#woke up and IMMEDIATELY drew slop

[pyonicpyro]

Give him time

[local80smotel]

Midnight wind

pairing; V x air bending! Reader

summary; Y/N gains powers and after escaping Larkhill wants to get revenge

requested by; @scatter-mind001

rating; T

warnings; heavy mention of guard-on-prisoner abuse

word count; 2,311

A/N; I'm actually thinking of making a part two of this but I'm actually very satisfied with it! Thank you for the request!

Y/N remembered the night they were stolen from their normal daily life and how much terror pulsed through their body. The reason? Y/N's family were proud Irishmen and refused to hide that fact from anyone. They went as far as to hang the Irish flag outside their home instead of the Norsefire flag which they were commanded to do so. It became an inside joke of the neighborhood on how long it would take for the L/N family to be removed.

Some even betted money. Unsurprisingly it happened around seven months into high Chancellor Sutler's term that the raid happened. Y/N thought they would be spared as they broke down their bedroom door around 1:34 AM. Sadly they were wrong as they were 17 and was seen as being "too old" to be sent to a reclamation camp. Y/N was sent to Larkhill while their parents were sent to two different camps.

This fact was the thing that caused the kid to wail almost every hour of the day when they were forced to stay in their cell. Oh, what would they say to their parents instead of blaming them for this. They should have known they would do something as heartless as break a family up. Larkhill was, to put it shortly and simply, was living hell. The only time Y/N got human interaction was when they were getting experimented on and even then the scientists were anything but kind.

What messed with Y/N's head the most was the lack of clocks or calendars in the camp. Seconds seemed to turn into hours as they would just lay on the concrete floor and stare at the ceiling. The only thing that kept their spirits high was one of the fellow prisoners at Larkhill. The first time they talked was when snow started to stick to the corpse ridden ground. He was quiet and had issues with mumbling and when asked what his name was, he became silent for a few moments only for him to reply with an “I can't remember”.

The two of them decided to give him the name of V as it was the roman numeral for five, his room number. Y/N never knew why but V was the one that the prison guards would abuse when they would become enraged at something. Maybe it was because he didn't try to fight back as other prisoners did. When asked by Y/N why he wouldn't stand up for himself he told her “What's the point?”. V especially enjoyed hearing about the gunpowder plot of 1605 and started to idolize Guy Fawks, the man who had planned the explosion. They couldn't help but giggle when V would ask so many questions like a knowledge-hungry child.

The experiments Y/N experienced was... Something. A theory the scientists had was that an increase in air and maybe using the old-time favorite, electric shock therapy, would bring answers and results. When it came to the air theory, many of their "guinea pigs" had already died as they had been injected with 2.7 mL of air which killed them almost immediately. But somehow, after the now 18-year-old had their brain almost fried, survived and only passed out after the 1.5 mL mark.

When they woke up their food, or better yet described as slop, was harshly thrown into their room.

Y/N feeling nauseous, tried to push away the plate even though it was five feet away from them. To their astonishment, it moved and banged loudly against the thick metal door which left a dent in it. The now curious Y/N would test this new power by "playing" with the local camp rats. When they'd come into their room to eat their food, they flick a wisp of air which would hit them like a whip. As a result, the poor creature would run away squeaking in pain but luckily not bleeding.

What's ironic was both the rat and Y/N were somewhat the same as both were hungry, alone, and puzzled on this new ability. They had never used this power on the workers until they had practiced for three months. At this point in time, they knew how to control how much power they let out and what they would call an "air-blast" which was a shot a compressed spurt of air from their hands. It was hard to practice as they were being restricted in an 8ft by 8ft cell.

When Y/N attacked the scientists it was initially an accident. What caused this? They tried to eject more air into them as almost all of the scientists that worked for the camp were perplexed on how they were still alive. Once 0.5 mL of air was pushed into them, poor Y/N was sent into a panicked state as they could feel their heart starting to skip beats. They were able to strike two of the five people in the room until they were restrained and subdued.

After that, they were moved from room #4 to one of the more secure rooms. With this happening V was under the impression that Y/N had been executed or died that day. V was sent into a blind rage and well, you can guess what happened next. Around midnight, a few weeks after their move to room #12, explosions woke them from their deep slumber. When they awoke they expected to see complete darkness but were entirely wrong.

The fire was everywhere, making it hard for the know coughing inmate to focus on what was happening. Once they were able to get up they immediately looked for shoes. Sure, it sounds selfish at first but they were looking for shoes not so they could run away but so they could look for their only friend, the man in room #5. Sadly, when they heard a loud scream- no, it was more of a roar, they were under the belief that the fire had devoured him. Y/N couldn't help but fall to the ground which was covered in rubble to sob.

This wasn't fair. This place had taken everything from him; his memories, his name, his humanity, and now it had taken his life. The rest of the night was a blur as they tried to travel back to London. This took weeks as the adult was too exhausted to stay up for more than 8 hours as their sleep schedule, just like their will to live, had been completely destroyed by Larkhill. When they finally got to London it was pitch black.

Their heart stung as they walked the brick sidewalk. Their heart was breaking because V and them had talked about this back when they were still cell neighbors. They were so hopeful that they'd get to walk down the streets together once they were free. Y/N was lucky enough to find an abandoned matchbox factory. They decided to stay in the basement of the burned down building as it would be the safest choice when it came to being seen.

Slowly, over the next four years, they fixed up their new lair. They got working electricity and indoor plumbing after trying hundreds of times. The escapee finally got a television after trash diving and finding a still working 70s one. The first channel they watched was "The voice of London" as they heard through the grapevine that it was a news channel. Y/N went to channel 012 and once they saw the News host, their excitement left their body.

It, it was him. Lewis Prothero, the man who would frequently abuse the prisoners of Larkhill. Just seeing him made their blood start to boil. They instantly got off of their makeshift couch, walking back and forth as they mumbled under their breath. They could have sworn they saw Lewis' dead body that night of the fire. This simply wasn't fair.

For the next few weeks, they began to plan, gradually gathering information on where Lewis was living now. The night they finally got his extract location, they were overwhelmed with joy. Y/N grabbed their jacket, as winter was finally rolling around so the winds would nip at them, and left the bunker.

They took flight, fury making it seem like they were moving two times as faster as they should be. Y/N had learned this new ability when they lost all earthly ties after V died. Sure, flying still freaked them out but it was the fastest and safest way. When they slowly approached the building, they prepared for what they would have to do next, which was break the giant window to get inside. They took a deep breath in and air hit and kicked the window in rapid succession, shattering it after just a few hits.

Rolling inside and brushing off pieces of glass, Y/N proceeded to walk in the direction of the home's bathroom as they heard the water running. When they opened the door the first thing that drew their eye was a black mass.

“Lew-” they began their speech they had been writing and tweaking over the last weeks but stopped midway through the first word when the mass turned to them. This wasn't Lewis, this was a random masked person. Before they could ask where their victim was, the man stepped out of the way to reveal the lifeless body on the floor which had a single rose on his chest.

Anger filled them as they looked back up at the masked man. Y/N was supposed to get revenge for their long-dead friend. They RUINED this moment. How was Y/N supposed to help V heal in his grave?

“You!” they screamed as they swiped the air, turning their swipes into blades. “How dare you?! You have no clue what he did!” the man was pushed back by the amount of force the wind carried in it

“Wait let me explain!” the Guy Fawks mask-wearing murderer shouted as they fell to the ground with a knee on the floor to keep them up.

“You weren't there! You weren't mistreated!”

“No Y/-”

Using their oldest power, the air blast, tears were already seeping down their face which was twisted in what seemed to be never-ending pain. The blast hit them directly in the face as they groaned out in pain and finally fell the floor, making a loud thud as their skull hit the marble floor. Y/N strolled over to the body to finish them off so they could get some kind of revenge, only to stop with their body now feeling numb. Their mask, now cracked and was flung off of his face and now somewhere else on the floor with his hat.

“You-” their breathing became shallow as they dropped to the floor with them. “You asshole!” Y/N grabbed the collar of his cap, once again crying but now more violently. “I thought you died- you left me! You left me to suffer alone!” they laid their head on their chest as they continued to sob. V just had to lay there as their close friend cried over them. His skin felt like it was burning as the bathroom's overhead light was beating down on him. He couldn't help but start to cry too. V never wanted to leave them, he was under the impression Y/N has already died. That impression was the reason why he exploded Larkhill.

“I tried looking for you-”

“Well, you didn't try hard enough then!”

There was a moment of silence as the two friends wept next to the freshly dead body of their abuser. V moved them into a hug as he sat upright, rocking them gently as he did so.

“Stop-” they hiccuped “treating me like a baby”

“But that's the only way you'll calm down. You told me this yourself Y/N.”

They rubbed their eyes as they looked up at the severely burnt man. His skin looked inflamed from his crying. They tried to reach up and touch him but he jerked his head back the second their hand went up.

“How did you survive?”

“I can ask you the same thing.”

Y/N rolled their eyes at his reply. Typical V behavior, they thought to themselves. They stayed this way for a few more moments until the realization of where they were set in.

“Welp, we must be going now, police will come any second. We'll be executed if we're found here.” V sprang up, walking over to his mask and hat and quickly put them back where they belonged. Y/N followed suit, already walking out of the bathroom and to the window they had broken to get inside.

“Where are you going?” V asked as the night wind went through his hair

“Home?” they answered back, hoping that they could still fly now that they knew V was alive.

“But that's the completely wrong way.” they looked over at him, confusion on their face as they opened their mouth to speak before V interrupted them, oh how V had a horrible habit of that.

“You're coming home with me. I'm not letting my dear friend live on the street or in some broken-down building.” he held out his hand to them. Y/N could feel V smirking under his cracked mask and rolling their eyes gave them their hand.

[imashayne]

application excerpt 1

(this is from an original work of mine)

How was he supposed to have known she was a witch? After all migration was always a tedious endeavor. He and his brothers had to find ways to entertain themselves. So the brightly colored garments caught their attention immediately. They hung on a line stretched between two trees in the middle of the great forest. Like a flag it signaled them down. They did not think about how out of place these were for it was all in good fun. Anything to alleviate the boredom was welcome.

             Deviating from the flock their black forms alighted on both the branches and the line itself. With claws and beaks and wings they ruined every piece of drying clothing. By the end fabrics lay strewn about on the muddy ground, torn to shreds.

             He was the last to notice her. Left alone and looking the fool. The others had already flown away. Their forms swiftly faded in the distance. He had been hopping after them just as the gnarled hand closed around him. Startled he tried to free himself but only managed a wing. With it he beat at her arms and face in a vain attempt when her other hand came out and clamped down.

             She carried him into her house of wood and brick, and what a strange house it was. It smelled of things she could not name though he recognized a few, plants and herbs that were poison to his kind. Different colors of smoke wafted through the room and fright struck through his veins. His efforts were doubled. Smoke meant fire. He and his siblings had once witnessed a fire from the safety of their sky. Watched as it uncurled in the land below them and saw what it did to the creatures’ unfortunate enough to not have wings. Weird instruments hung from the walls and animal carcasses swung from the low ceiling. Old books lay open upon the worn wooden table. Beneath them something stained the table that could have been blood, or one of the concoctions the likes of which were smoldering over a fire, the only source of light. Shadows had many surfaces to dance over. Everything beyond them lay hidden in darkness.

             “Ah here we are my lovely.” An old voice crackled like the burning of aged parchment as fire curls around it. That voice held a power in it for when she released her vice-like grip he simply stood on the perch she had placed him on until the iron ring had been clamped tightly around his neck. Once the spell had worn off and the collar took on weight panic raised in his heart. He took flight and the chain forced him into a circle no matter which direction he thrust himself in until breath no longer reached him. While he lay on the floor with chest rising and falling rapidly she approached. Her hair was a strange gray luminescent of itself and fell raggedly down her back. Her face rough as old leather held a closed lip smile which sent shudders through his body. Her skin was as pale as her hair and translucent. Her eyes he could not see for the wrinkles hung low over them. Her body was covered in multiple brightly colored rags that fell off her in swaths. The only other visible parts of her boy were the hands. More tremors traveled when he noticed these. Her hands were large and grotesque Snarled beyond compare and swollen. Veins pulsate through the furrows there and her yellowed nails curled about her knotted fingers in sharp edges.

             His captor shuffled about the room taking things from cupboards and jars then slopped them into the cauldron. She tut-ted and brought the flames to a blaze. A solitary spark danced across the floor forcing him into flight once again. His efforts faded swiftly as the old woman began to speak again. This time however it was not in any human language; she clicked her tongue and clacked her teeth. Scratching sounds came from deep in her throat.

             She was speaking crow!

             “If you were to let me go I would calm down.” He state slowly as he landed. She reached her hand out carefully. For a moment he thought perhaps it too free him, or to caress him and he allowed it nearer with no pecks from his beak. Surprise and a brief instant of pain sent a harsh squawk from him as she roughly plucked a feather from his wing.

             She laughed. “Not so fast trickster. You will be freed don’t you fret about that.” From out of a pocket hidden amongst the fabric she brandished a piece of chalk. With much grumbling she knelt down on her rickety old knees and drew a circle around the stand. He tilted his head and watched curiously. The design grew more elaborate within the white boarders she had placed and he wondered at its purpose. She “umphed” as she stood back up and hobbled over to a drawer. From it she pulled a small spoon and dipped it into her basin. The sound it made was thick as it was brought back out and the contents bubbled and released more foul smelling steam. She started back towards him and he stood frozen. His heart tapped out a staccato beat in his chest and forgetting his sore wings and collar which held him captive he leapt up. No plan as to what he was doing. The only thought was ESCAPE ESCAPE ESCAPE. She yanked on the chain and held him close. The smell of her stale breath suffocated him as she pried his beak open with the scalding spoon. He gagged upon the surprisingly sweet brew. The old woman let go and he fell. Directly outside of the circle she positioned herself cross legged. When she spoke it was in yet another language. One he could not name. This language trickled from her lips and slithered across the floor. Its strange syllables contorted into something almost familiar. Though he could not understand it felt as if he should. As she spoke her horrible hands moved through the air; her fingers splayed like wings in flight then twisted through each other eerily. Finally she placed them on the ground palms down and her voice grew still.

             Afterwards the crow slept and dreamt of pain.

             He woke quite suddenly, sore all over and felt the choke around his neck, cold metal pressed to his feathers. As memory came back to the crow he shifted to find a more comfortable position. Instead he found that this sent more bolts of agony through his very bones. He wondered what was wrong with him. He felt rotten all over, as if his body had twisted and stretched-

             He shot up with heart pounding and mind moving through an entire myriad of terrible thoughts.

             Waving his wing before his beak he was met with smooth skin and long fingers. This human hand was attached to an arm, which was attached to a torso, which was connected to legs and feet and a head. His head. That woman had been a witch! This epiphany struck him as something he should have realized earlier. He cursed himself.

“Ah I see you’re finally awake.”

“What have you done to me?” Is what he tried to ask. And really it should have been obvious;

She had turned him. He was a human now.

But his voice had tripped over the words. His new lips formed useless shapes and his tongue flopped pointlessly. She cackled.

“Once you get the feel of your new legs you’ll be getting to work for me. The first thing you’ll do is my laundry.”