#and I like it but 20 cells is kind of torturous

[razzek]

I waaaaant but even with a grant I'd still have to make about $2k appear out of nowhere. ;_;

[dandylovesturtles]

Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures

... and Leo, of course.

OH GOD OK

uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.

it really

really got out of hand.

This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.

Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.

I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....

btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)

-----

When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.

When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.

But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.

Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.

A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.

They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.

So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.

He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.

He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.

There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.

He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.

As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.

"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?

He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.

"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"

Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.

He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.

He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.

His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.

"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"

"Qué?" Leo asks.

Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"

"I'm sure you would like some dinner."

"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?

To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"

Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"

He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"

Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.

This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.

He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.

"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."

If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.

"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.

He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.

-----

Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.

He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.

Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.

His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.

Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.

So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.

(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)

He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.

He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.

So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.

-----

The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.

Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.

Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.

Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?

He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!

But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.

And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.

His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.

Another growl. He groans out loud.

He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.

-----

No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.

He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.

(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)

He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.

He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.

(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)

After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.

Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!

"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."

Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.

Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.

"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"

"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."

"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."

"That's gotta be unconstitutional."

"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."

Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"

Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.

Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."

"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."

"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"

"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"

The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?

"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"

Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.

So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.

Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.

-----

The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.

He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.

As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.

He also needs to sleep.

The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.

The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.

But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.

After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.

He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.

He wishes he was home.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?

It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.

They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.

He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.

-----

The same routine plays out over the next two days.

Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.

They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.

More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.

Nothing. Always nothing.

(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)

It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.

And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.

Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.

It's miserable.

And there's still nothing to do.

He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.

He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.

He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.

By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.

But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.

-----

Something new happens on night five.

It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.

Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.

Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.

The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.

The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.

He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.

The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.

The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.

Leo's mouth is watering.

He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.

"I'm not hungry," he lies.

The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.

Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.

The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.

"You want this," he says.

Leo shakes his head.

"You really sure?"

Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.

The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.

Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."

Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.

Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.

After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.

"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."

Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.

The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.

Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.

He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.

After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.

-----

"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.

"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."

Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"

For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.

His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.

That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!

Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.

Leo swallows hard. "No comment."

Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.

"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."

Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.

Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Little bit," says Leo.

Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.

And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.

-----

The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.

He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.

Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.

Where are you? Leo thinks back.

There's no answer.

He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.

Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.

He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.

It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.

He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.

Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.

Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.

He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.

It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.

It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.

The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.

It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.

He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.

-----

He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.

"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.

(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)

"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."

"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."

"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."

One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.

Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.

Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.

"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.

"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."

Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"

"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.

Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.

"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"

Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."

"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"

Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."

Leo falters, his body going slack.

What an obvious, stupid mistake.

(Some face-man he is.)

It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.

"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."

"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."

Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.

Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!

What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?

You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.

He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.

He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.

It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.

Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.

"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.

Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.

-----

After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.

It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.

He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.

Which means his chance is finally here.

He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.

(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)

So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.

Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.

Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.

It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.

"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.

He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.

The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.

Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.

Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.

Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.

"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"

Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.

He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.

He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.

Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.

It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.

Where is he?

He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-

BANG!

A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.

It's a dart.

Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.

-----

"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.

Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.

He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.

And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.

Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.

"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.

"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."

That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.

He says nothing.

Bishop sighs.

"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."

Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."

-----

The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.

"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."

Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.

"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"

And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.

But he's just...

so...

hungry.

So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.

And he nods.

The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.

It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.

"Please," he gasps out.

"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."

Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...

He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.

He lowers his head.

"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."

The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.

"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."

And then he takes another bite.

Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.

Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.

And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.

"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.

"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."

Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.

His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.

And his stripes...

His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.

They're almost black.

Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.

He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.

This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.

He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.

This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!

Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.

Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.

But he's tired, and hungry, and he...

He wants to go home.

He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.

-----

Maybe they aren't coming.

That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.

He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.

So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.

Unless they aren't coming.

Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.

He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.

So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.

Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.

Maybe it's time to give up.

---

Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.

You are not alone.

-----

He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't look well," he observes.

No shit, Leo wants to say.

"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."

The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?

"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"

He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.

But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.

They might hurt Draxum.

They might hurt his family.

And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...

Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.

Maybe they'd finally trust him.

Maybe, at least, he can have that much.

Leo shakes his head.

Bishop scowls.

"Temperature down ten degrees."

-----

Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.

He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.

He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.

He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.

Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.

Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.

But he's so sleepy.

It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.

And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.

So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.

He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.

But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.

So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.

It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.

At least he's not shivering.

Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.

-----

(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.

The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)

-----

Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part A |

[quest-for-pluto]

Sparkles

Ao’nung x Human!Female!Reader

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Summary: You work as maintenance at base 36, a testing facility used for unethical experiments on captured local Na’vi. One day when the base’s power supply melts down and explodes, you’re caught in the flaming crossfire. In a split second decision, you also decide to free the panicking Na’vi in his glass cell.

Aged up!Aonung to 21 and reader is 20

Chapter 2: the giant blue alien in the room

You woke up to the pleasant feeling of burning agony, like you'd just skinny dipped in molten hot lava.

"G-guhhhh—" you choked out, fingers twitching and trembling against the floor as you struggled to gain some semblance of motor control. Tears burned your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You writhed violently on your side as wave after wave of excruciating, searing pain washed over you.

Breathe, you told yourself. Just breathe through it, Y/n.

That was a lot more difficult than it sounded, especially when all you could hear was a continuous, tortured scream in your head. Your nails scraped at the cold concrete that did nothing to cool you down, trying to grasp onto something for support but only finding air between your fingers.

Never had you experienced anything so intense and all-consuming in your life. On a scale of 'Oh shit, that was a spicy cheeto' to 'Fuck I think my face is melting off', you were probably at a respectable 'I want to amputate all of my limbs and live in a freezer for the rest of my life'. Your vision dimmed and blurred as you fought to stay awake.

It was a strangled choking sound that broke you slightly out of your delirium. Your head turned slowly to see a giant blue body not too far from you, the skin on his right arm and leg raised in a pattern of angry looking blisters, but that wasn't what caught your attention. It was the frantic wheezing sounds he was making, grabbing desperately at his throat.

Somewhere in your foggy mind it occurred to you that oh yeah, that's right, his kind were not meant to breathe in your air.

Get up, Y/n, you chided yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You need to do something.

With all of the strength you could muster, you rolled over, your vision nearly going white from the blinding pain. Slowly you staggered to your feet, pausing as a wave of nausea washed over you.

You blinked through your titling vision, eyes scanning the room for a possible solution. The only thing you could see were the supplies you had originally found, although some of them were admittedly pretty burnt now. Rebreather masks would be useless to him as well. Shit.

That left only one option. You had to figure out how to bring the native air from outside into the room.

Your eyes rose to the two, tiny windows in the room, located way higher than you could reach. You knew that every single window in base 36 was mandated to be bulletproof, so the chances of you being able to break it were thin, but—you had to try.

Staggering to your pile of supplies, you dropped to your knees, hands frantically combing through the items until they closed around the handle of the rifle you had discovered earlier. You quickly snatched a rebreather mask from the floor and secured it on your face. With a shuddering breath, you aimed the barrel at the right window, flicking off the safety and hastily pulling the trigger.

Bang.

The bullet ricocheted off of the surface, imbedding itself into the wall just over your shoulder. You inhaled sharply, turning to blink at it in shock. That was...way too close.

By now, the Na'vi had given up clawing at his throat. He laid sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and terror-filled as his chest rose and fell rapidly in short, convulsing breaths.

Damn, damn, damn. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Don't worry," you articulated the best you could, which was probably a barely understandable slur. "I won't—I won't let you die."

With renewed determination, you lifted the barrel to aim at the window again. You pulled the trigger.

Bang.

"Ah, fuck!" You cried, stumbling backwards. The bullet had grazed your burnt arm. Damn that stung like a motherfucker.

You grabbed the wound, clenching your jaw as you put pressure on it. Warm, thick blood escaped from between your fingers, trickling down your skin in rivulets.

"Okay," you breathed to yourself, supporting your injured arm with your other hand. Your whole body trembled from the pulsing pain. "You can do this, come on."

You pulled the trigger.

With a cry, you dropped the gun, clutching onto your arm in pain from the recoil.

The bullet imbedded itself in the window. You panted, watching with wide eyes as cracks began to quickly spread from the point of impact.

It shattered, pieces of glass exploding outwards and clattering onto the floor. You lowered your gaze, sighing in relief.

Your eyes flickered to the trembling form to your left. He was in terrible shape, but he hadn't passed out yet. He would survive.

You sunk carelessly to your knees, hands pressing into the floor as you struggled to catch your breath. Was it you, or was it getting suffocatingly humid in here?

Wait.

You took a deep, experimental breath, horrified to find that it didn't quite fill your lungs. Your hands quickly shot up to your mask, grasping blindly until you froze, cold realization washing over you as your thumb ran over a noticeable crack.

No, no, no. You couldn't possible be this much of an idiot.

Except you were.

You'd forgotten to properly check your own oxygen supply in your haste to make sure that the potentially homicidal alien didn't suffocate next to you. Now you were about to suffocate instead. Fantastic.

You dove back into the scattered pile of junk with desperation, your heart sinking as one by one, the rebreather masks turned up cracked or burnt. Completely unusable.

This can't be happening, you thought hysterically, a sob threatening to burst from your throat.

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, your eyelids fluttering with the effort of staying open. It was at that moment when you finally spotted it lying on the floor, maybe a dozen or so steps away.

A completely intact mask.

Your eyes widened as you staggered forward, hand reaching out desperately. You took about two steps before your vision swam dangerously, your gaze titling quickly towards the ground.

You landed harshly on the concrete, you could tell by the way your teeth clacked and the hard jolt in your wrists, but you barely felt any pain. The only thing you could feel was the burning in your lungs and the thrumming wooziness in your head that was making everything spin.

Come on, you gritted your teeth, using the last of your strength to shimmy yourself forward, your mouth gaping open in rapid, heavy pants.

Come on....

Your vision darkened at the edges as your head collapsed against the floor, your body finally giving in to violent convulsions. You panted shallowly, your fingers twitching out to reach for something—someone.

The last thing you remembered was the feeling of your body floating steadily in the air, before relief quenched the unbearable burning in your lungs. You blinked blearily, the last of your energy drained as your eyes finally slid shut.

You dreamt of the ocean. Sea mist in your hair and salt water on your lips.

****

Sunlight shone through your lids, making you groan.

Your eyelids fluttered in irritation, before finally blinking open in defeat, giving up on the hope of getting any more sleep.

You were...not in your your room. Your eyes widened as you jolted upright in shock—or, well at least you tried to. An overwhelming throbbing pain across your chest, knees, right forearm and head knocked you flat on your back again, wheezing for air.

The second thing you noticed was the mask on your face, your breath fogging up the clear surface in small puffs. Why were you wearing a mask inside the base? What was going on?

The base collapsing in the fire. Saving the blue alien. Getting knocked unconscious by the explosion. Struggling to breathe—

Your breath shuddered as you brought your left hand up to grasp at your neck at the phantom feelings of suffocation, your fingers drifting upwards to skim the tender bruise at the back of your skull. Your heart hammered frantically in your chest.

Then, if you were here, that meant...

Your head slowly craned over to the other side of the room, a gasp leaving your throat at the sight of your new roommate slumped against the wall.

Now that you were no longer in survival mode, you could truly take in his incredible stature. It was exactly like the stories you'd been told, he had to be at least ten feet tall, if not a little more. Lucky for him though, the ceilings in the storage room were just barely high enough to accommodate him at his full height.

His skin was not the same shade of blue everywhere. You noticed that it was a lighter, sky blue color nearing the center of his body like his torso and his face, and a darker, marine blue color at the extremities. There also seemed to be a distinct stripe like pattern that you were pretty sure was natural for his species. The dark, tattoo-like markings all over his body were a different story of course. The swirling shapes and symbols extended down his biceps and climbed delicately up his neck, but seemed to be the most intricate around his left temple.

Large blue eyes suddenly snapped open, catching your stare with startling intensity. You almost scrambled backwards in a jolt of fear, but caught yourself at the last second, holding carefully still.

You didn't even dare to breathe as he narrowed his eyes at you, making no move to come closer. His right arm hung limply at his side, the blistered skin probably making it very painful to move it at all. Not that you were much better off.

If you were to take a guess, you probably had second degree burns scattered in patches across the front of your body. The only thing keeping the bile in your throat from rising any further was your immobility.

After a few tense moments his gaze flickered away, growing disinterested in your little staring competition. You felt the air escape from your lungs, your tense shoulders loosening in a discreet sigh of relief. Right, you probably didn't register as much of a threat when you were sprawled across the floor like a rag doll.

You turned your gaze back towards the ceiling, staring thoughtfully at the condensation on your mask as you contemplated your situation. The rations you'd found earlier were probably salvageable, being packed safely inside thick bags meant to withstand the elements of Pandora. As for water...well, you were just happy it rained often here. You'd have to find a way to capture the water from the tiny windows much too high for you to reach, but that was a problem for later you. As for now...

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to push up to a sitting position. Your eyes watered immediately at the intense burning pain. Okay, no, your pain tolerance wasn't that high. Gritting your teeth, you tried rolling over instead, the stretch of your skin making your jaw clench so hard you were surprised a tooth didn't crack under the pressure.

You were so concentrated on the movement that you didn't feel your stomach roiling tumultuously, or the warm bile climbing up your throat until it was too late. As you pushed yourself up on a shaky arm, your eyes widened as you felt your body violently expel your last meal. You shoved off your mask in the nick of time, turning your head to the side as gunk splattered on the floor next to you in an acrid, chunky pile.

You wiped your face with your good arm, spitting out the residue in your mouth with a grimace. Gross.

The Na'vi was eyeing you in disgust, and you were pretty sure that he would've moved away if he wasn't already sitting as far as he possibly could from you. You returned your own glare. Well, if it weren't for you, he'd currently be an extra crispy dino-sized potato chip, so he shouldn't be complaining about vomit.

Readjusting your mask, you glanced carefully around the room, your gaze sharpening on a first aid kit poking out of a ration bag. Well, patching yourself up was priority number one. You were not looking to deal with an infection on top of second degree burns.

You hissed a breath through your teeth, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Your arms shook from the strain, tears welling up in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

Twenty feet felt like two miles, and by the time you'd managed to drag yourself across the floor, you were pretty sure forty-five minutes had passed. The whole time, you felt a piercing stare burning into your back. You ignored it, not having the energy for another useless stare down.

Coughing wetly, you grabbed the duffel bag with trembling fingers, pulling it closer to you. It took you a few tries to pull the zipper open, but you finally managed the motion on the fourth try, freeing the white box of medical supplies from its confines.

You undid the clasps, flipping it open carefully. Bandaids, gauze, plasters, soap, alcohol wipes, sterile gloves, tweezers, antibiotic ointment, scissors, needle and thread. Perfect.

Carefully scooting yourself to a seated position and wincing at every tiny agonizing motion, you pulled on the latex gloves with a snap. A muted snarl broke you out of your concentration, making you pause.

Your alien roommate was not a happy camper, judging by his curled upper lip that exposed his giant, bat-like fangs. Okay, that was definitely not good. Those things could probably bite your leg clean off if you weren't careful.

The rumors you heard about his species still very much freaked you out, if you were being honest.

"Hey," you said lowly, raising your gloved hands. You flinched as his snarl grew more intense, eyeing the unnatural blue color on your skin in evident distrust.

Jesus Christ, you'd really done it now, hadn't you? Why couldn't you have just acted like a normal human being with self preservation instincts and only saved yourself? Now you had to deal with...whatever the hell this headache was.

"They're gloves," you emphasized helplessly, knowing that he couldn't understand you but still trying to convey meaning through your tone. "They're harmless, see?" You brought your hands down to pat your shoulders, hiding a wince at the movement. You put on your most convincing (although slightly strained), harmless smile for extra effect. A rogue muscle jumped under your eye.

His glare didn't relent but the hard line of his scowl relaxed a little. Okay rude, what did he even think you were capable of doing in this sorry ass state? Plus, if you wanted him dead you would have just let him be.

Struggling not to roll your eyes, you pointed at one of the nastier burns on your chest, where your shirt was torn to shreds and practically fusing with the reddened, bloody skin. "I'm hurt," you exaggerated the word, widening your eyes meaningfully and frowning. "This will help me heal." You pointed at the contents of the first aid kit, before pointing back at your wound with a raised brow.

The Na'vi snorted at your slowed tone, rolling his shoulder in dismissal before occupying himself with something on a distant wall.

Annoyance surged through you, but it was brief and you let it go quickly with a sigh. Whatever, it was a good thing his suffocating attention was off of you now.

He never turned his back to you though, you noticed. Even now, you could tell he was still keeping tabs on you by the tension in his shoulders.

Well, maybe it was better that he still saw you as somewhat of a threat.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you grabbed a water bottle, soap solution and some gauze, bracing yourself for how much this was going to make you want to shit yourself. And you were pretty sure that the Na'vi would muster up the last of his strength and kill you himself if that actually happened, judging by his utter disgust and displeasure at your vomit.

Wetting a piece of gauze with water and soap, you brought it gingerly to the skin over your collarbone. Striking pain erupted at the point of contact, your jaw flexing to keep in any sounds.

Patting the gauze lower, you couldn't help but screech at the utter agony of it connecting with your open wound. Fuckity fuck fuck, that hurt like bitch on steroids.

When you blinked away the confetti in your vision, you caught the Na'vi's alarmed gaze, the space where his eyebrows should have been now furrowed and pointed ears pricked up and facing you.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you muttered under your breath, before gritting your teeth as you forced your trembling hands to press the gauze pad over the rest of your wound. It took awhile and several rolls, but now every wound was cleaned, dressed, and if needed—stitched. Your head still throbbed uncontrollably in what was most definitely a nasty concussion, but you couldn't really ice it like you wanted to. By the time you were done, the sun had already started to set in the sky.

Your stomach rumbled in protest, and you grimaced. The intense pain had made you forget that you unfortunately needed sustenance to survive.

Time to take stock of your supply.

You dug through the duffle bag on your side, pulling out MRE kits and other field rations. You also found some plastic utensils and more water bottles and filters. Some of them were weirdly misshaped though, probably warped from the heat of the explosion.

You discarded those ones to the side with a frown. What a waste.

Ripping open an MRE pack, you mourned your microwave as you took a bite of room temperature tortellini. You just hoped that those in charge of the outer ring of base 36 came to your rescue sooner rather than later.

The rapidly familiarizing feeling of a piercing stare on you caused you to look up, your gaze locking onto narrowed baby blues. But they looked more curious than distrustful, this time.

You held up your meal pack, gesturing at him. "You want some?" You shook it in his direction meaningfully. "It's good." Lie, but he didn't need to know that.

Like most other living creatures, you were 99% sure he needed to eat to stay alive. And as far as you knew, he'd eaten nothing since you were both trapped. As long as he didn't try to eat you, you didn't mind sharing your rations. There was still quite a lot left, and you were pretty hopeful sure your fellow humans would have paid you a visit before you inevitably ran out.

His eyes widened minutely at the package, and you could see the barest predatory flash in his widening pupils, before he huffed, shooting you a disgusted look.

Your raised hand lowered as you gave him a deadpanned look. What a brat. Whatever, you shrugged, taking a quick breath as you lifted your mask. More for you then.

It was not even thirty minutes later that you realized your second dilemma.

That being, you had to tinkle. Real bad.

Goddamnit, this was embarrassing. You chanced a grimacing look at your companion, who was once again busy staring at a wall, but one ear was still turned towards you. No matter how weird this situation was, you had no desire to contribute to that factor by getting naked in front of a volatile, giant blue alien.

But you were nothing if not resourceful.

Goodbye, dignity, you sighed as you began hoisting yourself behind the pile of supplies and duffel bags you'd both stacked to take cover from the fire. You felt the Na'vi's wary gaze on you as you moved, but he hadn't felt the need to come and investigate, which you counted as a blessing.

Grabbing one of the warped water bottles, you poured out the toxic liquid on the concrete, before getting into position. Closing your eyes, you tried your hardest to pretend that you weren't trapped in a room with a strange alien man less than twenty feet away from you. You pictured your small, but warm toned bathroom, your toiletries lined neatly on the counter and a painting hanging over the towel rack.

Pretty soon you felt sweet relief as your aching bladder finally emptied its contents into the bottle. Your eyes blinked open, and you quickly cleaned yourself up, grimacing in embarrassment and disgust as you screwed back on the lid to the bottle and shoved it away from sight.

Well, that was over with.

By now, the room was bathed only in moon and starlight, the walls almost taking up a luminescence you would never be privy to on earth.

Your expression soured at the thought of your home planet. You didn't typically enjoy revisiting those memories, mostly because they were tainted with constant misery. The ashy smoke in the air, the dirt on your skin, the pangs of hunger deep into the night—you didn't want to think about it. You were far, far away from that life.

Although, you weren't quite sure if your current situation was much better.

With a wince, you scooted forward, peeking curiously around your makeshift wall of privacy. The Na'vi was curled on his side, still facing you, but now—surprisingly, his eyes had drifted shut, his expression finally peaceful in slumber. You held your breath, taking a moment to admire him.

Now that you weren't actively fearing for your life, you could really appreciate the wild beauty of this planet's native humanoid species. He looked like a mythical creature from a fantasy story, aqua blue skin shining like the glimmering shallow waters on a beach under the sunlight. You blinked a couple of times in shock, resisting the urge to rub them. No—wait, he was actually glowing.

At first you had thought it was the moonlight shining on his skin, but he seemed to be generating his own variation of bioluminescence instead. A beacon of otherworldly beauty, just like the rest of Pandora.

Incredible, you thought to yourself in awe, unable to look away. Your fingers itched with the sudden urge to start sketching him.

Suddenly, a pale, opalescent eye snapped open, glaring at you furiously. You yelped, almost falling backwards on your elbows.

His lip curled to reveal a snarl, his ears pinning down flat against his head in warning and his thick tail whipping restlessly in the air. The message was clear: mind your own business before I come over there and gouge your tiny eyes out. I'll do it—

"Okay, okay," you sighed, raising your hands in surrender. "I get it, I'm leaving."

You scooted away, back into your little alcove of duffel bags and random burnt junk. Lowering yourself onto the fluffiest looking one, you sighed, squirming uncomfortably as you stared at the scorched ceiling.

It didn't take long before your blinks became heavier and more frequent, your eyelids lowering more with each one. It seemed you were more exhausted that you thought.

When your breathing finally evened out, it was to the distinct feeling of a strong, steady heartbeat thrumming beneath you.

************

Y'all, I had way too much fun writing Ao'nung's pissy attitude XD. I can't picture his aggressive side eye without cracking up. Don't worry though, he'll eventually come around ;)

MRE: Meals ready to eat. Packaged meals meant for quick, convenient consumption. Used in the military.

If you’re not in the taglist already and you’d like to be, just let me know in the comments and I’ll tag you in the next part :)

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[lassieposting]

So like, Poppy Playtime is one of those things that I enjoy watching whenever a new section drops, but don't usually get particularly invested in, but if there's one thing guaranteed to give me brainrot, it's a codependent friendship between a deeply damaged, morally questionable killer and a lonely, mixed-up kid who idolises him. So naturally Chapter 3 has me in my feelings about the Prototype and Theodore Grambell.

And that got me thinking in general, which gave me a theory.

The Prototype - or, at least, whoever became the Prototype - had a military background.

If you think about it, the Prototype's skillset - while horrifying in an escaped monster on the rampage - would be an asset in a soldier, and more than once we see him use abilities that would probably be best explained by military training.

We know he's tech-savvy, mechanically skilled and good at improvising under pressure and time limits: he strips down an alarm clock in his cell - which he'd have to do quickly, because he's under constant surveillance - and makes a laser pointer from its parts to disable the cameras. These seem like skills that would benefit a soldier, who would be familiar with stripping his equipment - his gun, for example - down to parts to clean and reassemble them, and who might need to know how to fix a vehicle or a radio or use improvised parts in an escape from hostile territory.

Based on the fact that he's appeared unexpectedly multiple times now to claim the bodies of dead and dying mascots at exactly the right time, it's likely that he's been tracking the Player - silently and without being seen - since they entered the facility. He's doing recon, watching to see what the Player does, what their goals are, whether he needs to worry about them, and whether or how he can use them to his own benefit.

He can stay silent under torture. The tapes confirm that Sawyer continued experimenting on him even post-transformation, and the Prototype's description of these sessions makes it clear that there is nothing ethical or humane about them: "You stick us...beat us...tear at flesh." But Sawyer himself confirms that - other than snarking at him on that one tape we see - the Prototype has been silent, stubborn and uncooperative throughout. Soldiers can undergo Resistance to Interrogation training to teach them to cope with torture tactics; the only thing they're allowed to reveal is their name, rank and ID number. If the Prototype has already had this kind of training, it would make a lot more sense why he's able to keep silent when most people, adult or no, would be desperately cooperating and begging for mercy.

He's fiercely intelligent, excels at manipulating situations to his advantage, and is shown in Project Playtime to be capable of marshalling and directing the other fight-capable mascots. He's also a creative, ruthless tactician who seems to favour surprise attacks - the Hour of Joy works because it takes the entire facility unawares. The escape attempt where he hides from the camera relies on the security specialists panicking at his having vanished in a matter of seconds and rushing to do damage control, forgetting the camera has a blind spot. This thing is a strategist, and he's good at it.

Now, from what I've seen, it seems to be a popular theory that the Prototype was created from Elliot Ludwig. I'm not sure whether I really buy into that, but if it were true, it would actually work well with this little theory of mine.

We know that Ludwig was a young adult - probably in his 20s and 30s - in the 1930s and 1940s. He's old enough to have gotten married and to get divorced, and to have started his own company.

And where were all the 20- and 30-something men of America during the 1930s and 40s?

Conscripted. Fighting World War II.

So if he was created from Ludwig, or from any adult in Ludwig's age bracket, it is very likely that this is not the Prototype's first ugly war. Playtime Co are not the first monsters he's ever seen doing horrific human experimentation on captives and trying to cover it up. He'd have seen it all before, and he'd know there would be no stopping any of it without collateral damage. So when he gets his opportunity - the Hour of Joy - he's ruthless about it. He wipes out every human in the Playtime factory. If he fought in one of the major wars of the 20th century - WWII, Vietnam, etc, depending on the age of whoever was used - that would also explain why he goes to that extreme. Plenty of guilty, awful people escaped justice after those major conflicts, and he doesn't want that for the Playtime scientists. He'd rather massacre every employee, whether or not they knew about the experiments, than risk one who deserves death getting away.

idk I just think that whole idea makes his behaviour and motivations make a lot more sense

[drmaddict]

True Crime

Summary: (Y/n) has a true crime channel. Walter hates true crime. Walter findest out.

Wordcount: 1.452

Warnings: brief mention of torture and rape

Faye didn't want to make that sound. Especially not in the presence of her father, but it had just slipped out of her mouth.

And of course he was now standing next to her, as if she had been shot and had not just taken a surprised breath.

She inconspicuously tried to turn her cell phone toward her, but he was already reaching out for it.

She looked at him with angel eyes.

"That was a really good part of the song," she smiled.

He continued to stare at her strictly. She sighed and handed him the phone.

He looked at the display with his eyebrows drawn together. "True Crime?"

She leaned back into the sofa. This could take a while. "Do you know how much crap this trash spreads?" he started.

"Dad it's just a YouTube channel." Her father started to speak again, but she immediately continued. "And it's well-researched for once. It's got mostly closed cases in it and when they're open, there's no speculation. All the sources are linked. She even shares the published police files."

"Faye. I don't want you listening to that kind of stuff yet. There's disturbing shit happening in the world. You're too young for that."

"That's what the light versions are for.", she insisted.

"The what?"

Faye reached for her phone and showed him the YouTube channel. "Here. These are the light versions I listen to and this", she pointed to the video below, "is the full version, which also goes deeper into all the tathher processes. Plus, even on the easy stuff, you can still skip parts and she warns you."

Walter paused. Since when were these idiots so careful. "And how do I know you're not listening to the other versions?"

Faye simply clicked on one of those videos and immediately a message came up saying you had to confirm your age by ID or credit card. "Because I can't." She leaned back again. "You can tell she takes parental controls very seriously."

Walter grumbled. He was running out of arguments. "And how do you know, how well researched it is. You don't even know who it is."

In hindsight, Faye really didn't know what she might have given away. Whether she had moved her left nostril, or the right corner of her mouth was emitting Morse code, but her father knew right away.

"Who is it?" he asked immediately.

She remained silent. "Any of the older ones from school? A teacher? One of the parents? Aha!"

How the hell did he do that?

"Dad come on. Does it matter?"

He just looked at her strictly again.

She sighed. "Only if you don't say anything."

He rolled his eyes. "I won't embarrass you in front of your friends."

She rolled her eyes. "It's (y/n)." she muttered. "I like (y/n) and so do you, so please just forget about it and don't make a scene."

(Y/n)? "When does she have time for that?"

"Well when you're at work."

He continued to stare at the phone and sighed.

Why hadn't she ever said anything?

"Send me the worst case she has in there."

She didn't have to think twice. She reached for her phone and sent him the video.

"But the light version only goes for 20 minutes," she explained.

"And the other one?"

"A good hour and a half, I think. That one has the most extreme time difference."

She continued typing on the device. "She does a lot more stuff like this, though," she explained. "And you might even like this one," she looked at him uncertainly. "It's about hacking and.... and she educates really well."

He looked at her. "Faye breathe. I'm not going to break up with her."

She loosened up a bit.

"She just could have told me something.", he grumbled.

"Well you're not exactly hiding how much you hate True Crime," she said hesitantly.

Walter sighed. "I'll listen to it."

Faye smiled. "Thanks."

Since he was ordered to take forced vacation, he could also watch the videos. (Y/n) was anyway with a friend living far away.

It was not as if he had anything better to do.

Walter decided to rip off the band-aid and started with the worst case. The full version, though.

He clicked on the video and neutral music sounded. For once, no horror music. The screen remained black.

'Welcome back my dears. If you've already peeked at the trigger warnings, you've already seen that today's case is really not for the faint of heart. As always, assess yourselves honestly. I also had to stop several times during research. As always, you'll find the light version as the next video, but you can also skip parts in this one.

So let's start with how one case managed to put even members of the Japanese Mafia behind bars and why even minors can be sentenced as adults in case of doubt.'

Walter interrupted the video several times. Although it was about a japanese girl beeing tortured and raped, he kept having Faye in mind. You'd think the years in his job had dulled him, but he felt sick at the recitals of torture he was now hearing.

'I don't really know how to end a video like this, but please remain careful as always. Take care of yourselves and your friends and family. There's a link coming up on the screen now. If you know someone, or you need help yourself when it comes to sexual violence. You will find phone numbers, email addresses and places to go to find protection, but also to share and find people who can help you with processing. I hope I didn't scare you away too much but next week there will be something lighter. Promise.

Stay safe and see you next time.

Bye.'

Walter went to the link and actually found official and good stations. Support groups and hotlines he knew himself.

He clicked on the next video that Faye had sent him. That's the kind of video she does most, she had said.

'Welcome back. Today with probably one of the most famous cases in the world. Everyone who has ever heard of criminal cases also knows him. Ted Bundy is the world's most famous serial killer. I want to tell you today, how one man managed to exploit the weaknesses of the police organization so that he got away with his crimes for years.'

Walter listened to the double episode back-to-back. (Y/n) hardly dealt with the crimes themselves, but mainly with the investigative work and Bundy's advantages. The process and his time in prison. She worked almost biographically. Rachel would be proud of her psychlogy research, he had to honestly admit. It wasn't sensationalist, but it was intriguing nonetheless. He scrolled through the rest of the videos on the channel. Well-known cases from the eighties. Historical cases that went back to the fifteenth century. But he also found videos that educated about security measures. Especially for the Internet. Small self-defense tricks that could help even people without any experience in case of emergency.

He had to confess that he didn't hate her channel.

He clicked on the last video that Faye had sent him.

'Hello and welcome my dear ones. When you think of TrueCrime, you immediately think of serial killers and the heavy hitters, so it's easy to forget that there are other newsworthy types of crime. Today we're talking about a revenge porn site that destroyed more than one life and a young man who thought he could do anything until he met the wrong mother. Many of you are probably familiar with the Netflix documentary.'

He went through the links while listening to the video. Again, he found official cybercrime contact points.

Educational sites. Tips for staying safe online.

Walter dropped into his chair. He didn't like the idea of a TrueCrime channel he liked. He hated those things. But (y/n) was doing a good job.

He stroked his face with his hand.

The next day, he just walked past Faye and grumbled:"You can listen to it."

He ignored her triumphant grin and made himselfe some coffee.

He sent (y/n) a link to their own channel. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

Her response wasn't taking long.

'On our first date you said how much you hate TrueCrime.... I thought you were great and I didn't want to screw it up right away and at some point it was too late. Did Faye tell?'

'Not willingly. I interrogated her. Your research is good.'

'So we're good?'

'Only if you add a few places to go in your links.'

'You are a softy after all.'

Walter grumbled.

[happygirl2oo2]

Every reference I could find to Sherlock's love of bees in Elementary, organized by episode number

season 1 episode 1:

Watson, walking onto the Brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock and surprised to see beehives there next to him: "Um, did you know that honey was dripping through the ceiling?" Sherlock, sitting and looking at his beehives: "Yes. Happens sometimes." Watson: "I take it beekeeping is a hobby." Sherlock: "I'm writing a book. Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. Up here. I've just started Chapter 19."

season 1 episode 5:

Sherlock, explaining how he knows someone: "We frequent the same beekeeping chat room. He has an impressive collection of Caucasians. Species of bee."

season 1 episode 7:

Watson: "There was a client back here a little while ago who was also interested in beekeeping." Edson: "Sure. You mean Sherlock."

season 1 episode 9:

*Sherlock is wearing a shirt with the writing “Bee 92” on it*

season 1 episode 12:

Sherlock: "Our six weeks together are very nearly up, Watson. In a matter of days, your room will be vacant. I'm very seriously considering turning it into one large apiary."

and

M, about Sherlock torturing him: "You figured out where you're gonna start yet?" Sherlock, looking over his table of torture devices that he brought that is shown to include a few beehives: "I have not. I had hoped to use the bees in some fashion, but then it occurred to me you might be allergic."

and

Sherlock: "Watson, what is it?" Watson: "I called your father last night. Given everything that's happened, I recommended staying on longer." Sherlock: "And?" Watson: "He agreed." Sherlock: "I suppose the apiary will have to wait."

season 1 episode 17:

Crabtree: "Delivery for you, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock: " Thank you, Crabtree, but I'm afraid I c… Oh, my God. Is that…?" Watson: "A bee in a box? Yes, it is. Fairly unimpressive as far as bribes go." Sherlock: "Not if you're an apiculturist. That's an Osmia avosetta. Solitary bee famed for building exquisite nests from flower petals. It's on the verge of extinction. Crabtree, this is exquisite. I cannot accept it. Please, tell Mr. Lydon not to contact me again."

and

[BEE BUZZING] Watson: "Hey, why do you have the box with the bee in it?" Sherlock: "We took Gerald Lydon's case." Watson: "We did?" Sherlock: "Well, frankly I couldn't say no to him. It would have felt like denying a dying man his last wish. We are taking this home, and then we are going to the genetics lab which confirmed his diagnosis."

and

Sherlock: "Close that door immediately!" Watson: "What's up? Sherlock: "I was examining the Osmia avosetta that Gerald Lydon gave me and it got loose." Watson: "Oh, so there's an almost-extinct bee flying around in here?" Sherlock: "Yes, and I would rather it didn't get out."

season 1 episode 19:

Miss Hudson, to Sherlock: "Oh, and I stacked your monographs that you wrote on your desk. I liked the one about queen bees."

season 1 episode 20:

Sherlock: "Another reason to dislike Milverton. He keeps cats." Watson, sarcastically: "Well, he should get himself a real pet, like a beehive." *Sherlock gives her a look*

and

[CELL PHONE RINGING] Sherlock, answering his phone: "Brownstone is on fire, my bees have escaped, and there is a giant comet headed for Manhattan." Watson: "Excuse me?" Sherlock: "The way the evening is going, I thought you could only be calling with more good news."

season 1 episode 21:

Sherlock: "What kind of an allergy requires a medical alert bracelet?" Watson: "Uh, anything that could bring on anaphylactic shock, certain foods, medicine, insect bites." Sherlock: " Exactly. A moment ago, I could have sworn I saw an Africanized honeybee." Watson: "How do you "Africanize" something?" Sherlock: "It's a term to describe a particularly aggressive species. It's odd to… Odd to see them here. They're not native to New York. It's almost as if someone has placed it here on a route known to be frequented by Hillary Taggart." Watson: "So you think he's planning a murder by bee?" Sherlock: "The hive will be facing southeast in dappled sunlight with minimal wind. And here they are, newly formed and flourishing. Oh, yes. And here is the food source. Someone's feeding them sugar water so they multiply even faster." Watson: "Well, it's pretty baroque way to kill someone, isn't it? I mean, cultivate bees, feed them, and then poke the hive with a stick every time Hillary Taggart runs by?" Sherlock: "Well, he might be planning to swipe her with lemongrass oil beforehand, make sure they're attracted to her. It's actually quite a tidy plan. You know, she flees, bees sting-- tragic accident." Watson: "If she's that allergic to bee stings, then she's gonna have an EpiPen." Sherlock: "Well, an EpiPen would work against one or two stings, but how effective is it gonna be against an army of bee assassins?" Watson: "If the man we are looking for is feeding these bees, he's gonna have to come here eventually." Sherlock: "Yeah. Quite soon, I'd imagine, 'cause the sugar water's getting low." Watson: "Ugh, great. So we get to stake out a hive of killer bees."

season 1 episode 24:

[Watson walks onto the brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock sitting and looking at his beehives with a magnifying glass] Sherlock: "Do you remember the rare bee I was given for proving that Gerald Lydon had been poisoned?" Watson: "The bee in the box, sure." Sherlock: "Osmia avoseta is its own species, which means it should not be able to reproduce with other kinds of bees. And yet, nature is infinitely wily." Watson: "So box bee got another bee pregnant?" Sherlock: "Quite so. Which means, they should be reclassified as an entirely new species. First newborn of which… is about to crawl its way into sunlight." Watson: "Oh, my God." Sherlock: "As the discoverer of the species, the privilege of naming the creatures falls to me. Allow me to introduce you to Euglassa Watsonia." Watson, surprised and then touched: You named a bee after me? You named a bee after me." Sherlock: "Should be dozens more within the hour. If you'd like, I could come and get you once they're all here. Watson: "That's all right. I think I'll just watch."

season 2 episode 12:

[sherlock is shown taking a box out of his beehive]

and

Watson: "You didn't show me these letters. You hid them in a beehive."

and

[sherlock is shown taking the box back into his beehive]

season 3 episode 10:

Barbara: "Barbara Conway. I'm senior vice president of…" Sherlock: "Senior vice president of AgriNext's GMO research division. Quite the corporate monstrosity, AgriNext, hmm? In addition to your dominance in agricultural industries, there is powerful evidence to suggest that your neonicotinoid insecticides are the culprits in the ongoing bee genocide known as colony collapse disorder. Would you care to comment on that?" Barbara: "When you told my assistant you had some questions, was that just a lie to get in and harass me?" Sherlock: "Ms. Conway, are you familiar with the name Clay Dubrovensky?" Barbara: "No." Sherlock: "What about the Wutai Pingtung orchid?" Barbara: "I'm sorry. What?" Sherlock: "You are very good at feigning innocence. Perhaps it's all that lying about the bees."

season 3 episode 11:

Watson: "Can you imagine how she feels when she looks at it?" Sherlock: "I have done. Repeatedly. My name is Sherlock, and I have allowed empathetic thoughts to clutter my mind and reduce the clarity of my perception." Watson: "So you called in the bees to crowd out caring." Sherlock: "To no avail."

season 3 episode 14:

Mr. Joseph: "Mr. Holmes, thank you for agreeing to see me. We've actually met before-- sort of." Sherlock: "You're BeeBeeKing17." Mr. Joseph: "I am. (chuckles) You're a detective. I know from your posts. I have a bit of a problem…" Sherlock: "I'm gonna stop you right there, Mr. Joseph. I can't help you." Mr. Joseph: "You don't know what I'm asking." Sherlock: "I don't need to. In the four years I've frequented your Web site, I've sent you no fewer than 13 letters detailing my proposed solutions to the phenomenon known as colony collapse disorder. You have sent me exactly zero replies." Mr. Joseph: "You know how much correspondence I get?" Sherlock: "I've got no idea. I do know, however, that mine is backed by quality thinking. If you'd bothered to find that out, you wouldn't find yourself without a detective in your hour of need." Mr. Joseph: "Is there some way that I can make this up to you?" Sherlock: "I suppose, if you were to publish my theories on gamma rays as a potential solution to CCD, then I might be able to hear you out." Mr. Joseph: "Gamma rays? They… they've worked in a couple instances, but they… they don't scale as an answer. They're too dangerous. You give John Q. Beekeeper access to gamma rays, he'll melt his face off." Sherlock: "A fact I addressed in my most recent letter." Mr. Joseph: "Fine. Yeah, I'll put it on the site." Sherlock: "I also require that you change your online user name. The cheap punnery of "BeeBeeKing17" is offensive to musicians and apiarists alike. You'll make the change?" Mr. Joseph: "I guess." Sherlock: "Good. So what seems to be the problem?"

season 3 episode 20:

Sherlock (on the other line of the phone): "Watson, you still over there?" Watson: "Yes, I'm still here, because I can't go home, because of you. Why did you bring the bees in the house anyway?" Sherlock, shown to be standing in their kitchen while wearing his beekeeper suit and surrounded by bees: "Varroa mites are a pernicious threat to the colony. I intended a thorough inspection, as well as an application of baker's sugar as a preventative measure. My thoughts were concerned with colony collapse. I failed to see the more urgent threat of table collapse." Watson: "Wait a second. You're not talking about my table, are you? The one that I bought for my apartment?" Sherlock: "Two hours should be sufficient to return the hive to stasis. I'll be in touch."

season 3 episode 23 (the entire episode but especially):

Unnamed cop: "If you guys work for the USDA, why didn't you just say so?" Watson: "We don't. My partner's on a beekeeping message board with a few of their researchers. They asked us to come and have a look, since it's one of their colleagues that died."

and

Sherlock: "You might want to tell your colleague that the apiarist is not a strong suspect. Unnamed cop: "The hell she isn't. She was the only other person out here when this thing happened." Sherlock: " And as far as Watson and I have been able to discern, utterly devoid of any motive-- unlike the soulless corporate golem that is AgriNext." Unnamed cop: "You think a company did this?" Sherlock: "It wouldn't be the first time they'd harbored a killer." Watson: "He's right-- we found one there a few months ago. So what makes you think they did this?" Sherlock: "Elevated levels of Colony Collapse Disorder along the Northeast." Watson: "You putting that on AgriNext, too?" Sherlock: "Everett Keck did. His notes strongly suggest that the company's neonicotinoid pesticides are the cause." Unnamed cop: "So this guy was killed over some dead bees?" Sherlock: "A hundred million dead bees. The regional numbers are so anomalous that an international apiary summit has been convened at Garrison University to discuss the problem this week. Everett Keck's notes suggest he was willing to cut short that debate and lay the blame squarely at the feet of AgriNext."

and

Watson: "Oh… Looks like you opened up a satellite office for the Department of Agriculture in here." Sherlock: "25,000 species of bee-- always much to learn." Watson: "Well, if you're planning on picking up where Keck left off, it might be nice to solve his murder first."

and

Watson: "So you think that Keck tried to kill his boss to cover up poisoning a few bee hives?" Sherlock: "More than a few. I've come to believe that Everett Keck was not just studying Colony Collapse Disorder. Everett Keck was Colony Collapse Disorder incarnate. You might recall my recent concern over varroas in my own hives. These fears were born out of rumblings on BeeCircuit.com. Most of the talk on the spike of this season's colony death rate centered around the spread of deadly mites." Watson: "Okay, but I thought Keck was gonna prove it was pesticides. Sherlock: "That's what his note suggested. That's what he intended to report, but the data suggests that the parasites were appearing in greater than expected numbers everywhere he went." Watson: "You did all this overnight? Sherlock: "You know I outsource arithmetic to Harlan. Okay, so, that's Keck. And there are three other ASI researchers. He found more mites than the others. Many more. According to Harlan, the variance between Keck and his colleagues cannot be explained away by known confounds. The odds that Mr. Keck was not actively spreading varroa mites everywhere he went approaches one in 29,000." Watson: "So, there isn't a spike in Colony Collapse Disorder after all." Sherlock: "Every dead hive is a tragedy. But outside of one nefarious USDA field researcher, no, the CCD baseline would not be inflated at all." Watson: "Why would he do something like this?" Sherlock: "I don't know. I'm fairly certain, however, he had help. The heart attack that almost killed Calvin Barnes occurred whilst Mr. Keck was doing his rounds in Connecticut." Watson: "He had a partner." Sherlock: "We've solved one murder. Now we just have the remaining 100 million."

and

Tara Parker: "No. No way. You can't just write off a global issue because one guy went on a bee-killing spree." Sherlock: "I share your concerns about Colony Collapse Disorder writ large, I do. I have hives of my own. But your degree is in entomology, and, uh, the mathematicians have spoken."

and

Sherlock, excitingly surprised: "His Highness Sheik Nasser Al-Fayed is making an appearance?" Tara Parker: "Supposedly." Sherlock, explaining to Watson: "Nasser is an emir. He's a member of the royal family of Al Qasr in the United Arab Emirates. He's a black sheep. He's not trusted with state business, like his brothers." Griffin Parker, to which Sherlock is shown nodding in approvement: "He's also got the most expensive apiary on the planet. State-of-the-art hives." Sherlock: "He's a recluse. Rumors on BeeCircuit.com are that he never leaves his family's estate." Griffin Parker: "Well, I wouldn't, either. He has almost 1,000 species."

and

Sherlock: "I'm friendly with the moderator of BeeCircuit.com. You deleted your private messages, but he was able to dredge these off the server."

and

Sherlock: "You got away with kidnapping the sheik. You won't get away with what you did to Calvin Barnes. Or millions of bees."

season 4 episode 13:

Trent Garby: "I moved out because of you two. I couldn't take it anymore. The weird noises, the strange smells, the explosions, and the damn bees on the roof."

and

Watson: "Robert Frost said that fences make good neighbors. But maybe that's because there wasn't sound-dampening insulation back then. Since you are rebuilding anyway, we can have it installed for you as a belated housewarming gift. So a quieter home for you, and a neighbor who knows what he's getting into for us." Trent Garby: "You don't even know me." Watson: "We'd like to." Trent Garby: "All right. When I get the insurance settlement, I'll let you know." Watson, giving him a jar of honey: "This is from Sherlock. He wants you to know that bees can be good neighbors, too."

season 4 episode 23:

Bell: "We think he crossed with Krasnov, who was there to steal a barrel of pesticide. There's one missing." Watson: "Clothianidin is used to treat corn crops. I've heard Sherlock rail against the stuff. It's bad for bees. But it is good for explosives."

season 4 episode 24:

Morland, looking at Sherlock's hives: "They stay here even during winter, do they not?" Sherlock: "Excuse me?" Morland: " The bees. This is their home… rain or shine." Sherlock: "Yes, let's talk about bees, instead of the execution you just carried out in Yonkers."

season 5 episode 21:

Sherlock: "You might not know what Mr. Leroux looks like, but I assure you, those photographs of you showing my friend around will have the FBI and Interpol swarming your property like bees."

season 6 episode 8:

Kelsey: "I'm sorry if that sounds judgmental, but… judging you is kind of the whole point of this trip." Watson: "It's okay. I mean, you have to go through your process, right?" Kelsey: "Am I crazy, or did I see a bunch of beehives on your roof?"

season 6 episode 17:

Watson: "He named an inchworm after her?" Sherlock: "It’s not uncommon for scientists to name species after people they care for or admire. I named a honeybee after you. But I, of course, was honoring my work partner."

season 6 episode 18:

Sherlock: "We need to talk about what happens after I die." [cut to them now in the kitchen, with Watson holding a pile of pages] Watson, reading the title: "“The Last Will and Testament of Sherlock Holmes”?" Sherlock: "According to Mr. Horowitz, in three days' time, I am to be riddled with bullets by an unknown assailant in an unnamed part of the city. While I doubt that will happen, reading it did remind me that you should have a copy of the appropriate paperwork to ensure a smooth probate." Watson: "You didn't write all this up today." Sherlock: "No, I wrote it several years ago when we formalized our partnership. I just didn't give you a copy." Watson: "Am I reading this right? You left me everything?" Sherlock: "You're surprised?" Watson: "Uh… I guess I'm touched. Sherlock: " There are some directives in the back that you should review. Watson: "Instructions on what to do with your cerebellum? Sherlock: "Mmm. Also my bees. They will need a proper home."

season 6 episode 21:

Sherlock, walking into the room to find Watson filming a close video of his bees while playing a loud song: "Something I should know?" Watson: "Everyone got back to us while you were out. They said they would look into Agent Mallick if I gave them an up-close view of one of your beehives and put this song on repeat. I mean, I had to get movers to get it down here, but at least we did not have to humiliate ourselves this time." Sherlock: "Oh, you've been humiliated. You just don't realize it. One of the founding fathers of Everyone, StingSquat, is an admitted melissophiliac. He's aroused by bees. You just arranged a sex show with a cast of thousands."

season 7 episode 13:

Sherlock, sounding touched, after seeing that his hives are still in the brownstone after his years away: "You kept the bees." Watson: "I thought Arthur might find them interesting. Plus, the free honey.

[whumped-by-glitter]

Day 6: Nonhuman whumpee / Reluctant Whumper / "Run!"

Bonus Alt Prompt: Forced to Hurt

Day 5 Here <

⚠️CW: Whipping, Blood, Captivity, Muzzles, Mention of Past Torture, Non Sexual Nudity.

Let me know if I forgot anything, but it should be pretty tame today.

This week was very busy, sorry I'm so behind!

story under the cut!

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Youngest lightly hit the back of their head on the white cinderblock wall they were leaning against. The sound was the only thing breaking up the monotony of the white room. This was almost worse than the waterboarding several days before, at least they thought it was just a few days before. A week or more could have passed for all they knew.

Thunk

Thunk

There was nothing to do here but ruminate on their regrets. They wished they could take back those last words they said to Leader. They recalled seeing the pain in Leader’s eyes when they said them. They wondered if Leader would come break Whumpee out and just leave them to rot. It’s what they deserved after all they had done after all.

Thunk

Thunk

Thunk

They wondered if Whumpee was in a cell somewhere just like this, maybe even on the other side of this wall. They wondered what torture Claudio put them through. They wondered if they were alright.

Thunk

Thunk

The back of their head was beginning to go numb from repeatedly against the wall. They sighed and stood up. They stretched and began to pace the limited area. They had counted the tiles multiple times, there was about 30 and a half. They could stick their arms out in either direction and touch wall. They continued to pace in little circles to warm up, having never been given new clothes.

All at once the door to the tiny cell was flung open. A guard threw some clothes at youngest.

“put these on, you’re coming with us,” he ordered. Youngest could see another guard just outside the door.

They hurried and dressed, grateful for anything to cover up. The guard that was in the entry of the room then stepped into the threshold to bind them with shackles and cuffs.

Youngest fought back hard with every bit of strength they had. They scratched and clawed, getting punched several times in the process. Youngest  even biting the guard and drawing blood.

The guard hissed, drawing back. They looked livid. “Feral mongrel,” he growled, leaving the room, door slamming.

Youngest slid down the wall, shaking from the adrenaline and fear. Relief flowed into their chest, replacing the earlier anxiety. At least they were safe for now.

They soon returned, however, the other guard slid in immediately behind the first, holding something. Youngest tried to fight again, but their efforts were in vein. once the handcuffs were on the second guard approached with whatever he had in his hand.

Youngest began to struggle again as they realized what it was, but the first guard had them held tight.

“I’m not some kind of animal!” they gritted their teeth and thrashed their head.

It was all futile though. In the end youngest felt a leather strap being tightened and buckled around their head as a metal cage closed in around their mouth and nose. They could hear the distinct click of padlocks behind their head.

‘muzzled!’ they thought angrily, glaring daggers at the guards. The edges of the cage were already digging into their face from it being buckled too tight.

The second guard then retreated from the room to give them space. The first guard add shackles to Youngest’s ankles and shoved them forward out of the room. Shackles caused them to trip and fall, the guards just laughed cruelly before hauling them back up.

They were taken to some kind of courtyard through a set of solid steel doors a short ways down the hall. Youngest raked their eyes over their surroundings, the yard couldn’t have been more than maybe 20 feet squared. The dirt under their feet was a reddish brown, looking like clay. The solid windowless brick of the building went up about 8 feet, before pushing in, creating a ledge. The rest of the building continuing up had windows. Their eyes landed on a figure standing on the ledge, peering down at them, Claudio.

“Nice of you to join us, Dipshit!” Claudio mocked, “that’s your new name by the way, dipshit.”

Youngest just glowered up at their captor, trying to look menacing through the ridiculous muzzle strapped to their face.

“I heard you were quite a wild animal, gave my men quite a hard time. This would have been much easier on you if you had only played nice.” Claudio snapped and another captive was drug out.

Although the dry dust created too much of a cloud for youngest to tell who it was, their heart stopped. They feared it was Whumpee.

The form was dropped next to them. Relief and fear rushed through Youngest when they discovered it was not Whumpee…. ‘Where were they?’

Their gut further twisted when they realized that although the person was not Whumpee, it was in fact still someone they recognized. “Andrew?” Youngest questioned, eyes widening, also relieved to find they could speak through the muzzle. The man was part of the Intel division at the same agency they worked at. At least they were pretty sure it was Andrew; it was hard to say for certain under the bruises and cuts.

Andrew made a muffled noise through his gag.

“Now then Dipshit, I believe this is a friend of yours? They won’t seem to give us the information we want about your headquarters, so you’re going to get it out of them.” Claudio nodded at the guards to unlock Youngest’s handcuffs. “I owe you a huge thank you by the way, we only captured him because they were out confirming your whereabouts.” The arms dealer grinned wickedly.

One of the other guards that had brought Andrew out was securing the man’s wrists to a post as youngest was being handed a cat-o-nines flogger, studded with metal.

Guilt flooded them. Youngest began to shake, they couldn’t, this, not this! They would take waterboarding a hundred more times before this. Youngest shook their head, trembling, and threw the flogger into the dirt.

 “I will not cooperate with this.”

“you’ll do it Dipshit, or I’ll just have you both killed here and now,” Claudio retorted calmly.

Youngest took a deep breath trying to steady them self. “Fine, alright, I’ll do it,” they grumbled, reluctantly taking up the flogger. They did their best to reason with them self that them doing it was probably better than some guard doing it.

‘crack’

They threw the first lash, aiming just to hit Andrew with the tips of the falls to avoid doing damage with the spikes. They looked over to the guards, then to Claudio who just nodded for them to continue.

‘crack’

This one drew a little blood, but Andrew was still silent and had not reacted.

“Harder, you hit like a child, dipshit,” Claudio taunted.

“Stop calling me that!” Youngest screamed, anger gripping them. They lashed out with the whip out of frustration with everything they had before they even realized what they were doing.

‘CRACK’

Andrew screamed, being hit with not just the tips this time, but the entirety of the falls. Blood trickled down their back.

Youngest immediately dropped the cat-o-nine, crying at what they had done. They had hurt someone innocent, they had hurt one of their own!

“Good, just like that you dumb little dipshit. Keep going!” Claudio ordered.

Youngest, swallowed, fighting down their emotion. They had to keep going to keep them both alive.

‘CRACK’

‘CRACK’

‘CRACK’

Blood was now flowing down Andrew’s back. He was shaking from the pain.

‘CRACK’

Again and again, he made the flogger come down on the other man’s back. He had lost count around 20 but was urged on.

Andrew’s pained screams had become broken sobs, his voice long since cracked from screaming.  Youngest’s clothes were splattered in blood, the whip was coated with it. It looked like something from the horror movies Whumpee and themself used to watch together. But this wasn’t a movie, this was real life, and worse, this was their doing.

Youngest dropped the whip for the last time. They began to hyperventilate. Trembling from head to toe, they slowly sunk to the ground, falling to their hands and knees. They wretched at the sight of their ally’s blood. The blood that they had drawn. They were supposed to be the hero, how could they do this.

“Continue Dipshit.” The order felt like ice in their veins. They simply responded by shaking their head.

“I said keep going!”

“I-if I continue, they will die.” Youngest choked out.

“Then they die, you don’t stop until I say.”

Youngest again resisted, not moving a muscle. They didn’t even bother to wipe the blood splatter that was on their face.

“Have it your way then,” Claudio hummed, pausing for a moment, “slit the spy’s throat.”

The guard nearest to Andrew began to step forward, service dagger in hand.

Youngest began to scream, “stop! No! Stop! NONONONO!”

their vision began to haze. Soon the screaming almost sounded like it was coming from someone else, and they were watching events unfold as if they were an observer. They saw themself begin to go out of control but were helpless to stop it. Their body gave off a faint glow as they cried out, desperate to halt the execution that was about to unfold right before their eyes.

All at once everything fell pin drop silent. Everything was frozen in time. They felt their throat and chest burning, and an eerie feeling crept across their mind at the sight of statues that were once moving people.

Suddenly things began to move again and Youngest realized the burning in their throat was from their own screaming. They then gasped in air, realizing their longs were aching because they hadn’t been breathing.

They found they were all of a sudden toe to toe with the guard holding the dagger. They punched with every ounce of strength they could muster. To their complete shock, the guard went flying against the wall behind him. He could hear yelling, the four guards scrambling, more getting called in.

They snapped Andrew’s chains; they could tell they were quickly losing all control. They felt themself going nuclear. Using their last moments of clarity, they grabbed the intel officer and rushed to the far door, ripping it open and throwing them through it.

“RUN!” Youngest yelled. They hoped the confusion they were creating would at least allow them to escape.

@whumperofworlds, @whumpsandbumps, @3-2-whump, @pigeonwhumps.

Day 7 Here >

That was the last thing they remembered clearly before everything got fuzzy.

*I did not have a beta reader for this, please let me know if there are errors. The word app on my phone sometimes glitches and I don't always catch it on my read throughs.

Event Prompts Here

My Event Masterlist Here

[woman-of-balnain]

Corruption Part 1/3 (Alpha Rick x Omega Reader)

Masterlist | AO3 Ver. | Next Part (Coming Soon)

Pairing: Rick Grimes/Fem!Reader

Request: Alpha Rick x Omega Reader….reader was sheltered and doesn’t really understand heats/ruts/presentations as their parents were religious extremists who refused to discuss anything so “unseemly”…let’s say they’re a late bloomer so they could be early 20s at the youngest, so age-gap…anyway, reader has to learn not only how to survive the zombie apocalypse but about presentations too. And there’s something about Rick’s scent that is just making them crazy and one day their heat comes and Rick has to guide them through…what do ya think?

A/N for Anon: Okay, so this may be far less plot than you were hoping for! I tried to write it but I worried about how innocent I was making the reader. Please let me know if you want a sort of prologue to this chapter (another anon ask is fine!) and exactly how innocent and clueless she can be and I will gladly write it!

Also, I'm not sure if I should have Rick cumming inside later and if he should claim her or not. Please let me know if you have a preference and I will accommodate it. And I'm so sorry this ended up becoming 3 parts instead of 1 but the idea just kept expanding. You really gave me the plot bunnies with this request and I love you for it haha

A/N:

I tried to keep Reader’s religious background ambiguous so you can picture it as anything, but I didn’t grow up religious so I’m sorry if I blatantly messed that up without realizing 😅

This is set in the prison era but it's kinda ambiguous as to when. I just figured that was still early enough after the outbreak for Reader to only just run out of suppressants if she had a bit of a stash of them, plus it gives them more opportunities for privacy compared to the quarry, the farm or being on the road.

I've messed with the prison a bit though. Since warden's usually had their own house on site in older prisons, I've got it so the warden in this one had their own quarters, which the group has agreed to keep reserved for heat/ruts cycles.

I'm also obsessed with Rick's lips rn and sorry, but the gifs are gonna reflect that lmao

Some notes on the a/b/o elements in this one:

Alphas and Omegas are fairly rare. Most people are just betas, making Reader's lack of knowledge about presentations etc more believable

She was put on suppressants as soon as she presented and has never experienced a real heat (just minor symptoms after first presenting)

Suppressants completely suppress your heat and are also considered to be sort of a taboo and unethical in this story due to how they mess with an omega's hormones etc.

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (including non-traditional), dominant Rick, sheltered Reader, virgin Reader, female Reader, Rick is experienced and the Reader definitely isn't, considerable age gap (Rick is 38, Reader is 21), masturbation, Reader masturbating while Rick watches, oral sex (female receiving), heat/rut cycles, no knots, Rick with an innocence kink.

Don't like, don't read.

Word Count: 5,472

Dividers by: @newlips + @cafekitsune

Rick turned over for what felt like the hundredth time in the small, single bed of his cell. He couldn’t sleep; his whole body felt restless as traces of your scent continuously tempted him. He knew your heat was coming now and it only tortured him even more than your presence usually did.

Omegas were already so rare – more so than alphas – and to meet one after the fall of civilization felt like even more of an anomaly. But then there was also the fact that you were so damn innocent.

Your presentations meant that he’d been drawn to you from the moment he first picked up on your scent, but as he got to know you, it quickly developed into attraction. It was bad enough that you were so much younger than him – 21, compared to his 38… – but you were also just so sweet and pure, that he felt dirty just thinking about you in any kind of lustful way, yet he also couldn’t help it.

The way you looked at him with so much trust, and how tantalizingly your scent wrapped around him… all Rick wanted to do was see your eyes filled with lust that was directed at him, or to pick up on the traces of desire in your scent as he thrust into you over and over and elicited endless moans from your tempting lips. Your innocence drove him crazy, but Rick told himself that you didn’t see him that way and he tried to stamp down his inappropriate thoughts.

His conversation with you a few days ago only solidified the fact that Rick shouldn’t be thinking about you in any way that wasn’t platonic. You had come to him with an empty pill bottle, saying you’d run out about a week previously and could the group look for more.

Rick had already known about your sheltered, strict and fanatically religious upbringing, but realizing that your parents had put you on suppressants and left you mostly in the dark about your presentation made him rightfully angry. This would be your first actual heat and Rick wasn’t sure how you would handle it, especially after being on suppressants for 5 years, considering the way they messed with an omega’s hormones.

He was brought out of his thoughts as he heard a pained whimper escape you from the cell you slept in, the one directly across from his. It made him realize that your heat must already be starting. Rick debated with himself for a moment, unsure if he should give into his instincts or not.

Because he knew that he didn’t just want to comfort you, he wanted to completely take away all of the pain and discomfort he knew you were feeling and give your body the kind of sexual gratification it was so clearly craving after your natural biological instincts and hormones had been suppressed for so many years.

When he heard another pained but muffled cry escape your lips, Rick knew he couldn’t resist any longer. So, he climbed out of bed and headed for your cell, determined to at least help you in some way.

You squeezed your legs together as tightly as you possibly could, but it didn’t help. You were hot all over, sweat covering your body and your clothes scratching irritably at your skin. It didn’t help that Rick’s scent seemed to wrap itself all around you. You thought you’d found it irresistible before, but now that seemed like nothing because you were barely holding yourself back from going into his cell.

What you would do if you actually found yourself there, you didn’t know. All you knew was the undeniable need you felt to be near him. Your mind seemed to be losing a battle against your body and it left you a little fearful.

You remembered your mother calling you an ‘omega’ shortly after your sixteenth birthday. You could recall the way you felt hot and irritated, but your parents had put you on those pills that made it all seem to wash away and never come back – until now, at least. You also remembered the countless times your parents told you to stay away from alphas.

You’d somehow just instinctively known that Rick was an alpha the moment you’d met him. And while your parents’ words rang through your head, they were gone by the time you met him and now so were the pills. All that was left was this never-ending feeling of heat and the desire to be near him that you felt (but didn’t quite understand).

You’d always had a sensitive sense of smell, but Rick’s scent was irresistible. It filled you with such a mix of emotions, like comfort, protection and happiness. But you also found it sinfully alluring, and it left you feeling slightly ashamed whenever you caught traces of it and you became filled with scandalous desires.

As your thoughts on him lingered, your body seemed to respond and the desperate, aching heat between your legs increased. You curled your hand into a fist, raising it to your mouth and bit down onto your fingers in an attempt to stifle the sound of pure, unrestrained need that left your lips.

“Rick…” you found yourself moaning out, half in shame and half in desperation.

Then you caught his scent getting stronger and you recognized that he was coming closer to you. The realization caused you to feel conflicted between a sense of relief and mortification. Your mother’s words seemed to repeat like a mantra in your head, telling you that the kinds of feelings you held for Rick (especially in that moment) were sinful and wrong.

But when he reached the doorway of your cell and his scent wrapped around you completely, all that you could think was how it felt right for him to be there. You tilted your head to look up at him and the heat inside you only swelled more intensely when you realized that he wasn’t wearing anything except his boxers and a plain, white t-shirt.

“Rick,” you whined out again, a little louder this time and completely yearning for him.

“Hey, it’s okay ‘mega,” he said gently, coming to the side of your bed and bending down to look at you properly. “It’s not that bad yet.”

Not that bad? You thought to yourself incredulously. I feel like I’m burning alive from the inside.

“I…” you whimpered, completely unaccustomed to all the different things you were feeling. “I can’t…”

Rick looked away from you briefly, seeming caught up in his thoughts, like he was internally debating something. But then his gaze met yours again and he looked like he’d made a decision.

“C’mere, ‘mega,” he murmured, reaching out to you.

His touch only seemed to make the fire within you blaze even hotter, as his hand fell to your shoulder. Rick either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, wrapping his arm around you until he was able to help you up. He carefully led you out of your cell and towards the locked door that marked the exit of the cell block.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“The warden’s rooms,” Rick replied. “It’s not far.”

You remained silent then, feeling only a little scared as you exited the safety of the cell block. But as he promised, you arrived there quickly enough. You only gave yourself a brief moment to look around, realizing that the warden of the prison must have lived there, since there was a bed.

“We’re keeping this room for when you’re in heat and I’m in my rut.”

You wondered what on earth a rut was. You’d only just begun to understand the fact that your body would be going into heat now that you were no longer taking the pills.

“You can stay here,” Rick continued. “Until it’s over. You’ll be safe in here, I promise.”

“Wait!” You exclaimed hurriedly. “You’re… you’re not going to leave me in here, are you?”

Rick looked at you with a strange expression, one you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Y/N…” his tongue darted out to briefly lick his bottom lip and it just made you feel even more heated. “I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

You didn’t realize how much you were tempting him with that question. In your mind, you just didn’t want to be left alone and you definitely didn’t want to be without the comfort his scent was giving you.

“You want me to?” Rick asked with a hint of trepidation.

“Please,” you practically begged him.

Unbeknownst to you, Rick was extremely conflicted. There you were, pleading with him to stay, but he was aware that you probably didn’t really know what you were asking. He knew that he should just walk away, but a deeper and darker part of his mind suggested that he could stay and help you through it.

He didn’t have to touch you… he could just guide you and make sure you weren’t alone. He ignored the more reasonable side of him which pointed out the fact that he would eventually lose his self-control. Hell, that was already slipping away as he made his decision.

“Okay…” Rick agreed. “But stay here for a few minutes. I’ll get some food, water… so you have everything you need.”

You just nodded, not minding just so long as he did come back. Rick gave you one last lingering look before leaving and once he did, you sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for him. But with each second that he was gone, your body seemed to get worse. That insatiable feeling between your legs seemed to be aching for Rick and the way his scent lingered in the room but wasn’t strong enough only made it more unbearable.

A thick fog seemed to cloud your mind and your inhibitions started to fade. Your hand seemed to move of its own accord, falling to the top of your right thigh and then sliding down between your legs. You’d touched yourself before, trying to forget your shame in the dark of night, stifling the quiet sounds that left your mouth in your old bedroom and finding a small sense of devious relief.

Maybe you could do it again now. Maybe it would satiate your wicked body until he got back, and you felt his scent wrap around you again… At the thought of Rick, your resolve wavered, and your hand disappeared under the waistband of your sleep shorts. They barely covered anything, and you’d felt slightly embarrassed to wear them at first, but now you were glad that they didn’t restrict you too much.

You let yourself lay back with a quiet moan as your fingers came into contact with your folds and all thoughts of it being wrong fled your mind as your body sang with happiness and relief. You let yourself think of Rick, imagining him while you touched yourself and felt wetness beginning to pool beneath your fingers.

You wondered how it would feel to have him touch you like this. Those long fingers giving you sinful pleasure while his deep voice with that southern lilt murmured dirty things into your ear. It made you squirm because everything you’d ever been taught told you how wrong it was to imagine him like that, while your body seemed to whisper seductively to you, pointing out that it felt so unbelievably good, so what did it matter?

You were so caught up in the pleasure you were giving yourself and the thoughts your mind conjured up of Rick, that you didn’t even notice the door opening back up. When his scent filled the room once again, you just became even more lost in the depths of your unholy desires, never once stopping to think that it meant he was back, and you needed to stop.

“Fuck…”

Your eyes snapped open, and you froze in horror. Rick was standing in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. You became absolutely mortified, realizing how uncomfortable he must have been, seeing you like that. The fog seemed to clear as rationality entered your mind again. You pulled your hand out from your shorts at a rapid speed and blushed deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” you covered your face with your hands in complete and utter embarrassment.

Rick didn’t say anything, but you heard the door shut and the sound of footsteps approaching you. Then he was gently pulling your hands away so that you would look at him.

“You don’t have to be sorry, ‘mega,” he assured you. “It’s normal.”

You just stared at him, not really believing his words.

“It’s your heat,” Rick continued. “You don’t have to feel ashamed by it.”

He seemed to read you easily, and knowing about your sheltered upbringing likely helped him to ascertain the conflict of emotions within you. His close proximity didn’t help, as the intensity of his scent seemed to just make your symptoms unbearable again.

“I can’t stand it…” you admitted, squirming slightly. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Rick just nodded, understanding. Then one of his hands fell to your left thigh, resting on the space just above your knee. You watched as he swallowed thickly, the action causing the protruding bump of his Adam’s apple to bob slightly. His pupils dilated as his thumb rubbed lightly against your skin and when he spoke you thought you might actually become consumed by that internal fiery feeling.

“You wanna touch yourself?” He asked lowly, voice husky and thick with lust.

He was so blatant about it – something you couldn’t bear to be. You just nodded ever so slightly, stuck between feeling embarrassed and just wanting to know what you should do.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Rick told you. “If that’s what you need, then you shouldn’t hold back.”

“I don’t want you to leave though…”

Your desire to have him close outweighed your need for release in that moment. As if in reaction to your words, Rick’s hand squeezed down slightly on your thigh and his tongue darted out once again to lick his bottom lip.

“I don’t have to…” he suggested ever so softly. “I can stay.”

The idea made your heart skip a beat and once again you were torn between what you’d always been taught to believe, and what your body was telling you, which was to just follow your instincts. Rick seemed to sense your hesitation and when he brought his other hand down to settle on your right thigh as well, you let out an involuntary sound which betrayed your carnal need for him.

A small smile curved up at the corners of his lips, and now with one hand on each of your thighs, he stroked his fingers lightly up and down them.

“Do you want me to?” Rick asked.

“Yes…” you replied quietly, with only the slightest hint of hesitation left.

“Tell me what you need, ‘mega,” he coaxed you. “You want these off?”

His fingers tugged lightly at the bottom of your shorts, and you just nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his, as his eyes darkened even further. Rick brought his fingers up to the waistband of your shorts then and pulled down on them until they began sliding down your legs.

A mix of excitement and anxiety swirled through you because, oh… you shouldn’t be doing this, but you couldn’t find it within you to want to stop. When those immodestly tiny shorts had been gotten rid of, Rick’s gaze fell to the place between your thighs, now only covered by your cotton panties.

“Those too?” He asked, forcing his gaze back up to yours.

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to completely expose yourself to him yet. But the fluids that had gathered between your folds as you’d touched yourself had only built up even more and it was slightly uncomfortable. So, you nodded again, and Rick was quick to hook his fingers under the elastic and pull them down too. Your panties had barely reached your thighs when he paused, drinking in the sight of your now unprotected pussy.

“Fuck, ‘mega,” Rick groaned. “You’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks heated, as the compliment was directed at such a sinful part of your body. But to hear him praise any part of you made you almost dizzy with happiness. He tugged them down the rest of the way, leaving your lower body completely exposed to him. Then, Rick spread your legs further and licked his bottom lip again. You wondered if he knew how much your heated skin grew worse every time he did it and if he was purposefully trying to torment you.

“You’re so wet…” Rick breathed out and you felt his fingers twitch against your thigh. “Go on, ‘mega… touch yourself.”

It was so dirty, the way he said it and you knew you shouldn’t have been letting him witness such a thing. But you were burning up inside again and your body didn’t seem to care about the beliefs that had been imprinted into your mind. Your hand moved without you really thinking about it once again and when you touched your dripping folds, you let out another sound of desire.

“That’s it, baby,” Rick moaned, barely holding himself back.

He was so close to you; it should have made you feel ashamed, but it only left you more desperate to touch yourself. Rick’s grip on your thighs tightened slightly as he tried to keep himself in check. You were driving him to the edge of his sanity, exploring yourself right in front of him. Rick wanted to instruct you to spread your folds a little more, so he could see more of your perfect pussy, but he reminded himself that this wasn’t about him. He knew that you only wanted him there because of your heat, so he reminded himself to just guide you where you needed it, like he’d told himself he would. But the urge to just reach out and replace your fingers with his own, or maybe with his mouth… it was overwhelming him.

You took in how heated Rick’s eyes were as they remained fixated on the way you pleasured yourself. Your eyelids became heavy as you watched him watching you, wondering if he really was as captivated by the sight as he seemed to be. Your fingers rubbed over your clit, making the desire swirl rapidly through you, increasing with every little movement you made to stimulate yourself further.

“That feel good, ‘mega?” Rick asked, bringing his gaze to yours and catching the way you were staring at him.

“Yes…” you admitted with just a little bit of shame.

“You can close your eyes, baby,” he suggested. “Think of whatever gets you over the edge.”

You just shook your head, because the only thing that would send you towards release was right in front of you and the real thing was better than anything you could imagine in your head.

“It’s okay,” Rick tried to assure you, thinking you were just too shy. “Your heat is a natural part of being an omega. You should enjoy it.”

You averted your gaze from his as your cheeks became heated again.

“I… I’m fine just… just looking at you…”

You blushed furiously, not knowing what had come over you to be able to admit that out loud.

“Omega,” Rick practically growled out, his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs.

You worried that you’d possibly upset him with the admission and frantically met his gaze again as your movements halted.

“I’m sorry!” You found yourself saying again. “I… I shouldn’t have said that…”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he calmed you. “It’s just your heat… it’ll make you want an alpha and I’m the only one around. It’s okay.”

You frowned and didn’t really consider your words before you spoke them.

“It’s not that…” you admitted shyly. 

Rick’s gaze pierced into yours, silently urging you to continue.

“I know it’s inappropriate but…” you tried to finish what you’d been about to say but found yourself faltering again.

“Have you already touched yourself while thinkin’ about me?”

You avoided his gaze again, looking off to the side self-consciously. Would he condemn you if he knew the truth? But then you felt his fingers begin to caress your inner thighs, slowly moving upwards and you realized that in the fog of that heated feeling you were still experiencing, he was still kneeling down between them.

What use was it to feel embarrassed over words of admission when you were completely exposed in front of him? You went to try and squeeze your legs shut as humiliation washed over you, but Rick’s grip was too strong, and he kept you right as you were – and exactly how he wanted you to remain.

“Answer me, omega,” he demanded.

You just nodded yet again, unable to even form the simple word ‘yes’ as you remained the subject of his intense gaze.

“Do you want me to touch you, instead?” Rick prompted, his fingers continuing their torturously slow ascent up your thighs. “Tell me what you want baby, don’t be shy.”

The fact that he seemed to be encouraging your sinful desires rather than judging you for them, only spurred you on.

“Yes…” you admitted softly. “I want you to.”

“Fuck,” he cursed again. “You’re so sweet, ‘mega.”

“Sweet?” You questioned out loud, feeling like the farthest thing from that as your upbringing made you feel dirty for your shameful desires.

“Yeah,” Rick breathed out. “I bet you taste sweet too.”

Oh, that made your pussy squeeze down with anticipation and you didn’t even really comprehend what he meant, but some secret and hidden part of your body seemed to respond and understand that it was something wickedly good. Rick just smiled deviously as your body squirmed a little and his fingers finally made contact with your wet folds. You let out a restrained sound of desire at his touch, but he seemed to disapprove.

“Don’t do that,” Rick gently admonished you. “I wanna hear every little sound you make, omega.”

Before you could nod or say any words of understanding, Rick pressed down onto your clit with his thumb and the only response you could give was a deep and shameless moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised. “Don’t hold back.”

He continued to tease you, rubbing circles over the sensitive nub and it was so different to when you had dared to touch yourself in the past. It was more pleasurable, because now you were no longer in control. It only made it even better that the man you desired in every sinful way possible was the one doing it to you. More moans left you, escaping your lips freely now and your pussy squeezed again as Rick’s fingers moved down to gather up some of the generous amount of slick still pooling between your legs.  

“I’ve thought about you too,” he admitted lowly, continuing his perfect ministrations. “You’ve got no idea how much you drive me crazy, ‘mega.”

The revelation both stunned you and left you feeling overcome with happiness. Did he feel the same way you did? In truth, you weren’t entirely sure how you felt, because this was all so new to you. All you knew was that you felt drawn to him and even though it had started with his scent, it didn’t end there.

“Let me taste you baby,” Rick requested.

You still weren’t entirely sure what that meant but you were very eager to find out.

“Okay…” you moaned out as his thumb pressed down on your clit.

“You ever had a man eat you out before?” He asked with a devilish grin, like he already knew the answer.

“No…”

“What about touching you?” Rick continued. “Like this.”

He teased the sensitive nub further with his fingers, emphasizing what he meant.

“No, you’re the first…”

“Fuck baby… I’m the first one to see you like this?”

“Yes,” you admitted softly. “Rick… isn’t this wrong?”

Your inhibitions came back slightly at the reminder that he was the first man to ever see you so exposed and you remembered why that was.

“No, sweetheart,” he assured you. “Get that stuff outta your head. Lie down and let me take care of you.”

You hesitated just briefly before doing as he said and relaxing back onto the bed. You trusted him, enough to even forsake everything you’d ever been taught. And as you felt Rick shift between your legs and move closer until his warm breath met your dripping wet and exposed folds, you allowed yourself to forget it all too and just completely focus on him.

Then you were moaning so loud, you wondered if it was actually more of a scream as his lips enclosed over your clit. Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you and your hips started to move up on their own. Rick pushed them back down with his hand though and kept a tight grip on you, holding your hips steady.

“Oh…” you breathed out, all rational thought leaving your mind as you focused on just feeling.

You had never felt so good before, and you didn’t care if it was a sin or anything like that. Your only concern was Rick and everything he was doing to you, everything he was making you feel and how right it all seemed. The tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, pushing up the hooded part and teasing the sensitive nub underneath. His lips sucked down around it and his fingers tested your entrance further down, noticing just how tight you were.

Waves of desire were spreading through your body, and it was almost too much, because you’d never experienced anything like it, or anything so intense. The coarse hair of his short beard tickled at your skin and even provided extra stimulation around your clit, where it sat around his lips.

His fingers pushed slightly inside of you, and it was a little shocking, because you’d never dared to explore yourself like that. Your pussy seemed to automatically clamp down around them, and Rick pulled them back out, apparently thinking better of it for now. Instead, he let his lips travel down from your clit and to the tight hole of your entrance, deciding to test you with something softer.

The tip of Rick’s nose rubbed against your clit and then he actually breathed you in, before letting out a deep moan as though he liked the scent of you there. That seemed so incredibly naughty to you, but your body’s only response was to produce more slick in anticipation of what else he would do to you.

“Ahh…” you moaned out uncontrollably as his tongue pushed into your pussy. “Rick…”

He let out his own moan in response, the sound vibrating through your core sensually. And then he was giving languid strokes of his tongue inside you, pushing you further towards the threshold of your desires. It was soft and pleasant, not feeling intrusive as he tested the tightness of your inner walls.

Rick was completely lost in his lust for you, feeling addicted to the way you were coming undone. A good girl, raised with strict religious morals, now a moaning and sticky mess beneath him, completely at the mercy of his touch. It was exactly how he wanted you to stay, receptive to him and eager for more.

Your scent was so lasciviously tempting to him, and especially with his nose being buried near the scent gland at your pussy. It made him crave every part of you and it was hard to hold himself back. He wanted to bury his cock (still trapped within his boxers and achingly hard) deep inside your pussy. But Rick knew he had to be patient and wait until you were ready, not just physically but also mentally.

Maybe it was a form of corruption, as he peeled away the layers of your innocence, but he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. He wanted you to be his, in every possible way, just like he wanted to not just be the first, but also the only one to ever know you like this.

Your body felt like it was ascending to some high and just out of reach peak, and as Rick’s nose rubbed against your clit and his tongue thrust into your core, you felt yourself edging ever closer. When he pulled his tongue out of you and licked slowly up your slit until he reached your sensitive nub again, you felt the first ripple course through you.

But then his lips were wrapping around your clit, and he sucked down hard, just the tip of his tongue flicking over the little bundle of nerves. You cried out in shameless ecstasy, all inhibitions thrown to the wind as your body both tensed and seemed to also be overcome with euphoric release.

Your legs shook, with Rick’s head still buried between them and his mouth continuing to overwhelm you with stimulation. He licked and sucked as your entire body seemed to spasm. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind became blank for a moment. The sensations you were feeling were new and powerful and so wickedly pleasurable. It was strange, but even with the intensity of it all, you still found yourself already wanting to chase that feeling again as your body began to settle.

The raging fire within you also seemed to calm down and your mind cleared slightly. Rick’s tongue slowed in its movements against you and then he was pulling back to look at you. His tongue flicked out again to lick his lips clean of the traces of your slick which had been left there. It was so wicked to think of him tasting you like that, but you found that you liked it.

Rick’s lips curved up into a salacious grin and he got up, moving to trap your body beneath his. You met his gaze, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and slight bashfulness. He reached out to let his fingers gently grip your chin and then his thumb was brushing along your lower lip.

“You’ve got no idea, do you ‘mega?” He asked you lowly.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, only confirming his observation.

“That’s what makes you so damned perfect. You have no idea what you do to me, because you’re not even doin’ it on purpose.”

His thumb pressed down harder against your bottom lip, and you let out a quiet moan. He was right; you were still not fully comprehending all the things he was making you feel, let alone how you were making him feel.

“You tell me now, omega,” Rick continued. “Your mind’s clearer after that, I know it is. You tell me if you want me to leave, because if you don’t do it now, I won’t be able to hold back later. When your heat fully hits you, I won’t be able to walk away, so make a decision now.”

The thought of him leaving made you feel panicked. You didn’t want to imagine experiencing this alone and he had already made it so much more bearable than you feared it could have been. When Rick explained your heat to you a few days ago, it left you filled with anxiety and trepidation. Now that he’d touched you, made you unravel until you reached the height of elation… there was no way your own fingers could compare.

You didn’t care that you’d always been taught that this entire thing must be a complete sin. Rick told you it was natural, that it was a part of you, and he knew in ways your parents would never understand. He was like you, even if he was slightly different. It was like he was the other half that could complete you and help you get through the confusing experience that still lay before you.

There was still some trepidation within you, because you were so inexperienced and unknowledgeable in general, let alone compared with Rick. But he had been so patient and had taken care of you so far. The answer to his request seemed obvious to you.

“Please stay,” you asked of him softly.

Rick didn’t try to talk you out of it or remind you that there was no going back. Instead, his eyes darkened with unrestrained desire and he leaned closer to you.

“Okay, ‘mega,” he murmured. “If that’s what you want.”

You just nodded and then he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours like you had just made a vow to one another and you were now sealing it with a kiss.

_

A/N: I'd really appreciate feedback on this one. Part 2 will involve some more exploration for the Reader with Rick before having her first time with him. Part 3 will involve Rick's rut hitting and be my usual alpha rut scenario, but with a bit of a different feel to it as Rick tries to control himself with the Reader, since she is still very new to so many of the things going on.

_

[bypandoramaxum]

journey through the reefs [an atwow series] chp. 3

summary: it didn’t take you too long to figure out that no one on this ship would be showing you any type of mercy, let alone your Na’vi cell neighbour. after witnessing the crew giving him a hard time, you made the decision to befriend the giant creature.

[prev] [next]

pairings: ao’nung [25] x fem!human!reader [20]

word count: 3.8k

warnings: depictions of violence, torture, bodily restraints, weapons, blood, animal cruelty, abduction, human savagery, recoms being recoms, Quaritch (he’s a whole ass warning atp).

taglist: @jakesully-sbabygirl @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eywas-heir @sweetirilly​ @myh3artttt​

a/n: after a busy week of work, I’ve managed to finish chapter 3. so sorry this took so long, but I hope you still enjoy it nonetheless!~

»»————-　.　————-««

The fresh shower you had prior did nothing to soothe the uneasiness that plagued your dark and running thoughts. Your heartbeat hastened with every pace you made in your cell, your front teeth nibbling on your thumb as you tried your hardest to stay as calm as possible, trying to convince yourself that the Na’vi was alright, that nothing too atrocious had been inflicted on him, that he would be back in his cell in no time.

“Agh! What the hell am I thinking?” you exclaimed, to no one in particular.

Of course, he wasn’t alright. There was no way he was coming out of whatever shithole these savages put him through unscathed. Just what kind of sick, twisted games were they playing with him? Were there special torture devices designed to be used on the Na’vi species? Perhaps they were trying to brainwash him extensively to the point where he loses himself in the process? Just thinking about all the possible violations he could have endured never failed to churn your stomach, as if your heart had found its way to it. Just the idea of him coming back a bloodier mess than before…

…or perhaps…

…dead.

You shook your head to rid yourself of those dreadful thoughts. Now was not the time to be fretting about an uncertain outcome. You had decided that your current goal was to get him out safely and if possible, back to his home, allowing him to return to the comfort of his family. If he had any, that was.

Your pacing was brought to an abrupt halt as you heard pounding on the door of your cell. Turning your gaze to it, Colonel Quaritch entered the room with three other recom avatars following right behind him, holding large guns in their arms.

“Well, runt, hope you had slept well last night, ‘cause you’re going to be needing that energy for what’s coming for you.” the colonel informed.

“What am I going to do?” you replied with a hint of anxiety.

“It’s simple, really. All you have to do is just observe the big guy, see what he does, maybe talk to him a bit. But our ultimate goal here is to gain his trust. You any good in Na’vi?”

“Know enough to probably scheme behind your back.”

The colonel eyes widened slightly at your retort, before chuckling lowly to himself. You glared back at him, while you never showed it, you felt a sense of pride and cockiness bloom within you, relishing in the fact that you probably hit a nerve.

However, before you could voice out another come back, the colonel charged forward and grappled you by the neck, lifting you up while applying pressure to it. It wasn’t enough to kill you, but sufficient in scaring the living crap out of you.

“Seems like this runt has gotten a little too smart with running her mouth, huh?” Quaritch commented, menace and rage lacing the tone of his voice. “Perhaps we should teach her a little lesson, let her know what happens when people back-talk. What do you think, Lyle?”

“We could start off by slicing that tongue off, that’ll get her to behave.” the recom named Lyle suggested.

“Her hair’s pretty long, perhaps we could shave her head clean” the woman from earlier chimed in.

“She’s got some pretty fingers. Hope she doesn’t mind losing a few.” another recom added.

Hearing every suggestion of torture these goons brought up filled you with a sense of apprehension and horror, making you flail in the tight grasp of the colonel. He retained his venomous glare on you as you struggled in your panicked state. You weren’t exactly regretting for saying that to him, but you did feel extremely stupid for putting yourself in dangerous situations like this one because of your bad habit of saying things before thinking them through. In that moment, the only thing that came into your mind was your father lecturing you about the importance of not being too straightforward and hasty with your words, as they could land you in scenarios that would be tricky to get out of. Oh, how you wished you had listened to him back then instead of dismissing it like it was just another one of those annoying parental naggings.

Your pride and stubbornness were going to be the death of you, so thinking to yourself that it would be wise to just drop the tough guy demeanour and start begging for forgiveness and mercy in order for your life to be spared.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, sir! I p-promise I’ll never d-d-do it again!” you managed to cry out, while pathetically grasping at the colonel’s grip on your thin neck.

“Or we could do it the easy way, just another squeeze of my fingers and her fragile neck will snap like a twig.” Quaritch muttered sinisterly while his comrades snickered at his words.

“Please d-don’t! P-Please just let me go! I’ll do a-a-anything you s-say, sir! Anything you want, j-just please! Have mercy!”

The colonel glared at you once more before releasing his harsh grip from your neck, causing you to topple onto the ground. You ended up on all fours, gasping for air and coughing violently from the assault, bringing a hand up to your neck to soothe the throbbing ache. It was definitely going to bruise for sure if you didn’t get it treated soon.

Before you could fully compose yourself, you were forcibly pulled to stand on your weak two feet by the female recom. She laid a firm hold on your shoulders while the other recom cuffed your hands behind your back. Next thing you knew you were being rushed out of the cell with the recom’s grip still on your hands and Quaritch walking in front of you leading the way.

There was difficulty in paying attention to your steps as you stumbled a few times, but at that point, you could care less about watching where you were going. All you have in mind was what you were going to be faced with, and you were sure as hell that you weren’t going to like what you saw.

»»————-　.　————-««  

After what seemed like an eternity later, you were brought in front of what looked like an interrogation room, although it had a much larger interior and it lacked any tables or chairs. Looking in, you saw a group of scientists, all masked up, circling something at the far back of the room. You couldn’t quite make out what it was from where you were standing, but it didn’t seem necessary as you heard wails and cries of pain coming from inside. Your ears perked up at the noises, indicating to you that it was most likely your Na’vi cell neighbour.

The scientists soon dispersed from each other and exited the room, giving you a full view of the abuse that they inflicted on the already beaten up Na’vi. The number of bruises on his body seemed to multiply since last night. He had his hands cuffed behind him like you were, and was still being held by that spiked collar and chain, but around the lower half of his face, he adorned a titanium muzzle, possibly to keep him from biting people. Wow, they were really treating him like some rabid canine.

“Alright, let’s not waste any more time. Uncuff her and toss her inside.” Colonel Quaritch ordered, his comrades nodding at his words before doing as told.

His words barely registered in your mind before you felt yourself being hurled into the room, causing you to fall flat on the floor. You groaned in pain as you got up to your knees before turning your gaze to everyone outside the room.

“Don’t worry your little head in, squirt! He’s too fucked up to even do anything to you anyway.” said the female recom, who you came to know as Z-Dog.

“Even if he does, there’s nothing our guns can’t do.” Lyle added.

You averted your eyes from the group, resisting the urge to roll your eyes before turning to the blue man before you.

Well, it seemed the gut feeling you had earlier in the cell was unfortunately right. He was in a bloodier mess than before, and cursed yourself internally, almost blaming yourself for maybe foreseeing this horrible outcome. Perhaps if you never thought about it in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to see the sight before you.

As you scooted on your knees, you worked your way closer to him, feeling a little more confident than before although a part of you still felt nervous from being in such a close proximity to him. You reached your hand out, attempting to make contact with him, before he jolted in fright, backing away from you hastily, his back touching the cold wall. Though cowering, he still maintained his eye contact, making sure you weren’t trying anything again.

You nearly facepalmed at what you just did. Of course, he was going to be afraid of you after what the humans did with him before your arrival.

This was definitely going to be a long day for the both of you.

“S-Sorry. No harm. I’m here to help.” you spoke to him in simple Na’vi, hoping to ease him even slightly. “We have to get your hands free. Will you let me?”

The Na’vi just glared at you suspiciously, not wanting to trust you just because he understood you.

“If you stay like this forever, your hands will hurt. A lot.” you said again while gesturing to your own wrists that were slightly bruised from the stress of the cuffs.

He still chose to stay silent, backing away even more from you and turning around to face the wall behind him.

You let out a sigh in defeat. Well, there was no going anywhere from here, at least not in the current state he was in. It was apparent that he wasn’t going to be giving you his trust anytime soon. Hence, you mirrored his movements, backing away from him as well to allow him the space to collect his thoughts.

Walking up to the front of the window, you requested for the key to the handcuffs so you could unbind his wrists. The scientists were hesitant at first, but after reassuring them that you knew what you were doing, they placed the key into a small drawer that connected the outside to the room. You picked it up, went over to him but still keeping a good distance and showed him the key.

“This tool can unbind your hands.” you said as you mimicked the gesture of unlocking the cuffs. “Once you’re ready, just let me know.”

The Na’vi still refused to look at you, still facing the wall, but you took notice of his ears perking upwards, indicating that he heard you loud and clear. That action made your lips curl into a small smile as you found it quite endearing. These creatures were so easy to read.

Moving back to your spot away from him, you sat down on the floor with your legs crossed and hands on each knee. You figured it would be best to get to know him a little better since you guys were going to be stuck together for a little while.

“My name is [Y/N]. Just call for me if you wish to free your hands.” you spoke again, hoping that by giving him a name to work with, he would be more inclined to accepting your help.

“Alright, looks like you’re a natural at this, guinea pig. Why don’t we just leave you here for a bit while you continue to get friendly with ol’ Frankenstein’s monster here?” Quaritch suggested, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.

“That would be a good idea, sir. He would probably feel less threatened without so many eyes watching his every move. I’ll probably get him to let his guard down soon that way.” you replied.

“Well, I don’t care how you do it. Listen, once he’s on our side, get him to spill where the other tulkuns usually hang out. The demand is getting pretty high, and we’re going to need a lot more to meet our quotas.”

“…Yes, sir.” You muttered hesitantly.

“Just pressed the red alert button near the door if you need anything.” The colonel said before gathering his squad and most of the scientists to leave, leaving two of them to monitor you. One of them being Thomas.

Once they were gone, you let your head fall in shame. Why did you have to be reminded that your sole purpose of being near him was to gain intel? It became clear to you that you weren’t just a guinea pig for them to test run, you had also essentially become an undercover spy for the humankind. In the case that you did gain his trust, were you going to have to make the arduous decision to betray him at the end? To throw it back in his face like it meant nothing to you at all?

Sigh.

Why did every decision you make in your life had to be so stressful?

Why couldn’t things be a lot simpler?

Why did humans have to come here and ruin peace?

Why were you even here?

Why?

Before you knew it, the endless ‘whys’ had you dozing off into a quiet snooze, with the slight noise of snoring being emitted. You managed to curl yourself up in your spot, attempting to gain some warmth despite the cold atmosphere you were surrounded by. Not another thought came to mind as you allowed yourself to bask in some comfort.

What you didn’t realise due to your slumber, was that the Na’vi had turned around to look at your sleeping figure. While he was still terrified, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by you, especially your character. You approached him with some form of caution, almost in a non-threatening manner. You spoke to him in a gentle and soothing tone, which he found somewhat reassuring and helpful to some degree. His heart fluttered in a way it never did before when you still offered to help him, even going as far as to obtain the tool that will free him from his shackles, though he had rejected your advances in that aspect. While he felt a little overwhelmed by your zealousness, you never forced contact with him in any way. You respected his space and boundaries, never overstepping them, heck, just being within his vicinity made you feel guilty.

You were one peculiar human, that was for sure. Everyone else he encountered were vial, wicked, and downright evil. Everything that went down happened so quickly, too.

»»————-　.　————-««  

He and his friends were out hunting for the day, prepared to bring a large feast back to the clan. They ventured out a little farther than they had before, a few miles out from Three Brothers Rock. This part of the sea was not the most welcoming. The tides were a lot harsher, the winds blew stronger, and the creatures lurking were unforgiving. But on the upside, the catch here was incredibly valuable. The variety of seafood that thrived here were rare to find and were considered the best kinds within the clan. In an attempt to prove himself to be worthy as the future Olo’eyktan, he decided that he was going to bring back the best of the best, showing that he could be a great provider to his clan.

So then off he went with his friends in search of the good catch. The hunt didn’t come without come challenges, such as fighting and chasing away some other fishes trying to steal their catch, as well as hiding away from dangerous predators that they stood no chance against. But after a couple hours, they managed to catch enough to feed the entire village for a good few days.

The men were just about to head back home when all of a sudden, an unfamiliar noise was emitted from a distance. Turning themselves towards the sound, they saw a large boat speeding towards them. Aboard were a few sky demons and fake Na’vis, and they looked like they were out for blood.

It didn’t take long for the Na’vi men to realise that they were in grave danger, and had to get out of there as soon as possible. Gripping firmly onto their skimwings, they swam as quickly as they possibly could to escape.

Unfortunately for them, it seemed that the demon boat was a lot faster than they had anticipated as it caught up to them in a blink of an eye. He noticed one of the demons aimed its gun at him, and before he could register a full dodge, the bullet was shot and it hit his skimwing, killing it instantly and causing him to fall into the ocean. He wasn’t exactly safe from the bullet either as it grazed his right arm slightly.

As he swam back up to the surface, he tried calling out to his friends, hoping they were coming back to get him out of there, but as he looked around, they were nowhere to be seen. No, he couldn’t believe it. He could feel his heart shatter at the realisation that they weren’t coming back for him. How could they? He had known them since childhood, they shared every moment together, he took the blame for every time they got into trouble with his father, and this was how it ended? To think they left him to take the fall to save their own asses. Some friends they are.

Before he could fully comprehend the betrayal that he felt, a giant net was thrown onto him before it automatically engulfed him. In his frantic state, he unsheathed his hunting knife and tried to cut his way out of the entrapment. However, his attempts were proven to be futile as he was then lifted by a crane and dropped abruptly onto the boat. Several of the fake Na’vis jumped into action and restrained him, preventing him from thrashing about. The next thing he knew was a sharp pain that went through his arm and his eyelids grew heavy due to a drowsy sensation drifting him off to sleep.

The worst part about this whole ordeal was the physically and mentally brutal torture sessions that he had to endure within the ship. He had been punched, kicked, shocked, strangled, whipped, he experienced almost every act of violence under the sun. During his torment, all he could think about was his family. Would he make it out alive to see them again? What if these sky demons returned him home dead? How would his parents feel of having to bury their first-born child? What would happen with his baby sister? Who would be there to wipe her tears away due to his absence?

Would he…

…would he be able to have the chance to say goodbye?

»»————-　.　————-««  

His eyes snapped open as he jolted awake from his unexpected slumber. He quickly sat up straight and looked around him, only to be disappointed at the fact that he was still in the room, with his wrist bound and muzzle still attached to his face. He looked towards where you laid, and there you were, still sound asleep. It was around this time where he truly felt the discomfort that the restrictions on him brought, and he wanted nothing more than to be free from them. He almost felt bad for doing this, as he emitted some grunting noises in an attempt to get your attention. His actions alerted the two scientists monitoring the room, as they both looked up to check out what was going on.

After a few moments, you slowly but surely stirred awake from your snooze fest and was about to chew out whoever woke you up until your eyes fall on the Na’vi in front of you who was now a lot closer to you than before, his chain keeping him at least a metre away from you.

You stared at him in bewilderment and excitement, though you tried not to be too expressive about it. Had he finally let his guard down and decided to trust you? Was he finally going to accept your offer in helping him?

Okay, calm down, it was best to not get too ahead of yourself. You didn’t want to risk scaring him off again.

Before things got tense, you decided to break the awkward silence that hung in the air.

“H-Hi! It seems you’re still awake. What do you need?” you asked cheerfully.

The Na’vi didn’t respond, but gestured to his bound wrist, asking for your assistance in freeing him.

“Oh, of course! I’ll get to that in a bit. Just let me take that thing off your face first.” you got up to your knees to be eye level with him as you reached forward to grab hold the straps of the muzzle. “No biting.”

He nodded obediently at your warning as he watched you loosen the straps of the muzzle before removing it from his face and chucking it aside. Wow, he really felt he could breathe again. Next, you moved behind him and reached into your pocket for the key to his handcuffs, unlocking it and letting it drop to the floor. Once his hands were free, he brought them forward and massaged them a little to soothe the ache on them, with dark purple bruises becoming visible.

As you moved to sit yourself in front of him, your eyes drifted to his features once more now that they were closer in view. They seemed sharper than the ones of forest Na’vi’s, and every time he blinked, you noticed a secondary eyelid that would unfold after the primary one did, which reminded you of reptiles on Earth that had a similar trait. His eyes were a beautiful azure, you swore you could stare at them the whole day, but you forced yourself to snap out of it before you started creeping him out. You couldn’t help but find this man, despite being of a different species, attractive.

Wait, what?

Didn’t you hear yourself?

He was a different species.

Better to not embarrass yourself any longer.

But that wasn’t the only thing that caught you off guard. You could hardly believe your ears when you heard it escape his lips.

“[Y/N].” he said timidly, almost in a whisper-like voice.

“Yes. Yes! That’s me! [Y/N]! My name!” you responded enthusiastically, with your eyes shining brightly. Gosh, you sounded like a mother excited at her child’s first words. “What about you? Do you have one?”

The Na’vi pondered for a moment, his hands massaging each other in self-comfort, before he looked up at you and uttered,

“Ao’nung.”

»»————-　.　————-««

a/n: so that’s chapter 3 for you! hope you liked it, and please let me know what you think about it (but be nice please~). now excuse me, I’ll have to go write up chapter 4.

like and reblog if you enjoyed!~

© bypandoramaxum. do not steal, modify, repost or translate any of my work.

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 29

Am I actually updating with a new chapter without weeks in between? Shocking!

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 Content Warnings: violence, light torture All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

“Where is he?”

I heard a voice through the fog in my brain and I winced as the voice echoed and rattled like coins in a metal tin, loud, scattered, and hard against my throbbing skull.

“I said, where the hell is that orc?” There seemed to be a disturbance around me. 

I heard the shouting again and I deigned to open my eyes. I could see my world through a swollen, weeping narrow view and found myself prone on the ground of an uneven, stone floor. Bits of dank, sodden hay were scattered at my feet and around me. I caught the whiff of rot around me. Only a few feet beyond that were cold, metal bars that contained my useless body. What threat I once had was long gone, I was beyond identifying what was working and what was not, only aware that my body didn’t move the way it used to, and when I tried to move, everything reacted in a sequence and spread from one joint to the next until I had to close my eyes and regain my breath, willing myself to not faint.

I blinked through the pain and soon found my eyes locked with the dark, grim face of someone I recognized. There were parts of him that were familiar to me, parts of him I had seen on another’s face, only that one was  more kind and beautiful. This person was angry, furious. At me. 

Duke Hilmar. The name returned to me slowly and I blinked up at him, vacant of any reaction.

“Orc. I’m sure you lie there, satisfied and full of contempt against me,” He began to scream at me. “What did you do to my son?!”

I couldn’t answer. Loving Altan was never something that would be wrong. A weak thrum of affirmation flowed through me. Yes. Loving him was right. Good. The Duke would never understand.

“Unlock this door.” He spat at the one dressed in red beside him. Memories slowly started to seep back in and I remember they were Red Hunters - for some reason they were allied with the Duke. They silently obeyed and the metal door into my cell swung open with great protest. I winced as the sound reverberated in my head.

The Duke’s hands were suddenly on me, pulling me towards him, dragging me up from the ground. I grimaced and bit back the groan of pain, shuddering. 

“You.” He hissed. There was so much contempt and vitriol aimed at me. “You can’t even begin to understand how much you’ve ruined everything for him. For me. I will see you ruined beyond repair and you will never leave this place alive.”

I felt a hand slide to my thigh and press on the wound from the arrow that had shot at me. I rolled my head back and through labored, stuttering breaths, gasped for reprieve.

The Duke only pressed harder. I could only see white, blinded by the intense pain. I let out a yell that left my throat raw. More animal than man, I could not hold back any longer. I pushed against the hands that held me down and shoved them away. I felt them fall back, but I could only concentrate on one thing at a time. I braced my back against the wall, gasping.

“Do not touch me.” I growled. I struggled to stay on my feet, it felt like my body was sending me signals from every point that it needed to shut down, it needed me to stop, but I held my back straight against the cold stone wall and I breathed. In and out. Focused on staying awake - alive - long enough to fight back. 

“You do not scare me, creature.” The Duke was on the ground, but a smile remained on his face. “You’re pathetic.”

“You should be scared.” My voice was low, no more than a rumble in my chest, but it was enough for the Duke’s eyes to flutter for the briefest moment with fear. “Pathetic as I am, I’m still an orc…and we bite.” I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I managed to quirk a grim smile.

“You will die a slow death, orc.” He said. “I could have given you mercy if you had let my son go.” He rose to his feet and huffed.

“Altan was never under my control.” I said. “But he certainly was scared of the control you forced on him. A dictator for a father is inconceivable in my home.”

“Be silent, orc.” He hissed. “You have no say in our family matters when you have no knowledge on it whatsoever.” He took a step forward and reached for me, but I swung my arm and swatted him away. Yet he reached with his other hand and gripped me around the throat, I flailed beneath him, but he pressed his weight against me, holding me down. “You think it amusing to see me lose to your kind, don’t you? Yet you are not as clever as you think, orc..” He fished into his pockets and pulled out the vial. It dangled in front of me, mocking and taunting me with the one thing that kept me close to my raebukan. “This is how you’ve controlled him, isn’t it?”

I blinked up at him, but said nothing. Was he insane?

His eyes were manic. “I’ve figured it out. It was there the whole time. My son loses himself to obsession over an orc. It made no sense at first, but it’s because you poisoned him. Now you will tell me, what is the antidote?”

I locked my jaw, shaking my head. 

His hand pressed my throat harder, “Tell me! Now!” 

I did not blink away from his mad expression, despite how desperately I wanted him off of me.

“If you will not tell me, then perhaps your own poison will benefit you.” He said. With his teeth, he unstoppered the vial and I watched in mute horror as he brought the vial towards me and pressed it to my tight lips. “Drink up, greenblood.”

No. No. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. I tried to fight back, but the grip around my neck tightened until I couldn’t breathe. I was forced to gasp and cough for air when he poured the contents down my throat. The liquid was cold on my tongue and my body, having been denied food and water for days, eagerly swallowed the contents of the vial as it cooled and settled into my stomach. I shook and pushed myself away from the Duke, falling back onto the ground and shuddering.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” I managed to say, just before I felt the chill slowly shift into something different. I could feel the warmth in my gut as it began to increase, expand and spread. 

The Duke stepped back and watched me with open-mouthed delight as he saw me begin to writhe and groan with the returning of the constant burning in my loins. And then I felt the pull, the tug of something that belonged to me that felt like it was far, far away from me. The feeling that I must follow it, or I would forever live in that torment.

The Duke watched on, satisfied, not knowing that what he had done to me had most certainly doomed Altan as well.

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[harlequin-hangout]

Incapable

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mob violence, violence against reader (Not Bucky), mature themes, Brock Rumlow just as a person, guns, general mob fuckery, light alcohol use, slutty themes ( Minors DNI), Kidnapping, torture

Contains: Arranged marriage, fluff, some angst, femme fatale/boss bitch energy, strangers to lovers maybe? Happy ending

Word Count: 4.7k

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the only person to treat you as human, despite your marriage being transactional. How will you react when he's kidnapped?

I do not nor will I ever give permission for my writing to be copied, pasted, reposted to other sites, or edited in any way shape or form. Seriously, just don’t.

A/N: I did not make the gif, and @vbecker10 inspired me to use it. Just look at him! Adorable, and so, so done with people's bullshit. If this progressed kind of fast, I'm sorry! I really didn't want to start another series, and I didn't want to publish something that was INSANELY long either. I love writing our Reader as someone who can handle herself, it makes me so happy. I hope you all can enjoy another Badass Reader fic!! (There will be a super slutty epilogue but I'm so ready for this to be out so the smut will appear in the next bit, but both pieces can be read on their own)

The door to your house was broken. Someone had kicked it in. You step over broken glass, finding every drawer ripped apart. 

“James?” You called out to your husband. Silence was the only answer you received. 

“Bucky??” Your voice was more desperate. You ran from room to room, only finding more destruction. Making your way into Bucky’s office last, you found his sitting corner smashed, with blood staining the carpet and upholstery. A broken cell lay on the ground – Bucky’s work phone. The picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day had been ripped out of its frame, the blade of a hunting knife stuck in the side table through the photo of Bucky, while your face had been scratched beyond recognition. There was no mistaking the message that the sender was intending. Though your marriage wasn’t traditional, James Buchanan Barnes had never made you feel like property. Your husband was the only person in your life that hadn’t treated you like a means to an end, like a bargaining chip or a high-ticket item, and he was missing. You pick up the cracked phone on the ground, managing to turn it on enough to get Steve’s number out of it. You dial, hang up after one ring, then call right back. 

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” You hear Steve’s jovial voice on the line. 

“He’s made his move. Get Wilson and be here in 20.” Your voice was calm, but Steve could hear the icy bite. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, I know this is tough but–”

“But nothing, Rogers.” You cut him off. “I know that I haven’t been involved in the business, but this is personal. 20 minutes. Wilson. Bring however many weapons you can carry.” You hung up, not waiting for a response. 

Your marriage was transactional, you’d known that from the start. You’d been adopted by Rumlow Senior when your mother had passed, and been raised alongside his son, Brock. At least, that’s the story the Public knew. You had been part of your mother’s efforts to pay off her debts to the Rumlow Mafia family. Your father had passed from massive medical complications – you didn’t know a lot of the details, you had been too young to understand and no one had ever given you much to go on past that – and your mother had borrowed money from the Rumlows to help pay for his treatments. There wasn’t money to pay back her loans, so she paid them back the only way she could. Your mother had become the infamous Mafia fixer known as Lady Death, and you had been sent to live with the Rumlow family at age five as insurance. She had been legally dead since you were adopted by the Rumlows, but your mother had been killed for real on an assignment when you were seventeen. After over a decade with the family, Rumlow Senior had made you a deal. Keep playing the role of his adoptive daughter, and you would be kept safe. When you were twenty one, you were given a choice. Rumlow Senior would be stepping down as head of the Rumlow Family that year.

“But why would you pick me?” The question hung heavy in the air of Rumlow Senior’s office.

“You have been raised in the Family just as Brock has, Y/N. You are every bit as ruthless as my biological son, and I have complete faith that you would make the right decision for the future of the family whenever the need arose. Unlike my son, however, you have a cool head on your shoulders. You do not jump at the chance for violence. You take the diplomatic route whenever possible, and leave none in your path when it is not.” You sat there in silence. This wasn’t a life that you had wanted. True, you had grown up learning alongside Brock in order to maintain the role of Rumlow’s Little Princess, but you hadn’t ever expected to be offered anything, much less control of the family.

“I . . . I don’t mean any disrespect, but what’s the other option?” Rumlow Senior crossed his arms. You knew that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but still, he responded.

“If you don’t step into the role of Matriarch, there will be a target on you. Your safest choice would be to marry the head of another family. Your husband’s power would both protect you and benefit our family.” You chew on your lower lip and nod slowly. There was no leaving this life behind for you, not if you wanted to live past the age of 25. 

“If I really do get a choice . . . I would rather the marriage.” You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. Rumlow Senior watches you, a pensive expression on his face. “You’ve been an amazing father to me, both before and after my mother’s . . . Passing . . . but this life. . . it isn’t for me. I don’t want any hand in the lifestyle that killed my mother.” You couldn’t stop the bite from sneaking into your voice during your last sentence. Rumlow Senior nodded slowly. 

“As much as it pains me to admit, this life has not been kind to you. I’ll put out the notification to other families and see who we may ally ourselves with. You’ll always be a part of this family, Princess, even if you weren’t born into it.” He gave you a gentle smile. The old man had always treated you carefully and stated that your mother’s debt wasn’t yours to carry, but you’d overheard conversations behind closed doors. An arranged marriage had been in the cards for almost a decade now. You weren’t a part of the family, you were a business asset that he wanted to keep compliant. If nothing else, at least the marriage would get you out.

Several offers had been made. It seems the Romanoff Matriarch liked women, and the Pierce empire also put in a bid for his youngest son. The one that surprised you the most, however, was James Buchanan Barnes. His was a family made of people who didn’t have a home, jokingly called The Lost Boys by Brock and his lackeys. While he had no family power, he was indisputably powerful.

“So which one do you think, Princess? Any of these would make great allies for our family. That Romanoff girl is quite a catch, she’s got fire in her.” You put on your best business mask, looking over the files.

“Yeah . . . She is pretty great, but the Romanoffs only control most of the upper East side. We have the South, which is almost double the size of the upper East. The smartest choice is Barnes. His White Wolf family controls the North and the parts of the East that the Romanoffs don’t.” You close the folders and lay them on the desk. “First choice is Barnes, second choice is Romanoff, and third choice is Pierce. He’s always given me the creeps though.” Rumlow Senior smirked, impressed with your choices. 

“Spoken like a true businesswoman. Let’s have a wedding!”

Within the next two months, you and Barnes were married. 

“Please sit still?” You kept dabbing the medical wipe on his bloodied knuckles despite the mobster’s squirming. “I know it stings, but you did this to yourself. Besides, are you gonna sit here and tell me that you can punch a man multiple times, but you turn into a toddler when I have to clean a cut?” Barnes kept looking down, his face forever brooding. He didn’t answer, but did still his hand. “There. Was that so hard?” You busied yourself putting away the first aid kit.

“You aren’t comfortable around me, are you?” His statement caught you off guard and your head snapped up to look at him. His expression was relaxed. This wasn’t the kingpin that had just beat information out of a Pierce Empire lackey. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t think a lot of people would be, especially witnessing what you just did . . . I’m sorry you had to see that.” You chew on your lip and Barnes continued. “I know you were raised with the Rumlows, and I guess I just assumed that you’d be used to seeing that sort of thing.” He paused, waiting for your response, but seemed genuinely taken aback when you started to giggle.

“You think I’ve been distant because of a little violence? James–”

“Bucky,” he interrupted. “Please, call me Bucky.” A soft smile breaks through your mask.

“Bucky,” you corrected. “I’ve done worse than that to Rumlow thugs when they failed to follow my father’s orders. I wasn’t shielded from any of it. In fact, I was even offered control of the Rumlow family. I turned it down. Given the choice, I’d rather not be the cause of violence, but violence doesn't bother me ”

“Then what does?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you sit across from him on the tile floor

“About the beating or the relationship?”

“Uuhh . . . both, I guess?” You’d never heard Barnes sound so unsure. It was refreshing, even endearing to a degree.

“I’ve been treated like a bargaining chip since I was little. First, my mother, then my adoptive father on multiple occasions. Our marriage was just another business deal to him, and I didn’t think you’d want a clingy business deal. You get alliance with the Rumlows, and I get to keep my protection. I don’t see a reason to complicate things.” Bucky was quiet for a few moments.

“And the beating?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. It’s really hard for someone to give you information if you don’t give them a break in between blows to answer your questions. Seriously, that’s basically mafia 101.” Bucky burst out laughing at your cheeky response. People didn’t usually talk to him like that, they were all too afraid. 

“I’ll give you that one, Doll,” he stated as he regained control of himself. He stared at you, taking in your every feature. After a few moments, you broke the silence.

“You’re thinking something, Bucky. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like to make this relationship a little more complicated . . . what about you?” 

You had kept your own room, but from then on things with your new husband just seemed . . . easier. You spent most of that night talking about how you really came to be a part of the Rumlow family, and how you had opted for marriage because it was the closest thing to your own life that you’d ever have. In turn, Bucky began to open up about his past. How working for other groups had landed him with a metal left arm and a distrust of most people. How his time as a fixer had caused most people to fear him, and therefore avoid him. He didn’t really have friends outside of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and they both worked for him. You got the sense that he chose to have his marriage arranged because he thought it was easier than the alternative for someone like him.

“You know . . . you don’t have to be alone.” You had told him one night. 

“And what do you mean by that, Doll?” He had questioned you, raising an eyebrow as he set down his bourbon glass.

“You say you’re alone because people are afraid, but that’s not completely true. You can’t fool me, Buck. I was raised with the potential to do the job you do. You aren’t alone because people are afraid, but because you don’t give them the opportunity to not be.” Bucky was quiet, but watched you with a fascination. You place your drink on the side table and lean forward. You’d come to enjoy the nights that you and Bucky would just sit and talk. It was a welcome escape from the monotony of everyday life and the drain of keeping up social appearances. Both of you were relieved when you could drop the masks and the roles that you were each expected to play and just exist with another person who didn’t judge you. Who didn’t hold any expectations apart from honesty. Your husband takes another sip, trying to hide the smile that played across his face.

“And what would you suggest I do instead, Sweetheart?” God you loved the intensity of his gaze, and as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, you decided that you were feeling brave. You stood, sauntering over to him. Bucky leaned back in his seat, setting his drink down and allowing you to lean over him, your lips brushing his neck.

“Ask.” That singular word whispered in his ear broke Bucky’s self control. His right hand flew to your neck, pulling your lips to his. You felt the cool metal of his left hand pressing into your thigh as he slid your skirt up, allowing you the mobility to straddle his lap. You press yourself against him as you whine, desperate for his touch. You didn’t sleep much that night, being pushed to the edge over and over and over, only to be brought back without release. Bucky loved watching you struggle. He loved your willingness to fight, and he wanted to watch as the fight drained from you and you submitted to his will. He knew you had been playing the roles expected of you your whole life so here, behind closed doors, he would earn your submission, not demand it. You would choose when you broke, but once you did? Bucky was going to ruin you, and he was going to savor every moment

After that night, you rarely slept in your own room. Your marriage was transactional, no one could deny that. Through the years, however, it had become so much more. You became one of the most powerful couples in the city, though you still kept your distance from the world of crime. Your diplomacy was unrivaled, but one night, that all came crashing down. 

Your brother, Brock, had taken the role of Rumlow Patriarch when your father stepped down. For years, Brock’s temper had been controlled by your father’s background guidance. That all changed the night Rumlow Senior passed away. You attended the funeral, of course, but he passed suddenly. Bucky was out of town on a business trip and unable to make it back in time for the event. You passed along his condolences to Brock, but Brock took your husband’s absence extremely personally. Without the watchful eye of Rumlow Senior, Brock Rumlow’s true nature shone through. Brock was a loose cannon. His temper was unmatched, and his ego caused him to completely disregard the rules that every other family played by. For months after the funeral, the street thugs under your brother’s command ran rampant. They overstepped boundaries and lines of control held by other families as well as started fights wherever the opportunity arose. One night, they went too far. Three of Bucky’s new recruits had been carried back to the office after your brother’s thugs beat them almost to death. All they had done was refuse to leave the bar that they were already drinking at when the Rumlow thugs showed up, stating that the two groups could co-exist. These were just kids, barely old enough to even be IN the bar, and with six men versus the three kids, it was a massacre. Adding insult to injury? That bar was on White Wolf property and owned by Steve Rogers, one of Bucky’s right hands. Bucky had come home fuming that night. You talked him down from murdering your brother on the spot. You had no love for your brother, but murder would result in an all-out war. You spent the better part of the night with Bucky, Sam, and Steve readying yourselves for several outcomes. The following night, Bucky went to have a civil meeting with Brock, Mob Boss to Mob Boss about the behavior of his subordinates. Steve and Sam went on patrol hoping to stop another encounter, and you went to meet with Natasha Romanoff, the Matriarch of the Romanoff family. If this all went south, you would need an ally in order to take your brother in an all out war. 

So that’s how you got here. Standing in your husband’s office surrounded by the aftermath of a ransacking. Your shoulders fell back and your chin lifted. If Brock wanted a fight, you’d give it to him. Brock may be the head of the Rumlow Family, but with Bucky currently indisposed, you were the head of White Wolf. Time to show him what his Little Sister was capable of when someone threatened her family. You headed straight to your room. If you were going to be acting as the White Wolf Matriarch, then you should look the part. You slide into your black business leggings. They look like skinny cut pants, but provide enough flexibility for you to move. A flowy black blouse pairs nicely, accompanied by several gold accessories. You favored rings and necklaces, but added a couple cuff bracelets for good measure. Your knee high riding boots with the steel toe inserts were pulled from your closet. Your winged liner was sharp enough to stab a man was accompanied by a dark lip and perfect brows. Finally, you swept your hair up into a sleek high ponytail. You take one look in the mirror, and your appearance plus the cold hearted look in your eyes made you smirk.

“The bitch is back,” you thought to yourself. You pulled a duffel bag out from under your bed. You hadn’t much from your mother, but you did keep her favorite set of knives. They were well known as the choice weapons for Lady Death, and that fear could serve your purposes. Strapping the wrist holsters to each wrist, you frowned. This blouse was nice, but it didn’t hide the knives well enough for your liking. . . You slipped several more into your boots as you heard Steve’s car pull up. You turned to rush out the door when you paused. One of Bucky’s black suit jackets was draped over the chair by your door. It was far too big for you to wear, but if you draped it over your shoulders . . . You tried it out in the mirror. It worked, hanging off your shoulders like a cape. The extra fabric also provided the cover to your wrists needed to conceal your wrist sheaths better. You grab your phone and head down the stairs to meet Steve. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good–”

“Well, then it’s a good thing your job isn’t thinking right now, Rogers.” The blatant interruption caught both men off guard. “You’re going to listen carefully because I’m only explaining this once. The story you’ve been fed about the Rumlows taking me in out of the goodness of their hearts is complete and utter bullshit. My mother worked off her debt to them, and I was kept as collateral. She taught me a lot of what she knew. I was raised as a Rumlow and was offered control of the Family because of my brother’s inability to control his temper or play by the rules. You can either do what I tell you, or you can explain to Mr. Barnes when we return why you didn’t accompany me. Are there any questions?” Whether it be the lack of emotion in your eyes or the ice in your voice, you didn’t know, but neither man argued. Wilson was the first one to speak up.

“ . . . Who’s your mom?” You look Sam dead in the eye, smirk, and with a flick of your wrist you impale one of the knives in your wrist sheath in the ground between his feet. Both Sam and Steve go pale with recognition.

“My mother was Lady Death.”

The Door to the interrogation room blew inward. C4 was such an amazing toy, you were so happy that Sam kept a stash. Hands in your pockets, you step over the twisted remains of the door, the dust settling at your feet. Immediately you hear the click of guns, but that only pulls a sadistic smirk to your face.

“Hello, boys. For those of you who don’t know who I am: look to your elders. For those of you who do: Run.” It was your brother's right hand and childhood friend, Justin, who spoke first.

“Y/N, didn’t expect to see you join the party.” He swaggered up to you, full of confidence that only an upper class white man could possess. He loomed over you, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be sexy or intimidating. Neither was a good look on him. “What’s your problem, princess? Did we break up your little game of house?” You look up at the taller man, not budging an inch.

“Oh not at all, champ, I just thought I’d give you and your little friends a chance to play in the big leagues. Only three of them? Shouldn’t be much work.”

“Hey, Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but –” Justin interrupts him before you have the chance.

“That’s Barnes’s wife, dumbass. She’s the Boss’s adopted sister, and the last person you wanna piss off.”

“She don’t seem so scary, all of her power comes from other people! Why should I–” 

“You’d be well to listen to your superiors, or haven’t you learned that yet?” The ice in your voice stopped the newbie dead in his tracks. You stalk towards him, eyes fixed. “Let’s give you a family history lesson, hmm?” You had the undivided attention of all four of the Rumlow thugs. You just needed to keep it that way long enough for Steve and Sam to work into position. You stopped in the dead center of the room “ Justin, how many years ago was Lady Death’s final kill?”

“Uuhh . . . five years? Just before you married Barnes.”

“Good Boy,” you purred, working as much condescension into your voice as you could manage. “And how many years ago did my mother die?” As he did the mental math, Justin began to shift uncomfortably.

“ . . . Seven . . . no, Nine? Nine years ago . . .” As the dots started to connect, the realization began to show on each man’s face. Your smirk grew to a full-on sadistic smile. 

“Let’s try this again, gentlemen. Whether or not you know who I am, it’s too late. I’m Lady Death.” The tension is palpable in the air as the newbies eye you, then the door, as if evaluating their chances, but your backup was already in position. From the rafters of the building, four shots rang out. You’d ordered Steve and Sam to aim to kill, but you hadn’t bothered to check their handiwork, simply stepping over the bodies and making your way towards the last door that stood between you and your brother.

The door creaked open, and your rubber soles thudded against the concrete with each step you took. No matter how hardened to violence you were, you had never cared about any of the people on the receiving end of your violence. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared for the sight that met you on the other side of that godforsaken door. Bucky was sat in a metal chair. His arms were tied behind his back, and a gag was stuffed in his mouth. His white dress shirt had been discarded, and his undershirt was torn. The bridge of his nose was cut, and someone had busted open his left cheek. Dried blood still caked his skin. The moment he saw you, his eyes filled with fury. He fought against his restraints, almost toppling the chair.

“Aaaah, Y/N, nice of you to join us! Can’t have a party without Daddy’s favorite kid,” Brock spat at you. You study your brother, willing your face back to neutrality.

“You know just as well as I do that that isn’t true, Brother mine.” If your calm demeanor threw Brock off guard, he didn’t show it.

“Well, Sister mine, your husband here had the audacity to tell me how to run my people, after refusing to even honor our father. Our father who spoke of him like the Golden Son just for marrying the whore who wormed her way into my life!” By the end of his statement, Brock was screaming. He took a moment and regained his composure. 

“Do you really think that was a good move?” As you questioned Brock, you walked over to a spare folding chair. You let the jacket fall from your shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair. 

“I can make whatever move I want. Dad may have taught you everything you know, but he taught me everything he knew. That’s the difference here, Wendy. That is what you are, aren’t you? The Wendy to his pathetic troupe of Lost Boys.” Locking eyes with him, your smirk returns.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Brock. Dad isn’t the only one who taught me things. My mother lived here too, remember?” Brock’s eyes narrow, tracking you as you slowly close the distance between you and him. “How do you explain the kills on Lady Death’s roster after my mother passed, hmm? Think about it.” You could see the gears turning in Brock’s thick skull before he shook his head.

“You lying bitch, you’re trying to play on my nerves. You turned down this job because you weren’t capable” You interrupt, starting to slide one of your knives from the wrist sheath into your hand.

“I turned that job down because I wasn’t interested. Never mistake my disinterest for being incapable.” You flick your wrist, your knife landing squarely in the meat of Brock’s shoulder.

He lunged at you, and the only thing you could focus on was the exchange of blows. He was a lot faster than you’d anticipated, and you were fairly evenly matched. You registered the pain of his blows connecting multiple times, but you pushed it down and attempted to return the favor. Suddenly, you felt his fist connect with the side of your face, then an arm wrapped around your waist. Brock spun, throwing you across the room. You hit the wall with a sickening smack, the wind being knocked from your lungs. Your brother slowly started stalking towards you. He was breathing heavily and wiped the blood from his upper lip as he walked, never taking his eyes off you. Brock grabbed your jaw, dragging you upwards, and you did the only thing you could think of. You slipped a knife out of your boot, and jammed it into him on your way up. Both you and him fell, Brock’s head hitting the ground with a sickening smack. You hauled yourself up, steadying yourself against the wall. You grabbed your brother by his hair, yanking his head up. 

“You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and all that Dad stood for.” You paused, spitting out the blood that was pooling in your mouth. 

“What the fuck happened??” You heard Sam shout as he and Steve finally caught up. You looked from your brother to Sam, steeling your gaze.

“Change in management,” you stated. “Send out a notice. Due to extremely reckless behavior that nearly started a war, Brock Rumlow has been removed as Patriarch of the Rumlow family. Its territories and personnel will be merged into White Wolf. Any concerns can be taken up with Lady Death.”

You turn your attention to Bucky, picking up one of your discarded knives to cut the ropes and gag off of him.

“Doll, that has got to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” Your satisfaction definitely showed on your face. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you pick the discarded suit jacket off the back of the folding chair and hand it to Bucky, leaning on him for support. Bucky pauses, glancing between Steve and Rumlow.

“Bring him back to the office. We’re not going to be done talking for a very long time.”

Tags: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @brattymum96 @vicmc624 @caritobbg @winterslove1917 @xonickibaby @youngblood199456 @thehumanistsdiary @ozymdias @thomase1

[kaiwewi]

How Not to Interrogate Your Enemy

tw: kidnapping, drugs Synopsis: kidnapping Hero was a huge mistake. All Villain has to show for it is regret and a bad headache.

“I should not have forced those drugs down your throat.”

Villain threw the box with the rest of the Ritalin pills carelessly aside once again. There wasn’t any information on it that might be of assistance to them anyway. They’d checked. Five times, as of yet.

Of course rereading it over and over hadn’t magically changed the words printed on the stupid patient information leaflet either, and yet it had at the very least provided Villain with an immediate distraction.

Mercifully, Hero had finally managed to shut up for longer than their lungs needed to fill with a single breath of air. And not a moment too soon, as Villain almost hadn’t been able to remember what silence sounded like anymore.

Frowning, they rubbed the bridge of their nose. “I’d really hoped it might loosen your tongue and you’d let something useful slip sooner or later.” They sighed deeply. “But instead, you’ve just been babbling about some kind of … philosophical bullshit for hours. Hours! And honestly, half of it makes no sense whatsoever, and the rest …”

Why didn’t Villain have henchmen who could take care of situations like this? All the other villains they knew had henchmen! And lairs with functioning prison cells. And proper truth serums.

Why had Villain been sitting here for more than 20 hours now, in a cramped motel room, all alone with their captured hero?

“Ugh, I don’t know,” they complained aloud.

Hero looked up then, no longer so intently focussed on the ropes tying their wrists and ankles to the chair they sat in. The knots seemed to be the only thing about Villain's stupid plan that actually worked as intended. The rest was a complete disaster.

When Hero opened their mouth, Villain lunged to their feet and grabbed their bottle of water from the table.

“You must be thirsty, right?” They hastily unscrewed the cap and pressed it to Hero’s lips. “Here, you should drink something!”

Just, please, keep your mouth shut!

Their captive gulped down the bottle's contents without hesitation.

In Villain's honest opinion – and given the circumstances – some reluctance to accept a drink offered by an enemy would definitely have been in order. Not that it mattered; this was only water after all. As if Villain would ever consider giving Hero any additional drugs with possibly even more annoying side effects.

They took a deep breath. Then another.

Thankfully, Hero couldn’t drink and talk at the same time, which granted Villain another moment of peace and quiet. When their captive had emptied the entire thing, Villain begrudgingly set the bottle aside.

Pacing the room, they racked their brain for something to say that might convince Hero to let them rest for just a tiny little bit. Having had no more than two or three hours of sleep during the last two days, Villain was so exhausted their mind seemed engulfed in fog so thick they could hardly locate the words to form coherent thoughts.

They needed a break.

“Listen, Hero.” Villain’s voice took on a pleading tone, but at this point they hardly cared about dignity anymore either. “I just want to lie down for a few hours, okay? Please? I know you’ve got all these fascinating thoughts floating around in your head, but—”

“Oh!” Hero gasped. Their face lit up with vigour. “Let me tell you something really fascinating!” they said, way too enthusiastically and much too loud.

Villain flinched.

If Hero had noticed, they didn’t care. Instead, they started a new, insanely fast-paced monologue that, as all the previous ones had, lacked any kind of a core topic or apparent objective.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake …” Villain’s groan was almost a sob.

How much longer was it going to take for the drugs to wear off?

This was torture.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

[touchstoneaf]

I'm reading summaries and transcripts, and once in a while forcing myself to watch episodes of anything after season 3 of Smallville (solely so that I can rewrite them in a way that's much more coherent (and CLexy, but that goes w/o saying))... and my GOD, they are so dumb sometimes. Poor Michael. having to convincingly say shit like "your girlfriend was possessed by the ghost of a witch" with a straight face! (Side note what the actual fuck is the plot in this season? Season 4 is insane and I don't even want to talk about it.) Yes the show has always been a little goofy and has some storylines that are questionable... but they are really pushing it now.

Also one of the main strengths of the show is the chemistry between Michael and Tom, and yet they have full episodes where they don't even interact, and it's just like, *what* are you doing?! And then to top it off, each summary just gets more and more ridiculous and complicated as the seasons goes on, and I'm just like oh thank god I have simplified it in fanfiction! They are no damn witches (because let me not even get started on how witches are portrayed in most TV shows!), there are no spirits floating around trying to possess people (just because you have Kryptonite around does not mean you get to hand-wave literally anything at all. Why in the hell would a Kryptonite nodule or some dust cause ghosts to exist? It affects *living cells* with *radiation*. I don't even understand why they would make a decision like that. They really must have been desperate for stories already, and we're not even halfway through the show yet).

I'm not going to even get started on my main gripes with the show that have existed from the beginning, like turning Superman into a self-serving, abusive, selfish liar who lies, or the fact that their main "villain" was created out of victim-blaming and abuse and then everybody's just gleefully happy for Lex be treated like shit for no fucking reason whatsoever, while his Literally Evil father is turned into some kind of pseudo "good" guy. Cuz yeah, abusers should be redeemable. but their victims should end up alone and tortured and treated like shit by everybody around them. That totally makes sense. I won't get started, I really won't, because I will be here all day. Or the fact that nobody seems to have figured out that Clark is a meta at the very least, when he does all kinds of weird shit all the time. These people are smart. Chloe and Lex especially are not fucking stupid by any stretch. It just simply would not have taken them four or more years to realize that he could easily one of the mutants in town. Nobody would be shocked in the slightest; but they play it like they're just too stupid to figure it out, and it's terrible because Clark is the worst liar in the universe.

Also, somebody who's not yet Superman is not going to be fighting beings like Doomsday when they're still like 20. It's just not going to happen. I'm not even getting started on creepy stuff like how they're totally sexualizing someone who's playing a minor because she is their eye candy on the show. Lana and Kristin deserved better! The female lead who basically existed to further the two guys' storylines for like three seasons finally gets her own story... but it's about being possessed by an ancient witch or some shit? They are actually sexualizing her near death experience, like some kind of creepy PG snuff film (who actually made the decision of trying to make Lana being slowly suffocated a weird sexy vibe?! So fucking problematic I don't even know where to start). And then the male lead's other love interest is summarily killed by their cardboard cutout villain of the week with his lack of character development, simply so that she can't get in the way of Supes' future storyline, because she was literally created only to be a roadblock to his future goals, masquerading as something to keep him from actually being lonely to death. All she did wrong was to wish she could free of stigma about Mental Health... then shortly afterward, when she was essentially killed about it, he turns around and is fine again because he gets a football scholarship. What the fuck?! (Yes, I'm looking at you, Pariah).

I can't even with this show sometimes. I'm so glad I quit when I did. I tend to forget how insane and Incredibly questionable a lot of it is until I have to watch something of it in order to rewrite it. But I guess that's why there's fanfic in the first place!

[branmuffins22]

THE TIME IS UPON US ONCE AGAIN FOR A MUFFINTOP FIC REC!!!

This fic has been a big favorite of mine ever since it started coming out a few months ago, it scratches an itch I've felt for a long long time in this fandom (and does it maybe a little too well, I get antsy and end up doing a lot of re-reading between updates).

It's got long, juicy chapters; unsettlingly and appropriately dry tone and delivery (I'm pretty sure there's only like 20 exclamation points in the whole fic (as it currently exists), and they're all in the dialogue, not the plain prose); a wonderful amount of time spent with characters who were thrown completely under the bus by canon (while still remaining (feasibly) canon-compliant, btw); some of the most fun original scenarios and characters a fic of its kind could possibly have (just wait 'till you meet the swizzler); and it's centered around everyone's favorite basilisk, Vee!

Honestly, the Ao3 summary doesn't really do it justice:

This is a sister story (pun intended) to The Owl House that follows Vee's adventures in the human realm.

Like, that's it. Simple, straightforward, and succinct, but gosh golly fuck, it sure doesn't sell it, or at least not to anyone but the most wildly obsessed (like me).

As such, I propose my own reader's summary:

Vee has had a hard life. She grew up in a cage. Coerced, studied, tortured, broken, and put back together again for as long as she can remember. As if her life in the cells weren't traumatic enough, her escape was just as much so, and nowhere near as certain. Alone on the run, she seized the first opportunity she found for a permanent solution, but that too proved to have flaws. Vee is not Luz, but she will do anything to secure her freedom, even if she has to be someone else to do it. She'll just have to survive summer camp, conspiracy theorists, and an ongoing barrage of crises, both external and internal. Anything and everything to be safe and free. This is a sister story (pun intended) to The Owl House that follow's Vee's adventures in the human realm.

[lgbtqasacrew]

Oh I'd love to see some hurt/comfort Stede/Izzy or Stede&Izzy where they are stranded somewhere/were taken hostage for whatever reason and Stede is hurt but keeps it secret from Izzy (who is hurt too but less dire) cause Stede wants to be the spitting image of a cool pirate captain and actually manages to get them both out/to a safe place where he fusses over Izzy until he (nearly?) collapses from his own injury(s) and then Izzy nurses him back to health with a lot more kindness than Stede would have expected <3

I would be delighted to read sth like that if you feel inspired to write it!

Summary: During a raid, Izzy and Stede get kidnapped by the navy, It’s Stede’s job to get them to safety, even if he gets hurt trying. Luckily Izzy is there to nurse him back to health.

Relationships: Izzy x Stede

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of torture, description of injuries, hand wavey pirate medical care

Stede thought he’d became a better pirate, he’s led successful raids now, knows how to hold his own in a fight, even killed a man. But still he’s ended up here, in the brig of a ship occupied by the British Navy. He chastises himself for falling for such a trap.

He’d thought it was a typical raid, only to be fully ambushed as soon as they’d reached the deck, too late to retreat. He had tried to fight, but a group of soldiers had appeared from nowhere, grabbing Izzy from behind. The first mate had been overpowered, his sword clattering to the floor, the men using his unicorn leg to their advantage to overbalance him.

Stede couldn’t stand by and watch that happen, Izzy is his first mate, the man that has helped him become a better pirate, the one who stood up against the kraken to protect his crew. But there were too many of them and there had been nothing he could do except watch as Izzy was dragged down below deck. He called for his crew to retreat back to The Revenge, following the men who had Izzy in their dirty grasp.

Becoming overpowered himself once below deck before being shoved into the same brig where Izzy now laid. Door locked behind him, he could only hope that the rest of the crew had made it back to the ship.

It’s been roughly 3 days since their capture, Izzy lays dejected in one corner, it’s hard to see him like that when he was finally getting better. He doesn’t know where they’re being taken, most likely a British prison. He has to get them out, he owes it to himself, but also to Israel Hands.

Occasionally one of them is taken away to be tortured for the men’s amusement, nothing that will kill them but painful all the same. He tries to keep up a positive demeanor, concentrating on Izzy and his injuries.

“Izzy, hold still please” he asks, trying to get a look at a nasty cut on the man’s arm.

“Fuck off, Bonnet” trying to swat him away, but he gives up pretty quickly, not having enough energy in him. They’ve been on reduced rations since they got here, hardtack and water.

He cradles Izzy’s arm in his lap and he looks it over, the cut doesn’t look too deep, he should get away with not need stitches, luckily as that’s not exactly an option at the moment.

He’s barely been asleep when he wakes up on instinct as someone opens the cell door. “Right which one you wants to join us this time?”

Stede volunteers immediately, he can’t let Izzy go through anymore. “Bonnet” Izzy chides

“No Izzy, it’s fine”

“Don’t take him, take me” Izzy begs but the man doesn’t listen, unlocking Stede’s restraint and roughly pulling him up to his feet.

“You idiot” he hears Izzy mumble as he’s dragged away.

That had been the worse one yet, by the looks of it they’re close to their destination, must’ve wanted to get in one more beating before then. They used the cat this time, 20 whips to his chest, each one stinging more than the last. He hisses as they pour rum over the wounds to stave off infection.

All he wants to do once he’s back in the brig is lie on the floor and weep but he has to remain strong, work out a plan for when the reach land. Izzy who awoke at his return is looking him over from afar as if trying to catalog his injuries. Stede tries to keep a straight face, not wanting to give away how much pain he’s actually in.

“We’ll be reaching land soon” Stede informs him.

Izzy nods “Then what?”

“Then I get us out of there”

Izzy scoffs “And how are you going to do that Bonnet?”

“Well, I haven’t quite gotten to that part yet, but I will”

“I’ve never met someone so delusional”

It’s night when he hears the call to drop anchors, he braces himself, waiting to be taken. They don’t have to wait too long, two men enter their cell, dragging him and Izzy out of the brig and up onto deck. He tries to keep his eyes on Izzy, if they’re separated it’s going to be a lot harder to save them both.

His heart breaks as he watches the man drag Izzy around like a rag doll, if, no when, they return to The Revenge, Izzy is going to get some solid pampering. They’re both shoved roughly onto a rowboat with five navy soldiers. This is it, time to enact the plan.

He thanks his lucky stars that those idiots didn’t think to restrain them again. Slowly maneuvering himself until he can steal the gun from the nearest soldier, thanking Lucius for teaching him how to pickpocket.

He has to time this right, the shots are going to alert the other soldiers both back on the ship and those on land. He looks to Izzy, giving him the nod that it’s about to start, one chance, one chance to save them. Firing the gun into the air, startling the soldiers on the rowboat who all reach for their guns, one of which realising his is now in Stede Bonnet’s hand. Stede uses his panic to his advantage, taking him out first, Izzy meanwhile is tussling with two soldiers, one of which ends up going overboard, Stede manages to get a shot on the other who lands with a splash into the sea around them.

He’s grabbed from behind, causing the boat to rock, he tries to elbow the man off him before he feels a sudden hot searing pain in his thigh, the bastard has stabbed him. A shot rings out, distracting them both, giving Stede the upper hand to shoot the man and push him into the water. He turns around just as the soldier Izzy was fighting lands into the water, that must have been what the shot was. He’s relieved to see that Izzy is still standing.

“Shit Bonnet, you really did it” Izzy says between breaths

“I guess I did” Surprised himself, but they’re not safe yet, they’ve drawn attention to themselves now with the shots, everyone on that island will be on high alert. He grabs the oars, immediately rowing them towards the island, hoping he can get them to a more desolate part where they can recover and plan their next move without being spotted. It’s dark, the only light from the moon, they’d thrown the oil lamps overboard so as to not draw attention to themselves, but it makes his job a hell of a lot harder.

His whole body aches and the pain in his thigh is increasing, but he can’t stop now, not when they’ve come so far. It seems like hours have passed by the time they reach land, but it’s still pitch black. He helps Izzy out of the boat before hiding it amongst some shrubbery, everything goes blurry for a second and he feels himself almost stumble before he can right himself.

“You alright Bonnet?” Izzy asks with what sounds like genuine concern.

He can’t have Izzy worrying about him, it feels wrong. “Me? Oh yeah I’m fine, just tired” Izzy doesn’t seem convinced but he luckily doesn’t press any further.

They manage to find an old abandoned building no bigger than a shed, but he doesn’t feel particularly picky right now, the dirt floor actually looks quite appealing to lie on. He’s overcome with that dizzy feeling again, everything goes black and he barely registers the sudden sharp pain in his shoulder.

“Bonnet? Shit.” are the last words he hears before unconsciousness overtakes him.

He awakes to an overall ache that seems to go deep into his bones, he tries to open his eyes but is immediately met with a light that makes his head pound. But he also feels a comfort and warmth that he hadn’t expected. When he can finally convince his eyes to remain open he can see that he’s now covered by a blanket, another one placed underneath between himself and the cold hard floor, he also notes that there’s a thin pillow under his head. His first thoughts are where did these items come from, and where the hell is Izzy.

He’s worrying about Izzy being recaptured, trying to convince his body to move when the door opens. He can’t put into words how relieved he is to see the man, something he never thought he would say.

The man immediately rushes over to him “Lay back down you idiot, you’re injured” his words come out harsh, a strange juxtaposition to his gentle hands guiding him back onto the pillow. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured this badly you twat” he continues.

Stede doesn’t know whether it’s the harsh words, the pain or just a combination of everything that's happened over the past few days but he finds himself bursting into tears. Great, just another thing for Izzy to get angry at him about, he thinks. Sobs wrack through his body, each one jolting his injuries. He’s confused when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder and some sort of soft fabric on his face wiping his tears, instead of being told how pathetic he is.

“I’m sorry” he apologises once the sobs subside, he’s meant to be taking care of Izzy, instead he’s a sobbing wreck.

“It’s fine Bonnet”

It suddenly hits him that Izzy must have been the one to give him blankets and the pillow, but he can’t understand why. Maybe he just feels like he owes Stede after he saved them both. “You don’t have to” he finds himself saying.

“What?” Izzy looks confused at the statement

“You don’t have to help me, I’ll be fine”

Izzy shakes his head “You can be such an idiot”

“So I’ve been told” Stede replies, he’s heard that enough times.

Izzy growls in frustration, not with Stede but with himself, he’s always found it difficult to communicate. “I just mean, maybe I’m helping you because I want to, not out of any obligations or pity”

Stede blinks, not sure how to respond to that “Uhh okay then, thank you Izzy”

He watches as Izzy brings over a bucket of water, dipping a flannel in it before wiping it over his skin, taking extra care when he reaches the scars from the cat. It feels nice, to be cared for like this, even if it’s a bit weird that this care is coming from Izzy.

Izzy unfurls the bandage wrapped around his thigh “This happen on the rowboat?” he asks

“Yeah, one of them grabbed me from behind, stabbed me before I even realised what was happening” He doesn’t mention that he’d got slightly distracted by how hot Izzy had looked fighting those navy soldiers.

“You gotta be careful, your crew need you” I need you was left unspoken.

“I’ll be fine Izzy, I’ve got you haven’t I” hissing slightly when Izzy pours rum over his wound.

“Yeah, s’pose you have” offering a small smile as he applies a fresh bandage to the wound.

He helps Stede sit up, leaning him against the wall. “Here, eat this” handing him a chunk of bread.

“Where did you even get all this?”

“Did what any good pirate does, took what isn’t mine” he answered with a shrug, passing Stede the bottle of rum

“Were you at least careful, this island will be swarming with naval soldiers”

Izzy scoffed “I am capable you know Bonnet”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, I just worry”

Izzy seemed generally taken aback by that “You worry about me?”

“Course I do” He hadn’t meant to start worrying about the first mate, when he had first returned to The Revenge he had wanted to hate the man, had dreamt about killing him. Now he just wanted to protect the man, care for him in any way he would let him.

He’s starting to think that Izzy feels the same way, the man himself had said that he wants to take care of him. It’s probably the nicest thing Izzy had ever said to him. Had risked his life to steal things to help him, brought him blankets and a pillow to make him more comfortable.

Once he’s finished eating, Izzy helps him lay back down. “Have you slept?” he asks.

“I’m fine”

“That’s not what I asked Israel”

“No”

“Well come on then, opening the blanket for Izzy to join him”

“Bonnet I-“

“Izzy” he chastises “I need my first mate well rested”

“Fine” he relents, taking off his unicorn leg before laying down next to him on the blanket.

Stede moves his head so they can share the one pillow, they’re now so close he can hear Izzy’s breathing, it’s actually quite soothing. He tucks them both under the blanket. At some point their hands meet in the middle, fingers intertwining, neither man acknowledges it.

“I’ll get us back to The Revenge Izzy, I’ve done it once I can do it again”

Eventually they’ll find The Revenge again, relieved to see that all the crew made it back onto the ship, in return they’ll be relieved to see them. They’ll continue to sail as captain and first mate but also as partners. But for now, they’re here, together, and maybe that can be enough.

A/N This is my first time writing Stizzy, I hope I did okay. This is set sometime at the end of season 2 if the last couple episodes didn’t happen. This is written as Stizzy but feel free to interpret it as pre- Steddyhands if you so wish, maybe they retrieve Ed from his fishing on the way back who knows.

[frostbitebakery]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

I got tagged by the lovely @thejediandthemandalorian thank you 💜💜💜

1.) How many works do you have on ao3

15

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

147,444 words

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

"Writing" is such a strong word. Codywan is the one that inspires me the most at the moment to the point I want to add little backstories.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

I Got My Head Checked

Outtakes of IGMHC

Art for IGMHC

black

Codywan Art and Hubris

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to!! When someone is kind enough to leave a reaction, I should thank them at the very least! Excuse Number 1: I get overwhelmed easily. Excuse Number 2: Especially with long or thoughtful comments, when I answer those I feel like that's the end of that interaction and I don't want that to end

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's gotta be one of the Mood Color Panties that ended with an emotional cliffhanger...

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uhhhhh in terms of happy ending to fic setting ratio? Probably the MCU/Snowpiercer crossover that ends somewhat like the movie wherein they discover that not everything on the outside world is dead and gone.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet? *crosses fingers*

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I have written smut. With BDSM and lingerie. But I don't feel the smut groove anymore. Once in a while I do like to dabble in erotica when drawing though

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've officially written one (1) crossover of MCU/Snowpiercer. Unofficially, I've chucked words at friends about The Covenant/Fantastic Four where Johnny Storm and Chase Collins are roommates for whatever reason and Chase is trying to close a portal to Hell and fighting off demons while Johnny is oblivious to it all until his Lucky Charms are gone.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. Plenty of art got stolen though.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yus! A smutty stucky one-shot got translated into Russian

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Does The Unlucky Ones count??? I just wanted spoopy Cody but I can't not do backstory for AUs, so my mind is churning out the lore. Then @adiduck was like, “hey, I have some ideas for TUO, how about--“ and then I buried her in the sandbox. The only bits I wrote (with Adi's blessing) are the snippets on the artworks. She is writing the fic while we both excitedly yell at each other.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Just one???? All of them have a special place

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don't have any fic WIPs atm

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh quite a lot of people pointed out that my pacing is good, and some people like my humor! Thank you <3

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm too rushed. And like, a whole lot of technical stuff I don't know.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I like it. It can add a lot of things to the characters, plot, or setting. What I personally don't like if the words in another language are in italics.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Weiß Kreuz. It's in German and the forum it was posted on is long gone. There's an FMA fic on ff.net still. You won't find that one either.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I Got My Head Checked :D It started as a naive "lolol what would I want Sithywan to look like? just the once", grew to "But listen, Glimmer, it would be so funny if Sithywan is like "I need a week" as his estimation for how long he needs for Cody to spill every secret ever to him, and it ends with Sithywan just getting up in the cell like he's never been injured/tortured at all and going like "Thank you, that's all I need" like some method acting Black Widow type, but internally starting his journey of “omfg I want him carnally and emotionally””, and then it spiraled into 75k words with more catharsis for me as a person than should be possible. And a greenhouse. More IGMHC trivia!!

Oban Ouaine, Qui-Gon's Cody's Venator, is Gaelic for little green bay. I wanted a connection of Qui-Gon and his fandom plants. And I thought Oban Ouaine sounds a little bit like Obi-Wan

the original plan was that the whole Venator is like a jungle with plants everywhere. @elwenyere brought up "they have a greenhouse?" and I ran with that instead, not knowing it would turn into a central stage for hope and healing for the characters

TAG YOU'RE IT: @adiduck @elwenyere @ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing @meebles @merlyn-bane @wrennette @lttrsfrmlnrrgby and anyone who wants to bc this was fun!