#prisoner of war fanfic

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 5

Part (5) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Btw, @youreababboon - sorry! I'm certain you were on my taglist initially! I must have goofed at some point 😘

Warnings: fair bit of medical procedures in this one: blood, needles, big needle, body horror, brief mention of child prisoner

WC: 3,578

“Uh… She…” I barely had time to notice that he’d somehow found his helm, and that he was using Crosshair’s rifle as a crutch, all but confirming his brother still hadn’t woken else I was sure I’d be able to hear him shouting at Wrecker even through the roar of the fire. He’d just begun to speak when something in the cockpit blew. The flash briefly overloaded my HUD, blinding me even through the visor, and the shockwave that followed nearly knocked me and Tech to the ground.

“Later!” I dismissed sharply, starting forward once more. “Is there anyone else in here?!” He shook his head, already turning to follow me out of the ship, and, despite the threat of dread stiffening my throat, the horror at realizing how close I’d come to leaving the small girl to the mercy of the flames, I let out a short huff of relief.

“Echo, we’re ready for pickup.” I called out over my com.

“Copy.” There was a tension in his voice that reminded me about the still untreated shot he’d taken to his shoulder, and, for just a moment, I felt a temptation to falter beneath the overwhelming work still to come. They all needed help… and we were so far behind enemy lines that there was no backup; no nearby flagship we could run to for supplies or safety. There was just me…

“Tech, I’m going to sit you down beside Crosshair, okay?” I said, voice nearing something of a gentle whisper as I noted how quickly he was breathing, how much he was clearly struggling to stay upright. He gave a weak nod, and I carefully helped him the rest of the short distance to that ditch and eased him down before turning to Wrecker.

“Alright, give her to me and sit down before Cross sees what you’re doing to his rifle – I don’t need any more work patching you guys up.” A barely muffled chuckle escaped him as he leaned down to pass the young girl to me, but he still used the Firepuncher to limp the rest of the way to his brothers before collapsing to the freshly upturned earth.

She couldn’t have been older than six. Tawny brown hair dangled to her shoulders in twin pigtails decorated with soot-covered jewels and metalwork. Dark shorts revealed skinned knees and small but vibrant patches of burned skin dotting her legs. It was the thin bead of blood slowly outlining the subtle curve of her brow that worried me, however.

Words automatically left me in a gentle, reassuring murmur as I began an initial assessment; telling her my name and title, reassuring her that I was there to help, and voicing my every action before I did it. It didn’t matter that she appeared unconscious. I was a stranger, and I didn’t want her to be afraid.

As the scanner hummed softly, I glanced up to see the rapidly approaching transport, a wave of ineffective, crimson bolts following in its wake from the battalion below. A quiet chime drew my attention back to the screen, pleased to see nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Still, I knew her burns would be painful, and we had enough bacta on the Marauder to spare.

There was a moment as we waited, maybe as little as a handful of seconds, in which I found my gaze turning back to the ruined shuttle behind us, and I didn’t fight the memory of that sloppily painted loth cat on the tail. I remembered her laugh just before the alarms blared. I remembered the feeling of her hand in mine. And I felt the desperate need to venture once more into those flames; to fight my way back to the engulfed cockpit that I might find her; that I might whisper her name if only to say goodbye.

But then the scream of engines wrenched my attention back to the present, and I granted myself no further time to waste on fables as I gathered the girl into my arms.

As soon as the transport touched down, I could hear rapid footsteps echoing within. Echo was waiting before the doors had begun to open, chest jerking around quick breaths, and I couldn’t ignore the subtle gleam of moisture darkening the fabric about his shoulder. Still, a small huff of laughter escaped me at the obvious confusion in his stance as he noted the small form in my arms.

“Who’s”

“You’ll have to talk to Wrecker.” I interrupted with a tiny chuckle, “How’s Hunter?”

“No change.” He answered, voice heavy. I didn’t press as I tread passed him. The faster everyone was loaded, the faster I could check him over myself.

By the time I’d secured the girl into a crash seat, Echo was already helping Wrecker into the ship, and I winced at the barely audible grunt that occasionally caught between ground teeth as the massive clone hobbled unsteadily beside his brother. I wanted to offer my help, to lessen the strain on his injured leg, but every second brought the droid army closer, so I darted back into the cool night air.

“Tech, you still with me?” I asked, words rushed as I kneeled down next to him. He only managed a weak grunt in response at first, eyes reluctantly opening behind soot-smeared, topaz lenses. “Hey, honey – Echo’s here.” I explained softly even as I carefully slid my arm beneath his shoulders to begin easing him up. “Can you walk?” He frowned as he looked around us, lips pulled into a weak scowl from some wretched cocktail of confusion and pain.

“… I…” I could see him struggling to remember, to formulate an accurate response, and that was all the answer I needed.

“It’s alright. I’ll help you, okay?” I murmured, body bracing against his before slowly hauling him upright. A strained groan only just caught on his tense exhale, but it was enough to force me to pause, debating if I needed to carry him outright. He took the first step, however, so I tread with him, arm locked around his waist to offer what support I could.

“I'll get Cross.” I said as Echo started back down the ramp, adding, “I don't want you straining that shoulder anymore,” when his helm tilted in confusion. I didn’t need to see him to picture the subtle, unamused frown as his head sank down ever so slightly. “He’s the lightest one between the lot of you – just make sure Tech doesn’t bleed out before I get back.” I added dismissively with a scoff, words just touched by the hint of a smirk on my lips, still, he let out a short huff before turning inside.

It wasn’t until after hoisting his lithe form over my shoulder that Crosshair finally began to stir.

“… the kriff…?” He muttered groggily, body tentatively moving in weak, unsteady twitches.

“About time you woke up.” I teased warmly, carefully hiding the breathiness from my voice as we entered the ship. The weary confusion with which he called my name left my heart dancing violently in my chest. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, “everyone’s here. Just need to get you strapped in, and then we’re leaving.” His head shifted slightly for a moment as though he was trying to look around before pausing, attention briefly locking on the still form of the child, but then he seemed to abandon even that minuscule effort as he went limp once more.

Echo had another wad of gauze pressed against Tech’s arm, attention flitting between his brother and the cockpit, as I reentered. Wrecker’s gaze flicked only briefly to me before darting back to the young girl, jaw taut with a worry he made no effort to hide, and Hunter hadn’t moved, body leaning faintly into the harness while his chest jerked with quick, shallow breaths.

“How long before we’re in firing range?” I asked, mind racing to remember how long we had before reaching the Marauder, to triage the injuries of those around me, and to prepare myself for the weight of juggling them all at once.

“Not long.” Echo replied, glancing at me for just a moment as I eased his brother into a nearby couch before he leaned over to press his scomp to Crosshair’s chest. I said a quick “thanks” as I secured his harness, jaw aching from how firmly my teeth ground together as my gaze wandered toward Hunter.

“I’ve got him.” I murmured, reaching over to clasp my hand around Tech’s arm. “If you can find a spot to land for a few minutes, let me know; otherwise just… hurry.” As I said it, words lowered into a tense whisper, I nodded subtly toward the Sargent. Echo nodded, offering no further recourse before pushing himself up to all but sprint toward the cockpit. Within seconds, the ship lurched to life, leaping sharply from the ground before rocketing away from the black site below, again making me snatch at a harness to steady myself.

Releasing a short breath, I turned my attention to the man before me. Tech’s skin was pale. His head hung listless toward his chest, sweat dripping down his forehead, along the sharp curve of his cheeks, and soaking into the already damp fabric clinging to his form, and the rapid dance of his chest beneath too-quick breaths left me subconsciously tightening my grip on the still bleeding wound.

“Tech? Tech, come on, I want you to stay awake – stay with me.” I instructed, voice rising slightly in hopes of catching his attention even as I quickly jostled myself out of my medbag’s uncomfortable straps. He didn’t respond, instantly drawing a curse from my lips.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” Wrecker asked, an odd meekness to his words, and I instantly felt some of my tension fall away at the innate gentleness of him.

“No,” I said softly, glancing back toward him with a smile I knew he couldn’t see. “I just hate seeing you guys get hurt… but he’ll be okay.” I added warmly. “Let me know if those pain meds start to wear off, okay?” He nodded, and I turned my attention back to the injured pilot, carefully pulling away the gauze just enough to study the already subsiding blood flow. It was steady. Not an arterial bleed, at least, but I needed to repair any ruptured major vessels before I could remove the tourniquet, and that wasn’t something I could do during flight. Securing the additional gauze with more bandages, I moved to his other arm and quickly stripped it of armor before cutting through the fabric at his elbow to reveal the thin skin below.

“What you can do,” I started, calling back to Wrecker once more as I began prepping an IV, “is explain why we went down there for a Senator and came back with a child.” He let out a quiet chuckle, the deep, familiar sound an effortless balm to my worries.

“Not sure.” He answered far too nonchalantly for the severity of the situation. I almost scoffed, but bit it back in favor of listening, attention split between him and quickly placing the IV. “Tech figured out where the guy should’a been, but, when we got there, we found her instead.” He explained, shoulders rolling fluidly to emphasize his own confusion before motioning to the girl.

“Was she conscious when you found her?” I didn’t want to think about how she might react to suddenly finding herself surrounded by strangers…

“Oh yeah.” He replied emphatically, head nodding. “Came running right up to Tech an’ wouldn’t let go – he thinks she recognized his armor.” Maker, I would have given anything to have seen Tech’s face in that moment… I wondered if Wrecker saw how still I went, even if only for the few seconds it took to fight the image of Tech, utterly frozen, arms flared, jaw agape as he stared at the tiny girl clinging to his leg in pure shock, from my mind.

“Did she tell you what happened?” I could hear the barely restrained laughter just tinting my words.

“Nah; wouldn’t say anything. Just held on to Tech ‘til the droids started shootin’ at us; then he had to carry her.” He explained, voice still oddly quiet. That humor faded, replaced with something far softer as I glanced once more toward Tech’s still lax face. “When we met up with Cross, Tech got her to stay in the cabin with him – she didn’t like me much. Pretty sure you can guess the rest.” He said it so dismissively, as though the words were meaningless, but I instantly stilled. That was the reason he hadn’t been wearing his helmet… why he’d so carefully kept his voice hushed and sat quietly rather than ignoring his injury in favor of insisting I let him help, and my heart broke for him.

I wanted to go to him, to cradle his hand between mine and whisper promises that he’d done nothing wrong, but time was a luxury not often granted in moments when even a few seconds of stillness was so desperately needed.

“You saved her life.” I whispered instead, attention pointedly trained on securing Tech’s injured arm to his chest before dragging my bag with me as I moved toward Hunter. He didn’t respond, head tilted down as his fingers picked thoughtlessly at the straps binding his leg. There was no uncertainty in the quiet that settled between us as I began scanning Hunter. He didn’t need to explain how the girl’s fear had hurt him in a way that would never stop haunting him, how it gnawed at a wound he wanted to pretend didn’t exist despite how effortlessly it crippled him, and I knew that no amount of heart-felt reassurance or affectionate words would dull that pain.

“How is he?” He asked somberly as the scanner went quiet.

“Stable, but not great.” I answered, quickly glancing over the results. “It’s stopped now, but he was bleeding internally, and that’s putting pressure on his lungs.” I didn’t mention that the bleeding could start again from even gentle movement; that the collected blood would soon begin to clot; that I was shocked his lung hadn’t collapsed already, and that I found myself counting every passing second, certain his body would suddenly jerk beneath some instinctual panic as his breathing all but stopped.

I let out a tense breath and glanced uselessly toward the cockpit before activating my com.

“Echo, any update?” I called, loathing the subtle plea that I couldn’t fully silence.

“We’ve already had to dodge a few patrols.” I heard the apology in his voice, the note of a guilt we both knew was unavoidable.

“Think you can keep us level for a minute?” He didn’t answer immediately, and I could only assume he was scanning for any hint of danger before answering.

“Do it quick.” There was a warning in those short words, and I didn’t waste a moment, quickly tossing my helmet onto a nearby seat.

“Wrecker, if you can move carefully, I could use your help.” I murmured, attention focused on retrieving the right supplies. In truth, I could have done this on my own, but there was comfort to be found for us both in sharing this burden. He responded merely by undoing his harness and hobbling across the small cabin toward me, one hand absently pressing against the roof to steady himself.

“Help me get his cuirass off.” I was already reaching out to begin undoing his armor, loathing the seemingly endless steps needed to gain access to his torso. Wrecker readily lowered himself into the seat beside his brother and followed suit, quickly piling the dark plastoid into a pile at his feet, and I couldn’t unsee how his jaw had tensed in that first moment after pulling off Hunter’s helmet. Deep bruises painted what skin wasn’t already darkened by his tattoo, leaving both eyes nearly swollen shut, and the gauze I’d secured to his nose was soaked through with now dried blood.

It wasn’t until I eased him toward me, balancing him against my chest as I kneeled on the floor in front of him to start carefully removing the heavy cuirass, that Hunter began to stir, a groggy hum catching weakly in his throat.

“Welcome back.” The warmth in my whispered words veiled the regret sinking through my chest at having woken him.

“…where…?” The question only just found breath to tumble from barely shifting lips.

“We’re all headed to the Marauder.” I answered calmly, stomach churning at the choked grunt he only belatedly managed to bite back as Wrecker shifted his arms to guide through the holes of his armor.

“Sorry, Sarg…” Wrecker muttered remorsefully. That flare of pain seemed to drag him further into a cursed awareness, head turning slightly to take in the dimly lit cabin.

“Wh… wha’ happe’ed?” He asked, voice thick and strained, trying vainly not to fight us as we maneuvered him out of his armor.

“A lot, but everyone’s onboard with us.” I said before Wrecker could offer a far more frightening answer. A low, tense groan caught in his throat as we gently leaned him back.

“…Doc…” The short word left in something closer to a cough than true speech. I hated the subtle tension in his brow, the faint creases it formed about tightly closed eyes, but I wouldn’t let myself stop, moving quickly to unwrap the plackart from his torso. “Pretty hard t…hard to b…breathe.” He huffed weakly, and I granted myself just a moment to wrap my hand around his, fingers twining together in a silent offer of whatever comfort that touch might grant him.

“I know, hun. I’m going to fix that right now. Okay?” He paused, as though processing what I’d said before a new tension stole through him, grip tightening around me for mere seconds before he forced himself under control. “I’ll give you something to take the edge off, and it’ll be quick.” I promised, squeezing his hand once more before releasing him.

“You want somethin’ to bite down on?” Wrecker asked as I retrieved the autoinjector. Hunter answered only with a small shake of his head, but his entire body jerked slightly when my fingers brushed along his lower ribs.

“Not ticklish, right?” I teased, earning a short, scoffed chuckle. In the same beat, I laid the injector against his side. Something akin to a growl escaped lips pulled into a weak snarl, fingers locking around the harness now hanging loosely around him, and Wrecker instinctively laid a massive hand over his chest. We all knew that gesture was meant to hold his brother still just as much as it was to offer support, but it was easier to pretend otherwise.

“Big poke.” I allowed him barely a second after the warning left my lips before piercing his side, automatically following the way his body bucked away from the intrusion to slip the catheter over the long needle. A strangled grunt morphed once more into that near growl before faltering into a shuttered sigh as a gush of dark blood shot between my hands onto the seat beside him. It quickly subsided to a slow drip, and the way his next breath broke with something too close to a whimper beneath a relief I knew too well left me straining to keep my own breath steady, eyes taking in the way that tension abandoned him into a boneless heap beneath his brother’s hand.

“Good,” I murmured, “just take a few deep breaths, and try not to move around too much.” He gave a small nod almost as an afterthought as I quickly secured the line to his side with an abundance of tape lest it jostle and cause even more damage. “How’s your throat feel?” He didn’t respond for a moment, tongue absently dragging out to wet his lips before wearily opening his eyes.

“It’s…” His hand shifted vaguely toward the bruised flesh in an almost dismissive gesture, “…sore?” He offered, but it was clear that whatever thought he’d given toward the answer was far less concerned by that than he was with the bliss of finally managing to fill his lungs with the crisp, nighttime air, and I couldn’t help but grin softly at him.

“Okay, let’s get you strapped back in, but let me know if anything gets worse.” He seemed to melt even further into the crash couch at my quiet whisper, eyes falling shut once more as Wrecker and I secured the harness around him.

“You, too.” I added with a smirk, my eyes shifting to meet Wrecker’s. He seemed surprised for a just a moment before his lips pulled into a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Really doesn’t hurt that bad.” There was no earnest fight in his feigned objection, and he let out a quiet chuckle as my brow hitched in a silent order, hands already pulling his own harness snugly around him.

“Alright; I need to check on Echo. Can you keep an eye on everyone back here?” The question wasn’t meant to placate whatever sense of uselessness his injury may have given him, and, as I held his gaze, I didn’t doubt that he understood that. He nodded, and I knew I could trust him to call me the instant something changed, freeing me to retrieve my pack once more before starting toward the cockpit.

Next Chapter

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[a-todd-illustration]

Fanart for a fic. Zuko is a war prisoner used for training.

[hushed-chorus]

Prisoner of War

A Baz Pitch, coffin-trauma drabble that I wrote instead of sleeping. Below the cut, ~300 words.

CW: PTSD and some ow ow

It started in a hobby store, tucked under the overland railway bridge that leads to Waterloo station. 

Baz had had moments where he feared the dark. Anxiety, stilted breathing, crushing weight in his chest. But those had long passed. He thought the fear, the memory, was gone, done, dusted.

Then, in that store, something happened. Panic crawled into his throat and made a nest there, plucking and pulling and clogging up his airways. With each upward tick he told himself there was no danger. This would pass. Feelings just happen sometimes. They are irrational. 

They left the store, but the feeling didn’t pass. Simon noticed, but when he asked, pushed, Baz snapped at him. They argued, then, later, once Baz would let Simon touch him again, they reconciled. They found peace in one another’s arms.

But Baz couldn’t explain it, and Simon didn’t understand.

That night, Baz awoke in the black. Wooden panels closed in tight all around him. He hit, scratched, choked, and, finally, he screamed.

Simon freed him. He was in a cupboard. He crumpled in Simon’s arms, weeping for many long moments.

The next day, Simon cut the cupboard into pieces.

Baz had no memory of climbing into that dark space. These things just happen sometimes, he learned, when he gathered the courage to seek answers online. Prisoners of war. PTSD. Sometimes, the sleeper re-enacts the hardship endured. The mind’s faulty effort to make sense of what happened.

It was the trains. Sometimes, in the numpty den, they were all he heard. Rumbling and roaring in and out of Blackfriars station. The store, the bridge outside Waterloo, shook up all the mud that had settled in his mind.

Knowing is half the battle. But only half. 

Baz made an appointment with a therapist. And whenever he walks with Simon, whenever they pass under one of London's many railway bridges and a train passes overhead, Simon squeezes his hand.

[gun-roswell]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), CT-9904 | Crosshair, Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars), CT-7567 | Rex, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Phee Genoa, Rampart (Star Wars) Additional Tags: TBB S3 Missing Scenes/Fixits/Speculation, Could Be Canon, Spoilers for TBB S3, TBB S3E12 Speculation from Teaser Trailer, Scenes and Snippetrs in Time, Juggernaut - Freeform, Mission Fic, Prison break! Series: Part 45 of TBB S3 Fixits, Missing Scenes and Speculation series Summary:

Who is the person in the orange jumpsuit Crosshair is hauling across the juggernaut?

Part of TBB S3 Missing Scenes, Fixits and Speculation

[ileftapieceofmysoulwithyou]

"...the Dementor departed with his tray on the floor and approached Harry, mouth agape. Harry turned away from the monster, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would leave him alone…the most wonderful pleasure lit him up like a fire, so beautiful it felt that a smile lifted on his face, and he leaned closer into that heavenly warmth, opening his lazy eyes to search for its source… Voldemort had cupped his cheek, the span of his hand so large it reached his forehead. The entire left side of his face felt like it was melting under his touch, and his gentle susurration could have lulled him to sleep if he hadn’t become aware of it. He focused on the words, half registering, half listening to the mere sound of it: “…Thou could’st foster me beyond the brink of recollection. Make my watchful care close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair. Do gently murder half my soul, and I shall feel the other half so utterly!” His fingers bent and clawed into Harry’s skin as he spoke, but he barely felt the pain, woozy as he was. Voldemort sounded agitated, he thought distantly, which didn’t match up with the beautiful phrases set forth: “I’m giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth; O let it blush so ever. Let it soothe my madness! Let it mantle rosy-warm with the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.” The warmth left. Harry opened his eyes again, wondering where it had went. Voldemort had retracted his hand, and was now staring at him through narrowed eyes, the glowing nature of his irises prominent in the early darkening of the day. Harry closed his mouth, which had been hanging stupidly agape. Suddenly he remembered the Dementor, and turned to find it, searching every shadow of his cell…but it was nowhere. Now that he was focused on it, the fog that had been accumulating seemed to have dispersed and was now only a thin layer. The Dementor had changed its mind in attacking him, for some reason, if he hadn’t been imagining it. And…hold on— “Were you citing poetry to me?” “It would seem that droning on about love bores even the Dementors away.” Harry’s head was still whirling. He remembered something about murder, and madness, and thought that kind of love poem sounded right up Voldemort’s alley."

Hole in the Wall - Chapter 12 - tomrddle - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

[Voldemort quotes John Keats' Endymion Book IV]

[made-by-moon]

Remus Lupin and Another Moment of Grief

Remus stood on the cold stone. High arch towering over him with milky fog falling from its top. Harry was safe. Devastated, crying, grieving but nonetheless safe. For now. Remus could shed a few tears of his own while standing in front of the Veil. He was so tired of grieving. It seems that was all he was doing for over a decade now. But even then, there was hope. A little sliver of light, locked behind the walls of Azkhaban. He never stopped hoping that Sirius was innocent. And when he finally could say it with certainty, "he didn’t do it, he didn't betray us, he didn't betray me", the man was gone. He knew that just like when he lost Marlene or James or Lily or many others that were victims to this cruel, senseless war, no amount of tears or desperate prayers could bring him back. So finally, it all came back to the beginning. He was lost and in pain. But this time, he was not a child. There was no one to hold his hand and guide his steps. He was completely, devastatingly alone.

[aspenshade888]

ok so im (trying) to write a fic where it goes from oct 31st 1981 into a rewrite of poa from Remus’s perspective but I’ve gotten stuck trying to write a newspaper article and I would love any help. The article is supposed to be the daily prophet that was sent out with the news that Voldemort was dead, and I want Remus to find out that Lily and James are dead from that, but not about Sirius or Peter because he’s going to be told by dumbles later. Any tips for writing or even just writing the article yourself (please) would be really appreciated, I’m so excited for the fic but I’m stuck on this section and can’t keep writing. Thank you!!

[dawnsiren]

Im interested to know how you came up with the idea to write the Dragon!Azula au

Well, the Dragon!Azula thought in general started from me reading Scaled Over by MuffinLance and going ‘okay sure but What If Azula’

As Empires Fall specifically is a bit more complicated. In that what y’all’ve read from me is not actually the original story I had in mind. The original plan I had was for Azula, Zuko, and Iroh to go to the Southern Water Tribe and from there…. Well quite honestly I didn’t have a plan after that, which is why this version of the story doesn’t exist. Because I lost any motivation and abandoned it. This version of the story, iirc, lacked dragon!Ursa and had Magic Shenanigans resulting in Azula being in an actual egg that Ursa was pregnant with. As you might know, I cut this. This was just kind of a thing I was writing for the heck of it, without much real planning.

And then I read @ultranos’s dragon!Azula fic ‘I don’t want to set the world on fire’ which like…. Rebooted me and resurrected As Empires Fall in the form you’re familiar with. The first part of the prologue is genuinely a near-direct copy/paste from the forgotten draft, with only a few edits to line up with the place they go being the Sun Warriors instead of the South. And then the idea just kind of…. Grew prolifically until I had a full outline, complex plot, and 51 planned chapters.

[gimjarack]

I just have to get this weird nightmare I had out of my brain and into other people's heads.

So the dream follows me as an earthbender and high ranking officer of the earth kingdom army being captured by Fire Nation troops. Instead of the actual canon thing where captives get put in fire Nation uniforms and placed onto the front lines unarmed to be killed by our fellow soldiers, I get taken for interrogation at the Fire Nation capital. They want to know anything and everything about Ba Sing Se, but i won't give up anything. I endure weeks of torture bravely, but then Azula shows up and takes control of my torture and interrogation.

She brings in a captive, a female waterbender from the northern tribe who only knows how to heal, to heal my wounds so I can endure even more torture per day. Eventually Azula leaves for her hunt of Zuko and the Avatar, and thats when me and the waterbender plan our escape. It fails due to us being pinned to the walls with arrows through our legs fired by the Yuyan Archers, and after awhile my torture sessions stop.

A few weeks later, I discover why my torture stopped when Azula pops in again with a smug grin to deliver some news. Ba Sing Se has fallen, the Avatar is dead, and Firelord Ozai has declared that I and any other prisoners of war being interrogated for info on Ba Sing Se are to be executed. Azula wants to kill me herself since she spent so much time "breaking your spirit like a child's toy" in her own words, and pulls out Zuko's dagger- the ceremonial dagger I recognize as the one the Dragon of the West received after breaching the outer wall of Ba Sing Se. The last thing I see before jolting awake is my slit throat oozing blood and Azula's vicious smirk.

[emerald-hobbit]

A Chat with HR

Summary:

Harry looked even more shocked at the seemingly reasonable and intelligent advice from his "lesser" doppelganger. “This may be the meds talking here but --” Harry sighed wearily. “What do I do?”

HR grinned just enough to make Harry start regretting asking. “Well, what if you talked to someone else? You don’t want to put your issues on her, and she wants you to open up. It seems like a good middle ground to me.”

Harry scoffed. “What, you want me to see a therapist?”

--

Or Harry's struggling after being captured in Gorilla City and HR decides to give him advice.

Whumptober Day 13 - ALT - Survivors Guilt

[bettsfic]

writing a fanfic, day 1: haha fun little porn fic lots of fluff no angst happy ending :)

writing a fanfic, day 30: so it turns out japan signed the 1929 geneva convention on the sick and the wounded but NOT the geneva convention on the treatment of prisoners of war and therefore the definition of "war crime" in this situation is

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 6

Part (6) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Bit of a shorter one today, but figured that was better than holding out for another week!

Warnings: reference to previous medical procedures (blood/ needles), wound cleaning, some, uh, tension, child trauma

WC: 2,648

“Still alive up here?” I called warmly as I entered the cockpit. Echo’s helm tipped back to look at me with what I knew to be an unamused stare.

“How’re they doing?” He asked, attention turning back to the viewport. I moved closer to him before answering, sitting lightly on the edge of the copilot’s chair as I set my pack between my feet.

“Tech and Crosshair are still out. I can’t fix Tech’s arm while we’re moving, but I got a chest tube in Hunter.” I didn’t have the strength to hide the exhaustion in my voice, adrenaline finally quelling now that no one was in imminent danger. “Wrecker’s knee still needs to be reduced, but I might have to rig a damn pully system to pop it back into place.” I added with a deep sigh. “The girl will be alright – minor burns here and there, but nothing a little bacta won’t fix… Which just leaves you.” Forcing some feint of strength back into my voice, I tilted my head expectantly toward him.

“Not a whole lot you can do while I’m flying.” He dismissed. “Only have one hand to steer with. What’s the story with the girl?” Ignoring his excuse, I pushed myself back to my feet and walked around the chair to his injured shoulder.

“Not sure yet,” I replied, attention clearly focused on the task before me. “Don’t crash us. They found her where the senator was supposed to be.”

“Doc.” He grumbled, trying to shrug me off.

“Echo.” I retorted in the same tone. “I can get some bacta on the worst of it, at least.” His chest swelled in preparation, I was sure, to voice some further argument, but I cut him off with a sharp look and he let out a deep sigh.

“Apparently,” the conspiratory lilt in my voice offered both distraction and gratitude as I removed his shoulder pauldron, stance carefully widened to better steady myself in the event of sudden turbulence, “she saw Tech and immediately threw herself at him.” The very edges of my lips pulled up in a poorly restrained, knowing grin as Echo’s bucket dropped slightly, breath held lest a barely silenced snort escape him. “He had to carry her all the way to the ship.” I continued, “And I’ll give you one guess who she clung to while he was piloting.”

“Oh no…” He couldn’t fully suppress the threat of laughter from his hushed sigh.

“Yup.” The word popped with that same mirth, pleased to note the ease in his posture as I brought my sheers to his shoulder, snipping quickly through the ruined fabric to better expose the burn beneath.

“Echo…” I couldn’t help the groan in my voice upon seeing the wound, nor the huff that followed at how he pointedly avoided looking away from the viewport. “I swear, if you’re about to say that you’ve had worse….” I interrupted the instant he started to respond, and the silence that followed was more than enough to justify the accusation.

Releasing a tense breath, I stepped away from him a moment to dig back into my bag.

“Want me to numb it?” I offered, voice instantly dropping into a soft murmur. He didn’t answer at first, but I was already readying the medication. He hated burns. He didn’t need to explain why; not with me, and I hoped he was far passed feeling any need to pretend otherwise. When he gave a small nod, I didn’t try to hide my own relief as I returned to his side, hand reaching out to rest lightly on his forearm in some silent show of support or appreciation or some unspoken combination of that and so much more, before touching the autoinjector lightly against the blackened skin.

There were moments in which I hated our armor. I hated the distance it created between us when I so desperately wanted to offer the comfort of a gentle touch. I hated the harsh veneer it forced upon the brilliant, kind-hearted people within; hated how it sought to rob them of their individuality in the Kaminoan’s endeavor toward perfect, unthinking uniformity, but in that moment, I was grateful for it. I was grateful because it granted the man before me a mask to hide behind that he might be free to let his face twist in full display of the pain suffered beneath my ministrations. I longed for him to feel no need for such a façade with me but wasn’t so naïve as to feign otherwise, and his comfort was of far greater importance than my pride.

“I’m going to try to get under your rerebrace a bit.” I warned, already shifting the plastoid tube awkwardly down his arm just enough to reach the edges of marred skin. He offered neither argument nor consent, attention locked on controlling the ship absent what wretched distraction my actions caused, but I could feel the full breadth of tension coiled through his toned body, could see the powerful muscles about his shoulder flex, steering column of the ship groaning beneath his iron grip. I didn’t bother voicing another warning as I did the same with his chest plate, carefully cleaning away the layer of charred, dead skin before smearing the raw flesh beneath with that soothing, blue gel.

“Almost done.” I promised quietly, movements far more delicate now as I slipped a bandage over the wound, eager to keep the edges of his armor from grating against it. My hand lingered for a moment longer, palm spread atop the sterile fabric gleaming stark white against the darkness of his ruined blacks, fingers spread just enough for my thumb to feel the heat radiating from his chest, to catch the steady thrumming of his heart.

He'd barely made a sound when he’d been hit; had played it off so effortlessly in the exhausting hours that followed of helping me drag Hunter through those endless corridors while taking out however many dozens of droids tried to stop us, voicing no hint of complaint or hesitation. I hated the feeling of admiration just as much as I hated how desperately worried for him it made me.

His helm shifted ever so slightly, gaze dropping toward that soft touch for several seconds before lifting just enough that I was sure he was looking at me, and I felt my eyes turn toward him as though no opaque visor lay between us, as though I could see the pale gold of eyes that had known far too much pain; eyes that I longed only to see shining with carefree bliss as they had when we floated in the crystalline pools of Deveron, before the chaos of my brother’s death and the confusion of everything that followed.

The subtle rhythm dancing beneath my thumb quickened, breath shallowing as he suddenly went still, and in that moment, those long weeks of silence vanished. I remembered the first time I’d heard him laugh – truly laugh – back when I was a stranger, a threat, who’d trapped him into trusting me before revealing how that trap had backfired and asking for his help after all. I remembered the safety I’d felt from his presence after being attacked by that mercenary Sergeant. I remembered holding him as he trembled with the afterimage of nightmares I couldn’t imagine, and I remembered how he’d held me in the wake of losing myself to a grief that nearly broke me after losing my brother.

Echo was the first one among this squad to give me a chance, the first I truly considered to be my friend. The weight pressing against my heart from how ruthlessly I’d pushed us apart crippled me, fingers subtly tightening in some subconscious plea to keep him near me, if only for what few seconds of quiet might be stolen in the too-short flight back to the Marauder, and the way his body seemed to turn toward me, to lean into that touch with the same selfish, impossible want left my breath shuttering slightly with promises and apologies and whispers that could never be granted voice.

“Doc!” My head jerked up at Wrecker’s hushed shout, chest bucking with a sharp gasp. Swallowing back the swell of emotion still lingering just on the verge of breaking through, I snatched his pauldron and quickly began reattaching it to his shoulder.

“Try not to move it too much for at least a couple hours.” I ordered, already dashing around him to grab my bag. “And drink some damn water, or I’ll shove an IV in you, too!” The added threat thrown over my shoulder was made in jest if only to feign some useless façade of ignorance to the tension yet lingering in his silence.

“Wrecker?” I called breathlessly as I raced back into the cabin, still trying to convince myself that my heart was racing solely from fear that he’d summoned me because of some imminent medical disaster. The towering clone only briefly met my eyes before nodding toward one of the seats beside him, and I followed his gaze to see the cowering figure of the small girl curled into the crash cough, tiny fingers trembling as they locked around the oversized harness strapped all around her.

Lips parting with a small gasp, I quickly went still, hands slowly raising, body automatically lowering to a knee. Bright, green eyes darted around, pupils dark and blown with a fear I knew too well.

“Hey, sweetie.” I murmured, voice as gentle and soothing as I could manage. “I know you’re scared, but I promise you: no one here is going to hurt you.” Those eyes darted from me to the still unconscious form of Crosshair across the aisle and then to Wrecker before returning to me. “That’s Crosshair,” I told her quietly, “He got bumped around a bit, just like you, but he’ll be alright, and the big guy behind you is his brother, Wrecker – he gives the best hugs you’ve ever felt!” Wrecker offered a tentative smile as she peaked nervously toward him. “I think you already met their other brother, Tech.” I added, pointing, and I felt myself smile at the flash of familiarity that washed over her upon following my gesture. After telling mine and Hunter’s names, I took a small step forward, relieved that she didn’t balk at my advance.

“I bet those burns don’t feel very good.” My heart broke at the way her chin quivered slightly, head shaking as her arms pulled even tighter against her chest. “I have something that’ll help. I promise, it won’t hurt.” I added warmly, movements slow as I pulled a tube of bacta from my bag. Recognition lit in those shockingly expressive eyes and, without further prompting, stretched a leg out toward me. My breath caught in a quiet chuckle as I pushed myself up and crossed the few meters between us.

“No change with the others?” I asked Wrecker as I kneeled before the girl. He merely shook his head. Hunter and Tech, I expected little improvement from, but I didn’t like how long it was taking Crosshair to wake up. Resolving to check on him soon, I turned my attention back to the child.

“The place we found you was pretty scary. Do you remember how to you got there?” I asked. She watched carefully as I smeared some of the bacta onto my fingertips before gently dabbing it onto one of the larger burns on her shin, lips still pressed firmly together. “That’s okay,” I reassured her, worried that the memories might be too much for her to willingly talk about. “How about your name? Can you tell me your name?” After several more seconds of silence, I paused attention shifting from her dappled legs to those piercing eyes.

“She wouldn’t tell Tech, either.” Wrecker whispered. I tried not to let my uncertainty show, forcing my expression back into a warm smile before moving on to another patch of burnt skin.

“You know… we were looking for someone when Tech and Wrecker found you.” I said, voice dropping into a whisper as though it were some great secret, and her attention instantly shifted back to me expectantly. “He’s this really special Senator. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” I shot Wrecker a pleading look, cursing myself for not paying more attention to the man’s name.

“Uh, yeah; real special. Gno.” He stammered slightly, belatedly realizing what I was asking. A sharp gasp caught in the girl’s throat, her fear forgotten as she sat upright, hopeful gaze darting between us.

“Looks like you know him?” I teased, and she nodded so violently, the safety harness jangled around her. It wasn’t a huge jump to guess how, but I voiced the theory regardless. “Is he your dad?” Again, she nodded, lips parted around excited breaths, but, still, she made no effort to speak. I had to fight to quell the nervous dread stirring in my gut. Why had they taken the girl? Had they accidentally left her father behind in that abhorrent maze of underground tunnels? If they had, he’d be impossible to retrieve now…

“Was he down there with you?” I asked, pointedly ignoring the way Wrecker’s gaze had already darkened with the same theory. The girl paused before giving a halting nod, but then she shook her head and pointed up. My head automatically twisted to follow her gesture, but Wrecker didn’t miss a beat.

“They took ‘im away in a ship?” She looked at him for a long moment before nodding, and I couldn’t decide if I should be relieved or even more hopeless toward the prospect of him ever being found. “Maybe Tech can track ‘em. Doubt there’s a whole lot of folks coming and goin’ from that place.” I flashed him a brief smile before turning my attention back to the girl.

“We’ll just have to ask him when he wakes up.” I said as I finished the last spot on her leg. “Are you hungry? I bet they didn’t have anything tasty to eat down there.” The pleading look in her eyes made my heart twist, and I quickly reached back into my bag for ration bars and offered her a few different kinds. “Choose whichever color you like.” She bit her lips in that undeniably innocent display of childhood excitement as she reached for one. After helping her open it, I tossed another bar to Wrecker with a knowing grin.

“Alright, let’s see what’s going on with Mr Tall, Dark, and Grumpy.” I said, smiling reassuringly to the child.

Crosshair still hadn’t moved, and I couldn’t ignore the growing unease gnawing at my chest as I approached him, teeth absently nipping at the inside of my lip. I’d just begun reaching for his helmet when it suddenly shifted toward me, and I couldn’t silence the sharp gasp that tore from my throat nor the way my body jumped as my heart nearly leapt from my chest. His head shifted slightly in that mocking, judgmental tilt that instantly drew my lips back into a snarl.

“You kriffing-”

“Ah.” He interrupted, and I could hear the smirk in his raspy voice, “language.” The smug, chastising lilt drew several more curses to my tongue that I pointedly bit back, and his shoulders danced beneath a silent laughter. I tugged his bucket off with a touch more force than was necessary, treasuring the flash of annoyance in those sharp eyes.

“Look who’s awake!” I called over my shoulder, smile returning to my lips as his jaw tensed with understanding before I turned to see the girl watching us from across the cabin. “If you’d like, I bet Crosshair would love to keep you company for the trip.” I offered, and I had to bite back laughter of my own at the quiet grumble that caught in his throat.

Next Chapter

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[a-todd-illustration]

Captive!Sokka is kept in Prince Zuko's rooms. Zuko gets too attached and has to let him go. Will they see each other again? You bet 😉

[dragonflyvault]

It's almost as if people have different views and interpretations on characters that may not always line up with canon. Which is, you know, half the point of fanfic, fandom and fanon.

When (and why) did the Marauders fandom decide that Sirius Black, the man who endured the imprisonment in Azkaban with such stoicism that the Minister of Magic himself remarked on it, is a drama queen whining over the slightest inconvenience?

[greatwyrmgold]

The new Jenny Nicholson video makes me want to write a Star Wars fanfic based on her experience in the Star Wars Hotel. Amiithia Tope, a wealthy influencer from Coruscant (Jenny's actual choice of "character," if I spelled her name right), trying to help the First Order but getting ghosted by them even as the Resistance tries to recruit her.

Chewbacca escapes because Lieutenant Croy assumed her attempts to warn him that a high-profile prisoner was escaping, come on, were just a youngling prank. On the Baatu excusion, Amiithia and her sister end up doing a mission for the Resistance out of boredom and confusion, but it turns out their Resistance contact gave them inaccurate instructions and they have to check all the crates again to find the Holocron. Amiithia meets Hondo Onaka and discovers she dislikes him. Sammy thanks Amiithia for helping him steal a TIE Fighter even though she never even responded to his text messages. Maybe Lieutenant Croy hears this and Amiithia gets in trouble with the guy she wanted to surrender, which is why Kylo Ren Force-tortures her to get Rey to talk.

Worst cruise ever. There was a support column in front of her table at the dinner show!

[necrotic-nephilim]

as much as I love the common "Tim worships/stalks Jason" trope in TimJay fanfiction because it's Good and making Tim a weird little freak is Fun, I think the underutilized dynamic is where Jason is the one weirdly obsessed with Tim and makes it Tim's problem.

Like, the moment Jason is confronted with the information that a third Robin exists, the first thing he does is cover his wall with pictures of Tim so he can just obsess and torture himself over it. That is the behavior of a man who is Unwell over Tim's existence and I love it.

red hood: lost days #4

And as much as a shitshow as The Titans Tower Incident™ is characterization-wise (though I think it has far more merit in depicting Jason's character than people give it credit for but I digress-) there's something very fun about the fact that even after kicking his ass, Jason respects Tim and is impressed by him.

teen titans (2003) #29

And on top of that, Jason can't seem to stop trying to ask Jason to Tim to work with him in some capacity.

robin (1993) #177

batman: battle for the cowl #2

While Battle for the Cowl is an exceptionally bad comic, especially for its characterization of Jason and the "be my Robin" bit is taken deeply out of context, I do think it's interesting how obsessed Jason is with believing that Tim is extremely competent, only held back by being "brainwashed by Bruce". (hence him leaving Tim for dead later on in the comic.) Jason seeing a darker side of Tim and wanting to bring that out of Tim, wanting to see what Tim could be if he let go of his loyalty to Bruce is so fun to me, tbh.

And in Robin #177, Jason seems genuinely upset Tim doesn't want to work with him. Jason sees such a raw potential in Tim and is obsessed with it, constantly wanting Tim to work for him and see Tim be the type of person Jason is. And despite Tim rejecting him, Jason doesn't shoot to kill Tim. I just cannot get over the fanfic potential of Jason obsessing over Tim, tracking him and seeing what he's capable of and what he could be capable of. Wanting to make Tim see things the way he does. To Tim it's corruption, to Jason it's freedom. Tim trying to 'save' Jason is fun and all, but Jason trying to corrupt Tim? That's even more fun to me. Watching that power struggle between them, Tim unable to get Jason off his heels as Jason gets more and more possessive and bold with each attempt.

And when Jason sees Tim successfully get Gotham back under control after a gang war, he's impressed. He praises Tim, even. And then Tim just. Breaks him out of prison.

robin (1993) #182

The way they're constantly trying to see something in the other that isn't there, hoping the other will come around? That is the most fucked up hate/love dynamic ever. Jason keeps coming back to Tim, keeps trying to find ways to get Tim onto his side. They're always chasing each other. And I think Jason would be the one to confess love first, the one to do anything to make Tim his. And when you consider after all of this, Tim has his Red Robin arc and is at his lowest, getting the closest he ever gets to considering murder? I think it'd be so fun to see Jason take advantage of that and worm his way back into Tim's life and finally push Tim over the edge.