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curls-cat · 3 years ago

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Sugar/Spice; Snips/Snails

for @grimmtober day 1: Candy! Also on AO3 and ff.net under the same name. but I can’t link it if I want this to show up in the tags. :/ AU: Sabrina grows up in Ferryport Landing.

There’s a boy in the woods. Sabrina sees him, even if none of the grown-ups do. He’s bigger than she is, with curly gold hair like hers, wearing a big green hoodie. He keeps looking at her through the trees and grinning. There are fireflies around him, even during the daytime, even now that summer’s all the way over.

Sabrina knows better than to go outside herself. Mamma and Daddy and Granny all say it’s too dangerous, that she’s too little and sometimes people are mean and might hurt her. And even when people aren’t mean, the woods is really big, and she could get lost so easy. Mr. Canis could find her, but someone mean might find her first.

But there’s a boy in the woods. And there aren’t a lot of other kids in Ferryport Landing. Especially not ones she can talk to (in preschool there’s Bella and Natalie and Toby and Wendell, but only Wendell is allowed to be her friend. And everything else is secrets, secrets, secrets—don’t tell anyone about Mr. Canis, Sabrina, or about what being a Grimm means, or about why you’re extra excited to get to first grade and see Ms. Snow). And all Sabrina’s Halloween candy disappeared last night.

Sabrina wanted to be Alice in Wonderland for Halloween, but her parents said No and Granny said Politics and didn’t explain what that meant, so Sabrina was Stephanie from Lazy Town instead and had to wear an itchy pink wig the whole night and none of the grown-ups knew who she was supposed to be. And now all her candy’s gone and nobody believed her when she said she didn’t eat all of it.

So the next time the fireflies come out, when it’s just starting to get dark and the shadows from the woods reach all the way to the house, Sabrina follows them. They’re pretty, even though up close they’re too big to be lightning bugs, and they glow too bright. She didn’t really think they were bugs.

She follows them as they dance between the long shadows of the trees. She didn’t have time to put on her shoes before she left, so her socks are getting wet in the grass. It’s gross. They lead her right to the edge of the woods, and then they scatter.

Sabrina is, for a moment, alone in the gathering dark of the woods. Nearly all the leaves have fallen, and it’s gray and brown and so, so quiet. No birds or bugs. No Mamma or Daddy or Granny calling for her to come inside. She can see the house through the trees, and it looks warm and safe and like it’s calling her back.

“Scared?”

Sabrina spins around and pulls her hands up the way Ms. White taught her—you have to protect your face—and sees the boy, sitting in a tree a few feet above her. Up close, he’s different than she thought. Still a boy, still a kid like her, but older. Taller. And dirty. He’s holding her candy in his hand. She knows it’s hers because it’s still in her plastic jack-o-lantern with her initials on the bottom in her very own handwriting.

“I’m not scared of you,” she tells him.

He grins, flashes too-sharp teeth. “Sure. That’s why you jumped a mile high when I said something, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl!” she says, even though she is, and she knows it. “I’m a big sister!” She balls her fists tighter. “And that’s my candy.”

“Finders keepers,” he says. He unwraps a pack of oreos and pops them in his mouth. His fingernails are too sharp, too.

“You’re rude,” she says, but she puts her fists down. He doesn’t seem mean, just… messy. And gross. And mean, but she said that already.

“So’re you,” he says, and hands her a pack of Starbursts.

Sabrina accepts her candy, unwraps it. Inside there’s two pink ones and an orange one. She wrinkles her nose and eats the orange one. She’s not supposed to have candy before dinner.

She’s also not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially not strangers who are ab-so-lute-ly Everafters.

“Why’d you take my candy?” She sits on the ground. Her socks are already dirty, might as well get mud on her overalls, too. The boy won’t care. He’s dirtier than she is.

“I was hungry,” he says. “I just told the pixies to get me food.”

Not fireflies. Pixies. Sabrina squints at him. “You’re not supposed to talk about magic.” She doesn’t know what a pixie is, but she knows for sure it’s magic.

“I thought this town was full of magic,” the boy says. “A ‘haven for the homeless,’ that’s what your ancestor said when he convinced all of us to follow him over here. Or a prison, if you listen to anybody else.”

“There’s people, too,” Sabrina informs him. “Lots of ‘em. Normal people. Boring people. I have twelve in my preschool class. And they’ve all got parents. Some have brothers and sisters, too.”

The boy looks suitably impressed. Then he wrinkles his nose. “Boring,” he tells her. “I was hoping this place would be fun. But it’s got rules too, huh?”

“Everywhere has rules,” Sabrina says. “My daddy says they’re to keep people safe.”

The boy snorts. “To keep you from having fun, more like.” He pops a Reese’s into his mouth.

Something occurs to Sabrina, then. “How’d you know about my an-cestor?” The new word feels strange on her tongue. She thinks it means like your grandpa, but extra.

The boy nods in the direction of the house. “I watched him build that place. Slowed him down, too. Plus I’ve been watching.”

“I know,” Sabrina says. “I saw you.”

“What’s your name?” he asks. “Other than Grimm. Your first name.”

“Sabrina,” she offers readily. “What’s yours?”

He tosses her another pack of Starbursts. “Puck.”

Sabrina brings Puck food for a few days. She likes keeping him secret. Everyone’s busy with the new baby, and Sabrina loves Daphne, sure, but babies are boring and she doesn’t know why all the grown-ups care so much about someone who can’t even do anything. She also feels a little left out, maybe, and it’s nice having someone who’s hers. They talk. He’s a prince, he says. He’s exiled, he says. He’s famous, he says. He’s the coolest. He doesn’t have to say that part. Sabrina thinks so, too.

They spend afternoons in the cool dark woods, and Puck takes her flying, because he’s not just too sharp, he’s also got wings, because he’s a fairy, which Sabrina has never met before. They share her Halloween candy. He turns into animals, and he listens to her tell him about preschool. She’s learning to read, a little. She can read the street sign for their road. Puck thinks reading and books are boring. She yells at him about it.

That’s the other thing about Puck. If she gets mad at him, he doesn’t tell her to stop throwing a tantrum or go to her room like her parents, and he doesn’t start crying or tattle to someone like the other kids at preschool. He yells back. And then they’re friends again.

Mr. Canis is the one who finds out. He follows her to the woods and says, “I wondered where all the caramels went.”

“This is Puck,” Sabrina says. If a grown-up did have to find them, she’s glad it was Mr. Canis. He’s not a regular grown-up, not the kind who tells her what to do and gets worried or talks down to her. He just talks, and listens. Sometimes he says weird stuff, but other than that, he’s almost like a regular person. “He was hungry.”

“I know who he is,” Mr. Canis says. “I’ve been watching him.” He looks down at Sabrina. “What I didn’t know was that you knew him.”

“He took my Halloween candy,” Sabrina says. “Nobody listened.”

Mr. Canis doesn’t say anything. He looks Puck up and down.

Puck stares right back at him, then, at long last, says, “Don’t get mad at her.”

“I am not angry,” Mr. Canis says. “You should come inside and meet the family.”

Puck wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going to move back inside. I’ve finally broken out of being civilized.”

“I am not asking you to,” Mr. Canis says. “But inside there is food that will not rot your teeth.”

“Everafters don’t get cavities.”

Mr. Canis laughs. It sounds like a dog barking. It always does. “I can assure you we do.” He shows Puck his own too-sharp teeth, points at a shiny silver spot in one of them. “I had this filled myself.”

Puck’s eyes go wide, and his hand comes up to his face. He gives Mr. Canis another long look. “What kind of food?”

“Weird food,” Sabrina informs him. “Granny’s cooking tonight.”

Puck thinks for a second, then shrugs. He grins at Sabrina. “I like weird.”

Puck keeps living in the woods. Sabrina has to tell a grown-up before she goes to see him, now. The grown-ups all have a long conversation after Mr. Canis tells them she’s been going in the woods to visit a Strange Boy (he’s not a strange boy, she tries to tell them, but nobody listens). After, her parents sit her down and have A Talk with her about Danger and how Not All Everafters Are Nice. She listens, even if she thinks they’re coming at it wrong. Puck isn’t nice. She doesn’t want him to be nice.

They grow.

At age nine, Sabrina runs out of the house, ignoring the sound of her dad shouting after her. This time, at least, she’s wearing shoes. She heads straight for Puck’s trash throne. The pixies greet her on the way, rising out of the shadows of another gathering dark, as they always do. She appreciates it, though she barely needs it, can find her way to Puck without any help.

“What’s Hanky yelling about?” Puck asks instead of greeting her. He’s sitting, as usual, on his porcelain throne atop a mountain of broken furniture.

Sabrina throws him a bag of fun size Milky Ways—it’s the family’s Halloween candy, and her mom’s going to be mad that she has to buy another bag, but Sabrina doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything and it’s not like they’ll even be here in a few weeks and her parents don’t care about what she wants, anyway, so why should she care about them?

Puck catches the candy, opens it, and pops one, fully wrapped, into his mouth. He spits the wrapper out onto the ground a few seconds later, covered in spit and melted chocolate. He does this a lot. Sabrina always calls him gross and makes a stink about it. Today all she can think about is how she’s not gonna be able to see this anymore in a few days, because—

Puck notices her silence. “What, Grimm? Finally seen sense about ‘the environment’?”

Sabrina isn’t sure she wanted him to notice. She thinks maybe she wanted him to act like everything was normal and maybe then she could pretend it really was, for a bit. But she sort of also wants someone to listen, someone she can yell at who won’t talk about safety. Someone who cares about what she wants, even if he pretends not to, instead of pretending to when they don’t, like her parents.

“We’re moving,” she says, and she keeps her voice flat, even, because if she doesn’t, she’s going to cry.

Puck stops chewing and stares at her. “You can’t. There needs to be a Grimm in Ferryport Landing.”

“Not all of us,” Sabrina says. “Granny’s staying. But Mom and Dad, and me, and Daphne… we’re leaving. Dad says town is ‘too dangerous.’”

“This is about the stupid ‘Scarlet Hand’ or whatever.” It’s not a question.

“Did they talk to you?” Sabrina asks.

“Nah,” Puck says. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina says. Because they’re friends. He’s her best friend, better than Wendell, even, even though Wendell goes to school with her and they’re in soccer together and he gave her a valentine last year that he’d picked out especially for her, the only one in the pack with a lollipop and a sticker.

“I won’t join anything that I can’t be the leader of,” Puck adds, because he can’t just be honest, ever. That’s okay, though. Sabrina understands. Honesty is hard.

She sits down on the edge of the pool, feels rough concrete under her hands, looks at the murky water, the level dropped low enough that she can dangle her feet in and only the very bottoms of her shoes touch it as they sway back and forth.

“When?” Puck asks.

“By the end of the year,” Sabrina says. “Mom got a job, and Dad asked me if I wanted—” her breath hitches, half anger and half rage— “if I wanted to help him pick out an apartment. Like this was exciting.”

“You could run away,” Puck suggests.

Sabrina laughs without humor.

“Plenty of woods,” Puck says. “You don’t have to stay here. Hey, I know! You could go up to the asylum with the other crazy little girls!”

Sabrina halfheartedly throws a piece of concrete at him. It clatters down the side of his trash mountain nowhere near him and rolls to a stop nearly at her other hand, still resting on cracked cement.

“Mr. Canis would find me,” Sabrina says, at length. “And they’d just make me go, anyway.”

“How? The old lady can’t leave, and neither can he. Just run away again before one of your parents comes to get you.”

“And leave Daphne?”

The younger girl practically worships the both of them. Losing Puck is going to be hard enough for her, but losing Puck and Sabrina… It’ll break her heart. And there’s no question about bringing Daphne with them.

For a long time, neither of them say anything. Sabrina had sort of been hoping Puck would have an answer. A real one, one that would work.

“You can visit,” he says at last. “They can’t keep you away forever.”

“Yeah,” she says. Because Mom had said that, too. Said that they could come back on weekends and over holidays, as long as Granny said things seemed safe.

She looks up at the boy she’s known for half her life, who’s been her best friend almost as long, who she’s going to stop being able to see soon. He’s been exactly the same the whole time she’s known him. When she sees him next, she’s going to be closer to his height. She might even outgrow him.

She knew it might happen. They don’t talk about it, but they both know. Someday, Sabrina’s going to have to be an adult, and Puck won’t. She’s not sure she wants to be an adult, but she doesn’t think she wants to be stuck, either. Doesn’t want to be powerless forever.

There’s nothing else to do, though, so she rolls her head to look at Puck upside-down, who’s eating another Milky Way, and says, “Pass me one of those.”

There are Everafters in New York City, of course. Sabrina sneaks out over the weekends, meets Puck’s brother. Gets in trouble. Finds out the Scarlet Hand is here, too. Tells her dad, hopes it’ll get them moved home. It doesn’t, it just gets her in a different kind of trouble. She doesn’t care, keeps sneaking out to get in the right kind of trouble, the kind that means she’s part of her family, still sort of connected to Puck.

In three years, when the barrier comes crumbling down, and the Everafters start trying, really and truly, to take over the world, it pays off. Because now nowhere is safe. And she wants to tell her dad she told him so, but she’s busy trying to watch the news that her parents won’t let her see and find out if her friends are safe and everything is loud and angry and dangerous and she tried to prepare but it wasn’t enough.

They still make her go to school. It’s stupid. None of this matters, and she tells them that over and over, but they make her go anyway, and when she’s proven right because there’s a lockdown on the third day since the Everafters declared war, she’s just angry about it.

She’s hiding in the bathroom with two other girls who got caught between classes, and the other two are crying, when noises come down the hall in their direction. Sabrina looks around for something she can use as a weapon.

The door swings open.

Sabrina prepares herself for a fight.

She’s hit in the face before she can do anything, by a small projectile—a bullet? Since when do Everafters use guns? She’d have thought getting shot would hurt more.

She looks down. No blood on the ground.

Just a green skittle.

She doesn’t have to look up to know who’s going to say “Hey, Grimm.” She doesn't know what's coming next, but as soon as she hears Puck's voice, she knows the can handle it. Together.

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #sabrina grimm #grimmtober #grimmtober 2021 #puckabrina #if you squint. it's preslash

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years ago

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GUESS WHO'S BAAAACCCCCKKKKKK

THAT'S RIGHT! IT'S ME!

LEMME JUST SAY the number of times you've made me cry with your fics isn't even funny anymore...

ok ok ok but LEXI OMG SHE'S SUCH A HERONDALE SDYJCDCGYGYCDGYUYUGZSDGYUGYUACGYUMSGYUMSZD I LOVE HER SO MUCH

And "Jason talk dirty to me" is the best way to start a fic, I said what I said.

Don't we all hate zoom meetings? I know I sure do and I have class in 5 and a half hours (i woke up at 1 am...don't even question it). Technically i was gonna try and go back to sleep when I remembered HOLY SHIT LBAF FUCK SLEEP I CAN STAY UP

Also...KIERARKTINA CHILDREN XSUHSGYDSDGJM IM SCREAMING. At first, i was like...one child...TWO CHILD???? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Patrick...I never really knew the guy well but Aline is grieving LEAVE ME ALONE TO CRY

Lexi wrinkled her nose at the name. “I have a message for you.”

“You love me more than mom?” Jace asked.

THE WAY SHE SAID YES WITHOUT HESITATION

but seriously though...do silent brothers wear clothing under their robes...?

ALL THAT FORESHADOWING ABOUT "Darker times" IM SCARED AND I ALSO BELIEVE THIS ISN'T JUST ABOUT THE COHORT.

“I’m not a child!” Lexi protested.

You are seven years old, brother Enoch pointed out. He had been there to place the protection charms after the twins had been born.

If Jace didn’t know any better he’d say the silent brother was sassing her.

But Lexi was a Herondale.

“I’m 49 in dog years!” Lexi huffed.

You are not a dog, Alexandra.

“Daddy said I can be anything I want to be,” Lexi stuck out her tongue. “I’m a dog. A very old dog. Woof!”

Brother Enoch turned to him as if to say, ‘control your Herondale spawn’.

HERONDALE SPAWN.

There is so much going on in these lines BUT LEXI IS A WHOLE ASS MOOD YES BESTIE IF YOU WANNA BE A DOG THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE GONNA BE FUCK EVERYTHING ELSE!! WOOF

Jace knew many children had been orphaned by the war with the cohort - like Diego’s daughter, who had been adopted from the Chennai Institute.

This part scared me because for a second I was like "IS DIEGO DEAD??????" before I read on and my mind caught on.

ok on to my second favorite character right after Lexi

DAVID MY CHILD I SAY WE KILL ALBERT. SCREW THE PRISON I'M GONNA BURN THIS BITCH ALIVE

THE FUCKING AUDACITY OF HIM. DAVID IS A CHILD HONESTLY FUCK YOU. I WAS SO ANGRY THIS LITTLE SHIT HOW DARE HE.

I just wanna squeezes David into a bear hug ill protect him from now.

THE FAIRCHILD-HERONDALE FAMILY IM GONNA SCREAM

THEY ARE SO PRECIOUS ISTG AHDGYJDYUKCYDVYGDJHVCGYJMDV

Max stamped his foot on the ground, because he liked to be theatrical about everything

Im sure we all know where he gets it from...

“Shall we go check on the little miscreants?”

“Max and Rafe aren’t that bad,” Jace replied faithfully.

“I was talking about your girls,” Magnus grinned. “My boys are literal angels.”

“One of them is a warlock,” Jace pointed out. “With demon blood.”

“You know your family descended from Tessa, right?” Magnus asked. “Your children have demon blood too.”

“Yikes, no wonder people want us gone,” Jace chuckled and Magnus chuckled with him.

THIS WHOLE CONVERSATION THEY HAVE COME SO FAR ISTG IM GONNA CRY

“Did you know there is a trick to find out if kids are really sleeping?”

“A magic trick?” Jace asked.

“Yes,” Magnus winked. “You see…When kids are asleep, really asleep, they put up right hand. Only parents know of this secret.”

Rafael and Selena remained still, his little celery still snoring gently.

Max’s hand slowly went up and Lexi’s followed.

A bark of laughter escaped Jace, and Magnus shushed him.

“Miscreants!” Jace whispered.

“I told you so!” Magnus chuckled.

“I know of another secret. I heard the Consul has a new punishment for kids who lie,” Jace said. “They apparently have to eat Izzy’s food.”

The hands flopped back into bed immediately and Magnus covered his mouth to control his laughter.

THE DOMESTICITY OF THIS SCENE OH MY GOD

also TIAN!! ISTG IF WE DON'T SEE HIM IN TWP OR TEC 3 MARRIED AND HAPPY WITH JIN FENG IM GONNA BE VERY SAD

“Damn, I would have gladly punched you in the face, Herondale. Next time, ask for volunteers.”

Damn bestie-

“This is ridiculous! I didn’t do anything!” Albert yelled and looked at the brother Enoch. “You saw what they did, right?”

I’m a silent brother, Albert. I can’t see. Surely you know that.

Exactly you blind fuck.

we got Jace and alec brotp bonding leave me alone to cry in a corner. the fact that shadowhunters don't have laws protecting children like wtf is wrong with you people

“Alexandra,” his parabatai interrupted. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” “Shouldn’t you be in Los Angeles?” Lexi countered.

LEXI AYUAHGUSUSUGWDCDGD,DCGKSDYG,SDGSCDH.

“Max is awake?” Magnus was alert now.

“And Max is hungry!!!” the boy walked into the room.

Live footage of me every morning (or evening. or night. depends on my sleep schedule)

DAVID LEGIT HAD A LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT MOMENT MY PRECIOUS

HE NEEDS TO BE PROTECTED AT ALL COSTS

“Oh my god, who is this?” Max yelled and jumped straight into the bed, right next to David. “Are you a shadowhunter? Where are you from? Your eyes are so blue! My daddy has blue eyes too! Wait, I also have blue eyes! We both have blue eyes!”

Max- PLEASE THIS IS SO CUTE

“Yay!” Lexi yelled. “You could pretend to be my other twin.”

“Then you would be triplets,” Alec mumbled quietly. “Not twins.”

Oh shush

“Our people are not going to like this, Alec,” Jace pointed out.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Alec said unapologetically. “I’m the Consul.”

YES BITCH SHOW THEM

I really hope Albert does have to come crawling back and have his marks stripped.

“Is that...Is that a stubble?” Jace asked when something prickled his cheek.

“Yes.”

"Are you growing a beard?" Jace inquired sceptically.

"Yes."

“Gross. I don’t like it,” Jace complained.

“Too bad. Cause I do.”

“I’m going to tell Magnus to shave it off while you are asleep,” Jace muttered.

“Jokes on you. He likes it too.”

Jace weren't you starting to grow a beard in TDA as well-

no, but I'm with Jace on this one.

“So, I heard an interesting story from Magnus when I came in,” his wife said, coming out of her bathroom, wiping her face with a towel. “You adopted a kid, I hear? Your parabatai is really rubbing off on you, huh?”

It's the alec affect bestie.

“He only said there is a child at the institute who needs my help. At first, I thought he was talking about you.”

I-

Jace trying to find David a new last name was so goddamn sweet I'm crying in a corner. And David choosing to keep his name as a reminder that he survived??? TEARS

Selena had learned Spanish so she can talk to Rafael. Then she had learned French just because she could.

Oh to be good at languages...

“It means darling,” Jace corrected and then beamed. “But wait! It also means cabbage! David, you are going to be my little cabbage.”

Lexi, Selena, and Clary groaned in unison.

“You’ll have to deal with this, David,” Clary said apologetically, not letting go of the boy. “Lexi is Lettuce. Selena is Celery and I’m Carrot.”

AJHHUHYUCDJILSDYVGILCQBCDHCUOUCEDCCSCUHKK SCREAMING

DAVID YOU ARE GONNA BE EATING PIZZA TONIGHT SCREW VEGETABLES.

THE LIBRARY SLEEPOVER!!! SQUEALS. I LOVE READING TOO I WANNA JOIN THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That was so long wtf-

and I guess I don't truly understand what it's like to be a child abuse victim but to all those who can hurt a child and not feel anything...I hope they fucking pay for what they do. All those kids who survive are so goddamn strong but why the fuck does one have to go through so much shit and people be like "oh you came out stronger" sure bitch but they didn't deserve this shit in the first place. i might be saying it wrong but we seriously need more strict laws against this kind of shit.

damn, I curse a lot. SEE YA ON FRIDAY BYE

Me scrolling through this entire liveblog like:

Thank you so much. It made my day! I love reading reactions!!! (lol you know that)

I am so glad you like the first chapter. And I curse a lot too so issokay ;)

And thank you for that last point. It's what we need more of in this world - empathy and understanding x.

And we definitely need better laws - but these laws also need to be implemented correctly - without judgment and with efficiency.

We have a long way to go just like the shadowhunters oof.

#THANKS AGAIN BYEEEEEE #lbaf

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letsunity · 3 years ago

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Not Afraid - Chapter 5

Summery -

The Bad Batch go to Tatooine to resupply and avoid the Empire. As per the usual, Omega gets separated from the group. Fortunately for her, Krayt's Claw just so happens to be nearby. Bossk and Embo guide her to Boba Fett, who takes interest in why the Kaminoans want her. It's a reluctant partnership, with the Bad Batch having to rely on Krayt's Claw to navigate non-military life.

The war left many without homes, jobs, anything to live for. Their only option was the criminal life, stealing to survive.

The camp is small, with junk and scrap lying across the ground. The boss was building something they could sell to get credits, enough to leave Lothal safely. Even so, they'd have to start stealing from the city; the farms didn't have enough.

This Empire has to be better than the Republic. Unless it involved the war, the Jedi ignored those suffering, even turning a blind eye to slavers. The Empire promised food, shelter, pay; all people had to do is apply. A few in the camp had that plan, preferring the new military than eating scraps for pocket change.

As the boss was paranoid, they had several mines strewn around the camp. That would end up being their greatest enemy, however.

Blasters fired from above, striking the buried mines and setting them off. The explosions burned their eyes, heat and scrap flying into the air. The ragtag thieves scattered, confused and frightened by the sudden attack.

Smoke grenades landed nearby a boy, the bellowing smog obscuring his vision. As Alex looked around, desperate to find safety, he met the blaster of another boy. This one was only a year younger than him, maybe two, but had the eyes of a monster. He could've sworn that they shimmered yellow for a moment as the end of it hit his head.

Boba pulled a knife from his suit, throwing it at a thief's knee, practically removing it from their body. The mask over his nose and mouth shielded him from the smoke. He didn't need his eyes to acquire the targets; he just needed their terror.

One decided to attack him, which was a mistake. A female Twi'lek tried shooting him, but her aim was atrocious. Boba ducked down, his spiked boot striking her shin. As she fell, Boba grabbed her arm and rolled her over his back, sending her to the dirt. Calmly, he kicked away her blaster and placed cuffs behind her.

That's three down.

Another bandit tried their shot, using a machete instead. Boba's armour was fitted against primitive blades and slugs, so this was a pathetic attempt. Boba rose his arm to block the slash, scowling into the man's frightened eyes. With him distracted, Boba drove their arm into their chest, the machete sticking through his spine.

He spat blood on Boba's face, shaking in terror. He twisted the machete, listening as life gargled from the man's body. He kicked the corpse's stomach, ripping out the machete as he threw it into the shoulder of another.

Boba counted fifteen, a majority of them younger than twenty-five. They weren't a challenge, just part of the job. Given their lack of weapons, they're only grunts, worthless to the big guy.

"Got 'im!" Wrecker yelled, having caught somebody. "He's a squirmer, too!"

Boba walked towards the hulking clone, a grin growing on his face. The Phindian spat, despising the tiny clone.

"Great catch," Bossk complimented, hissing at the angry caught man. "How the mighty have fallen, huh, Eve?"

"Do not call Moralo Eval that degraded nickname. He will each your liver!"

"You know this guy?" Echo questioned, dropping a tied up girl. "Looks like a friend of yours."

Bossk raised a scaled brow at the jab, lips shifting back to hint at his teeth. Echo tried mimicking him, expecting it to be an intimidation display.

"Moralo Eval. He helped General Kenobi and Cad Bane attack the Chancellor," Hunter named, glaring at the man. "What're you doing on Lothal? Doesn't match your type."

"Moralo Eval escaped prison, not too difficult. He was pursued and crashed here. He'd have done the work himself, but better safe than sorry. Fortunately, since the Empire started their occupation of the capital, he's met many local rats."

The first person thing was always annoying. Bossk assumed it to be part of his narcissism.

Wrecker sat him down as Tech placed the cuffs, glaring at the angry Phindian. The sociopath analysed them, planning ways to escape and leave the planet. Jango's son knelt, staring the man into his deranged eyes.

"Jabba's going to love you, Eval," he grinned maliciously, imagining what the Hutt would do to him. "You help us, and I'll delay his pet getting a taste of Phindian. Know that if you refuse, I'll have to remove your limbs, given your expertise at escape. Bossk is always hungry."

Next was a staring contest, seeing who would back down first. Boba felt him mulling over his options, Bossk snarling behind him, snapping his jaws threateningly.

Echo was going to interfere, but Hunter raised his hand to stop him, wanting to see what happened next.

Having been told to 'guard' the ledge, Omega skipped over, interested in what went on. There were some people on the ground, some with blood on them. She'd seen it before, but not freely pooling around people.

Seeing some distress, Wrecker was quick to pick her up, keeping her at a distance from the battle. She wasn't ready to see any of that yet.

"What is it that Boba wants?" Moralo relented reluctantly, sneering at the teen.

"Biological chips are making the clones behave like droids. They follow any order given. That means if asked, they'd make you into a bottom bitch. If the clones have free will, they'll be easier to manipulate, exploiting their 'compassion'. We'll be helping each other further future endeavours."

In a second, it went from hostage to business deal. The sudden whiplash seemed normal for them, another part of this career. Even though it was wrong to help this guy, they got a lot out of it. Hunter wanted to understand this process more, understand how to proposition enemies into reluctant allies.

It's evident that these two hate each other but were willing to cooperate for a common goal.

"Moralo Eval will assist in this goal, though only for himself. Once complete, Moralo Eval and Fetts cease working together. Agreed?"

"Until we're done, you've got a deal," Boba nodded, using Wrecker's knife to cut through the cuffs. "Dengar's going to love this."

"That one is still alive?" Moralo said, genuinely surprised. "He expected Dengar to be dead by now."

"He continues to disappoint," Bossk added, suddenly friendly with the Phindian.

Despite having seen it with his own eyes, Echo couldn't fathom what he was looking at. Were all bounty hunters insane? They appeared to be!

"What do we do with the kids?" Hunter asked, motioning to the ones tied up. "The ones alive, anyway."

"Give 'em to the farmers and get our credits. The loth-wolves will clean up this mess," Bossk answered, looking up. "And it would appear that we have an audience."

Hunter looked up, his eyes meeting Fennec's orange helmet. Now discovered, Fennec slid down the ridge, shooting at the group.

"Amateur," Moralo sighed casually as he rummaged through the garbage.

He lifted a makeshift flamethrower, unintimidated by the sharpshooter. With a manic smile, Moralo burst a stream of flame towards the woman, the range further than it should be. Hunter was eager for round two, running alongside the fire to engage Fennec.

"Wrecker, help Hunter. I'll get Omega outta here," Echo ordered, helping the girl down. "Bossk, protect those kids. No them, no credits," he added, playing into the money motivation of the lizard.

"Not exactly, but fine, I'll keep them alive," the lizard huffed, sulking towards the targets. With the usual threat of eating them, he shoved them to their feet and started moving.

"I wanna help," Omega said, worried for Hunter and Wrecker. "I know she's after me, but I can still help."

"You are helping, Omega," Echo sighed, kneeling to be at her level. "By knowing that you're safe, the others don't have to worry. We're going to stay at the farm village and wait for them to come back, ok? It's a tactical retreat."

While she wanted to stay, Echo was right. By staying away from Fennec, they could handle her. With Echo, she reluctantly ran away with him, hoping that they'll be alright.

"Pateesa, Koose Shag Wata," Boba growled into his comms, shooting at the woman. Wrecker had no idea what he said, but he understood the next bit. "Throw me."

"Eh, what?"

"Just throw me," he repeated, still holding Wrecker's knife.

Wrecker shrugged and picked up the teen. With a running start, he happily lobbed the teenager, interested in what he'd do.

As anticipated, Wrecker threw him over the other hunter. The Phindian got the idea fast, shoving her into the location required. Boba threw the knife, getting the woman in the leg. He tucked and rolled, getting back on his feet with a few bruises. Angrily, she turned back and planted a well-placed blaster shot in his chest. If not for his durasteel, he'd be deader than Rako's career.

Hunter exploited this as he elbowed her, glaring.

"Why did they send you?" Hunter demanded, lifting her. "Why do the Kaminoans want Omega?"

"It's not part of the job to ask," she spat, headbutting him again.

She jumped out of another stream of fire, scowling at Moralo as he threw the empty item at her. Boba fired at her, not aiming for the head as Hunter wanted him to.

"Bounty Hunters aren't allowed to kill one another," Moralo provided, guessing that the clone was new to this way of life. "Moralo Eval is greatly interested in this 'Omega' you spoke of. He presumes she is part of this 'chip' business."

"Probably," Wrecker shrugged as Fennec ran back into the trees. "Should we go after her?"

"No," Boba answered, rubbing his chest. Before Hunter asked, Boba lifted a tracking fob with a smirk. "With any luck, we'll be one step closer to figuring things out."

"She'll find it. She's not stupid," Hunter sighed, feeling like a fool.

"That is what the fake ones are for," Moralo added as if it was obvious. "Moralo Eval is eager to learn of these chips. He likes the stupidity and incompetence of clones."

That is somehow supposed to be a compliment, but Hunter didn't like it. Wrecker looked over to Bossk, who was hissing and yelling at their pay. Curious, he walked over, counting thirteen.

"Don't ye worry, we're only gonna give ya to the farmers, no problem," Wrecker declared, punching Bossk's shoulder. "Yo nephew is mad. Told me to lob 'im!"

"Just like his dad and granddad," Bossk sighed proudly, sneering at the captives. "Any of you got a name? Calling you numbers is more of a Government thing."

"Alex," one of them said, glaring at the two. "I'm going to join the Empire and get rid of people like you."

"I look forward to seeing you try and fail," the reptile shrugged, casually lifting the boy like he weighed nothing. "How are you going to stop a guild that has outlasted not only the Republic but the previous Empire? Set your sights on something achievable, boy."

"It's Alex Kallus, and you'll fear me!"

"Aww, he's kinda cute," Wrecker said, unaware that the boy interpreted it as teasing. "Can we keep him?"

"No!" Hunter yelled, his new dad senses tingling.

He'd known these people for all of fifteen minutes, but Moralo found this group oddly entertaining. He did lust for chaos, and they were drowning in it.

"Moralo Eval finds this group entertaining. His cooperation is heightened."

"Your whole third-person thing is really annoying; you know that?"

"Moralo Eval is very aware, and it entertains him. Your irritation feeds him."

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

Fennec leaned against a tree, ripping her outfit to cover her heavily bleeding leg. Though her armour hid it well, the flamethrower burned.

She'd heard about Jango, having been a little girl when he came to her village. On his own, he decimated a small group of Death Watch remnants, a force of nature. After seeing him shove a grenade down one's throat, she couldn't help but be enticed. It inspired her to enter the underworld, to be like him someday.

She grieved when he died, but it wasn't surprising considering who he faced. Only that Jedi could ever kill Jango Fett; not even the ketamine frog would stand a chance.

There were even rumours that he faked his death, as he'd done so before.

Given that Fennec spent her life becoming a master huntress, she didn't expect much from a child. That mindset almost got her killed, as he missed her artery by half an inch. Maybe the stories were true, where he destroyed a Star Destroyer and beheaded the Quarzite dictator. She doubted it, but then again, he'd been trained by the master himself.

Guild law be damned; her next shot would be between his eyes.

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

When Highslinger was told to bring Slave-1 to the boss, he did not anticipate seeing Moralo again.

"Hey, Sling," Omega greeted, happy to see the droid. "How're you?"

Highslinger provided a thumb up, a signal of contentment. He calmly rose his middle digit to Moralo, intent on getting revenge for his shtick on Naboo.

"You're still upset about that?" Moralo teased, waving off the droid's irritation. "He isn't going to apologise. You'd have done the same."

That didn't change Highslinger's feelings on the matter.

"Bitching later, recovery now. Pretty sure my sternum's cracked."

"I can apply a bacta-patch," Omega chirped confidently. "Nala Se taught me how to do it when she was too busy."

"I'll show you where they are," he sighed, his chest burning like it was on fire.

As a Mandalorian, he knew how to tolerate pain. It was something his father taught him long ago.

Highslinger stepped aside as the boss showed the child into the ship. He liked the girl, finding her interesting and curious.

Part of working with the boss was the stance on children. He had few rules which he wouldn't bend, something other syndicates danced around. It was consistent, the pay was always equal, and Boba didn't screw him over. In fact, Boba looked at Highslinger like he was another person, not just a droid.

Droids are property, no rights in the future. Funnily enough, Clones were similar, so there was empathy.

Just being talked to like an individual was enough for Highslinger to swear loyalty to the young Fett. Not hunter loyalty, but the commoner's idea of it.

"Nala Se, Jango once spoke of that one. She's the sadistic one," Bossk hissed with disgust. "Dibs on biting through that one's throat."

"Stand in line," Hunter said firmly, getting an amused grin from Moralo. "What?"

"Moralo Eval is most curious. You lot aren't designed like the common fool duplicates, and neither is she. What's so special about Omega that makes her more of a priority over you?"

"We're trying to figure that out," Echo answered, disturbed by the thing's interested gaze. "Hunter and Wrecker have genetic mutation enhancements. Wrecker's strong, and Hunter can feel electric frequencies."

"As someone aware of the cloning process, Moralo Eval must disagree. Mutations do not equal such abilities; that's something else. Moralo Eval is invested in learning what that something is. It may answer why the long-necks desire the 'Omega' girl."

Inside the ship, Omega took off the helmet, feeling safe within the ship. Her eye ached slightly, but nothing that she couldn't handle. Boba sat on a seat, starting to unbuckle his armour. As he directed her to the compartment, Omega opened another one, seeing the faint gleam of silver and blue.

It looked like armour, but it made sense for him to have backups. She took out the medkit, opening it on the floor. Finding what she needed, Omega walked up to the teenager.

Thanks to being a medical assistant, she was familiar with scars. Boba was smothered in them, having one on each part of his body. His back and shoulders were far more interesting, though. It looked like a tattoo, similar to what Hunter had. Unlike Hunter, it wasn't imprinting an image onto the skin.

It was like something had pierced his skin and ink injected into the wound.

"Never seen one like this, huh?" the teen said, somewhat amused. "It's a thing my clan does; it's a ta moko. It's painful but worthwhile."

The scars were still visible on his back, but there wasn't any attempt to cover them. He had no concern with having them, even the few on his face. Given his job, it made sense that he'd get scars.

"What was that language in the Toydarian's house?" she questioned, placing the patch onto his bruised chest.

"Mando'a. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc."

"What does that mean?"

"Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones you can't," he translated, ruffling her blonde hair. "You're small; they're going to underestimate you. When they do, you will show that you aren't the Kaminii's pet anymore. Nobody is more in control of your life and body than you."

Her body is her own, nobody else's. She chose to stay with Hunter, and that's where she was staying. Boba, her sort of cousin, casually brushed away every comment Nala Se used to say.

"My body is mine. I could get a haircut, or what you have?"

"Your body, your rules. Unless you give permission, nobody can touch you where you don't want them to. You've got a right to privacy and comfort. Not just that, but you're free to find your own path in this clusterfuck of a universe."

She liked the idea of that. She can be a Bad Batcher like the others, be strong just like them. Nala Se couldn't dictate what she did anymore.

"I wanna learn Mando'a."

"I'm very pleased that you do. How about after we get paid, ad'ika?"

#the bad batch #omega fett #boba fett #omega and boba fett #Not Afraid fic #fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #mando'a #agent kallus

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 3 years ago

Text

New World CH. Twenty One

Title: Thirty Days

Words: 4155

Warnings: Character death, canon-typical violence

A/N: It’s the beginning of the end of an era. Hope y��all enjoy!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

Six months had passed since the Governor and you were thriving at the prison. The gates had all been fixed, and the walkers were out of the yard. Crops were growing food, some livestock had been found, and no one had died in almost a month. You had given birth to a beautiful little girl named Charlotte and you were the happiest you’ve been in a while.

You had also remodeled your cell. You took the bottom bunk out, leaving the top one for storage, and Daryl had found a better mattress on a run a few months before Charlotte was born. You did feel bad that you had a nice thing to sleep on, but everyone assured you it was alright. Maggie and Glenn had found one a week after you got yours and you felt a little less guilty. Daryl also found a thick comforter blanket and some more pillows for you along with a kids bed for Adeline. Charlotte slept in her little playpen right next to Adeline in the cell next to yours. It was a little weird not having your kids in the same space as you, but the privacy was welcomed with open arms.

Waking up with Daryl next to you felt amazing every day. His arms would be around you and his face tucked into the crook of your neck. His hands gravitated towards your belly, even after you had Charlotte, in his sleep and it made you smile every time.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“Good morning yourself.” Shifting, you kissed him and pulled yourself up.

“Where ya goin’?”

“It’s the Big Spot run today so we need to eat. Come on and get up, sleepyhead.” Daryl groaned and Adeline decided to join you in your cell and jump on him.

“Get up, daddy, get up!” Her knee caught his junk and he let out a low groan before laughing.

“I’m up, princess. I’m up. Ya hungry?”

“Yes!”

“Then get dressed so we can go get breakfast.”

“Okay!”

The three of you got dressed and you met Beth in the common area.

“Good morning. Excited for the run, I see,” Beth teased as she took Charlotte from you and put her in a double stroller with Judith.

“I am. You got any requests?”

“Um, a new notebook and some pens?” Beth asked. “But only if you see them! Don’t go out of the way.”

“Will do, sweetheart.” Waving goodbye and kissing Lottie goodbye, you walked outside with Daryl and Adeline. Stepping out into the fresh air, you took a deep breath and made your way over to where Carol was handing out breakfast, Sophia coloring on the ground next to her. Adeline joined her best friend and you smiled at the sight.

“Hey, Carol. Hey, sweetie. Good morning,” you said. “Smells good, what’s for breakfast?”

“Some left over venison from last night.” Carol handed you a bowl and Daryl a bowl.

“Thanks.” Leaning up against the counter, you looked out past the fences.

“You two going on the run today?” Carol asked you.

“Yeah.” You stuffed some meat in your mouth. “Dean too.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Carol chided lightly. You gave her a sheepish grin, Daryl barely hiding a laugh.

“Sorry. Dean’s coming too. We want to see if there’s anything we can use for, uh, hunting.”

Carol nodded in understanding before leaning in slightly.

“We ever going to tell everyone else?” She asked you.

“I don’t know. The Council knows and everyone from our group does as well as Dr. S.,” you said with a shrug. “I think that’s all who has to know. Do you think we should tell everyone?”

“No. People are still in a panic over the walkers happening. If they knew about everything else then it would cause mass hysteria.”

“Fair point.” You turned back to your food and saw that Carol had put more in your bowl.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink. You laughed lightly and turned to face the tables.

“Well, I’m going to sit down and eat. I’ll see you at the cars in a few,” you said to Daryl, giving him a kiss. To Carol you said, “Thanks for breakfast. It’s delicious.”

“Of course. I’ll also make sure Adeline gets to school on time,” Carol said.

“Thank you.” You gave your daughter and Sophia a hug and kiss before going to sit down next to Dr. S. and Sam, the two of them munching on their own food.

“Who’s focusing on medical today?” Dr. S. asked you.

“Sasha. Did you need anything specific?”

“Just the usual but I’ll take anything really.”

“I’ll pass the message on.” You shoved the last of your food in your mouth as Dr. S. gave you a nod of thanks. Standing up, you went to put your bowl away when Sam came up to you.

“You and Dean are getting things for hunting right?” He asked you.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Anything we can find that could be useful.”

“I know you always are, but be safe. Please.”

“I will be.” You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek before walking away.

---

When you got to the cars, Zach and Daryl were already there. Beth was walking away and you heard Daryl mutter something about a romance novel.

“What’s this I hear about romance novels?” You said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“Them kids,” Daryl said. “They’re so cheesy sometimes.”

“Cheesy can be a good thing, Daryl,” you said, a smirk on your face. Daryl just rolled his eyes.

“Sometimes it’s just bad,” he muttered.

You snorted out a laugh and Daryl cracked a small smile at the sound. No one saw it but you since it disappeared when the others started coming to pack up the cars. You started helping and when you went to get in the passenger seat of the truck, you saw Bob walk up.

“Hey,” Bob said. “I’d like to start pulling my weight around here.”

“Bob, it’s only been a week since you got here,” Sasha said.

“That’s a week of meals and a roof over my head that you’ve helped provide. Let me earn my keep.”

“You were out on your own when Daryl found you, right?” You asked him. He nodded.

“Yeah. I was.”

“We just need to make sure that you can play on a team. That you know how,” Sasha said.

“You know, he was a medic in the army,” Glenn said. Sasha looked at him then looked at you.

“Your call,” you said with a shrug.

“The two of you are tough sells, you know that?” Bob said.

“You’re telling me,” Dean said with a snort. Giving him a glare and the bird, Dean just laughed.

“Alright. You can come with,” Sasha said. “But you do as we say without any hesitation. That sound reasonable?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s get going then.”

She climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and you heard Daryl start his motorcycle. Dean got in the driver’s seat of the truck, Zach getting in the back seat. The mini caravan was almost at the gate when you saw Michonne standing next to Rick.

“She’s back!” You said excitedly. Rolling down the window, you stuck the top half of your body out of it and waved at her. After she had waved back and her conversation was done with Rick and Daryl, she got in next to Zach.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” Dean said once the door was shut.

“Same to you.” She put her hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, and you turned to give her a smile.

“Did you find anything?” You asked her.

“No.” Michonne shook her head. “You have any problems with some newcomers?”

“Nothing of that sort. We’ve been lucky when it comes to that department,” Dean said.

“What are you talking about?” Zach asked. You looked at him and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.” Zach gave you a look, but dropped it. Turning to face the road, you leaned back with a smile on your face. Today was gonna be a good day, you could feel it.

---

When you got to the Big Spot, you hopped out of the truck and lifted one of your empty bags onto your shoulders. Making sure your pistol was secured in its holster and your knife was strapped to your side, you made your way over to the fence where Daryl and Bob were.

“The army came in and put these fences up, made it a place for people ta go ta,” Daryl said to Bob.

“When we spotted this place last week, there were a bunch of geeks in here,” you said.

“They was keepin’ people out like a bunch’a guard dogs.”

“So they all just left?”

“No. Listen.” Everyone went quiet and the faint sound of music could be heard.

“You drew ‘em out,” Michonne said, impressed.

“A boom box hooked up to some car batteries will do wonders,” you said.

“Yeah. Now let’s make sure none of them bastards are left,” Daryl said. “Grab whatcha can, but be safe.”

He walked through the hole in the fence and you followed close behind. You readied your rifle and walked through the maze of tents. Your eyes were peeled for anything you could use and they lit up when you saw a few guns. Slinging your rifle onto your shoulder, you checked all of the guns, happy to see that the magazines were still full and the weapons themselves in working order.

“Find something?” Dean asked as he came into the tent.

“Some automatics. They’re in good condition and still have ammo,” you said. Standing up, you held out one of the guns and Dean took it, automatically checking it.

“Good find, sweetheart. I’ll go put these in the truck.” Dean took the guns and put them in a bag before heading back to the cars, Tyreese going along with him. You walked to the front of the store where Daryl was.

You sat on the small wall outside and Daryl sat down a few feet away before banging his elbow on the glass.

“Give it a sec,” he said. You put your chin in your head, eyes closing as the small breeze washed over you.

“I think I got it,” Zach said after a minute.

“Me or Daryl?” You said, cracking an eye open.

“Both.”

“Got what?” Michonne asked.

“I’ve been trying to guess what Daryl did before the turn. [Y/n] and her brothers too,” Zach said.

“He’s tried for, like, six weeks,” Daryl grunted.

“Been wrong every time,” you teased.

“I’m right this time, I just know it.”

“Alright then. Let’s hear it.”

“I think [y/n] was a teacher of some kind,” Zach said.

“Of some kind?” You echoed, a little confused.

“Well, you don’t seem like a traditional teacher. Like, English or history, stuff like that. But you’ve definitely taught something.”

“You’re not wrong, but you’re not right,” you said. “I’ve taught people skills that I have, but that’s not what my main profession was before.”

“Damn.”

“Now let’s hear Daryl’s,” Michonne said.

“Well, with the way you are at the prison and you being on the council and knowing how to track. You’re helping people but you’re still a bit, uh, surly.” Zach paused for effect. “Homicide cop.”

Michonne started laughing and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Daryl said, looking at the two of you.

“Nothing. It makes perfect sense.”

“Actually, the man’s right. Undercover.” Daryl looked at you and sent you a small wink before looking at Zach.

“Really?” Zach said, surprised that Daryl was confirming he was right. You were doing your best to hold in your laughter but what Daryl said next made you lose it.

“Yep. I don’t like ta talk ‘bout it ‘cause it was a lotta heavy shit, ya know?” Daryl’s voice was all serious and you laughed, causing Zach to look at Daryl.

“Alright. I’ll have to keep guessing then.”

“Ya keep doin’ that.”

A few seconds later and a small group of walkers ran into the glass behind you.

“You ready, detective?” Michonne teased.

“Let’s do it.”

You stood up and took your knife out of its sheath. Daryl took the crowbar Glenn handed him, Dean and the others coming closer. Glenn stood next to the door, you and Dean standing right in front.

“Zach, you go stand with Tyreese and Bob,” you said.

“But I want to help.”

“This is only the second run you’ve gone on. Do as I say.”

“Alright,” Zach muttered. He walked over to the two other men and stood next to them, gun at the ready just in case.

It didn’t take long to clear the walkers, you and Dean making quick work of them. Once they were all dead and out of the way, you walked into the store to sweep it. You and Dean were a team and you quickly made sure there were no more walkers in the store.

“Alright. What do we need the most?” You asked Dean.

“Rock salt and silver. We’re almost out of rings and if we keep taking people in, we’re gonna need more.”

“Okay. You look for those and I’ll look for anything we can use to make more bullets,” you said. “I know we have a fair amount, but it never hurts to have more.”

“Let’s get going then. No time to waste.”

The two of you went your separate ways and you immediately went for the dish section. You tossed anything made out of brass, iron, or silver into your cart and after everything was cleared out, you made your way to the weapons. There wasn’t any ammo left due to the army making camp outside, but all of the knives were still there along with crossbow bolts. Stuffing as much as you could in your bag then putting the rest in the cart, you made your way back to the front of the store.

Taking the stuff and putting it in the back of the truck, you walked back inside. You had gotten all of the things you could so now you were just wandering the store, looking for anything that your group could use. Finding yourself in the kids clothing area, you pulled your duffel around to your front and started shoving clothes that looked like they might fit the kids, taking some bigger sizes too. When the bag was halfway full, a crash reverberated around the store.

You zipped up the bag and went running towards the source of the noise. Daryl had beat you there and you saw him crouched down next to two fallen shelves.

“Ya alright? Got any cuts or somethin’?” You heard Daryl say.

“No, but my foot is caught, man,” Bob said back. You let out a small sigh of relief to hear that it wasn’t Dean caught under there.

“[Y/n]!” Dean yelled, skidding to a stop. He saw you and wrapped his arms around you. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” you said, hugging your brother back.

“What happened?” Glenn asked, coming around the corner.

“Bob’s stuck,” Daryl said.

“Everyone’s fine. We’re over in wine and beer,” Zach called out.

With a grunt, Dean and Daryl lifted the first shelf and you helped Zach steady it.

“I was moving too fast, man,” Bob said. “Ran right into the drinks.”

“You lucked out, dude,” Dean said.

“If this thing had come down the wrong way I don’t want to know what could have happened,” Tyreese said.

“Let’s get you out and finish the run.” You went to grab the other shelf, but a loud crash sounded. Looking up, you saw a walker had fallen through the roof.

“We should probably go now,” Glenn said.

“Bob’s still stuck! We gotta get him outta there,” Daryl said. He rushed towards Bob, Zach right next to him.

“You two get him and we’ll take care of them,” you said.

More and more walkers were falling from the ceiling, your eyes widening at the sight. Some died on impact with the floor, their heads being bashed in when they fell. But most managed to fall without any damage. You spun the duffel around so it was on your back and grabbed both your pistol and knife, having both at the ready.

“[Y/n]! Go!” Dean yelled.

You backed away, Tyreese at your side. He grabbed your wrist and the two of you went running towards the entrance before being cornered by four walkers. Tyreese shot one in the head and you ganked two. The third one managed to duck Tyreese’s next shot and you surged forward to stab it in the head. Blood sprayed on your face and you wiped it away before continuing on.

Metal began to creak and you looked up to see a helicopter starting to fall through the roof. When you saw that it was almost directly where Bob was trapped, you started running that way. You and Tyreese managed to get there right as Bob got free and Zach was bit.

“No!” You cried as Zach was pulled down by the walker. His screams were loud and you surged forward to grab him but Daryl pulled you away.

“We gotta go!” Daryl yelled.

The creaking of metal was getting louder and with a look up, you saw the helicopter fall. Running as fast as you could, you got outside the building and to the cars. Most of the supplies people had gotten belonged to the walkers now, but some of the group had managed to shove things in bags before shit hit the fan.

When you were safely inside the truck, you leaned back and let out a sigh. It had been thirty days since someone had died on a run and you wished it had been longer.

You were wrong about it being a good day.

---

When you got back, it was dark. You were silent as you helped bring the hunting gear to your little shed. Dumping the metal, you got to work sorting them out and putting them in their own little piles. You were so submerged in your work, you didn’t notice someone had come inside the shed until the door closed. Turning around, you saw Beth standing there.

“Beth,” you said quietly.

She said nothing but ran into your arms. Her body was shaking and you could tell that she was holding back tears. Shushing her softly, you held her tight, rubbing your hand up and down her back.

“He’s gone and I never even said goodbye,” Beth whispered after a few moments.

“Who told you?” You asked her.

“Daryl.”

“Did you want to go back? Or did you want to stay here for a while?”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart. If you’re up to it, I could use some help sorting these.” Holding up a cast iron skillet, you waved it slightly.

“I think I can help. What do you need me to do?”

You smiled brightly before explaining what you were doing to Beth. It took little over an hour for you to sort everything and prepare it to be melted down in the morning. You could have done more, but you saw Beth yawning and trying to stay awake.

“I think it’s time for bed,” you said. Beth nodded sleepily and you wrapped an arm around her to keep her from falling.

When you got to her cell, she was asleep on her feet. Taking her boots off and putting a blanket on top of her, you kissed her forehead before leaving the cell. Quietly walking up the stairs, you got to your own cell to find Daryl waiting for you. He opened his arms and you fell into them.

“I saw that Beth went ta ya after I told her what happened,” Daryl said after a moment.

“She did. She seemed pretty shaken up about it but I took her mind off of things with menial tasks.” You sighed and shoved your face in Daryl’s chest. “He didn’t deserve a death like that.”

“He didn’t. But it happened and we can’t do nothin’ ta change it.” Daryl kissed the top of your head and held you tighter.

“I know.”

---

When Rick’s alarm went off, you woke with a start. Daryl had already left for his watch shift and you groaned quietly, you covered your head with your blanket before throwing it away completely to get dressed. Putting on a stained tank-top and an old flannel, you pulled on a tattered pair of jeans and your boots. Walking out of your cell, you grabbed a protein bar before making your way down to the shed with Dean. Shoving the rest of the bar in your mouth and rolling up your sleeves, you started working.

About ten minutes after you got the fire going and when you were about to put the metal in, you heard gunshots. Head whipping around, you made eye contact with Dean before rushing to the main buildings. Dean put out the fire and ran after you.

“Help!” You heard Lizzie yell. “Come quick!”

“Carol, what the hell is going on?” You said, panting slightly from running.

“I have no idea!”

“There’s walkers in D!” Glenn yelled, running up to you.

“What about C?” Rick asked.

“Where are the kids?” You said, eyes widening in fear.

“It’s clear!” Sasha said. “We locked the gates to the tombs.”

“It ain’t a breach!” Daryl said.

“Hershel’s on guard and watching the kids.” Sam came up to you and Dean before everyone went running to D-Block.

When you got there, everything was in chaos. A man was shooting a shotgun and Daryl quickly took it from him, handing it to Rick. You were quick to save a child from getting bit, stabbing the walker in the head before picking her up and handing her to Sam. He got her inside a cell and closed it before going back over to you and saving you from another walker.

“Thanks,” you said.

Turning around, you saw a walker get behind Rick. Flipping your knife, you threw it at the walker, hitting it in the back of the head. Bounding up the stairs, after all the walkers downstairs were dead you checked the cells with Glenn. Daryl was close behind you and when Glenn was attacked by a walker, he shot it. Carefully making your way over, you looked down and saw that it was Patrick.

“It’s Patrick,” Daryl said quietly.

“That’s all of them,” Sam said.

Your stomach was twisting at the sight of all the dead people you knew and you took a deep breath before going back to look in the cells. When you saw someone without a head wound, you stabbed them before moving on to the next cell. When you got to the downstairs and saw the people who remained, your heart broke at the terrified expressions on their faces.

Suddenly, Daryl was next to you and you found yourself holding onto him tightly. It was short and you were moving up the stairs, Sam and Dr. S. leading you to a cell.

“There’s no bites or wounds,” Rick said, motioning to the walker in front of you. “I think he just died.”

“Awfully, too. Pleurisy aspiration,” Dr. S. said.

“Choked on his own blood.”

“Patrick looked like that,” you said. “He had the same lines on his face as Charlie here.”

“And I’ve seen them on a walker outside the fence,” Rick chimed.

“The lines on his face are from the internal lung pressure. It builds up, like if you shake a can of soda and pop the top. But imagine your eyes, ears, nose, and throat being the top.”

“Is it a sickness from the walkers?” Bob asked.

“No. These things happened before they were around,” Dr. S. said.

“Could it be pneumococcal?” Sam said, crossing his arms.

“It could be. Most likely an aggressive flu strain.”

“Someone had good timing when they locked him in,” Hershel said.

“Nah. Charlie sleepwalked. He locked himself in,” Daryl said. “How can someone die in just a day from a cold? He was normal yesterday.”

“There was a sick pig. She died quick. I also saw a sick boar in the woods,” Rick said.

“Birds and pigs are how these things spread in the past.” Hershel looked at Rick. “We gotta do something about those hogs.”

“Maybe we got lucky and these two cases were it,” Dr. S. said.

“No one’s that lucky,” you muttered.

“[Y/n]’s right,” Bob said. “Bugs like to run through close quarters. Doesn’t get any closer than this.”

“All of us here, we’ve been exposed to it.”

You looked around at the people next to you and bit your lip in worry.

Taglist:

@jazzy1118

#New World #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #the walking dead x reader #twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #The Walking Dead #twd fanfiction

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tamakiamajikistentacles · 4 years ago

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Disappearance 3: The Captive {Katsuki Bakugo}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Thank you all for your kind comments and support for this story so far! We’ve got a bit of a shorter chapter today but I hope you like it!

Disappearance Masterlist

Forty-six minutes of footage had been his life for the past several weeks. He’d poured over it trying to see any possible clue he could from every angle the shopping center could offer him.

He watched the woman and the child shop for little boy’s clothing haphazardly, the woman holding shirts and pants up to him for a rough estimate of size and if acceptable draping it over her arm; nothing was ever tried on in the dressing room. The boy didn’t fuss and as far as he could tell didn’t speak at all. The only thing he did was scratch different areas of his body, darker pixels making it look like he had a rash that were just growing darker the more he scratched.

The woman paid with a card he easily found out was reported stolen later that night after the owner found unauthorized charges. It didn’t surprise him. Identity theft was clearly something they were used to.

Upon his first watch through of the footage he knew it wasn’t really Chiasa on the screen. The gait was too loose, as if she were floating through the crosswalk instead of taking careful, controlled steps. It was like he was watching her imitate Mina walking if he had to make a comparison.

The way she trailed so far ahead of the child was suspect too as Chiasa was always very warm and protective around children. She checked on them constantly with glances and questions unlike the woman he watched look straight head while her eyes darted sharply around the area, her lips pursed in silence. The vigilance was more for herself, not the safety of the small boy.

Even over four years later he couldn’t believe that she would change so drastically in the ways he was seeing—this was an imposter. When he brought these findings to the rest of his agency they agreed, remembering a much different woman when questioned by Katsuki in one of their early morning meetings.

“Can we even investigate this?” Sero asked in that same meeting at Katsuki began to explain the new concentration on that patrol route. “If she’s a missing person and there’s also potential child endangerment, wouldn’t the police be responsible?”

“They stepped out of a suspected villain hotspot in our agency’s territory; it’s all ours. Hikari made sure of that,” he smirked. She could be just as threatening as him but she knew how to word it perfectly that no one ever noticed. Combined with the ability to throw his name around, she wasn’t someone to underestimate.

With the official word that the investigation was theirs, he set his plan into motion for a heavier presence in the area of the tea shop and shopping mall. He had given that route three of the heroes on any given day to ensure that no matter what there were going to be plenty of eyes on the situation at all times. Even though he wanted to keep himself on the route constantly, he understood the importance of keeping himself visible in all the neighborhoods and areas that his agency was responsible for keeping safe.

A side bonus of rearranging the heroes allowed both the sidekicks and interns see more action on the routes that were left. Nothing extreme had occurred for sidekicks and the interns would still always be paired with a hero, but the responsibilities were upped and they were rising to the occasion. He wasn’t surprised, though. He only chose the best to represent the agency he’d worked so hard to build from the ground up.

In the time since he’d remade the patrol schedules there hadn’t been any sighting of the woman or the child. The increased presence allowed more notes for the tea shop at least, resulting in a slew of individuals being identified as having ties to prominent villain organizations. That included whispers of dealings with what remained of the League of Villains. Out of respect for Deku’s issues with Shigaraki and the past they shared he kept him in the loop with information as it came in, scarce and vague as it was.

He tried to remain hopeful even though it seemed that this path may not lead much further than Kaminari’s first sighting in the early days of September. After years of nothing, this something deserved his full attention.

The blonde bounced excitedly through the shadowed hallway with a fanged smile as she considered which shops she would visit this time. She didn’t get to go out without necessity as often nowadays so it was an event when she did.

Passing by the blue glow from their television, she paused as she heard her name.

“Toga,” called the raspy voice, “take the kid with you, he needs new clothes.”

The blonde stepped back into the doorway of the makeshift family room to meet the red eyes of Shigaraki, the blinking PAUSE on the small screen behind him illuminating his pale skin eerily. The sight didn’t disturb her but the order made her pout.

“He seriously ruined them again?” she huffed. The kid went through clothing faster than any of them and he wasn’t even the one with bloodstains to scrub out.

“Yes, but we also need to expose him to sunlight more. That’s where his mother gets her power and he could be the same way once he gets his quirk. At his age he could be getting it at any time. We need to start trying to jumpstart his power.”

Toga crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Tomura, its October, the sun is setting in an hour. He ain’t gonna get any rays in the dark!”

He hummed. “Go tomorrow then. Early. I kept him as a weapon and we need to test what he can do, make sure he works.”

She sighed in frustration, upset that her trip out of the safehouse would have to be postponed. As if her life didn’t revolve around the kid enough in the past few years. But she would listen to Shigaraki—he wasn’t being unreasonable. She could still leave for a while even if she had to take the kid too.

In the meantime, there were other things she had to do if she wasn’t going out and looking at the dim face of her watch she continued down the hallway.

As she went into the kitchen she saw Spinner and the boy sitting together with empty bowls that surely once held noodles and building blocks between them. While Spinner played on an old handheld console the boy meticulously moved the blocks and built them higher.

She watched him for a moment from where she stood at the counter.

He didn’t look like a weapon, but she supposed he never really had. The kid had been all big eyes and dark hair since the moment he was born and that hadn’t changed one bit. He was still small with too much hair and big eyes that unnerved even her when they stayed fixed on her for too long. Maybe it’s because she knew that his parents’ quirks were destructive enough on their own but considering the possible mutations? The kid could level out a city block just as easily as they could once his quirk came in.

She kept an eye on the boy as she made a small bowl of ramen, noticing the focus in his red eyes as he continued to build the blocks into a large castle. Plopping the bowl onto a tray she grabbed a plastic cup and filled it with water to set next to the bowl.

Scooping up the tray, she moved out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the small locked room at the very end of the hall. It was the safehouse’s bunker hidden behind a deceptively thick iron door, the walls within solid, windowless concrete. It was the perfect prison cell for their most dangerous captive.

When she opened the door she stepped inside and set the tray down in the middle of the dark room. “Food time, missy!”

The curled-up figure in the corner shifted slightly, tired eyes blinking slowly against the harsh light from the hallway. She recognized the shape of Toga’s hair as she squinted and the faint scent of ramen hit her nose. It made her a little sick to smell it but she knew she needed to eat.

“Gotta get some more blood for tomorrow!” Toga chirped as she pulled one of her knives from her skirt. “You know the drill, hold still!”

She didn’t exactly have the energy to do anything else, without sunlight to charge her quirk and the malnutrition and poor living conditions she could barely stand for more than a few minutes. Besides, she didn’t care what happened anyway. If she died in a concrete room from blood loss or starvation all the better. It meant that the villains couldn’t be graced with a well-executed plan.

Chiasa could faintly remember waking up surrounded by darkness in the cold room, but she would always remember the chilling threat from Shigaraki.

“When the time comes, Katsuki Bakugo is going to watch the woman he loves decay into dust.”

If it was her last act on earth, she was going to spare Katsuki that sight. That had been her goal for as long as they had kept her in this room, however long that was.

She just didn’t understand why Shigaraki hadn’t made a move yet.

The next morning was calm in contrast to what the afternoon and coming days would bring.

As Katsuki secured his gauntlets over his bracers in his office, Toga tugged a stained shirt over the little boy’s head several cities away. One of the three held hope in their heart, another chaos, and the last, hollow despair.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated!

Disappearance Masterlist

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ddixons-angel · 5 years ago

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Fated: Season 4

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: Woot woot! We are on Season 4!!! Who’s excited??? :D I’m excited and kinda nervous for what you guys think haha the first half of this season will be taking place in the 1-2 ish month time lapse they had between seasons in the show, hope you guys like that ^^ enough of my rambling, let’s go! finding gifs for the first half of this season was so hard guys lol

Chapter 1

It’s been a month since the survivors won the war against the Governor. Rick had taken up farming with Hershel and they even built a pen for some wild piglets they had found in the woods. Daryl had helped him round them up and herd them into the prison fences. It was now peaceful within the prison, lively with the newcomers from Woodbury but peaceful. Sasha and her brother, Tyreese, had come with the Woodbury residents. They’d all set up a job system for everyone; some people assigned on watch, some on the fences to take care of the walkers that had gotten piled up so that the fences wouldn’t collapse from the weight.

Carol and Gloria were in the kitchen near the main area of the cell blocks serving lunch to everyone. Another serving of Carol’s classic squirrel and rabbit stew, courtesy of Daryl’s hunting skills. Two girls from Woodbury happily bounce up to Gloria and Carol.

“Hello Lizzie, hello Mika.” Carol smiles at the two girls.

“Hello Carol and Gloria!” the girls speak in unison with a happy grin on their faces.

Gloria chuckles at how cute they are then passes one of the filled bowls to Carol then goes on to fill up another one. The girls thank Carol and Gloria for the food then happily go over to their father. Glenn smiles as he walks over to the kitchen area, leaning on the counter.

“So uh... Carol made this right?” Glenn says jokingly, teasing Gloria.

“Rude. Okay, you aren’t getting any, this is for Maggie.” Gloria playfully eyes Glenn, taking a bowl away from him.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry! I was kidding!” Glenn pleas, reaching out for the bowl again.

“A word of advice, Glenn. Never mess with a woman in the kitchen.” Carol chuckles at him, shaking her head.

Glenn chuckles and nods, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Here, go eat.” Gloria gives him a second bowl filled with stew for Maggie.

He takes the bowls and goes to the table where Maggie is sitting and sits down beside her. Another newcomer, Nina, walks up to the women this time.

“Good morning, Carol!” she smiles then tries to hide her grimace at Gloria, “and hi Gloria.”

“Good morning, Nina.” Carol says with a fake smile, handing her a bowl.

“Oh, can I get another one? I wanted to get a bowl for someone else too.” Nina smiles sweetly at Carol with pleading eyes.

Not bothered with being ignored, Gloria hands her the second bowl and Nina murmurs a thanks then heads to one of the tables. Carol eyes Nina as she walks away then looks over at Gloria and nudges her with a disapproving look.

“What?” Gloria asks, confused.

“You better watch out for that girl.” Carol tells her, nodding pointedly in Nina’s direction.

Nina had sat herself down at Daryl’s table, sitting beside him and placing the second bowl in front of him. Gloria let out a breath, she knew exactly what Carol was saying and they both knew the new girl liked Daryl.

“She’s just being friendly, it’s fine.” Gloria says, not bothered at all.

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Carol frowns then leans in and whispers to Gloria, “I think you should keep an eye out for her, call it mother’s intuition, but there’s just something off about that girl.”

“Alright, I will.” Gloria says then looks at Carol and nudges her, “did you just adopt me without me knowing?”

“Please,” Carol scoffs, “I adopted you a long time ago.”

Gloria laughs with Carol and then sees that Sasha is on her way out the building. As she had eaten before, Gloria makes her way out with Sasha since they had their shift on the fences together.

“So what’s the bet today?” Gloria asks as she catches up with Sasha.

Sasha slows down her pace until Gloria is walking along her side, “that you and I will kill most of them judging with who was placed on our shift.”

Gloria furrows her brows in confusion then Sasha gestures back towards the building and Gloria glances back to the building to see Nina coming out holding a pipe. Sasha had nothing against Nina, she just knew the girl was not a fighter, not when she was back in Woodbury and definitely not when she got to the prison with the others.

“Well, this’ll be fun.” Gloria chuckles.

Sasha scoffs and rolls her eyes, “yeah, carrying the group is always fun.”

Gloria runs ahead to the fence first and unsheathes her dagger, stabbing a walker through the fence, “first kill!”

“First doesn’t always mean you’ll win!” Sasha chuckles and jabs a walker through the fence.

The two continue to bicker competitively as they kill the walkers through the fence. Eventually, Nina gets to the fence and she also joins in stabbing the walkers, but not as quick as Gloria or Sasha. Even though Gloria and Sasha got off to a rocky start when they had first met, they'd become fast friends with their competitive nature. Sasha never blamed Gloria for not letting them into the cell block, understanding that it was for the safety of Carl and the others.

Gloria was about to stab another walker through the fence when an arrow whistles through and pierces the skull, killing it instantly. A knowing smile creeps on Gloria’s face when she sees the arrow.

“That does not count as your kill.” Sasha teases beside her.

Gloria chuckles at Sasha’s words and yanks the arrow out from the walker’s skull, letting it fall to the ground. She turns around and as expected, sees Daryl walking towards her with his crossbow now slung behind his shoulder.

“Show off.” Gloria calls out, wiping the arrow on her pants before handing it back to him.

“Thought ya needed help with that one.” Daryl teases, a side smile tugging at his lips.

Gloria rolls her eyes and scoffs jokingly, “I had it handled, Mr. Dixon.”

Sasha chuckles behind her, “hey, are you two lovebirds gonna flirt all day or help?”

“See what you did? Making me look lazy.” Gloria nudges him and stabs another walker through the fence, making Daryl laugh.

A whining cry from Nina captures their attention as she struggles with killing one of the walkers. Her pipe got stuck in the skull of a walker she had just killed.

“D-Daryl, help me, please!” she whines.

Being the way he is, Daryl goes to help her. He pulls the pipe out from the walker with one hand, looking rather effortless. Gloria had gone back to killing walkers through the fence.

“Wow, Daryl, you’re so strong!” Nina gleams at him helping her.

Sasha gawks at Nina then turns to look at Gloria, “how are you not bothered? You can not be okay with this.” she says in a whisper.

“Because,” Gloria starts then leans in and whispers to Sasha, “she can flirt all she wants but at the end of the day, Daryl’s mine and he knows that.”

“Oh wow.” Sasha chuckles, feeling quite proud of her friend’s confidence.

“Plus, you wanna take in how uncomfortable Daryl looks with her advances?” Gloria can’t help but point out that he’s been shifting on his feet, clearly not comfortable with how much attention Nina’s paying him.

Sasha glances and notices it too and laughs, nodding in agreement, “you’re right, you got nothing to worry about.”

Daryl comes back to Gloria once Nina is done bombarding him, “hey, Glenn wanted to do some meeting for tomorrow’s run.”

“I’m included?” Gloria looks over at him, yanking her knife out of a walker.

“Yep.” is all he says as he walks back to the prison.

---

Gloria had finished her shift with Sasha and Nina. Tyreese and a few others were in charge of taking the corpses to a designated area to burn. After getting cleaned up from her shift, Gloria came back out to the main area where Glenn and Maggie were already seated at a table with a map spread out. Gloria sat across from them and looked at the area Glenn had circled in red. Daryl came by and sat down beside Gloria, automatically snaking an arm around her waist. She smiles at him as Glenn starts to explain the plan.

“So this place used to be a really popular mall, I’ve driven past it before and it seems pretty overrun, but with the right team we can get a pretty good run out of it.” Glenn says, pointing to the circled area.

“By the right team you mean...” Gloria ponders out loud while looking at Glenn.

“Us four.” Glenn tells her.

Gloria chuckles, “Glenn, if you wanted a double date, you could have just asked.”

The others chuckle at her comment, “yeah yeah... well, jokes aside, I’m thinking we can enter the mall at opposite sides, clear it and meet in the middle. Maggie would be covering me, and Daryl covering Gloria. Scavenge what we can find and exit through the main doors.” Glenn explains, his hands guiding them through the map and the other smaller map Glenn had drawn to give them a good visual of the place.

“So we’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning, that way we can make it back for dinner?” Maggie confirms.

“Depending on how it goes, we might even come back with dinner.” Daryl says.

“Speaking of dinner,” Glenn looks around the room, “where’s Carol?”

Gloria rolls her eyes, “I swear, you just ate.”

“I’m a growing boy!” Glenn grins cheekily at her, Maggie puts her hand to her face in slight embarrassment.

Daryl looks at Gloria with a smirk, “ya sure he’s older?”

“He is...” Gloria sighs jokingly.

---

Next Chapter

There you have it, first chapter of Season 4! We have a newly introduced character, I have a feeling not a lot of people are gonna like her at all hahaha I wanted to create some kind of love triangle or even have a jealous Gloria but... I just couldn’t see her jealous so it became this xD let me know what you guys think and what you think will happen on that run they’re gonna go on? (it’s not the Big Spot run, that comes after hehe)

I hope everyone stays safe and healthy, please don’t panic, we will get through this!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

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pretend-writer · 5 years ago

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Down Below (Chapter 63)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 2.1k words

Warning: swearing, mention of death, violence, cannibalism

Down Below Masterlist

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

'Why are you telling me this now?' Bellamy kept his head low, starring at the ground while sitting on the bench in his cell.

Finally telling him the truth about the Dark Year was pretty tough, considering the fact that that was the reason why we fell apart. He was going into the fighting pit and it seemed like the right thing to do.

'Figured I'd tell you since we're in a pretty fucked up situation.'

'It doesn't add up. What does Kane have to do with any of the things you told me?'

The flashback pained me, it's been over 4 years since the betrayal but it still hurt. 'Days later I told Marcus the truth about everything. He didn't believe me and instead sided with that monster.'

'A monster?' Bellamy huffed, standing up as he walked towards me. 'You had a choice to back away from everything and you blame Abby?'

'Are you kidding me?'

My eyes began to water as I remembered all of the hidden memories that I tried so hard to shove deep down. I never cried about the Dark Year but perhaps since it was the first time I've ever spoke about it out loud, it finally felt real.

'A grown adult who was supposed to protect us threatened to kill my friend if I didn't do as she said, told me to do something absolutely disgusting. You know exactly how it feels to be manipulated. Bellamy, you know!'

'You could've told Kane right when that happened. That doesn't excuse you for what you did for the rest of the years you've been in the bunker.'

'I was told to be brave, be strong. Look out for grown adults that should be able to take care of themselves. I was only a teenager, just a stupid teenager and was betrayed by someone I was supposed to look up to.' I took a deep breath and shook my head. 'What was I supposed to do? I felt alone. I had to keep doing what we were doing to survive.'

Bellamy flared his nose, I couldn't tell if he was angry or frustrated. Either way I knew it wasn't a good sign. 'I told you that I'm always here for you, why didn't you ever tell me?'

'How was I supposed to tell you that I've killed people down there? That someone manipulated me and I fell for it? Considering that I've been trying to be good all these years before the bunker, it's embarrasing. I lost trust in everyone, everyone but Octavia. Then you showed up, then got my sister taken away. What was I supposed to do?'

'But you're my gir-' He paused, I knew exactly what he was going to say. Given the circumstances I guess it was all over. 'I thought we had an understanding that we'd always be able to trust each other.'

'Well, things change especially after six years. You know now, Blake. It's easier for you to judge when you're the outside looking in. You didn't know how bad it was. Every trigger that I pulled is in my hands forever and I have to live with that.'

Bellamy started at me, 'I don't feel sorry for you.'

'For fuck sakes I'm not asking for you to be sorry for me, you ass!' I screamed, 'You could be dying in a few hours right in that fucking fighting pit. I-I'

'You can just end it, you know that right? Instead you're here trying to give me this sob story.'

I rolled my eyes, 'You know what, do whatever the hell you want. I mean that was your motto after all. Just go to the fucking pit for all I care.'

'It's not like I have a choice!' Bellamy yelled as I turned my back against him and stormed to the exit.

Stopping right as I was about to grab the door to leave, I quickly turned around. 'What do you want me to do, huh? Stop the fighting pit? You broke the rules and this is the consequences you have to face.'

'You said you're the one that started the fighting pit so fucking end it! It doesn't have to be this way.' Bellamy face palmed, kicking the wall as he grunted. 'You and Octavia just want to do whatever is convenient for you two. Come down here and try to sweet talk me when I'm about to die.'

'Octavia came down to see you?'

'Yep, of course she did. Now she wants me to be her sweet brother and beat Indra in the fighting pit, when all she have to do is stop th-'

My eyes widened, shocked to hear that Octavia was willing to sacrifice her mentor and someone she deeply loved for her brother.

Indra was someone she truly loved besides Bellamy, she considered her as family. Yet Octavia was okay to tell her brother to kill her.

Bellamy saw my reaction and chuckled, 'Abby played you but so did Octavia. She had you wrapped around her finger.'

Talking about the Dark Year already had me in the verge of tears, I didn't want to be sad over Octavia either. Especially in front of Bellamy.

Just thinking about the possibility of Octavia could throw me under the bus next as if it was nothing made me think of the past six year we had together. I've killed people to protect Octavia from Abby, would she do the same? Or would she throw my life away just as she was doing with Indra's?

'Reyes, I'm not fighting Gaia and Indra in the pit. I'm not stooping to you guys' level and start killing people.'

I was busy thinking about my friendship with Octavia, I barely heard what Bellamy said. This all suddenly felt so stupid to me, what was the point of even fighting anymore?

All of the people I've cared about were gone; Marcus, Bellamy and now Octavia. Raven probably would just laugh at my face once she sees what I've turned into. She would be shameful of me, I would never expect my sister to stay by my side after all of the mess I've made.

'Do you think I like doing all of this shit? I don't enjoy seeing people die or killing them. I sure don't want to see you die.'

'I don't know who you are anymore, Reyes. I don't know what you like or hate, I don't even know if you love me.'

'Of course I love you.' Why wouldn't I? After I lost everything down here, Bellamy was the only person I ever thought about. 'You were the reason I kept going. The reminder of your voice telling me to survive, for you.'

Everyday down at the bunker, I always thought of the what-ifs. What if I stayed with Jasper in Arkadia and spent the rest of my shortened life happy? What if I refused to give Echo or even Emori the suit and went up to The Ring with Bellamy?

I know that one thing was for certain; any of the choices would've been better than spending six years of hell under this bunker. It turned me to someone I hated; I was no better than my parents, Pike or even Emerson that traumatized me for so long. I've become them.

'Bellamy...' I called for his name, 'The day we first met, I hated you for treating people the way you did. I hated what you did with Pike and I judged you for that. All those times of me preaching to be good and now I've become worse than any of the people that we've ever met. I'm sorry that I've changed and I'm sorry that you had to see me like this.'

Even when Abby blackmailed me to kill Wonkru, I knew it was wrong. Just as Marcus always said, we always have a choice. I had a choice to stand up and call her out, instead I hid behind and took innocent lives. I've failed at becoming a great leader and now, I realized that all the anger I had these years was toward myself.

Looking at Bellamy one more time would've just pained me even more, I had to walk away from his cell. Instead, I walked straight to look for Octavia. I had to try to talk her out on the punishment her brother was going to face.

The idea of Octavia basically throwing Indra's life away still didn't sit right with me. I was more sad and upset than angry that she would do such thing.

As I was headed toward Octavia's office, I felt a tug on my arm. 'Y/N!'

'Monty?' I was surprised to see him, also surprised that he was willing to talk to me. 'W-what are you going here?'

'I was looking for Octavia but found you instead. Look! Look what I have.' His smile always cheered me up; Even at times like this he was positive.

Before I asked him what it was, he brought out a pot filled with flowers. 'Why do you have that?'

'Flowers, Y/N! Can you believe it?! How long has it been since we've seen something this beautiful?' He grinned widely, 'Cooper gave me her hydrofarm right before she died but guess what? It still works. We can have enough crops growing to feed us. We don't have to storm into Shallow Valley and instead, we can live here.'

I couldn't find a word to say as I was processing everything that Monty said to me. All these years when we feared for our life ending stopped right at this moment.

We had never had any source of food other than eating human meat for a very long time. The fact that we didn't have to fight our way into a warzone to live made me feel relieved. This was a feeling that I haven't had in a while.

Monty noticed that I hadn't reacted to his good news, 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah... yeah.' I paused, then looked at Monty as I bit my lips. 'How do you do it? Be a good person all the time and being everyone's light?'

His brows raised, perhaps he was surprised that I wasn't acting hostile for once. After all, I have been a bitch ever since we crawled out from the bunker. 'Long time ago, a certain someone was walking in the same shoes as me.'

'No, no Monty. I've always had my ups and downs starting with the whole Jasper situation.' I chuckled, a bit embarrassed. 'I was a mess and I guess I am right now too. But you Monty, you're always so pure and have good judgment.'

Monty gave a light smile, 'It's hard especially at a time like this. I miss the last six years in the Ring where we had none of this chaos.'

My heart broke for him; Spacekru was happy up there, thinking and expecting that Octavia and I were doing great down here too. Instead they came down to this disfunctional family and was dragged into the mess that we made.

'I'm sorry for making you guys' life a living hell. You guys don't deserve this.'

'I can't really say it's not your fault because it kind of is.' He chuckled, 'But seems like you've slowly started to show effort already. It doesn't sound like Skafaiya that I'm talking to.'

'Definitely not her and I think I'm done being Skafaiya.' She was someone I thought was a savior for Wonkru, instead she was terror that everyone feared.

'Seeing you again after saving you guys from the bunker made me think that you've lost your ways forever. I thought that the Y/N that everyone loved and respected was gone.' Monty nodded, 'Turns out I was wrong.'

A smile formed on my face, appreciating the way he handled everything considering that he had every right to hate me. As I was about to thank him, I smelled something burning.

Monty and I looked at each other, confused to why something was burning inside the bunker. Curiously, we both followed the smoke that eventually led into the hydrofarm.

There stood Blodreina, smirking as she stared at the fire as it burned down our last resort of food. The whole farm were now into flames; everything that Monty built for us to survive was gone.

‘Octavia!’ I placed my hand on her shoulders, worried that she was too close to the fire. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself.’

‘What did you do!’ Monty yelled with his fist balled up.

‘No, no she didn’t do this.’ I disagreed with Monty, knowing that there was no way Octavia would demolish our options to survive. ‘O, you didn’t do this right?’

She bit her lip as she turned her head to my direction. ‘Wonkru is going to march into Shallow Valley and take what we deserve. Burning this farm down is the only way to survive.’

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

tag list; @jodiereedus22, @coffeebooksandfandom, @bellamyblakemorley, @wisestydia-15, @dbtvluv , @hurricane–amelia , @lexalexy , @olkathefoxi, @lena-davina, @kellbell44, @thehakunamatara, @akelly4477, @morgannope, @littlegirl-fox, @captainam-erika-trash, @greygarbage, @nathaliabakes, @eternallyvenus, @rauwz, @broco8, @eridanuswave, @minamisulemisa

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy x reader #raven reyes x sister!reader #bellamy blake fic #the 100 series #the 100 fic #the 100 bellamy fic

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highly-opinionated-ramblings · 5 years ago

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Hi I’m back again. I did end up coming up with a half decent Batman/Killer Croc plot and I figured, why not share with the entire world at large? Here ya go:

Croc escapes Arkham as part of a mass prison break orchestrated by Joker, and then, poof. Disappears off the map completely. Bruce and his team are a little bit busy dealing with Joker and the rest of the escapees, and he just sort of slips through the cracks.

Once things settle down again, Bruce briefly considers going after him. He has a pretty good idea of where Croc is hiding out, deep down in the sewers below Gotham. But then he takes a trip to Arkham to talk to the warden re: prisoner security measures, and he sees where they had been keeping him.

In a partially flooded cellar underneath the facility, with no windows, no toilet fixture, and not even a bed to sleep on. Mold growing all over the walls. There isn’t even a real door, just a hatch in the ceiling from which they would toss down food- according to a guard, raw meat- once every couple of days.

A few days go by, and there aren’t any news headlines of people being dragged down into the sewers and devoured. Bruce doesn’t go looking for Croc.

A few years pass, and a criminal gets the bright idea (it was bound to happen eventually) to take a hostage and escape from Batman and the police by heading down into the sewers.

None of their usual tracking equipment will function right that far underground, Oracle informs him. They don’t even have an up-to-date map of the sewage system. By the time they figure out a way to get around down there, that guy will be long gone.

So he goes looking for Croc.

He finds him in an offshoot pipe under the industrial district, just where he expected to. Makes a big show of raising his hands non threateningly and insists that he just wants to talk, and eventually Waylon steps out to meet him.

“I’m looking for a man who came down here a few hours ago with a little girl. Can you help me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because he’s a convicted child molester and a murderer, and it’s the right thing to do?”

“...”

“And also because if you don’t tell me, GCPD will flood the sewers with men looking for him, and they’re sure to find you.”

“...They went that way. You can catch up to them if you take the first right off this tunnel and circle around.”

Bruce goes after the guy, and catches him, and rescues the hostage, and all is well with the world. Then, he goes back to talk to Croc again. Just so they know where they stand with each other.

“I caught the guy.”

“Good for you. If you knew where I was all this time, then why didn’t you come try to get me, too?”

“Because you weren’t doing anything. And because...I saw how you were treated at Arkham. No one deserves that kind of treatment. Living in the sewers isn’t much better, but I figured, at least you were free.”

“Free to eat rats and steal fish out of traps left by the dock, maybe.”

“I could bring you something,” Bruce offers. “Some real food. You like chicken?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m just trying to help. I can’t make what’s happened to you go away, and I can’t magic you up a society that accepts you for who you are, but I can bring you chicken.”

“.........I like pork better.”

And sooooo Bruce begins visiting Waylon in his sewer lair. About once a week or so. Always with some sort of offering from The World Above. It doesn’t take long for Waylon to be sure that Batman really doesn’t intend to hurt him, and in turn to develop a fierce, fierce sense of loyalty to him.

One day not long after, in a completely unrelated incident, Batman is hurt. The thugs responsible toss his unconscious form down the nearest manhole and run for the hills. Admittedly, a smart move on their part.

Bruce lands in the water and is swept up in the tide (there’s, like, water flow in sewers, right? I’m not making that up?). Even if he were conscious, he would have had a tough time breaking free of the current (whatever let’s just go with it).

But Waylon comes to find him. He smells Bruce’s blood and comes running, fishes him out of the water and brings him back to his lair.

Later, when they realize what’s happened, Dick and Jason descend into the sewers (with their new and improved trackers, courtesy of Lucius) looking for Bruce. Instead they run into Croc, who attacks them viciously on sight.

“We don’t have time for this,” Jason yells to Dick. “We have to find Batman, before it’s too late for him!”

And Waylon stops in his tracks. Takes an actual good look at the two men in front of him and realizes that they are not, in fact, the ones who hurt Batman in the first place coming back to finish the job.

He lowers his fists and asks, with an unexpected urgency, “can you help him?”

He leads the boys to Batman and clumsily explains the situation to them. When they decide that they’re not sure if they can totally trust him, and that it’d be best if they took him into custody in the cave for a little while, until Bruce wakes up and can tell them what’s really going on, he goes willingly.

Thus Bruce is saved. When he comes to, he’s more determined than ever to do something about Waylon’s situation. The kids might not like it- although Dick and Jason can vouch for his behavior in the sewers, and everything he did to protect Bruce- but Bruce decides to get him out of the sewers once and for all.

He hires some contractors to dig out some subterranean rooms under the Manor’s grounds (taking extra care that none of them stumble across the Batcave in the process). Then he goes back with his own tools and creates a connecting passage to the actual cave itself. Waylon moves in and Bruce is able to keep visiting him much more often, and delivering him actual meals.

Throughout all of this the kids are just sort of staring at him suspiciously, like, “Bruce. Bruce. Be honest here. Have you. Fallen in love. With the crocodile man, Bruce.”

“No,” he says, “don’t be ridiculous!”

But he’s lying. With Waylon living practically in the same house, it’s only a matter of time before he’s forced to admit- first to himself, and finally then to his family- that yeah, he has definitely fallen in love with the crocodile man.

#My writing #batshipping #Killer Croc #what should we call this ship folks #batcroc?#killerbat?#whatever it's called I like it a Lot #there HAS to be someone besides me out there interested in this obscure ship right?#RIGHT???

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hedwigstalons · 5 years ago

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High Expectations - Ch11

*rocks in the corner muttering ‘art is journey, art is a journey’*

As you can see I tried something in colour for this chapter and it did not go well. I just hope the story makes up for it. A slightly shorter chapter this time and a slightly longer gap where I have used up my head start but there are some meatier pieces coming up.

@willow-salix was her usual amazing self with proof reading.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Eleven

The phone on the desk blared into life and Jeff grabbed at it, nearly knocking the device to the floor in his hurry to answer. It had been hours since he dispatched Scott to Marineville and the wait for news had been agonising. Every minute that Gordon was missing left him more chilled. Thoughts of food and drink had been far from his mind, consumed by the worry that something sinister may have happened or that somehow Gordon had moved on and was again missing. His final whispered promise to Lucille to keep their children safe had been echoing around his head and haunting him.

“Scott?” He tried to maintain some composure but there was still a slight waver to his tone.

“Plane’s just taken off Dad. Gordon will be landing at Long Beach in a little under two hours. Flight code AT2784”

“I’ll head over to meet him. Goodbye Scott.” He shut the call off abruptly as emotion threatened to overwhelm him.

For Jeff the call brought a flood of relief but this was quickly replaced by a wave of anger now that Gordon’s safety had been confirmed. His son’s idiocy and selfishness had caused untold worry, while the deception he had employed in this whole enterprise meant a complete loss of trust. Meetings had been rearranged, potentially annoying valuable business partners and Wilbur’s internship offer had also expired. Yet again Gordon had thrown a curveball and hang the consequences for everyone else.

Of all his sons Gordon brought him more stress and worry than the others combined. If any of his children was going to discredit the Tracy name it was Gordon. The worst school reports; Gordon. The only one ever suspended; Gordon. He had hoped that the boy would soon start showing some maturity but this latest example of recklessness proved that he still had a lot of growing up to do.

Two hours. Time enough to get some food and then have the car take him to the airport. He didn’t think Gordon would disappear again but then he had never anticipated Gordon falsifying documents and attempting to join WASP. No, tonight he was taking no chances; when that flight landed he would be there ready and waiting.

xoxoxox

Scott pocketed his phone and turned away from the panoramic viewing windows that looked out over the runway. He had called his father the second the wheels left the ground and now, just a few short moments later, the plane was already a distant speck whisking his brother back to Los Angeles. The late summer sun was low in the sky by the time he reached his car, his day off was nearly over and he knew that by the time he made it back to base there would be no time for anything except bed.

The last few hours had been....enlightening. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent so long alone with Gordon. It had been seven years since he had lived at home and his visits had generally coincided with holidays and celebrations, times when Gordon had let his hair down and been like the ten year old kid he used to live with. He had been fully prepared to go along with his father’s assertion that Gordon was both immature and selfish and needed a harsh dose of reality.

The Gordon he sat with today, waiting for the flight south to be called, wasn’t like that. The very last time he had seen Gordon his brother had been trying to eat an entire pint tub of ice cream topped with two bags of M&Ms. But then the last time he had seen Gordon had been the day after his gold medal win, a day of celebration and blowing off steam after years of hard training. Irreverent goofballs don’t tend to go on to be world record holders.

His brother had earned that medal through dedication, determination and the sort of steely resolve he had just witnessed in the young man who had sat opposite him in the airport cafe, sipping on a mineral water, the dirt of the Marineville obstacle course still smudging his clothes. This Gordon wasn’t a child. This Gordon had earnt the respect of the WASP assessors and displayed skills and talents that his own family had never recognised. That Gordon could be considered officer material by anyone had come as a shock but in just the short time he had spent with his brother he could begin to see what they meant.

His anger, which had dissipated while waiting with Gordon for the flight to board, returned as his father ended the call. To be dismissed without even a thank you for what he had done was more than a little cutting but then Jeff had always had this unwavering belief that his sons should all do exactly as they were told. Today he had been just a lackey directed to do his father’s bidding without any consideration to his own needs. Of course he had done it though, trekked across the state at a moments notice, it was for family after all but another precious day off was gone without any acknowledgement of the sacrifice from his father. Underneath the anger he realised that part of him was actually a little jealous of Gordon. He was sure his brother would pay a heavy price for this escapade but he was the only one who had dared to break the mould. His own route through university and into the Air Force had been heavily directed and while it was a path he had happily followed he reflected that he had never really been given a choice in the matter.

His thoughts turned, as they frequently did, to the idiotic plan that had been presented to the eldest three as though it were a done deal; the rescue organisation manned by a pilot, a former astronaut and two students expected to train up to whatever tasks were thrown at them. He couldn’t see Virgil ever disobeying their father and John would do anything if it meant he could live among the stars. The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to give up the life he was making for himself in the Air Force no matter how noble the cause. Today had shown that he would be forever moved about like a pawn with no thought given to his own needs and he couldn’t face going back to live under the unyielding control of his father. He resolved to take a leaf out of Gordon’s book and live his own life; his father could find a different pilot for his madcap scheme.

xoxoxox

As Gordon entered the arrivals hall at Long Beach Airport he was not surprised to see the familiar form of his father waiting by the barriers, flanked by his security detail. Standing ramrod straight and staring at the gate Jeff made an imposing sight but Gordon was too tired to be intimidated, he had been up since dawn and put through his paces and now all he wanted was his bed. He held his father’s gaze as he walked across the polished tiles then followed to the waiting car looking for all the world like a condemned prisoner.

The journey across town had been completed in silence despite the soundproof privacy screen being lifted, shutting off the occupants in the passenger cabin from those riding up front. Father and son sat stiffly in the back, the tension palpable and the atmosphere uncomfortable. Even their initial greeting had been limited to a mere nod of acknowledgement at the airport. It was only once the sanctuary of the apartment had been gained and the study door shut behind Jeff with a subtle click far too quiet for the mood did the first words finally get spoken.

“Sit down Gordon.” Jeff indicated the chair opposite him as he took up his habitual place behind the desk.

“No thank you.”

“I said sit down. Do you really want to faint in front of me just to prove a point? You look awful” The measured tone took on a note of exasperation at the continued defiance.

“I’m fine.” His legs buckled beneath him all the same and he sat down heavily in the chair. Thinking back he hadn’t eaten since being presented with the fairly unappetising lunch rations as Marineville, he had been too angry to accept anything more than water from Scott at the airport.

“You are anything but ‘fine’. People who are fine do not forge documents and run off to join the navy.”

“WASP.” Gordon corrected him.

“Which is still currently under the wider jurisdiction of the World Navy. However, the who doesn’t really matter. What is important here is that you lied, you deceived and you disappeared without a thought or care to those around you. Even Alan knows better than to head off without permission. When will you grow up and stop behaving like such a child?”

“You’re the one who has been on at me to do something with my life. You’re the one that keeps telling me to choose a career path and think of my future. Well that’s what I was doing. I’d be out of your way and you wouldn’t have to bother about me any more.”

“You’re too young for WASP.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t the only 17 year old at selection.”

“They probably had permission. Which is another thing, don’t ever forge my signature again.”

Gordon snorted “You’d best start paying attention to Alan then.”

“And what is that supposed to mean.”

“I’ve been signing his school permission forms for years. I got fed up of seeing him get upset or getting into trouble. You were always too busy, you’d get to it later. Well later was too late one too many times. So now he doesn’t bother you with them any more, he can do the field trips, the maths olympiads and the science fairs and just show you certificates later. Or at least stick them to the refrigerator in the hope you notice them seeing as you’re barely here. Do you even care about us or are we just an inconvenience until we do something that can be shown off to your cronies? Another trophy you can wave to show how great the Tracys are?”

“How dare you question me, of course care about you all. I do what I need to do.”

“Yeah, and I’ve done what I needed to do. You have been more than happy to leave me to look after Alan night after night yet you still can’t see that I’m not a child any more”

“I will not be spoken to like this Gordon.” The calm facade Jeff had tried to maintain cracked in the face of Gordon’s insolence. Anger flashed to the surface. “You are a child and for as long as you live under my roof you will follow my rules. From now on there will be no more competitions; you may continue to swim for exercise but I will not fund your fantasy career. I will be calling your coach in the morning and removing you from the squad. You will spend the rest of your time applying for college places. Any offers will be vetted by me seeing as you have proved that your judgement is not to be trusted. Now go and get yourself cleaned up and go to bed, it’s late.”

The chair scraped back across the floor as Gordon stood up with a jolt.

“And the great Jeff Tracy has spoken. This is why I never told you about WASP, you never listen. All you care about is your perfect reputation propped up by your model children. It doesn’t matter what we want as long as it reflects well on you.”

Gordon stalked back to his room, not stopping to hear his father’s reply. He had left it less than 48 hours previously, full of hopes and plans for the future and now he was effectively a prisoner in his own home. He threw himself onto the bed and punched the pillows in an attempt to let out some of his frustrations.

At Marineville he had felt more comfortable than he had done for ages, there was something about the place that just felt right. Even the loss of competitive swimming was eclipsed by the thought that his chances with WASP had been ruined. Yet again his father had given the painful reminder as to who was ultimately in control of his life. Anger gave way to hopelessness and exhaustion and he drifted off to sleep still fully clothed, silent tears mixed with Marineville mud leaving their tracks across his pillow.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #high expectations #my art #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #running away #military selection

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chemicalmagecraft · 4 years ago

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A Black Wind Howls Chapter 3: The Fight

A/N: I hate finals and am glad that I'm done with them. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!

By the way, if you haven't noticed by now I decided to give all the chapters titles. A chapter that follows the events of an original ATLA name will share its title, but original chapters will have original names.

Also, in case anyone was curious, my mental image of Lhamo is that she looks and sounds like Scorpia from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, except not a scorpion and with black hair. Meanwhile, I may or may not have thought of Old Toph from TLoK a little when writing Tsering. To be honest, though, I don't really have any one character to point to for Dorji, aside from the in-universe comparison between her and Aang (though it might be more accurate to say she looks like a mix between Toph and Aang, just nobody's seen Toph yet and therefore cannot make that comparison). As for personality, according to TVTropes she might be described as a Rei Ayanami Expy, though I haven't seen Neon Genesis Evangelion so I can't say for sure if that's the best comparison. And just a little fun fact, despite being currently the shortest member of the Gaang (roughly 3'11, and I found a thing that says that Aang is 4'6, Katara is 4'9, and Sokka is 4'11, though it wasn't exactly official so it might be slightly off) she is the second oldest, being a few months older than Katara. Assuming you count Aang as 12 and not 112.

oOoOo

Previously on Avatar...

The firebender that the girl had hit shakily got back up and punched at the airbender's back. Only a puff of smoke came from his fist.

"My name is Dorji. I'm an airbender."

"The power of airbending may have survived through my family line, but unfortunately the spirit of the Air Nomads lives on only through you." Aang winced at that comment.

"Should you really be stealing moon peaches?" Aang asked her in a slightly accusatory tone.

Dorji shrugged. "Not stealing."

Lhamo gasped and hugged the three. "Dorji has friends her age!"

"Is that you, Tsering?" Aang asked.

Tsering grimaced. "I survived."

At some point Katara had shifted in her sleep, ending up with her arm hooked around Dorji's waist. Judging from the red glow dusting her cheeks and ears Dorji had some very conflicting feelings about this. "Shiiiiit..." she muttered softly.

Aang simply couldn't sleep.

oOoOo

Aang and Dorji, both very tired, grunted at each other sleepily when they met in the hall, both rubbing their eyes. "Couldn't sleep?" Aang asked.

"Couldn't sleep..." Dorji nodded after a few moments, like she hadn't heard Aang at first. While Aang had fully opened his eyes, Dorji's were still half-closed drowsily.

"I kinda stayed up all night thinking. You?"

Dorji's cheeks turned a nice shade of pink. "...Also thinking." After a silence that could have been either her insomnia-addled brain trying to think or just her having dozed off for a bit she said, "Actually could you please put your hand on my stomach?"

"What? Why?" Aang asked.

Dorji's blush returned. "I'm... curious about something."

"Oookay..." Aang looked at her weird, but carefully placed his hand on her stomach. "Why?"

Dorji grabbed Aang's arm and twirled around so that his arm ended up hooked around her waist. "Hmm... Nothing..." she muttered as she leaned on Aang's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Aang asked.

Dorji released his arm and started walking away. "Checking something." She sniffed the air. "Smells like Lhamo made breakfast. Let's go." She walked away before Aang could ask her more questions. Aang sighed and followed her down the hall.

"Hey, Lhamo," Dorji muttered when she walked into the dining room, turning her head slightly to face her cousin who was currently placing food on the table. Katara and Sokka were seated at the table, eating.

"Hey, what'sh up!" Sokka said in between chewing. "You two are up late!"

"Sokka, please don't talk with food in your mouth," Katara scolded.

"Itsh sho good, though!"

Lhamo smiled. "Thank you! I made it myself!"

Dorji stared at Sokka, seemingly deep in thought. Sokka swallowed. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Dorji jumped, sailing through the air to land gently on Sokka's lap, causing him to squawk in alarm. She forced his free arm around her waist. "Ew. Weird," she muttered.

"One of us is weird here and it isn't me," Sokka objected. He put down his food and picked Dorji up, placing her in the seat next to him. Dorji started snoring despite sitting up. "She is weirdly light. Is that an airbender thing?"

Lhamo rushed over to Dorji. She placed one hand on her shoulder and the other over her forehead. "Dorji are you okay? Have you been eating well?"

Dorji grunted lazily and touched the thumb of her open hand to her chest and then her chin, then started snoring again.

Lhamo put some food in front of her. "Still, you need to eat."

Dorji made a small noise, but started eating. She made another sign after a few bites of food, then stopped eating.

"Ya gotta eat more, kid," Tsering said as she entered the room. "You're worried about your dad, right?"

Dorji sniffed and nodded after a few moments.

Tsering sighed and sat down next to her, facing her despite the fact that her eyes were closed. "I am too, kid. You have to eat, though. I remember, back when I'd just escaped the massacre, I couldn't bring myself to eat at all. It... wasn't good for my health. Felt like I was floating all the time, nearly passed out a lot. Think I did pass out a few times. Remember dreaming about everything being upside-down or something... Where was I?" Dorji touched her thumb to her forehead. "Right, your father. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he busted out of prison and assassinated the Fire Lord or some of his generals, or simply razed their capitol to the ground. He can take care of himself. Now eat."

Dorji nodded and started eating again, ignoring Aang, Katara's bewildered stares from what Tsering had said about her son.

oOoOo

"Goodbye, everyone!" Lhamo said with a wave as Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Dorji boarded Appa. "It was nice meeting you all! Take care of Dorji!"

"Goodbye, Lhamo," Dorji said.

"Thanks for the pie!" Sokka shouted.

"Speaking of pie," Tsering said as she walked into the clearing, followed by a few workers bearing a box, a few sacks, and a few tubes. "I have a few gifts for you all." Despite not moving her hands from where they were clasped behind her back, the packages started floating in bubbles of air and were loaded onto Appa. "One of those is the rest of the pie from last night. Eat it before it goes bad. Those bags contain some of our produce, freshly picked." She smiled and stroked Appa's fur. "I'm sure between the sky bison and the three growing teenagers, you'll need them."

"Thanks!" Aang said. "We'll be sure to use them."

Tsering chuckled. "That's not even the thing I figured you'd like the most. The scroll tubes contain, among other things, copies of genuine Air Nomad scrolls."

Aang's eyes widened. He grabbed one of the tubes, one with the Air Nomad sigil on it, and with shaking hands carefully opened it. He reverentially pulled out a pristine scroll that also had the Air Nomad sigil on it. He unfurled it, revealing instructions for advanced airbending techniques. His eyes welled with tears and he quickly rolled the scroll up and put it back before wiping his eyes. "Y-you..."

The old woman smirked at him. "Figured you'd like that. I may not have been too cut out for the whole monk life, but I'm still an Air Nomad. I decided a while back to preserve as much of Air Nomad culture as I could, hopefully for future generations but at the very least to preserve records of my people." She chuckled. "Made a bit of name for myself in the field of anthropology as a result."

"And you're just giving these to me?" Aang asked.

She shrugged. "As I said, they're copies. I made sure to put the originals in safe hands, so don't worry too much if you lose them."

"What are the other scrolls?" Katara asked.

"I also wrote down some techniques Wangchuck and I made that Dorji might want to refresh herself on. And you might want to learn some of those, Aang." Aang looked a little uncomfortable when she said that. "Just a suggestion, kid. There's also some stuff on Air Nomad culture in there that I thought you might like, plus some recipes in case you want something from home. Aside from that, there are a few scrolls on bending the other elements that I've managed to obtain. Figured that as the Avatar you might have more use for those than me. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get much more than theory for fire and water, especially because Wangchuck never fucking told me where he put his scrolls, but it's better than nothing, huh?" She smiled at Katara. "Plus I figure you might appreciate it too, Katara. You are a waterbender, are you not?"

Katara nodded. "Thank you."

"I also managed to find a scroll on healing with waterbending. It's not anything you can use in a fight but, well..." Tsering rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faded but still slightly visible burn scar. "Let's just say I speak from experience when I say that healers are the kind of thing that are always great to have around. I'll try to find practical waterbending scrolls to get to you."

Katara bowed. "You've already given us a lot. I'll try to work with what you've given me already."

Tsering shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I've got enough connections that I should be able to get you a few scrolls eventually."

"That stuff's cool and all, I guess, but I don't suppose you have anything I can use?" Sokka asked.

She nodded. "Fair enough. It might not be quite your fighting style, but there are also a few scrolls on chi blocking in there. The art was originally developed by nonbenders to give them an edge against benders. Dorji can teach the basics to you, if you want. And finally, I added in a few scrolls on Earth Kingdom Sign Language."

"Is that that weird hand thing Dorji was doing earlier?" Sokka asked.

Dorji winced and Katara glared at Sokka.

Tsering stared at him flatly. "Little rude to phrase it like that, but yeah. It's good for sneaking around because you have to be pretty fucking bad at it to make noise while doing it. And while it's not my place to tell you why, Dorji sometimes prefers talking in it so it'd be for the best if at least one of you learned enough of it to hold a conversation."

"Thank you, Grandmother," Dorji muttered shyly.

"Right, you all should leave now. Goodbye, Dorji and Aang." She waved them off with a smile.

"What about us?" Sokka asked as Appa started to rise.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose you too." Despite being far away from them at this point and not speaking up at all, her voice traveled perfectly to them.

oOoOo

Aang touched Appa down in a large forest clearing so they could rest for the night. He patted Appa on the head before jumping back onto the saddle. "All right, buddy. Let's see what Tsering got you." He was a little woozy from lack of sleep, but hopefully they'd be sleeping soon so he didn't say anything about it.

Dorji jumped off of Appa and pointed at the ground by his side, making a small circle with her pointing finger. A small cloud of dust kicked up where she pointed. "I'll cushion your fall," she offered.

"Thanks!" Sokka said, then jumped down. When he hit the dust cloud his fall slowed and he fell on his ass with a yelp.

"Sorry," Dorji muttered. She moved her hand to the right slightly, and the dust cloud moved to where she was pointing. She widened her circles, causing the dust cloud to grow larger and wider. "This one should be better, hopefully."

Katara jumped. She also lost her balance when she hit the cloud, but Dorji quickly stepped forward and caught her.

"Thank you," Katara said.

"Y-you're welcome," Dorji said, blushing slightly. She immediately let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"Thanks for catching me, too," Sokka deadpanned as he got up.

"You're welcome," Dorji said.

He looked at her flatly.

Dorji tilted her head and blinked. "Was that sarcasm?" she asked.

Sokka sighed. "Yes, that was sarcasm," he said exasperatedly.

"Ah," she said. She looked a little nervous for some reason. "I'm sorry, I... have trouble with detecting tone, sometimes."

Katara glared at Sokka yet again. "How was I supposed to know that!?" Sokka snapped at Katara.

Katara sighed. "Sorry, you do have a point there. Is there anything else we should be aware of, Dorji?"

Dorji eyes widened. She blushed and gave Katara a very appreciative smile. "I... Sometimes I have... problems processing sounds. It's not too bad anymore, I hope anyway, but please be patient if I need you to repeat things," she muttered.

Katara nodded. "Okay. Is that why your grandmother said you sometimes prefer to use sign language?"

She bit her lip. "It's... part of it. I would also prefer if you faced me while speaking to me, for similar reasons. I can read lips, in case I'm having trouble with hearing."

"How do you read lips?" Sokka asked.

"Lots of practice. Start by looking at lips."

Sokka shrugged. "Fair enough."

Aang jumped off of Appa's saddle after putting the bag of apples he was feeding Appa back. "What're you guys talking about?" he asked.

Katara gave Dorji a look, as if asking her if it was okay to tell him. Dorji nodded to her. "Dorji was telling us about how she has a few... issues with hearing."

"Oh, is that what the sign language was for?" he asked.

Dorji nodded. "I can hear, but I have trouble processing sounds sometimes, if that makes sense," she clarified.

Aang nodded. "I remember one of the boys I grew up with, Dema, had an issue like that too." His face fell. "Dema..."

"I apologize," Dorji said.

"For what?"

Dorji fidgeted. "I... brought up a memory. One that must be painful for you."

Aang shook his head. "No, you didn't even know that'd remind me of Dema."

"Would... would you like something to take your mind off of it?" she offered.

"Thanks!" He smiled at her. "What do you have in mind?"

"If you're going to be fighting the Fire Nation, you need combat skills. Traditional airbending may have had martial arts, but they were mostly restricted to evasion, disengaging, and defense," she explained. She unsheathed one of her daggers and swiped it at a tree off to her side, not even breaking her gaze with Aang. A blade of wind rushed from her blade, slicing a deep gash in the ground as it kicked up a large cloud of dust and slicing the tree almost in half vertically when it hit it. "All of that is good, but you might be a bit lacking in your offensive capabilities, decisively ending a fight." She spun her dagger, then sheathed it. "Shall we begin?"

"I don't feel comfortable with that," Aang said nervously.

"Why not?"

Aang clenched his hands, a sour expression on his face. "That's... That's not airbending."

"Um... Aang?" Sokka put his hand on his shoulder. "Maybe..."

Aang forced his hand off. "No. That's not airbending."

"It is, though," Dorji rebutted. "Well, some of the moves I intend to teach you don't need airbending, but for the one I just showed you? Doing it requires you to stream air along a thin surface, like my daggers or your staff. It might be a little hard at first if you haven't done anything like that, but-"

"That's not what I mean!" Aang shouted. "You're doing it all wrong!"

Dorji sighed. "It's not wrong. Just... different. I understand that it might be upsetting to see such a different style from what you're used to, but... it's not wrong."

"It goes against all of airbending culture!" Aang shouted.

"Aang..." Katara said.

Dorji frowned slightly. "I see. You know, I had always been fascinated with grandmother's scrolls and books about the Air Nomads. Part of it was just that reading was... nice... for me, I will admit, but..." She turned away from Aang and walked a few steps away from him. She stood there for a few seconds, then sniffled and wiped her face. When she turned back around her eyes were a little red. "For a while, I wanted to be like them. They were my people, my ancestors. But at the same time, I was always worried a true Air Nomad would despise me, as I am still my father's daughter, and my father was not a traditional Air Nomad. Thank you for confirming it for me. I told you before, the pacifistic monks of the past died out a century ago. I'm not an Air Nomad. I was never an Air Nomad." She touched one of the green highlights of her clothing. "I was born of the Earth Kingdom. I was raised by the Earth Kingdom. Why should I call myself an Air Nomad?"

Aang's face contorted in anger, then softened slightly. "Fine." He turned around and walked away.

"Fine," Dorji echoed. She pulled the two halves of her father's staff from her belt and started walking towards a large rock.

Sokka and Katara sighed at the same time. "I'll talk to Aang, do you want to talk to Dorji?" Sokka asked.

"That sounds good," Katara agreed.

"Cool." Sokka started climbing back onto Appa, struggling a bit. "Let me just... get something... real quick."

While Sokka was doing that, Katara walked over to Dorji. Wielding the two halves of her father's staff like dual swords due to how long they were compared to her, Dorji swung at the rock with one segment. A wide gash appeared in it despite the fact that the staff never made contact with it. She swung with the other segment, creating a second gash. Next she slashed both, deepening and widening both of the gouges she'd made. She quickly put the two halves of the staff together and started twirling it with insane speed. The wind in the area picked up, and dust clouds flowed towards her staff. She jumped back and threw the staff at the boulder. The spinning staff cut cleanly through the boulder, grinding it in half with little resistance. After it was on the other side Dorji held her hand out to it. The staff shot back, pulverizing the upper half to smaller rocks with pure windy force. Dorji caught the staff and swung it, blowing all the rocks and dust away. She used the momentum of the swing to turn around, jabbing the end of the staff a few inches away from Katara's throat. Tears streamed down the shorter girl's face, and her hands were trembling. The air stilled again.

Katara slowly put her hand on Dorji's shoulder. The airbender stiffened a little, but didn't resist. Katara smiled at her and slowly lowered Dorji's staff with her other hand before pulling her in for a hug. Dorji dropped the staff and started sobbing. "W-why?" she asked. Katara let her go, and she rubbed her eyes. "Why can't I go a day without crying?"

Katara sat down on the remaining part of the boulder, which had conveniently been cut and smoothed into a serviceable, if a little tall, bench by Dorji's practice. She patted a spot next to her and smiled at Dorji, inviting her to sit next to her. Dorji hesitated, but slowly sat down. She tilted her head slightly to Katara, staring at her.

"When my mother died... It was hard on all of us. And the first few days were the hardest. But... it does get easier. And I'm sure I speak for Sokka as well as myself when I say that we will both be here for you when you need a shoulder to cry on." She sighed. "And I'd have hoped that I could say the same of Aang, but now I'm not sure..."

Dorji whimpered.

Katara scowled. "To be honest, I didn't think Aang would blow up like that. I mean, he was a little touchy when he saw what happened to his old temple, but I thought that that was just from seeing the remains of someone he knew..."

Dorji winced. "Did I... some of the things I told Aang must have hurt him. I should apologize." She tried to get up, but Katara put her hand on her shoulder.

"Don't. I think he should apologize first. He's hurting, yes, but he has no right to take that out on you."

Dorji leaned on Katara. She didn't say anything else, but Katara hugged her.

oOoOo

Aang sighed. He sat at the edge of a small lake near where they had landed, prodding at the water with some attempts at waterbending. "Maybe I shouldn't have..."

Sokka slapped him on the back of his head, then sat down next to him. "Yeah, you really shouldn't have." His tone was annoyed.

"I'm so-"

Sokka slung his arm around Aang's back, clamping his hand on his shoulder. "No. You're gonna listen. You lost your people and found out the world crumbled after you left. I can't even imagine how horrible that feels. But." He tightened his grip. "If you even begin to think that gives you a right to dump all that out on a girl you just met, who recently lost her father, that's unforgiveable. Imagine if some old friend of that one monk guy you were fond of... Gyatso, I think, came out of nowhere and told you that you weren't fit to be the Avatar, or even an Air Nomad. That's what you just did to Dorji."

Aang sighed. "You're right. I should never have said that. I... I'm sorry."

Sokka patted his shoulder. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, buddy. And first... maybe we should talk a bit. You've got a few issues to work out, clearly."

Aang looked down. "I... I miss them."

"Yeah, that's pretty natural. But what made you lash out at Dorji like that?"

He sighed. "I guess... I'm sure she's not trying to, but she always seems to... remind me they're gone. That I was gone for a hundred years, and my people are long gone." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "But... I should never have taken it out on her."

Sokka patted his back. "You know, I know I always complained about the lack of meat and everything, but... If you want to make a traditional Air Nomad dish or something, I'd totally be willing to help." He grinned. "And I'm sure Dorji would, too. But first you gotta apologize to her." He pulled out a scroll. "And I have an idea of something you can do for that."

oOoOo

Dorji had fallen asleep, resting with her head on Katara's shoulder. Katara smiled and stroked her hair gently, as not to wake her. Sokka walked up to her, Aang trailing sheepishly behind.

"I hope you're here to apologize," Katara glared at Aang.

Aang shrank back slightly. "Yeah, I... Shouldn't have taken my feelings out on Dorji." He got out from behind Sokka and faced Dorji. "Dorji, I want to apologize to you," he said, raising his voice to try to wake her up. "My suffering was no excuse for what I said to you. And I was wrong, you may be other things, but you are an Air Nomad, too!"

Dorji, perhaps due to her hearing impairment that she had yet to fully explain to the others, did not react at all to this.

"Maybe you should wait until she wakes up, Aang?" Sokka said.

He nodded. "Right, sorry. Should... should we wake her up or..."

Dorji stirred, then sat up and started rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, did someone try to wake me? You'll need to shake me awake, shouting won't work..." She noticed Aang and stiffened slightly. "R-right. Y-you..." She bit her lip.

Aang placed his hand, a loose fist, on his chest and made a small circular motion with it. The sign, as best he understood the EKSL scroll, for 'sorry.' "I'm sorry," he said, as sincere and contrite as possible. "You reminded me of what I've lost, and I couldn't take that and lashed out at you. But that's not an excuse for how I acted towards you. I understand if you don't forgive me. For what it's worth, you are a real airbender." He smiled. "You are airbending culture, as much as I am. And you have every right to call yourself an Air Nomad."

Dorji sniffed. She rubbed her face, but a few tears fell onto her shirt still. "Th-thank you. And... f-for what it's worth... I'm sorry for hurting you, even if it was unintentional. I'll... I'll try to be more mindful of what I say in the future."

Aang smiled at her. "Thanks. If you want, you could show me that one airbending move. I don't think I'll ever use it on a person, but if I need to cut down a lot of trees really fast I could use it for that?"

She smiled slightly. "Actually... I think I know another move that my grandmother made that might... suit your tastes slightly better. When used on a trained warrior, especially a firebender due to how firebenders train their lungs, it will never cause any lasting damage. And at the same time, it will temporarily disable the person you use it on, especially if they are a firebender."

Aang hugged her. "That sounds great! And later, I can show you some airbending moves of my own!"

Dorji backed up nodded when Aang released her. "I'd like that. But first..." She got into a fighting stance and took a deep breath. "The best way to explain this is with a demonstration. And the best way for you to learn how to do it is to experience it yourself. But I will not do it without your permission, as it can feel... unpleasant."

"Um, is this a good idea?" Sokka asked.

Aang nodded. "Do it. Is there anything I should be paying attention to?"

"Your breath." In a blur, Dorji was suddenly standing inches away from Aang. She paused for just long enough for Aang to focus on her, a rush of wind punctuating her stop, then jabbed him in the solar plexus with two fingers. The amount of force she put into the physical movement was negligible, but Aang still toppled backwards as he felt his lungs empty against his will. He struggled on the ground for a few seconds, finding it hard to regain his stolen breath. Eventually he coughed and shakily took the hand that Dorji had offered him at some point.

"Are you okay, Aang?" Katara asked.

"Gimme... a minute..." he said between pants, a pained grimace on his face as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Sorry, I should've mentioned it can be... unpleasant." Dorji said, taking a few steps away from Aang and the others. She looked nervous again.

"No, it's fine," Aang assured her. He chuckled. "I probably should've guessed it wouldn't feel too good, anyway. Still, I can see what you were getting at. And you're sure it doesn't hurt people you use it on?"

She nodded. "Unless you use it on the same person multiple times in a row without letting them breathe, or use it on someone with weak lungs. But a trained soldier should be fine, and the technique will let you take them out of a fight for a few seconds at least, as well as open them up to a finishing move. And most notably, it temporarily disables firebending."

"It disables firebending!?" Sokka parroted, incredulous.

Dorji nodded. "Grandmother made the technique with some principals involved in chi blocking, after performing some... research on firebending." She breathed deeply, in and out, and when she exhaled her breath was very warm. "In fact, she learned that the breathing techniques the Air Nomads used to keep themselves warm in even the coldest of weather were originally based on knowledge given to them by firebenders. Firebending does not come from muscles, but rather the breath. So a technique that disrupts a firebender's ability to breathe..."

"Also disrupts firebending," Sokka finished. "That's... that's amazing!"

"It only lasts a minute or so at best, but it will still throw a firebender off," Dorji continued explaining. "And a master of it can do it from a distance, or even without moving at all, or at least my father and grandmother can. If you need more guidance to learn it, Aang, ask me. But..." Dorji turned to Sokka. "Perhaps you would like to learn chi blocking? You seemed pleased with the concept of disrupting firebending. And it can do more than just disable bending for a few seconds."

He grinned. "That sounds awesome!"

She nodded. "Then let us begin." She collapsed, but still somehow managed to hit the ground lightly. "Tomorrow. I'm tired." She closed her eyes, already asleep.

#fanfiction #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #Avatar The Last Airbender #A Black Wind Howls #ABWH CH3

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notaparty-trick · 4 years ago

Text

All Those Senseless Scars - Chapter 1

By @notaparty-trick for @asyouleft

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: T

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, May Parker & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Pepper Potts, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds

Summary: There is a rule to the way Peter lives now. He didn’t know it at first, but he learnt it.

It’s simple.

To earn what he needs to survive, he has to make sacrifices. --- Peter Parker's life is derailed when he's kidnapped and kept in a white-tiled room with nothing: no windows, no cameras, no food, no water, no phone, nobody else. Only his own thoughts keep him from losing his mind. If he asks for anything, he must take punishment. Tony Stark will stop at nothing to bring him home.

Archive Of Our Own link here

There is a rule to the way Peter lives now. He didn’t know it at first, but he learnt it.

It’s simple.

To earn what he needs to survive, he has to make sacrifices.

---

When he wakes up, he knows he’s been out for a long time. There’s a cotton-wool quality to his train of thought.

He’s in a white cell.

And he’s completely naked.

“Oh my God, oh - what the…?”

He rushes to get up from the floor and cover himself, jamming himself into a corner. “Shit.”

His heart judders violently in his chest. There’s nothing to see, nothing at all, nothing but the white tiled walls of his prison. No window. No camera. No food, no water, no guards, no clothes, oh God.

What did they do while I was out?

But he isn’t in any pain that he can notice. Even with his enhanced healing, it’s unlikely he was asleep for long enough for complete healing to take place, so he thinks - he thinks - he’s safe in that respect.

Not in any other.

He’d been in the Spider-Man suit when they took him; the fact that his mask is no longer on him means they already know a lot more about him than he’d like.

He’s utterly clueless. He knows nothing; nothing, except that he’s trapped.

“Hello?” he calls tentatively, then desperately. “Hello! Is anyone, is anyone around? Please - I need--”

In under ten seconds, his calls are answered by the clang of the door opening.

Peter faces bad guys on the daily. He slips on his cocky persona like a second skin now after over a year of patrolling Queens. But it’s a whole lot easier when he’s in the suit. Instead, he instinctively huddles away from the four masked figures that storm into his cell.

There’s an overload of adrenaline pulsing through him stirred through with the dregs of sedatives which makes it impossible to think straight. He’s at a loss for quips.

“It’s alright,” issues a voice. Peter can’t tell who’s speaking behind the masks, but the tone is bafflingly soothing. “We’re here to reason with you.”

Peter prepares himself for a lengthy monologue detailing the way in which Spider-Man had wronged them, but it doesn’t arrive. One of the figures simply asks, “What would you like?”

It’s mystifying. Peter stays silent.

“Would you like some clothes?”

“Yes,” Peter can’t help but blurt, despite every ounce of logic he’s ineffectually grappling for like grains of sand, despite his sixth sense that cries out a never-ending chorus of danger danger danger danger.

The group nods in tandem.

And then, in precise, almost mechanical movements, they tear Peter from his corner and drop him so his face hits the floor. Then there are hands all over him, pressing his back and legs and arms to the ground, and he fights them - but finds he can't. His strength is gone.

A slew of panic grips him in its hold so violently that the room twists sickeningly around him.

The floor is freezing against his bare skin. He’s noticing now just how cold the whole room is.

The hands on him are rough and unsympathetic. But the taser is worse.

Before Peter even has a chance to speak, to protest, it's jammed into his side and activated. Peter's brain whites out instantly with the agony. It's too much. It has his limbs juddering against the floor, his mouth open in a scream he can't even find the wherewithal to let out, a heated pressure in his brain building and building and building upon itself until he’s sure it’s about to shatter his skull, ricocheting off the walls and battering him yet again, more pain, more pain.

There's a second of silent respite. Eerily quiet. He drags in ragged breaths.

Then it begins again.

Peter has no sense of time. It makes the torture feel endless.

After they're finished with him, he doesn't move from the spot where he'd been held down, every fibre of his body reeling, shorting out, fizzling with the aftershocks of the electricity.

"Now you've had your punishment, you can have some clothes. This is how things will work here. Once you have made a sacrifice, we will give you what you ask for."

“What, what are you - what do you want?”

“We want to test you. You have remarkable capabilities. We will discover just how remarkable they are.”

A pair of boxers is tossed into the cell as the masked group leaves. Peter crawls over to them and pulls them on through a bout of tremors, feeling the sour sting of shame enveloping him.

He knows that this is bad. Worse than bad, it's - a whole host of other words that he can't summon from his frazzled, drugged mind.

His kidnappers don't want money or leverage. They just want to break him.

So he resolves not to let them.

The group enters his box in intervals he presumes are daily - maybe twice a day, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything. They ask him politely if he'd like anything, and he doesn't ask for anything. They don't touch him.

Apart from their entry and exit, there's nothing. There's his box and himself. White, silent, tiny. Maybe ten by ten feet. Nothing.

So he fills up the nothing with talking.

"Actinium, aluminum, americium, antimony, argon, arsenic, astatine," he reels off. "Barium, berkelium, beryllium, bismuth, bohrium, boron, bromine."

He knows the elements. They're comforting but don't hold the bittersweetness of memories of before.

"Stay safe, kiddo," Tony called towards Peter as he rushed into the elevator that would take him out of the Tower and home before May could have his ass for being late to dinner.

The last words he'd said to Peter.

He climbs on the walls and ceiling, hammers at every inch of the tiling, bloodies his knuckles doing it, but he's only human now.

"C'mon," he grits, slamming his side into the wall. "Please, c'mon."

It won't give.

He sinks to the floor, still wracked with jitters, and cradles his head in his hands.

"Don't cry, Peter. Gonna use up water. Stop it, stop."

And, after knuckling his eyes until they ache, he manages to stop.

He knows that an inactive person can survive up to a week without water and almost a month without food. Mostly, that’s what he has to worry about, as well as the cold, which isn’t so severe as to give him frostbite but is enough that within his first few hours in captivity he becomes used to the incessant chattering of his jaw and wonders where the aftershocks of the taser end and the shivering begins.

That, and going insane.

“Cadmium, calcium, californium, carbon... cerium, cesium, chlorine... chromium… uh - cobalt. Cobalt. Copernicium. Copper. Curium.”

Peter likes to talk. He’ll talk whether there are people to listen to him or not, but he’ll admit that he prefers getting to talk to other people. He starts to miss it like hell, actually.

“You know what I should’ve done?” he says aloud, grinning, “I, I really should’ve brought my Chemistry homework with me. I’m so behind. And I’m supposed to be, like, the big science guy, right?”

Flopping to the floor, no longer noticing the coldness of it, he lies limply there for a moment, trying to wrangle his thoughts. “Or I could’ve just done it when I was supposed to. Would’ve cut into my patrol time, though, so, um - hm. Ugh, indecisive.” Affecting the upright demeanour of Captain America in his PSA videos, he crosses his arms: “Choose a thing, Mr. Parker.”

He laughs at himself, but it comes out wrong. It sounds too loud, too close to a sob.

“Choice is great, isn’t it?” he muses, watching the white ceiling. “One day, when I - yeah. The next thing I choose, it’d better be something awesome. Let’s make a deal. Yeah, okay, sure. The next thing, the next thing I choose to do is gonna be - monumental. Nice word. You could fool people into thinking you, thinking you take English. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m not an English kid. Look at me.”

He’s sobered by his own words.

When he grows tired, he sleeps on the ceiling. He doesn’t have a bed, and it feels just a little safer up there.

There are a lot of things he doesn’t have. His phone is nowhere to be seen. No shower or sink. No toilet. No clothes but his boxers. No mirror. No toothpaste. No friends.

The low-grade fuzziness of his brain doesn’t abate with time although he isn’t injected with anything else and doesn’t eat or drink, which leads him to believe the drugs are being circulated in the air of his cell. It would explain the masks, too.

The guys who took him really have it down to a tee. It’s terrifying.

And it wears down on him.

Thirst is an awful thing. It drags greedy claws down his parched tongue, reminding him every minute of the dryness of his throat. From his chapped lips to the very depths of his stomach there festers a growing sickness, a sensation of shriveling from the inside out until his skin begins to split and talking becomes painful. He does it anyway, clings to his own words because they’re real and solid and won’t jump out and scare him like the nightmares that begin to haunt him even while he’s awake.

On what he hopes is the third night after he woke up in his box, he wakes with a jolt from a dream of a thousand faceless beasts tearing away at him and falls from the ceiling. The moment he tries to get back up, he passes out.

The hunger begins to plague him too, gnawing at his muscles and weakening them. Standing is effortful. It becomes more and more tempting to ask for something as the days creep by and Peter feels himself falling apart.

“Palladium, phosphorus, platinum. P… Polonium? No. Uh. P-L. P-L… plutonium. Polonium. Potassium, protactinium, praseodymium - I mean, praseodymium, protactinium… you know what, shit. I don’t care. Don’t care about the elements--”

Imagining a telephone is sitting on the floor beside him, one of those old-fashioned plastic ones with a curly cord, he sticks his fingers against the side of his head in the universal position to indicate holding a phone and dials a number in his head.

“Hi, May,” he rasps. “Don’t come over, I’ve gotta clean up a bit first. Yeah.” He chuckles.

If he listens hard enough, he can pick out an amused reply.

“Are you good? I’m good. You know what you could do, though? Bring some paint. Or some colourful furniture. Anything but white. It’s boring as heck.”

He squeezes his eyes shut against a thundering headache, feeling the skin around his eyes cracking, his heart fluttering wildly, scalpels of hunger piercing his sides, his thoughts becoming formless, untamable things.

“May?” he falters. “Can you tell Mister Stark to come and get me, please? I don’t wanna… what am I supposed to do?”

The group enters on the fifth day. Peter is lying on the floor where he’s been for an unfathomable period of time.

“Would you like anything?” asks one of the masked people.

“Water,” he whispers. “Please. Water.”

He braces himself for the taser this time, but it’s a boot that meets his side instead. Another. A flurry. A stampede.

You get beaten up all the time on patrol. But it’s different when it’s just him, weak, pathetic, unable to stand, half-naked, against these four figures that become tyrannical gods to him as they hold him in the air by his hair, his neck, and beat him bloody.

Peter can do nothing to shield himself from the blows - and moreover, if he does it will jeopardize his chance of getting the water he needs so badly. So, swallowing back a rush of shame, he just takes it.

He can’t help the noises that escape him, however: the grunts as boots connect with his stomach, the whimpers at hands yanking at his hair, the groans as fists clad in brass knuckles meet his face over and over and over again. Blood pours from his nose, trickles from cuts across his cheekbones, temples, eyebrows. He feels a rib snap.

A water bottle is placed by the door as the group leaves. There are maybe 300 millilitres inside.

Peter lays on the floor and watches his blood pool slowly on the pristine tiles.

After twenty agonising seconds of dragging himself across the floor, he reaches the bottle, fumbling desperately to unscrew the cap, and takes a greedy swig of the liquid, at first moaning in relief at the way it gushes down his throat, then regretting his haste as he retches it right back up.

“Crap, Peter,” he mumbles to himself, arms trembling in their effort to hold him off the now-slippery floor. “Stupid. God. Shit. Stop swearing.”

Although his every instinct screams for him to down the water, he forces himself to take small sips. When there’s about half left, he pulls the bottle away and reluctantly caps it, saving the rest.

Then, ignoring the mortification that swells up in him at the prospect of what he will do next, he bends low to the puddle on the floor and laps up every drop of moisture he can find.

He’s a wild animal. He’s insane.

When he’s finished, he lets his arms and legs give out under him and grits his teeth against excruciating waves of pain from his battered body.

It’s simple, really. He endured the punishment; he was given what he asked for.

Though Peter is half-sure he’s already lost his mind, he does know that he needs to make a plan, to rationalize his situation as well as he can with his fuddled brain. Escape is not an option, and neither is refusing punishment.

He swallows and tastes blood.

“Here’s what’s, here’s what’s gonna happen, Peter. Okay? Just get stuff you really, really need. Okay. I’ve got water for tomorrow. Just… uh, ask the day after. And food. No more clothes.”

His rambling words become his life plan.

He’s forced to make adjustments the next time the group visits, however, when his half-full water bottle is taken from him.

Desperation overrides him. He lunges at the figure who holds the bottle, sticking his fingers to it. “Don’t! Please, don’t take it--”

Almost the moment he touches them, an ear-splittingly piercing whistle assaults Peter’s ears, forcing him to unstick himself in favour of dropping painfully to the floor and cramming his hands over his ears. Whatever drug he’s being fed in his cell hasn’t taken away a fraction of his enhanced senses: the noise drills clean through his eardrums and rattles his weary brain in his skull. He bites back a cry of pain. He doesn’t know why; he already looks utterly pathetic.

There’s no water that day.

The next, he asks for food. After breaking his arm, the group gives him a cheese sandwich that tastes better than anything he’s eaten before, even though he has to eat it with one hand.

His white box is steadily getting dirtier, painted with bloodstains, sweat, even puddles of piss. At least there are colours now, not just white, white, white.

“I’m doing great,” he reassures himself after he’s counted twenty visits from the group. There are forty lash marks across his back. He knows; he felt every strike of the whip. But at least he received a blanket in return. It was too cold, so he strayed from his plan.

He’s been tased and beaten again, had his nose and collarbone and forearm and fingers broken. Every movement he makes hurts somewhere, so he stays still.

“Mister Stark is, he’s, he’s on his way. He’s, uh… fixing his hair. Like he always does when he, when he gets out of the suit. To look cool. When he comes - God, it’s gonna be so nice. I don’t care about his hair. I just... want him.”

He feels closer to a carcass than a human being.

“Get me out, Mister Stark. Get me out, Mister Stark. Why haven’t you come?”

The feral desperation he’s finding it harder and harder to tamp down rears its head again, and he finds himself crying out with all the volume his torn-up throat can muster. “Mister Stark, please - I can’t stay here, going crazy, they’re gonna kill me. Save me . ”

It seems like the world is laughing his face when the group enters the twenty-first time and he’s asked, “Would you like to see Tony Stark?”

“What?” he croaks.

His mind can’t comprehend the thought. Tony Stark darts around his mind, turns itself inside out and emerges in his consciousness shrunken and frayed around the edges like it’s been washed too many times.

“Would you like to see Tony Stark?”

“I, uh…” even attempting a few words of conversation feels foreign to him. “Is he there?”

There’s no response from the group.

Peter is faced with one of the most frightening choices of his life.

He could accept the punishment on the off-chance that Mister Stark was really there and risk being hurt for nothing; or he could refuse and risk letting Tony down if, by some crazy chance, he was out there and needed Peter to come to him.

Locking his jaw to offset the tremors there, he shuts his eyes.

“Okay.”

Though he braces himself for the instant onslaught of punishment, instead he finds himself being hauled up from the floor and dragged towards the invisible outline of the door. The door.

He whimpers at unforgiving hands yanking at his bad arm, making an aborted attempt at scrambling to his feet. He’s too weak, too injured. And at the same time, he’s nearing the door, the door that hasn’t let him out in twenty-one days but swings open now.

Peter can’t quite determine whether this is real or not.

His heart awaits the inevitable punishment, thudding restlessly in his chest, but he’s entranced by the door closing behind him, revealing more tiles, a corridor, his arm throbs, tiles, pain, tiles. He reels.

The moment they turn the corner, an abrupt spreading of warmth at the base of Peter’s neck jolts him out of his daze of shock and compels him to lift his heavy head and meet the eyes of a man restrained by two guards, a man facing him, a man who sees him.

“Kid! Hi, kid. It’s me. What did you do to him? Pete. Pete. I’m here, hey?”

“Mister Stark,” Peter breathes.

There’s worry in his eyes, as clear and piercing as a blade. Peter assumes he looks pretty crappy. He doesn’t feel it just now, however. All his thoughts are occupied with Mister Stark Mister Stark Mister Stark , taking his breath away, melting away pain to reveal dizzying relief.

This is why he doesn’t notice at first.

Not until he hears, “Don’t you fucking dare! Kiddo!”

Before he can attempt to jerk away from the hands keeping him in place, they tighten, another pair clamping over the top and bottom of his head so he just barely glimpses a match held to an approaching blowtorch.

Punishment always arrives.

It isn’t panic or desperation that overwhelms him in this precise moment, as time slows down and Tony’s cries of distress are suspended across milliseconds so the minutiae of his reaction rises, falls, intensifies in arcs that are distressingly beautiful. It’s an ugly conglomeration of a thousand pockets of hopelessness accumulated over twenty-one days, a Frankenstein’s monster of pure despair.

“No,” he moans uselessly, hanging limp from the hands. “Don’t do it. I can’t.”

“Kid?”

Peter sobs and yet can’t produce a single tear. “Mister Stark.”

“Kid, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Just - look at me. Look at--”

Once, Peter came out of a patrol with a knife in his back, a moderate concussion and a torn hamstring. It was nothing compared to this.

The blowtorch is turned on the side of his face.

Peter screams, long and loud and raw, and the noise ricochets off the tiles and hits him anew. Unparalleled agony. He can’t turn away, no matter how desperately his mind screams for release.

He will never forget just how awful it feels. The memory of it will imprint upon his mind forever, just as the white light of the instrument now sears his vision through his screwed-shut eyelids.

He feels his flesh melting.

“Kid! Fuck! Don’t - I’m gonna kill you fuckers - get away from him!”

With a flicker, the torch cuts off. Peter can’t breathe, juddering violently against the hands that still hold him and fruitlessly opening and shutting his mouth. The aftershocks of the pain present a different form of horror entirely.

“Breathe, Pete,” comes a voice half-muffled by the violent ringing in his ears, a painfully kind voice, a voice he’s supposed to be safe when he hears. “Breathe through it. C’mon, kid.”

The first breath Peter manages to drag in is torn to shreds, shrivelled by tears he’s unable to shed.

“Kid,” Mister Stark calls again; the syllable is lost in the splintering of his own voice.

Peter manages a small whine.

“Now, Stark, what’s all this about making a deal?”

It’s a new voice, encroaching on Peter from behind and sending his crazed danger sense ringing off the hook.

With his chin forced upwards, Peter recognizes Norman Osborn instantly.

It all fits: the drug that took away his powers, the pristine tiles, the experiments.

He crouches before Peter and taps the newly burnt side of his face. It’s gentle but overwhelmingly painful all the same; Peter chokes on his breath.

“Get your fucking hands away from him, Osborn,” snarls Mister Stark. “This isn't what I’m here for.” Peter has never been more glad of his presence, as little as it seems to affect the punishments he’s given.

Osborn picks up on the grip the guards have on Tony with a smirk, rising to address him. “I can see that. I must say, I’m surprised you turned yourself in. What a sacrifice for this little boy.”

“Quit the fancy footwork.” Mister Stark sounds breathless, wild. “Are you gonna let him go or not?”

It’s only now that Peter’s brain catches on to what Tony is attempting to do.

He does his best to speak around the fried nerves on his face and the haze of shock he’s still trapped in, but all that emerges are pitiful, slurring murmurs. “D’n, m’s’r st’r. D’n t’n y’self in.”

Mister Stark understands the source of his panic and smiles brokenly at him. “It’s gonna be okay, kid. Don’t you worry.”

“N. Pl’s d’n.”

“No need to panic, Peter,” Osborn soothes sickeningly, “We don’t want anything to do with Stark.”

“No. You’re gonna take me and leave him alone,” Mister Stark grits out with impressive stubbornness.

“Don’t you understand, Tony? This boy has strength you can’t imagine. Resilience. We’re making groundbreaking leaps in research.”

Tony is thunderous as he jostles his guards. “This is not research. Give me the kid, or so help me, I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” laughs Osborn.

Something splinters in Tony’s eyes; behind it, Peter sees a plan.

“I’ll tear this place up.”

Before Osborn or any of the masked guards can react, Tony’s glasses flash bright blue and he yells, “FRIDAY, torch them!”

Peter’s mind disconnects from the flurry of what happens next. He’s tackled to the ground and cradled tightly; a fiery blast envelops the room; a chorus of shouts is cut off by silence and a persistent buzzing in his ears.

After twenty-one days of nothing, there is everything. It’s too staggering for him to comprehend for a minute or two.

There’s dust in the air. He watches it settle with eyes that have forgotten how to blink.

Finally, his mind creaks back to life, running on fumes but present enough to tell him that it’s Mister Stark who is wrapped protectively around him. A frenzied glance around the room shows heaps of crumbled tiles, fire, prone bodies.

Dead bodies?

“M’s’r s’rk,” he coughs, hearing his voice dimly as if piped from speakers a hundred feet away. He finds the presence of mind to push at the man’s limp shoulder with his good hand. “G’t up. Y’ g’tta g’t up.”

Mister Stark’s eyes are shut and won’t open.

“Pl’s, m’s’r s’rk...”

Although Peter knows what he has to do, he dreads it.

Sucking in as much air as he can, he shifts himself onto his haunches and heaves his mentor over his shoulder.

The airborne drug has worn off to a degree now he’s outside his cell, returning a little of his strength to him, but the screaming of his injuries has in no way quietened, and he’s pitifully weak from cold, hunger and thirst. He staggers at the weight of Tony against his collarbone and arm, swallowing a cry in fear of waking any of the bad guys, but pushes on, inching towards the end of the corridor.

“C’m’n, Pe’r,” he breathes, fumbling at the doorknob with his one good hand, his bad hand stuck to Tony’s back despite the way it pulls at the snapped bones with every movement he makes. “Sh’t. C’m’n.”

It’s open. It’s open.

He pulls himself one-handed up a ladder, his legs shaking beneath him, and shoulders open a circular trapdoor.

Outside, there is light.

Peter can’t help but collapse to his knees. The sky is there, wrapping him in an embrace that spans the heavens, cornflower blue and picturesque. Grass and trees glow green. And just fifty feet in front of them both is a roaring, seething freeway.

The noise hits Peter like a brick wall, like a fist with brass knuckles, like a strike from a whip. It surrounds him and invades his ears until there’s nothing but noise, noise Peter can pick apart in overwhelming detail: the friction of tires against tarmac, the smallest particles of grit tossed back and forth by lines of cars and vans and lorries with grumbling engines spitting plumes of carbon dioxide, a mechanical spray of pungently soapy water across a windshield, a chorus of laughter from a family whizzing by in an old Volvo, the tap of a cigarette against the rim of a half-open window, and people, people, people, people, passing him in their clamorous multitudes.

Setting Mister Stark down in the grass with as much gentleness as he can manage with his battered body and thundering heartbeat, Peter flounders, groaning at the grass stalks pricking his bare knees, hearing his breaths speeding up, recalling the sizzling of his skin under the blowtorch, unable to distinguish between the myriad of sensations assaulting him. Sight becomes sound, touch becomes smell, and each crowds his vision with hazy grey and sends wild tremors along the length of his limbs.

Peter’s going to explode.

But he doesn’t.

He recognizes the sign on the freeway. Although the text is painfully bright and jumps back and forth in front of him, he makes out the location. Only about two minute’s drive from the Compound.

He had been certain all good fortune had deserted him the moment he’d been thrown into his box, but today he wonders if someone is looking out for him after all.

All he has to do is walk, but walking has never been so difficult.

“Y’ g’tta go, Pe’r. Y’ c’n d’ it.”

Peter lurches to his feet, yelping when it jolts his back and collarbone. His vision whirls in front of him, spotted with black patches, but he does his best to pay no heed to his brokenness, lifting Tony tremulously over his shoulder.

Every step pains him, wears him out; he wonders every time he puts one foot in front of the other whether it’ll be his last step, whether his body will give up on him, and he comes close, stumbling and falling, but hauls himself back up.

He has to reach the Compound. It’s branded across his mind, the most important thought he has in there, and it keeps him going.

He’s getting out. He’s going home.

Fire licks at his face and knees and arm and fingers and collarbone and back and torso. Everywhere.

Between gasping breaths, he croaks encouragement to himself. “N’ly th’re. Y’ go’ this, Pe’r. Pl’s, keep goin’.”

He walks until the black spots have almost taken over his field of vision. Just as his knees give out under him yet again, he blinks and recognizes the sleek glass-and-steel buildings that he’s now among.

The Compound.

Too exhausted to speak, he simply gets back up, keening at the agony of movement, and carries on. He’s only a few hundred feet away. Two hundred. One hundred and fifty. He prays FRIDAY will alert someone when they get there.

One hundred. He thinks he can make out the doors now, although he can’t hold his head up for longer than a moment and his vision is no good.

Exhaustion has taken on a new meaning for Peter.

He hardly notices that he’s crossed the threshold until the door hisses shut behind him and there’s a muffled, muted sound he thinks could be the frenzied clicking of high heels on a staircase.

“How did this - Peter? Peter, honey?”

It’s Pepper.

The tone of her voice is blissfully familiar, dissolving the hold of adrenaline on his body and leaving it limp.

“I’m here,” he tries to say, but all that escapes his mouth is an incoherent whimper.

“Peter…” Pepper calls again, the heels drawing close, but he can’t hold on any longer. He doesn’t need to: he’s safe.

Darkness overtakes his vision and he collapses onto the carpet.

#fanfic #fanfiction #irondad #spiderson #tony stark #peter parker #whump #angst #hurt and comfort #notaparty-trick

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onewaywardwitch · 6 years ago

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Just A Typo (6/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2275

A/N: I’m so happy to finally get to post this part! I’ve been most excited for this one. Thanks for all the love on the previous parts, enjoy part 6!

If someone had told me a month ago that I'd be spending my days working as the security analyst for Stark Industries and my nights chatting with the Avengers, I'd have asked how much they had to drink. It's amazing how an illegal act can completely turn your life around, and not in the ‘sent to prison’ sense.

Fortunately for me, Wanda took me under her wing. She was determined to have another female presence around in a tower overflowing with testosterone and I wasn’t complaining. I appreciated her company just as much as she did.

Everyone was far more welcoming. Well, almost everyone. Natasha still seemed adamant on ignoring me. But with Sam constantly joking around with me, it was easier to forget about it. I had become a common visitor of the residents upstairs and I loved getting to know their actual personalities rather than the superhero personas the world had grown so used to seeing. Like how Tony won’t speak to anyone before his morning coffee. Or how Bruce has to be brought food throughout the day, or else he would simply forget to eat.

But Bucky remained an enigma that I couldn’t crack.

It wasn’t that we didn’t spend time together. We did. And many times, I enjoyed being near him more than some of the louder Avengers. We were never hanging out alone, though. He was a lot quieter when I was around, but I didn’t take it personally. He was obviously still a bit nervous being around anyone other than his teammates, but I liked to think that I was growing on him. At least he sat down and talked to me with everyone else now, instead of just running out of the room. And I adored having more than just two friends. The top floor had quickly become a second home to me.

~~~~~

I ran my hand through my hair for what felt like the seventh time in five minutes. For some reason, the system I was planning on installing for Stark Industries was not cooperating with me. I was forced to keep changing around the algorithm and every new sequence was rejected, not working in the slightest. It didn’t help that I had already gone through a full pack of Haribo and had none left. Timothy, one of my co-workers with a strange love for the worst movies ever made, kept glancing at me every time I let out a frustrated groan. Whenever he looked over, he opened his mouth as if to ask me something, before closing it again. It didn’t take long for me to snap.

“If you’ve got something to say spit it out. You look like a fish doing that.” I should have felt bad for snapping at him. He was a nice enough person, and I had been informed by the secretary down the hall that he harboured a small crush for me. Unfortunately for him, I was prepared to pick a fight with anyone. He just happened to be on the receiving end of it.

“I, um, I was just wondering if you... if you needed a hand with whatever you're working on?” he asked me, nervously wringing his hands.

I stared blankly at him. My lack of response caused his expression to change from slightly hopeful yet nervous, to absolutely terrified.

Stop it, don’t be a bitch, he’s just being nice. You can do this, politely decline his offer. There's no need to make a scene.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Well, that didn’t work.

“Am I not capable of doing it myself now, huh? I can do it perfectly fine. The system is stupid, that’s all. I don’t need your help because you'll end up pissing me off even more than you already have.”

Wow, ok, enough. Close your mouth. Bite your tongue. Walk away. Do anything other than talking to him.

“And also, you are literally the only person in the world who actually likes ‘Sharknado’.”

Why? Why would you say that? You absolute idiot.

I turned back to the computer that I was incredibly close to smashing as I ignored Tim’s deflated expression. He moved back to continue on with whatever he was working on himself. I typed in new lines of code on my screen, praying that these would work. While I waited for the outcome, I started to feel a bit guilty. I was stressed about my job that I was really desperate not to lose and I was taking it out on whoever was closest to me, which just so happened to be Tim.

“Oh shit!”

The second I turned to apologise, I felt hand on my shoulder, scaring the absolute crap out of me.

“Sorry! I called your name and you didn’t answer. You looked deep in thought,” Bucky said uncertainly. I instantly relaxed in his presence and chuckled.

“It's ok, my fault anyway. I should have been paying attention to what was going on around me. It just gets interesting up here sometimes,” I tapped my head as I spoke.

Great, now he thinks you're a lunatic.

Bucky offered me a small smile, which I had come to expect from him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tim. I tried to ignore him. I really did. When he first saw Bucky come over to me his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. That look of awe turned to one of amusement when he saw me make a complete fool out of myself. I stared pointedly at him until he got the message and returned to his computer. Bucky raised his eyebrows at me, and I shook my head in reply.

So much for Tim’s apology.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Um, Tony sent me to get you. He wanted to talk to you about, er… something computer related, I think.”

“He could have called me, you know. You didn’t have to come all the way down here.”

“He wanted me to get you in person. Plus, I had to talk to someone down in communications anyway.”

I nodded and got up to leave with Bucky, completely forgetting about the system that had me wound up only minutes ago.

~~~~~

Why does elevator music always make everything so uncomfortable and awkward? I was desperately searching for a way to fill the silence but for once in my life my mind was blank. I heard Bucky mumble something, seemingly to himself. I brushed it off before he spoke up more confidently.

“I like your jumper.”

I swear, I had never turned red so quickly. It felt like my whole face was on fire. How did everything he say make me feel so giddy?

“Thanks! But it's actually my friend, Angie’s. She left it at my apartment a few days ago and I haven’t had a chance to return it yet. I don’t know why I said that, it's a lie. She forgot it at mine over a year ago and I really like it.” I didn’t think I could blush any harder. I was wrong.

“You're really close with your two friends, huh?” Bucky questioned. I relaxed quickly. I always found it easier to talk about anything that wasn’t about me directly.

“They're complete idiots, but I love them. They're my family. I'd be lost without them. I mean, Becca’s good fun and Angie is our designated babysitter most of the time.”

He let out a low laugh. “I guess I know how she feels. I'm always running around after Steve, trying to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

“Really?”

Bucky also seemed more at ease with the direction the conversation had taken. “It was worse back in the 40’s though. He was picking fights left, right, and centre. There was no super soldier serum to help him back then. He was just a kid with good intentions and twig-like arms.”

The ding of the elevator interrupted our chat. We stepped out, but I paused before we walked any further. Bucky turned to question me, and I stared open-mouthed at him.

“God, I was such a bitch to Tim!” I exclaimed suddenly, Bucky looking at me in surprise. “He was just trying to help me, and I-.“ I couldn’t even finish my sentence as I was overcome by fit of giggles. “I told him that nobody likes ‘Sharknado’ except for him!”

“Shark what?”

“Have you never heard of ‘Sharknado’? We have to watch it! It's a terrible film.”

“If it's so bad why do I have to watch it?”

“Because, it's a good bad movie. You watch it knowing it's going to be terrible and then you just give out about it afterwards. The full 21st century experience,” I explained to a very perplexed superhero. “Let’s go, best not to leave his royal highness waiting.”

~~~~~

Turns out Tony had summoned me to ask a single question about my work, before requesting advice on the nicest cafés in the area to bring Pepper to. We spent nearly an hour arguing over which is nicer, pancakes or waffles. He refused to accept the fact that pancakes are clearly superior and resorted to folding his arms and huffing like a child.

I finally made a move to leave when Tony told me he had some Avengers business to attend to.

“Next time you want a chat,” I said to him as I put on my jacket,” just give me a call. You didn’t need to send poor Bucky all the way down to me. He probably has better things to be doing.”

Tony snorted. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? He volunteered to get you. The second I mentioned I needed to talk to you, he all but ran off to find you.”

I scoffed and chose to ignore what Tony had said. “Bye, Mario!” I yelled back to him, making sure to close the door on his sounds of annoyance.

~~~~~

Some people can sense bad things just before it happens. Hairs standing on the back of your neck, chills down your spine. Some sort of sixth sense, I guess. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of those people.

I was sitting in my empty, broken bathtub with my laptop, as you do, when I heard the crash. My head shot up immediately, staring at my bathroom door that I had left slightly ajar.

“It's nothing, you're imagining things.” I tried to convince myself I was hearing things until I heard what I assumed was one of my mugs crashing to the ground.

I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, and I willed myself to calm down. Placing my laptop carefully aside as quietly as I possibly could, I crawled out of the bath and creeped my way towards the door.

I peered my head out, nervously chewing on my lower lip. It was only a matter of seconds before I gasped and closed the door in panic. I made sure to do so silently and I held a hand over my mouth to control the ragged breaths that I could no longer control.

With shaking hands, I locked the door and took out my phone that felt stuck in my pocket. My only focus was calling the first person that popped into my head.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, begging for a small ounce of luck.

“Miss me already?”

I sighed in relief. “Tony, there’re people in my apartment. Can you- can you send someone over please. I'm kind of panicking.”

There was a momentary pause and a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the phone before-

“Y/N listen to me. You need to get out of there right now. We’ll be there as fast as we can. Can you get to your front door?”

“I can’t, they’ll see me.”

“Shit,” I heard Tony breath out. “Alright, odds are they’re looking for your laptop so hang tight, hopefully they won’t be looking for you.

I groaned internally and stared at my laptop that I had forgotten about in the bath. Just my luck.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work. My laptop is with me.”

“You bring your laptop to the bathroom?”

“Some people bring their phones, I bring my laptop. Stop judging me.”

Tony decided to ignore my last comment, instead informing me that they were on their way. He asked if I could still hear the people in my apartment.

“Um, no, I don’t think I- “

The bang on the bathroom door made me jump and I clutched the phone tighter. I covered my mouth with my hand, willing myself to stop shaking. A second bang, and I took a few steps backwards slowly. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the door that I knew wouldn’t withstand much more. It took me a few seconds to realise that Tony had been shouting my name.

“Tony,” I whispered,” please tell me you’re nearby.”

I could hear him talking to someone else, his impatient tone not doing anything to reassure me.

“Still 10 minutes out, kid.”

Before Tony could even finish his sentence, the door came crashing down. I screamed, trying to shield my eyes from the splintered wood.

A man dressed entirely in black tactical gear made a move to grab me, and I dropped my phone in a panic.

“TONY!” I screamed. My attempt to remove myself from his grip was futile. He had grabbed my body and dragged me to where the rest of his team were waiting in my now destroyed kitchen. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the fist that flew towards my face before everything went black.

Taglist (open):

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(if I forgot to tag you just send me a message)

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lutelyre · 5 years ago

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Fic Drabble: Merlin

Prompt: After years of requests, H-bee has finally dragged a Merthur fic from me, and tbh I’m not mad about it. This also could have worked for Whumptober’s “Ransom” or “Numb” potentially! Fandom: Merlin -- AU “Rival Gangs” scenario (This was my first time ever writing this fandom and I haven’t seen a SINGLE episode, so what a wild ride...)

Everybody Knows That The Dice Are Loaded

Merlin feels himself break out in a cold sweat when he sees them drag Arthur inside, hogtied and blindfolded, his nose already broken and blood drooling from a torn lip onto his dumb rock band t-shirt, bruises blooming on his face like dark roses.

He’s spitting curses, struggling like the diehard hero he always tried to be, and Merlin feels his heart crack a little bit, a panic growing fizzily in his chest. Goddamn it—he’d told Arthur that Mordred would be patrolling tonight, he’d told him a hundred times. Why the fuck wouldn’t the man ever listen to him?

“We didn’t expect to pick up this fuckboy, when we went cruising, huh?” laughs Mordred, his eyes alight with triumph and maybe also a fresh line of coke. Mordred had never been good at keeping himself out of the goods. Behind him, Morgause gets tired of Arthur’s impressive litany of expletives and punches him in the stomach, hard. Author shuts up mid-swear, and instead groans in pain, long and low. They must have already broken a few ribs. Morgause reaches down to shove a rough wad of cloth into his mouth to gag him, clearly already over this shit.

Merlin’s fingers twitch involuntarily. “Great, you got us useful asset, but the Knights won’t pay for a beat-up piece of pulp, will they?”

Arthur’s head snaps up at his voice, a noise of recognition half-dying in his throat. Merlin’s stomach flips over. Mordred laughs, high-pitched and not really sane. He always was more aggressive when he was doped up.

“Who says we’re ransoming this little piece of shit?” He kicks Arthur’s back with his heavy black combat boot, hard, and Arthur twists awkwardly on the ground and grunts, gritting his teeth.

“I’m going to have a little fun with him, and then we’ll put his head on a spike for the Knights to cry over.” A switchblade catches the light, and then too quickly Mordred is kneeling down, gripping Arthur’s chin and already drawing a deep, red-seeping line with the blade down his forehead, smiling when Arthur tries to jerk from his hold.

Merlin’s own teeth feel tight in his mouth, buzzing. He tries to think fast. “You don’t want to ransom Pendragon’s kid? They’ll pay good money for him.”

Arthur makes another half-bit off noise, surprise but also an undercurrent of anger in the muffled sound.

Fuck, what was he doing? He had promised never to tell that secret—knew it would make Arthur a target more than anything else. But what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Mordred’s head had snapped up at his words.

“What d’you mean, his kid?” He looks slowly from Arthur lying on the ground to Merlin, whose fists are clenched. “Just how did you know that, man?”

Shit, shit, shit—

“Not all of us just spend our time testing the goods, Mordred.” He says, as casually as he can muster. “I’ve been doing research, I thought that was my job in this hellhole.”

Mordred chuckles under his breath. “Oh yeah? I wonder about that.” He brings his knife up to his mouth and licks the blood there, slowly.

“This little Knight ass-wipe seemed to know where he was going when we grabbed him, didn’t ya?” Mordred brings the blade back up to Arthur’s face, draws another line on his forehead agonizingly slowly, diagonal to the first. “Even seemed to know exactly what we were doin’. I wonder how he knew that, don’t you?”

Arthur hisses, face creasing in pain as the knife presses to his flesh, droplets of blood beading and dripping down to disappear under the blindfold. Merlin tries to look away but can’t tear his eyes from Arthur, his hands twitching spastically, the way his jaw tightens around the gag stuffed in his mouth.

Mordred brings his knife up again, and Merlin suddenly realizes he’s carving a letter into Arthur’s forehead, a bloody “M”. He feels sick, struggles not to choke, not to rip the knife from Mordred’s fist, not to scream bloody murder himself—why had Arthur been out, that blasted, brave-hearted—

“Look—does why he was there even matter?” Merlin licks his lips, tries to put enthusiasm in his voice instead of the dread he feels filling the his chest like water, fear churning in his lungs. “We should use this as an opportunity—we could make an example of him, that we’re willing to ransom, and make a fucking sweet load of cash.”

Mordred sighs, hums to himself softly. “Maybe you should use this as an opportunity, Merlin.“

Merlin opens his mouth to retaliate, to make some kind of fuss—anything to stop that knife from touching Arthur’s skin again—But in one quick movement Mordred reaches and pulls the now blood-soaked blindfold from Arthur’s face to pool loosely at his chin.

Arthur blinks hard against the sudden light, and one eyelid is swollen and puffy, his eyelashes dripping blood from the brand Mordred carved into his skin, but those eyes are still the bright blue Merlin knows so well; clear like a summer day, like a sky so hot you could burn just reaching up to touch it. Arthur’s gaze searches frantically and locks onto his own almost immediately, yearning and furious all at once, a muffled groan breaking his lips.

Suddenly Merlin can’t quite breathe.

“What d-do you mean?” Merlin manages to get the words out even though his mouth is cold, his tongue thick around the words, strangling. He doesn’t look away from Arthur for a moment, even though at this point he knows it’s a risk. Mordred is watching them both closely, watching everything like the scene in the dusty storeroom is a play put on just for him, but Merlin can’t fucking help it, he needs to let Arthur know he’s trying— needs to find some outlet for all the rage and fear and heartbreak that seems to be suddenly happening in his chest, water still steadily rising.

Mordred laughs again, sharp and incredulous. “C’mon man, I don’t need to be hyped on Morgana’s freshest powder to think that something is up with you. You’re acting funny, and it started right about when I dragged this bastard in.” Mordred draws his tongue slowly up his knife again.

Damn it all—of all the people in this sordid operation, other than Morgana herself, Mordred has always been the most perceptive, the most sly. Getting out of prison early last month had only made him worse. And doesn’t Merlin know that? He should have planned better for this—he should have made another plan, had a fucking back-up.

They’d always just written off the possibility that this could ever happen—believed themselves too good to be caught, too quick, too cunning. It was just laughably stupid.

Mordred’s other hand fists in Arthur’s hair, wrenches his head back to peer at his face, considering. “Pendragon’s son sure is pretty.”

Arthur makes another noise around his gag, like he wants to eat Mordred alive, murderous. Merlin struggles to pull it together, trying not to drown.

“I—I didn’t think he was really your type, Mordred.”

“What, you mean to tell me he’s more your kinda guy?” Mordred laughs again, elated. “I’m beginning to think you do. I’m even beginning to think maybe—“ He brings the switchblade up again to press the tip of the knife into the underside of Arthur’s chin, force his head back further. “—Maybe you’ve already established this pretty-boy is just exactly what you like to fuck.”

Merlin yanks his eyes away from Arthur, and he knows his face is too fearful, too honest. The dangerously hair-fine tension of the room has reached a breaking point. “You’ve been sampling too much snuff Mordred, and it’s finally gotten to your head—stop acting so crazy.”

Mordred’s laughter wipes off his face, and then he abruptly lets go of Arthur to let him hit the floor with a dull thud and a moan.

He knew that had been a bad move as soon as he’d said it. The last time someone had called Mordred crazy, that poor fucker had ended trussed up in the bathroom of a fast food restaurant way out on the turnpike, missing most his fingers.

There’s a pause, where Merlin wonders wildly if he has enough hand-eye coordination to kick the knife from Mordred’s hand and snap the ties between Arthur’s wrists and legs, like this was some kind of an action hero movie. It’s a frantic thought—He knows he doesn’t have that level of skill. He’s not exactly in this gang because of his brawn, and this knowledge sits heavy in his limbs, frustratingly resigned. It’s a shame he always thought riding off into the sunset was for sissies, anyway. His pulse thunders wildly in his ears, a hundred staccato beats a second.

Mordred considers Merlin, the obvious panic spiraling over his face, and then a beatific smile slowly crosses his lips, chillingly angel-like.

“Alright then, how about you prove me wrong?”

“Mordred, look, can we just slow down—“

Mordred extends the knife out to Merlin— gleaming wet with saliva, still tinged red at the edges. “I think you should put your money where your mouth is, man.”

“What?!—Fuck no!” The words fall from Merlin’s lips before he can stop them and he hurriedly backtracks. “You—you know I hate getting everything so—messy. You’re the one who gets his fucking rocks off lopping off bits of people, I— I do the tech and, I do the planning—“

“—and I’m the muscle. Yep, I know.” Mordred smiles wider, his faintly bloody teeth look horrifying in the dim light of their storeroom, tightly wrapped packets of Morgana’s best product around them wrapped up in paper and taped with red duct tape, ready to be shipped tomorrow. Merlin dimly notices that at some point Morgause must have left the room, to stand guard or to call for reinforcements, he’s not sure. The world has narrowed to himself, and Arthur on the ground, and Mordred suddenly knowing too much, seeing too much, everything being too much.

“But still, I think you should indulge me, just this once, don’t you?”

Mordred steps forward, leans in very close and Merlin feels a shiver slide through him. “You carve up that pretty face a bit more for me, Merlin, and maybe I’ll decide we should ransom him.”

In the dirt, Arthur jerks, twisting and fighting for leverage from his bindings, a low growl in his throat. His eyes have a desperate, pleading look to them as he meets Merlin’s gaze again, his hands fisting the air like he’s imagining them around Mordred’s throat.

“I think he’d look good with a little more of our color on him, huh?” Mordred murmurs the words softy, like it’s just a suggestion, but Merlin knows what he’s asking—he wants to carve another letter into Arthur’s cheeks, his forehead, maybe his neck. Mordred always did have a penchant for making sure their gang left a calling card. He’d do it to suppliers who turned traitor, new initiates who lost their steam and wanted to run home to mama. Hell, Mordred even slashed some random teens outside their local deli the other week, because they’d been ‘getting on his nerves.’

Merlin struggles not to choke on the bile rushing up his throat.

He wishes Arthur had fucking stayed indoors tonight, like he was supposed to. Merlin almost even wishes he could kill him and let that be the end of things, could cut him up him without feeling like this, without feeling anything. He wishes he’d never met him that sunny July day on the highway, wishes he was just some other piece of trash the crew was always pulling in to make their dicks feel better. He wishes he wasn’t drowning right now, his fingers numb and his ribs heaving, wishes—

“If you do this for me, Merlin, I promise we’ll just ask for a big ole’ wad of cash from the Knights, like you suggested. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mordred holds out the knife in an open palm, barely an inch away. Merlin realizes he’s loving this. Mordred always hated him, all the way from day one when Morgana brought him on to help organize the gang’s gigs and pay off his credit card debt, never liked being only the muscle. This realization pumps sluggishly through his head as though from another time, another century.

“Something tells me you’d like this guy to see another day quite a lot.”

When Merlin doesn’t move, Mordred sighs dramatically, as if this was all just wasting his time and starts to pull the knife back. “But if you’d rather, I’m happy to go ahead and slit his throat, man. It’s your call.”

Merlin swallows hard, closes his eyes.

For a second all he can see is Arthur’s laughing face the last time they’d stolen a breath of a moment together, far on the other side of the city where the feuding gangs usually don’t dare show their signs, and they’d stood in the glowing pool of light from a corner streetlamp and Arthur’s lips were soft and his breath was so warm—

He takes the knife.

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