the ground, now, not at Marc. Not that that means he’s in any less danger - there are still twelve others holding weapons, too. “I’m Rye, now.” 

“Rye. I like that.” Marc’s voice is breathy, too. “You picked that name?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I picked it.”

“It’s a good one.” He shifts, and everyone tenses, but it’s just so he can move from crouching to sitting right down on the ground, on a soft bed of pine needles and leaves. “Did you... did you have any issues with the surgery afterward? You still had stitches last I saw you.”

“No, I didn’t. I was already mostly fine when I went to my prospective, but...” Rye grins, shy and soft. “Everything was perfect - about the surgery, I mean. The scars aren’t even very big.”

“Good,” Marc says, and it sounds like he means it. Marc’s arms are still tight around Mallie, who is slowly settling down and looking through her hair at Rye. “What... what went wrong?”

“Well... I didn’t last at my prospective’s,” Rye says, and steps forward. The others look at each other uneasily, but no one one stops him. 

Beringer moves, too, taking each step with care, until he is next to Marc, where he slowly sits down, too, leaning against Marc’s warmth in the chilly air. “I ran away.”

“I can see that,” Marc says, and someone might even chuckle. “Was she cruel?”

“No… no. But her-... her daughter was. She kept hurting me. Hitting me and... and I didn’t want to be there any longer. I left my-... I left my-... I left Mrs. Robbins a note to say goodbye, and told her it wasn’t her fault, but that if she got another one she shouldn’t let her daughter... be mean like that. I was just tired of having to lie about bruises.”

“Then I’m glad you ran,” Marc says, with firmness. “It was the right thing to do. Heck, all of you... all of you did the right thing. Pets shouldn’t even exist.”

The circle of runaways all look at each other, eyebrows raising. 

Marc sighs. “Rye... You look great.”

“I… I do?” 

“Yeah. You look like you like living here. You look... really happy.”

“I do,” Rye repeats, with his shy smile widening. “I am.” He’s clearly forgotten his gun entirely, it’s all but dangling in his hand. He turns and looks around at the assembled group. “Handler Sonders was nice, um. He was nice to me. He never… touched. Like they do. He was always nice about teaching us. He never touched.”

Beringer watches Marc wince. “No. I never… God. I’m so sorry, Rye. I’m so sorry you were hurt. All of you.”

“It’s okay,” Rye says, softly. “You were nice.”

“None of them are nice,” The ex-Guard Dog says, her lips pulled back in a sneer. “They’re all handlers.”

“She’s right. We’re-... we’re all monsters. That’s why I quit.” Marc laughs, and it’s a desperate, sad sort of hysterical laughter that only makes Mallie cling to him more tightly. Beringer puts a hand to her back, and feels it rise and fall rapidly with her terrified breathing. “Or, um. I guess I sort of faked my death? I’m not sure what I did, exactly. But when the Facility burned, Ber and I ran. I don’t-... work for WRU anymore. I hated it, anyway.”

“Bull-fucking-shit.” That’s a man’s voice, somewhere behind them, deep and hostile. Kevin must be back. “Bull. Fucking. Shit. Why didn’t you quit, if you hated it so fucking much?”

“Hey, there’s a kid here,” Someone chides. “You could control your language for five minutes!”

“You think I give a shit?” The man answers, and Beringer can hear his eyeroll in the tone of his voice. “Why didn’t he quit? Huh? Why?!”

“Not a lot of them get the option,” Someone else speaks. His voice is melodic, fluid and calm, and the whole group seems to go still and quiet with some kind of respect. He steps around in front of Marc, Beringer, and Mallie, and moves into a crouch. He’s older than Marc, with salt-and-pepper hair and a five o’clock shadow, heavily muscled arms. He isn’t holding his gun - it’s still holstered, and Beringer relaxes, just a little. “They disappear, don’t they? The handlers who quit, who don’t like it. The ones who don’t do the job. They just... vanish.”

Marc is quiet, and then slowly nods. “Yeah, so... If you’re lucky,” He says, voice low, “You sign an NDA and you never speak about it again. Like Connor Manning did. Just go, and we’re all supposed to pretend you never existed. That’s… that’s the best possible option.”

“Right.” Brock nods. “And if you’re not lucky?”

“You disappear,” Marc says. His voice is low. “They bring us all in, parade us through, to see you on the Drip, too.”

One of the runaways makes a sound like a choked sob. The others are dead silent.

“And after that?”

Marc’s jaw works, and his eyes slowly. “Then they ship you off, and a few months later you’re wearing a collar, your name is a number, and they sell you off at a private auction we’re not supposed to know about.”

Beringer turns and looks at Marc sharply. “They-... you mean-”

“If you fuck up too bad as a handler,” Marc says, nearly whispering, looking over at Beringer now. Their eyes meet. “You become a pet, too, if they catch out.”

Beringer’s heart freezes in his chest. “You what?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Brock, who seems to be in charge, tips his head to one side, curiously. “You helped him escape and you didn’t tell him what happens to you if you get caught? If we send you back the way you came from, if you ran into WRU’s recapture crew out here in the wilderness, or worse, back in the city?”

“He didn’t need to know.” Marc stares the man down, jaw set. “I knew the risks when I decided to do it.”

“Marc-... if I had known-... I wouldn’t have asked for your help-”

It’s a weird, unsettling feeling as Beringer realizes he means it when he says that. 

“It’s all right, Ber.” Marc turns to look at him. His voice is soft and soothing. “It’s okay. I knew there was a chance, that’s all. I put it in my will that my parents could take Mallie if anything happened to me. WRU makes it look like an accident, there’s no body to bury, but everyone says you’re dead. Mallie would’ve been safe. It’s just... Look, we made it here, didn’t we? You made it.”

“What happens to… to you, though?”

Marc looks back at the surrounding crowd with their weapons. “I guess that’s up to them,” He says, softly. “But… whatever it is… please. Just… don’t hurt Mallie. Whatever you’re going to do, just do it to me. Take me somewhere she can’t see, and… and just leave her out of it. Ber… Ber can take care of her-”

“Daddy, no,” Mallie cries, and tightens her grip on him.

“Ssssshhhh,” He whispers to her, and presses a kiss into her hair. “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s all right. Beringer can take care of you for a little while, if I can’t, okay? Just for a little bit.”

Mallie sniffs, hard. “I don’t wanna go with Beringer.”

“I know, but sometimes we have to do these things, don’t we? It’s okay. They just want to talk to Daddy for a while.”

There’s a long pause. 

Brock pushes himself back up to his feet. It’s Beringer he addresses. “All right. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re not expected, you used a trail nobody is supposed to know about, and you’ve got a handler with you. The first step is interrogation, and if you don’t cooperate with that-”

“Me.” Marc looks up, and his eyes glimmer with tears, but he’s resolute. “Interrogate me. I can tell you a whole lot more than Beringer can. And I have-... in my pocket. I have something in my pocket I thought might help smooth our way, and explain why we’re on the trail. Why we know about it.”

The man stands back, nods, gestures for Marc to stand. With Beringer’s help, he makes it without ever putting Mallie down. Beringer reaches into his pocket while he keeps Mallie in his arms, pulling out the USB and holding it out.

Brock takes it, frowning as he looks at it, dangling on a little nylon lanyard. “What’s on here?”

“Everything,” Marc says. “Everything WRU knows about Hope, about you. All of you. I’m currently sort of hoping WRU thinks the lib group that set the fire killed me and used my ID to get into the system.”

The assembled group goes silent and still. Brock nods, sharply, and steps backwards. “All right. Come on. It’s a long walk back to Hope with a child in your arms.” 

They end up at the center of a circle of heavily-armed runaways, walking down the trail, and Beringer realizes that, whatever happens to him next… he wants Marc with him, and Mallie, too. 

“If it’s not enough,” Marc says, voice low, shifting Mallie around so she’s more comfortable to carry, “Then you take her to Canada, and you start over, okay, Ber? Get her to call you Dad. No one will know.”

“Marc-”

“No, don’t… don’t talk. Just. If I don’t get to leave with you, you take her and you go, and give her a better life than I did.”

“You love her more than I ever could, Marc. You’re a good dad. You’re the best dad-”

“I’ve been a bad person, though. I let her grow up thinking this is all normal and okay. Take her and teach her it isn’t if I-... if I don’t get the chance. Okay? Promise me you won’t leave without her.”

Beringer looks at Mallie, back to Marc. Then he smiles, just a little. “I promise I won’t leave without you,” He says, instead.

Even now, Marc blushes when he looks away and down at the ground, trying to hide a smile. 

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up @orchidscript  

For whumptober: @whumpworld 

[painful-pooch]

For the five sentence fic - “Hey, don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.”

I gotchu fam. Sorry for the wait haha. It's the weekend and I am gonna grind these puppies out finally! Whoa, at the end of this, I realized that I could make this a whumptober thing... cool! @whumptober Day 22: alt: Carried to Safety

Tagging @writer-of-worlds, @thethistlegirl, Blue (you asked the question), and @actress4him

CW: War, military whump, lady whump, emotional whump, running through a battle field, explosions, panic attack, and gun shot wound

Location: Unknown Date: Classified

Kieran gazes through his scope, picking off each enemy without a second thought, watching them fall as his sniper rifle precisely launches bullet after bullet. After a few shots, he rolls on the dirt and sand, quickly getting up to sprint to a new point where it would take his enemy longer to locate him and attack him.

He can see the hellish battle happening below, the sounds of explosions taking longer to get to him. He uses his scope to look for his freinds and teammates, checking off in his mind that they are safe from harm's way. That's the job of a sniper; watching the world from afar and making decisions before the battle moves forward in order to keep his friends safe.

The sun is beating down on him and he wipes at his brow with the neck garter, huffing out a, "This is hotter than a dog's ass in the summer."

"Welcome to the desert, Strider. It's always hot," Miranda laughs into her mic, being joined by the rest of the crew.

"You have no right to complain as we are doing all the running and shit, fucker," Valdemar growls, looking around a corner and the crackle of gunfire takes over his comms.

"You are all complaining over a little heat wave," Bruno's voice breaks through the sound of battle. "I would be asking Patches to see how she's doing since she carries a shit ton of med gear."

"Yo Patcheeeeeees! Are you hot down there, because my plane is cool as fuck," Lukas laughs, "Icarus is probably steaming in their helicopter. Confirm?"

"Yeah, it's hot in here, but the heli is on idle. Bishop is probably off playing chess back at HQ," Sebastian mutters with a laugh.

"Correct. Playing King's Gambit. Target is located in building sector 23 Alpha, fourth floor," Oscar calls out, typing at what Kieran can hear is the speed of sound.

"Patches?" Kieran asks out for an answer, his worry rising. "You good?" He tries to look for her and curses to himself as he can't seem to find her.

"Sorry. Kind of in a pickle. Send help?" Khrystyna asks, the faint tell of screaming in the background. "Reloading and I am out of ammo. Going to switch to secondary. Getting over- AGHHH!"

Kieran breaks every rule a sniper has, jumping up from his hiding spot and sprinting over to his emergency rappel gear, clipping himself in and doing a trick he learned while in the SEALS, rappelling face down and flipping at the last second to land feet first. He rips away from the rope and dashes towards the city, unclipping his assault weapon from his back and heading into the fray.

There's dust and debris everywhere, threatening to coat the inside of his mouth and throat, but with a quick adjustment, his garter is over his mouth and nose, his sunglasses falling over his eyes to keep the excess light from blinding him. He doesn't care about the sounds of grenades blowing up around him, the crashing and tumbling of buildings after air strikes, and the screaming of both his adversaries and his teammates.

"Patches?! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He screams at the top of his lungs, panic beginning to consume him. He can't lose his best friend. He doesn't care about military bearing or the stone cold demeanors they are supposed to have. He refuses to lose her. Not after everything they had been through. He's her teammate, and she earned her place in the team just like all the others had.

Kieran can catch the faint coughing over the comms. "Lobby. Hotel... Bleeding out..." That's all he needs, looking for the rubble and remaining buildings that resembled a hotel. Before he knows it, he's sliding beside a bleeding Khrystyna, her vest, shirt, and jacket soaking. He has his pistol at the ready in case he needed it, but his other hand was at her cheek. "Hey, Patches... I'm sorry it took me a few minutes. The others are sweeping the main target's building and Boomer should be here soon to help us out."

"S-Strider?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it bad?"

Kieran sees the wound and his vision tunnels, seeing the dark crimson blotch. No. He can't lose her. He removes a few bandages from his emergency pouch, pressing them into her wound and wincing when she screams. "H-Hey, don't worry, you're going to be okay."

Khrystyna has tears in her eyes and she leans her head back against some debris. "I love being here. I want to stay on th-the team," she coughs before sobbing.

"You are going to stay. Look at me, Pa- Khrystyna."

"You just said my name... that's not a good sign." She smiles up at him in a faint joking manner, pain etched in her face.

"Fuck this.. I am carrying you to the helicopter. You are not going to die on me, Khrystyna!" Kieran switches to the main comm. "Icarus, get a med evac ready on my coordinates, now." He lifts Khrystyna in his arms in bridal style, not caring about the blood on his own gear, and he marches out of the building, using his pistol only when he needs to.

He's going to make sure she's safe. Fuck the Sniper's Code. Khrystyna is more important than that.

[lbigreyhound13]

HELLO, HELLO, EVERYONE!! WELCOME BACK TO MY WHUMPTOBER SERIES FOR RISE OF THE GUARDIANS!!

Here's a sneak peek:

“GET DOWN!” North shouted as he practically grabbed Jack pulling him down and forcing him to the floor of the sleigh holding him tightly.

Jack held onto North tightly in return. Was this it? Were they even going to survive this? This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be how things ended for them. Should he say something to North? That he loved him?

However…before anything could be said…

BOOM!!

BOOM!!

CRASH!!

FF.NET LINK HERE!

[aaronnaphiliou]

Avatar the Last Airbender Whumptober 2023 Day 22

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

Zuko got the Avatar onto his ship only for everything to go wrong. Now he was locked within himself staring out like a prisoner with only a one-way window to see the world.