#how to escape from a collapsed parking structure

[ambernotember]

Good job team, I think we did it

continuing my magic au from BucktommyAUpril (even though technically this is a prequel).

on ao3

“Oh this is fucking brilliant,” Sal snarled, slamming his hand against the concrete slab beside him. “Deluca, could you not?” Hen asked, gritting her teeth. “I’m trying to keep us from getting pancaked, I don’t need your yapping.” “How are you doing that?” Tommy asked curiously. “Metal,” Hen ground out. “In the supports.” “Okay, maybe we stop asking her questions right now,” Chimney said. “And do what we can to find a way out of here.” “If we can’t get any air, it’s not going to matter,” Sal muttered.

tag list: @chimneyz @desert--moonchild @bandluvr97 @swagmaster9k @geekwarrior107 @racerchix21 @fan-of-a-lot @bybobbysbeard @adhd-dean @styxhuntress @owlgirl495 @setmeatopthepyre @a-simple-space-gay @fuselsstuff

interact with this post to be added/removed

[hangels]

art donaldson x younger florist!reader headcanons

꒰ differences through flowers. ꒱ — bot !

🌷 — It’s months after he’s stepped away from tennis. He’s still reeling from the aftermath. the headlines, the noise, the echo of a marriage turned battlefield. Art is out of the spotlight, but never far from the weight of it. He finds your flower shop by accident. It’s small and tucked into a quiet corner near the park. He only walks in to escape the heat. Or the silence.

The shop is filled with overgrown green and golden light. It smells like lavender, eucalyptus, and something sweeter he can’t name. You’re in the back, talking softly to a pot of wilting violets. “They’re dramatic,” you explain when you catch him watching. “They die fast, but they come back stronger.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he returns the next day.

🌷 — Art is late 30s. You’re mid 20s. He’s lived through fame, failure, and the slow collapse of everything he thought was real. You’re the opposite of everything he’s known. Kind. Undemanding. You talk about flowers like they’re people and laugh with your whole chest. You don’t know who Tashi is. You don’t ask about the scars beneath his charm.

He resists you for a while. He tells himself it’s wrong, too much, too fast. He says, “You should be with someone who isn’t still bleeding.” You just smile and hand him a thornless rose. “Even bleeding things deserve to bloom.”

🌷 — Art is cautious. Not because he doesn’t want you, but because he does, and it terrifies him. You live your life like nothing’s impossible. He lives like nothing good ever lasts.

He tells you, “You don’t know what you’re getting into. I’ve got more behind me than ahead.” You reply, “Good. That just means you have less time to waste on pretending you don’t care.”

His guilt shows up in strange ways. He’ll compliment you and then withdraw, or spend hours helping you rearrange the shop but go cold when you touch his hand too long. You don't chase him. You just leave little bundles of lavender or rosemary by his locker at the gym, or tucked into the pages of whatever book he’s pretending not to re-read.

🌷 — Your flower shop is your haven. bright windows, dirt-smudged counters, overflowing with plants, petals, mismatched vases, and calming playlists. He’s drawn to it in a way he can’t admit. It’s everything tennis used to be to him: precise and beautiful and alive.

He helps you fix shelves, hang lights, organize inventory, always saying it’s “just to keep busy.” But you catch the way he looks at you when you laugh with a customer or tuck a stray leaf behind your ear.

🌷 — His world is orderly: gym, therapy, unread books, a structured morning routine he clings to like armor. Yours is messy, loud, warm. coffee stains on your counter, plant clippings in your hair, playlists that jump from jazz to indie to 90s hip hop.

You bring chaos into his home. a chipped teacup, a crate of peonies, a sketchbook you forgot under his couch. He pretends it annoys him. He starts leaving space for it. He starts showing up early. Lifting bags of soil. Fixing your backdoor hinge. Standing behind you as you make arrangements, arms crossed but eyes soft.

One day you hand him a bouquet and say, “This is how I feel about you.” It’s wildflowers and olive branches, a little unbalanced, full of meaning.

He doesn’t speak. He just holds it to his chest.

🌷 — His day is rigid: coffee, painkillers, thirty minutes of PT, cold shower. Even now, he keeps routines like armor.

You walk into the shop at 10:07, tea in one hand, a paper bag of muffins in the other. You rearrange everything based on mood. You stop mid-task to write down ideas, or talk to a customer, or just watch the way dust catches the light. He calls you disorganized. You call him uptight.

But you both secretly admire the other. he envies your softness. You admire his sharpness. He doesn’t say much. You say everything. And somehow, it balances — your chatter softens the silence around him, his silence gives you somewhere to land.

🌷 — Mornings when he watches you water plants barefoot and wonders how long he’ll get to keep you. Nights when you hold him like he’s breakable. not because he is, but because he’s never been held gently. You kiss the scar on his knee without comment. He runs his hand down your spine like he’s counting each bone, making sure you’re real.

You write him notes and leave them in coat pockets. He doesn’t mention them, but he folds each one and keeps them in a drawer. He starts to believe in things again. Not in tennis. Not in redemption. Just… in waking up next to someone who stays.

🌷- You make love like it’s an extension of conversation. warm, unhurried, curious. You ask with your hands. You listen with your mouth. he makes love like you’re scared you’ll disappear.

Sometimes it’s slow, reverent. He traces every inch of you like he’s memorizing a map he’ll be forced to abandon. Other times it’s desperate. Like he’s trying to fill a space inside himself he knows is unfillable. You don’t always understand his silence afterward. the way he curls away, breath caught in his throat like guilt.

Eventually you ask, “What do you think I see when I look at you?”And he confesses: “Someone I don’t deserve. Someone who doesn’t know how broken I really am.”

You kiss his jaw. “I do. And I love you anyway.”

🌷 — You hum while watering your plants. You sleep with your window open. You believe in signs, in timing, in things working out. You think fate is something you can meet halfway.

He sits with old notebooks, dog-eared regrets, and unopened letters from people who stopped writing when he stopped winning. He walks like someone used to being left behind.

You think about what you’ll be doing five years from now. He thinks about what he’d do differently if he could go back. You talk about growing things. He talks about loss like it’s a skillset.

And still, every evening, you find your way to the same couch. The same silence. The same body. Because sometimes love isn’t about matching. It’s about holding still in someone’s gravity long enough to stop falling.

🌷 — Art doesn’t get it at first. He thinks floristry is just… arranging pretty things. He’s respectful, but distant about it. You see it in his tone. The polite curiosity. The raised brow.

But then he stays a little longer one day, watching you speak to a client ordering for their daughter’s funeral. The way your fingers move gently, your voice soft but certain. The way you select each bloom like it’s an offering, not a product.

“Why that one?” he asks when you place a pale freesia into the arrangement. “It means innocence,” you say. “But the kind that still lingers, even after death.” He doesn’t say anything else. But he looks at you differently after that. Like you’re doing something sacred.

🌷 — He pretends he’s just “curious.” But you start noticing books on Victorian floriography on his nightstand. Scribbled notes in his handwriting. Googled screenshots in his photos app. He asks seemingly random questions at dinner:

“What does a red carnation mean?” or “What flower do you hate the most?” or “If someone gave you wisteria, what would that say to you?”

One day he brings you a wild, weird bouquet: anemones, dark tulips, blue hyacinths, and a single yellow iris. You realize what it says, roughly translated: ‘I carry guilt. I’m afraid. But I want to tell the truth. And I still hope. ‘

You don't say a word. You just kiss him until he forgets how to breathe.

🌷 — You have completely different lives. He’s private. You’re expressive. He wants to keep your relationship quiet. You want to wear it like wildflowers in your hair. It’s not always easy.

There are moments where you wonder if it’s worth it. If the silences will grow wider than the love between them. But then he shows up after a long shift with your favorite pastry, already warmed.

Or you fall asleep on the couch and wake up with his hoodie around your shoulders and his hand in yours. The relationship doesn’t make sense to most people. But it makes sense to you. And sometimes, that’s the only thing that matters.

wanna join my taglist? > here !

[absensia-archived]

BY ITS TRUEST DEFINITION, "CORNERED" WAS THE WRONG WORD FOR THE DILEMMA THE DETECTIVE AND HIS BLONDE FOUND THEMSELVES IN. IT IMPLIED A CERTAIN HELPLESSNESS THAT WOULD BE GRAVELY MISPLACED IF EVER APPLIED TO EITHER OF THE BODIES PRESENT. BUT WHAT'S THE BETTER WORD? TRAPPED: CERTAINLY NOT. NO ONE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR HAD FELT IT NECESSARY TO LAY A TRAP. CAPTURED: ABSURD. NO ONE EVEN KNEW THEY WERE THERE, IN THE DARK. CAUGHT? NO. NOT YET ANYWAYS.

Cozy. Yes, that was more like it. A smirk played its way across Charlotte's lips, the shape of her mouth seemingly cut in two ( mismatched, like a pencil dropped into a half - full glass of water, ) by a sliver of light coming in through a slit in the old linen closet door. No one should've been in the house and it had been empty when they slipped through an open window like smoke, like sunlight. More importantly, no one should've come home. This house sat lonely under a dead man's name. It has for years, and for years, no one had come to examine it, resurrect it, or speak to it. That is, until now.

@valereius / A HEART TO HEART

When a dead man's cold case of a murder suddenly became of interest again, his house would naturally become the first witness, approached for questioning. The good thing about a house was that it couldn't run. Burn down? Sure. Decay until it was so structurally unsound that it couldn't abide a LIVING CREATURE in it without moaning and threatening collapse? A common fate! But at least it wouldn't run. What Charlotte didn't see coming and yet, wasn't surprised to see happen, was the arrival of not one, not two, but three of the local gangs at the doors of the very same house for what sounded like negotiations over land and resource re - distribution. For years, no one had looked at this house that sat on the very edge of the city without a single standing neighbour. Not even those damn house - flipper sorts. Until today. Well, well, from lonely to all - too - popular.

Anyone else would be looking for someone to blame as unlucky, but Charlotte didn't believe in burdening one person with all the bad luck. It was never just one person, or just one thing. Misfortune was, more often than not, a group effort. So, she was more than willing to take on some of the blame. After all, it wasn't as if the detective was standing alone in this tiny, dusty closet. Even if there was only room for one.

Cozy, indeed. There hadn't been enough time to escape out the back door unnoticed. Three sets of enforcers, footmen, runners, and low - level yes - men had arrived near simultaneously, flooding the house ( not - so ) slowly but surely. A perimeter had been quickly ( impressively ) set and Charlotte could thought how lucky they were that David had parked his car several blocks away. The meeting was in the dining room and was approaching its first hour of minutes. The shadows of the restless patrol would go by and sink them into total darkness. As another passed, the floor seemed to tilt and Charlotte tightened the grip she had on David's jacket, leveraging her balance for a moment. The guard moved away, the house stifled a groan, and the chatter continued to flow without a hitch downstairs. This close, she could do little more than roll her gaze upward and peer at Loki through her lashes and a heavy lock of her hair that hung down over one eye.

A single peel of laughter rose to an awkward crescendo only to die off alone, and Charlotte's smirk split into a grin. He had to have known: if she could've laughed, she would've. But her shoulders did not even shake and the dust that surrounded them slept undisturbed. Nibbling on her lower lip, Charlotte waited for the choir of voices to begin weaving, overlapping, melding once more before adding her own hushed voice to the soundscape. " Hey, " she begun, so gently her words could've been sounding from a dream within a dream. " What d'you want for your birthday? "

[jaeyunverse]

losing game

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genres: heavy angst, fluff if you squint real hard, dystopian, apocalypse au, lovers to exes

wc: 1089

warnings: death, violence, open ending

playlist: arcade by duncan laurence (i strongly recommend listening to the song as you read!)

summary: loving park sunghoon had always been a losing game. it was all borrowed time anyway.

note: repost from my old blog!! i’ve poured a lot of feelings into this fic and it’s my proudest piece of angst so far :”) i hope it is to your liking! feedback is always appreciated <33 do let me know what you think of the ending :D

masterlist

Destruction, pain and suffering—they were everywhere.

In the car crashes that blocked the roads, the dead bodies inside as mangled as the metal destroyed in the collision. In the trucks that toppled over broken suspension bridges and into the waiting waters below. In the anguished screams of a mother searching for her child’s lost stroller in a city full of chaos.

In the skyscrapers that once touched the sky, now collapsing to the ground like dominoes. In the black, suffocating smoke that corrupted the chilly mid-morning air. In the ear-splitting bomb explosions that threatened to shatter everything apart.

Destruction, pain and suffering swirled in your red-rimmed eyes. They made your bones shiver from within. They mocked you and laughed at you, ever the merciless abominations.

You were pushed into a room in one of the last standing structures in the city. The shackles around your wrists rattled, the ones binding your legs making you stumble. The cloth covering the entirety of your bloody face didn’t make things any easier.

A powerful kick to your spine had you falling to your knees, and your palms immediately opened in front of you to break your fall. Stones and broken pieces of cement and ruin pierced your skin, drawing hot blood and inflicting the kind of pain you were starting to get used to.

Over the past few weeks, you had learnt that getting used to the pain didn’t guarantee immunity from the agony caused by it. Handling the torment became slightly easier, but it still hurt a lot. Especially when the person delivering it was—

“Remove the mask. I want her to see me.”

Someone tugged the cloth away, accidentally ripped a few strands of your hair in the process. Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t make a single sound. The sudden abundance of sunlight blinded you for a moment and you had to shield your eyes from its unforgiving intensity.

As soon as your eyes adjusted to the brightness, you saw him.

Park Sunghoon was, is and will be the most beautiful human being you’ll ever lay your eyes on. He stood five feet and nine inches tall, but from your kneeling position, he looked no shorter than six feet in height. He was adorned in a pair of tightly fitting black leather pants and a white t-shirt that hugged him in all the right places.

A leather jacket covered his strong biceps and veiny arms. His feet were clad in ankle-high combat boots and every inch of his body was covered with weapons.

Two guns in his hands and two swords strung across his back. You knew without a doubt that the inside of his jacket hid more knives than you could count on your hand. His body alone was a weapon. Everything else was just for display. And back up, if things made a turn for the worse—which they never did.

He slyly smiled at you as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Hello, Y/N. How have you been?”

You chose to keep your mouth shut and not respond. You didn’t know if you could answer Sunghoon firmly. Not when you felt so broken and exhausted.

“Leave us alone,” he commanded when you stayed silent, not tearing his gaze from yours for even a second.

You heard his soldiers file out of the room without question. The door slammed shut, and a tear finally escaped your eye. “Why?” you whispered, the muscles in your throat tightening and your voice cracking with emotion.

Sunghoon kneeled in front of you and wiped your moist cheeks with the kind of tenderness that sent your temper flaring.

He didn’t get to be gentle with you. Not after what he had done.

“I have to do what I’m told, Y/N,” he said. “I don’t give the orders. I simply follow them.”

What he didn’t need to specify was that his ‘orders’ required him to destroy the city.

You pressed your lips together in a futile attempt to stop them from wobbling. “Do what you need to do.”

You meant for the words to come out strong, but your voice trembled. You couldn’t bear the pain anymore. You could only hold on and hope for so long.

“I’m sorry. I wish things were different,” Sunghoon murmured. Cupping your face with his palms, he kissed your forehead softly. You didn’t resist him, choking back a sob when his lips lingered. “I’m so sorry, love. I don’t have a choice.” He pulled away. “I’m sorry for betraying you.”

You stared at him wordlessly. He nodded and stood up again, moving away from you and going back to where he was standing previously.

“Any last words?” he asked, voice clear and loud enough for the men standing outside to hear. Sunghoon raised a hand and aimed his gun at your tear-streaked and utterly devastated face.

You closed your eyes and let everything go. You reminisced the memories one last time. You let his smiling face flicker by. You imagined feeling the warmth of his embrace and the softness of his lips on yours. You imagined feeling the velvety texture of his hair as you wove your hands through the silky strands.

You thought of his betrayal for one last time. The deception that tore your heart apart.

You remembered the truth and recalled the lie of your relationship. The reality of the organisation he worked for the entire time. The organisation that was hell-bent on destroying your city and had realised you possessed sensitive information. The organisation that had sent Sunghoon to break down your walls and extract it.

You opened your eyes and looked at him one last time. Park Sunghoon was, is and will always be the most beautiful person you’ll ever lay your eyes on.

Park Sunghoon will also be the last person you’ll ever lay the same eyes on.

You took a deep breath and whispered, “I love you.”

He pulled the trigger.

[brettsey-two-tts]

Fic title: You are my home

Brettsey

I'd write about Sylvie's insecurity after Stella and Severide's wedding.

She's seen Matt's life in Portland firsthand; he's shown her around his favorite spots, his favorite restaurants, and even his favorite bar. He holds her hand when he shows her this little town a ways away from the Darden's house that takes two hours to get to. It's a quaint town that kind of reminds her of where she grew up in Fowlerton. Most of the patrons know Matt by name and wave to him from their front porches. Matt then explains that he was in the area when a fire broke out and he helped contain it before it got out of hand.

She listens to him talk about all his wildfire fighting and cool Portland fires that are much different than Chicago's. He talks about his Chief, the one that makes the best spaghetti and meatballs he's ever had, his crew that became close-knit after a structural collapse that trapped them in an underground parking lot for twenty minutes, and a hamster that one of the paramedics found on the sidewalk that took two hours to capture after it escaped from a cardboard box (the little girl that was looking for it was pleased to see her hamster was unharmed).

After she saw Matt off at the airport so he could fly back to Oregon, she felt her heart break in two. His life was no longer in Chicago. From what she witnessed, he had a new life, a new routine, and new spots to enjoy. What was missing was someone to spend all that time with and she was no longer that person. Her life was in Chicago. Her work was in Chicago, and her family was in Chicago.

After a few regular nightly calls, Matt asks her if she's okay because she's been quieter lately. Since Stella and Severide's wedding, she hasn't been as happy or excited to talk about what she did in the last twenty-four hours. He's used to her excitedly high-pitched 'hello' the moment their call connects but it's turned quieter and gentler.

After a lot of gentle poking, she confesses that she's worried about their relationship. She tells him about how good his new life looks and how happy she is for him. She tells him all these things and he notices the signs. She doesn't say the words 'break up' and he knows she doesn't want to but he can read her like the back of his hand and from the heightened tone of her voice, he can tell she's on the verge of crying. It reminds him of when they were slow dancing when she was about to cry as she said to him that her life was in Chicago.

"You should spend your life with someone you can share it with day in and day out," she tells him. Her pause is long and her sigh is shaky. "Someone you can call home."

"You are my home, Sylvie," he tells her without hesitation. He's upset but not because of her. He's upset at himself for letting her think he wants to spend his life with someone else. "You always have been and you always will be. We have two years left and I know it sounds like a long time but I don't want you to think I'd rather spend those years with someone else. I want to spend them with you and it doesn't matter if it's on the phone or through text messages or in-person in three-day intervals. I only want you. At the end of the day, you're all I think about."

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

[milstrim]

Home Is in My Arms

Tony Stark had had a daughter.

Her name had been Penelope.

She had had superpowers.

And he hadn't seen her in four years.

The ten year-old had last been seen on March thirty-first, 2012. The day of the Chitauri invasion. Tony had seen her that morning, and he guessed he could at least be grateful that their last interaction hadn't been like his own with his parents. Instead of a fight that was never resolved, the two had giggled on the couch of the newly furnished tower, him and Pepper with glasses of wine and Penny with her mint milkshake. Pepper had side-eyed them exasperatedly, as though their laughs and jokes had been the worst ruckus anyone had ever made.

And then Coulson. And then Steve. And then Natasha and Bruce and a God he had learned about in history when he was younger. And then Loki and the Helicarrier and explosions that had left Tony's head ringing--but nothing had hurt more than the loss of his friend.

Everything had gone by so quickly, so desperately, there had been no time to do anything about anything except gear up and go. The biggest reassurance he had given himself was that his homework had caused Pepper and Penny to leave the city for a couple of days while the girl was on Spring Break. It meant they were safe from everything was about to happen, and that he didn't have to worry past New York.

And they had won. The Avengers had been formed under desperate circumstances. They had saved the world.

And Penny had been gone.

Pepper had left on the plane, but Penny had managed to convince her godmother that she should stay at her friend's house for a sleepover. The aliens hadn't even been able to make it past the perimeter and into Queens, but the hectic of it had been enough. Or maybe she had run off to help. Even at ten she was braver than he was. Better. And equipped with superpowers from a field trip's rogue spider that made her stronger than even Captain America.

But it hadn't been enough.

No body was ever recovered. No trace of her was ever found. No footage or DNA or witnesses. There was nothing. Nothing for him to even try and grasp onto what had happened to her. How she had died. The best anyone could do was assume that a Chitauri weapon had vaporized her and to try to grieve from there.

And by God did he try.

After the Mandarin and almost losing Pepper, he'd put in more effort than he ever had. He visited the grave where no body was buried, leaving flowers and trinkets and books he knew she would have loved. He talked. To people who had known her like he had. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and even Natasha.

The two had been so close when the woman had spied on him. Closer than he had been, still trying to change and learn to be a father better than his own after Afghanistan. He'd been dying and hadn't focused on anything but himself. About what he wanted to do before he was gone, instead of what would happen to his family afterwards.

So Tony tried. He tried a lot, but trying didn't always end in success. No, sometimes it ended in helicarriers made for HYDRA to control. Or a robot meant to protect only trying to destroy. Or in the fracturing of the Avengers, with Natasha and Steve on the run while the others sat in a max security prison that he spent every living moment trying to get them out of.

Except for now. Or maybe now too. Tony didn't know why Natasha had texted him. Only that she had betrayed him and texted only a couple of weeks later with a location out in Birmingham, England and nothing else but the message 'Get here quick.'

And he had. With nothing but a quick word to Pepper to keep Ross off of his aching back for a day, he'd stepped onto his plane and arrived in just over six hours. From there the billionaire had stepped into a waiting car and zoomed towards the address the spy had sent him, his heart racing just as fast as the vehicle's as he curved through city traffic.

Tony's thoughts strayed to Steve and Barnes and what had happened the last time he'd zoomed off to help his teammate. He swallowed down on his stuttering fear, reassured partly by the guantlet-watch sat snugly on his wrist and partly because he knew Natasha. Well, he knew her better than he ever had Steve anyway. Him and Natasha had fought, and there'd always been room for disagreements and anger, but at the end of the day they knew each other. And they were family.

The mechanic pulled up outside the run-down apartment complex, giving it a onceover before parking, pulling a baseball cap on low, and stepping out.

There was a drizzle, light and cold for the summer, even in England. He frowned, but only pulled his hood up with a shiver and stepped through the rusted metal gate, allowing him access to the first floor of apartments and a set of spindly stairs that he hoped didn't lead to any kind of locked door. He didn't exactly have a key, and Tony would prefer to not draw any attention to himself while here.

The man didn't need anymore grief from Ross. Not while he was desperate to pin something on Tony, and meeting with a violator of the Accords wouldn't exactly do much for his public image.

Biting on a sigh, Tony headed up the stairs towards the apartment number that Natasha had sent him. Thankfully, there was no locked door in his way, and the only person in the hallway that the stairs had led him to seemed to be much too out of it to pay him any mind. Quicker than he really would have liked, Tony was outside Apartment 9B, the number rusted and close to falling off of its hinges. Sucking in a breath, he knocked.

It only took a few seconds for the door to click! and then crack open just enough for him to catch familiar blue eyes and cropped platinum hair interrupted by a second lock's chain.

Natasha let out a short breath of relief, unlocking the door fully and opening the door just enough that he could slip inside. He glanced around the apartment once as she locked the door back up, surprised to see it was basically exactly what he had expected. It was small and old, orderly but not quite well-kempt, with evidence of past fights staining and fracturing the walls.

"Nice place," he commented. "Very runaway."

"Very last minute," Natasha responded. "It's not as easy as you think it is to get an apartment when everyone's trying to arrest you."

"You seem to slip away no matter what. By the way, how did you get away from Ross last week? I've got to know your trick on that, because I could use some pointers."

Natasha stopped beside him, a small smile tugging at her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. Despite his forcefully loose and nonchalant posture, Tony felt himself freeze up looking at the Avenger. Her expression, no matter what it was, had always been hard for Tony to discern when she was practically the perfect spy. But now, this smile--it was sad and joyful and regretfully guilty.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to something softer. Rarely sincere.

Natasha glanced away from him to stare at a door for a moment before glancing back at him. Her lips twitched and her eyes threatened tears in a way that he hadn't thought she would express to him.

She swallowed. "Penny's alive. And I found her."

Tony--

Tony didn't react. Not for nearly a minute. Instead he stared, his entire body stilling--even his damaged heart--before he seemed to come back to life all at once like a broken wound-up toy.

The man stumbled back a step, falling into the nearest gray wall. One lonely breath coming in in a strangled gasp as he willed for something--anything--to make sense. 

"She's alive?"

Natasha nodded.

"How?" he demanded. "How--in England? From New York? There's no way anybody could've just taken her while I was--"

The man cut himself off, dragging in another wheeze that rattled through his entire chest. His legs began to collapse under him, but his friend caught him, managing to maneuver him onto the floor slowly. Tony leaned against the wall as Natasha sat beside him, her head propped up against the wall beside him.

Neither said anything. Not for a few minutes at least at Tony's shaking and gasping ebbed. Not until he could force out images and nightmares of Penny his mind had tortured him with for years. He locked them in a box and dropped it in an ocean of useless thoughts, because his daughter was alive. Because she wasn't dead and none of it--a painful death full of fear and confusion while Tony was only blocks away that he had been tortured by for years--had ever happened.

Natasha spoke up when he'd finally managed to take in eight consistent breaths.

"I was raised in the Red Room," she started. "I was taken from my family and tortured for years. I tried to make a family there, and I did. For a little bit at least. But that family was taken too, replaced by the only world I had ever known. One based on pain and dictated structure. A cruel trick to play on a child, but it was normal for the Red Room. What wasn't normal was me not only succeeding more than they had ever dreamed, but succeeding past them. Escaping and deserting. Killing Dreykov was the last step of my defection to SHIELD. It was revenge and justice all at once. The others would be freed and I could clear out my ledger in a life I chose."

She swallowed, taking a moment.

"I failed. I failed and I didn't know." Natasha turned from staring ahead at the wall to stare at Tony. Suffering blue met broken brown, tired and guilty reflecting. In a whisper, she said, "Dreykov lived. He lived until a week ago. And the Red Room, and every Widow in it, lived under him."

Tony was touched to be trusted this much. To be trusted with even a sliver of what his friend had gone through in such a time of suspicion and betrayal. But he was scared. He was terrified, because Natasha never shared just to share. Everything she said had a point, a reason, a direction.

He tore his eyes away, shoving a hand over them and letting his head drop onto his knees. Unwillingly, he croaked, "No... Nat, please don't tell me--"

"Penny's a Widow."

Tony bit his lip, chewing on his cheek so harshly there was the tang of blood in his mouth. He took a moment, letting his head fall against the cracked and stained cement wall. Penny was alive. And she had been trained--no. Natasha's descriptions, however few and miniscule they had been, could not be described as simply training. Penny had been tortured. For four years. And what had he done but grieve and give up? If only he'd known. If only he'd found out sooner.

Natasha continued.

"The Red Room..." She took a breath and licked her lips. "After I escaped, they changed their whole system. Their method. How they hid and how they trained and--and how they controlled the women."

Something about the way Natasha said the last part sent a cold feeling down his throat.

"What did they do to her?" he croaked.

"They um...well, for lack of my understanding of it, they mind controlled her."

"They--Nat what? How would they even--"

"They controlled the brain’s neuropathways through external manipulation," came a new voice, their accent thick. Tony whipped his head around to stare at a woman he had never seen before. Like Natasha, she wore a regular hoodie and sweatpants but still looked as though she could take his life in less than a minute. There was an intensity about her, from her stance to her tied back hair to her ghostly blue eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "It was based off of blueprints for the Winter Soldier. Me and Natasha were part of the mission to retrieve them when we were young."

Despite the insanity of every new piece of information shot his way, he managed to piece it together in his head quickly enough that he opened his mouth to respond with a snapped remark, but Natasha managed to speak before he did.

"What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be looking after Penny."

"I was, but then I heard how badly you were explaining everything and I came to help." Natasha glared. "Relax. I finished braiding her hair and now she's pretending to be asleep so she can listen to everyone talking."

The last part was said with a pointed look down the narrow apartment hall, but everything after Natasha had said "Penny" didn't seem to make sense anymore.

"She's here?" he asked, already scrambling to his feet. He glanced between Natasha and the woman desperately. "Penny's here right now?"

"We found her yesterday," Natasha answered cautiously. "Me and Yelena just started to free the Widows deployed around the world. We managed to give her the antidote during a shootout in Estonia. After that a friend of mine managed to get us here."

"A shoot--is she okay?"

"Just a couple of burns," Yelena said. "She may be enhanced, but she still has plenty to learn. She could still kick your ass, though."

"Thank you. Truly," Tony said, a bite of sarcasm to his voice, before turning back to Natasha, his desperation bubbling. "Which room?"

"Tony, I don't think you need to just go bursting in there. Let me--"

Tony stopped listening, every word his friend was saying dying out on his ears as he spotted a brunette and wide brown eyes poking around the corner over Natasha's shoulder. He felt his breath catch in his throat as their eyes clicked.

Penny had grown. She'd sprouted almost an entire foot from the short ten year old she had been, awkward and gangly limbs that the girl had always seemed to struggle with were replaced by obvious muscle and carefully controlled movement as she stepped out from behind the wall, their stare still holding. Despite the sharper angle of her chin and jaw, she still held baby fat in her cheeks that dwindled the look of her down by a couple of years, not helped at all by the familiar roundness of her deeply brown eyes.

He swallowed. His voice broke.

"Penny?"

—-

“Penny?"

It had been years since Penny had seen her dad. Since she'd heard him. Anything about her father not privy to missions had been carefully shielded away from the teenager for years. Sometimes on the few missions she had been sent on she would catch news clippings and pictures on TV channels before she had to move on or that terrible voice in her mind would force her to ignore him. But, despite the scarcity of which she was allowed to know about her father, she had always thought about him.

Penny had swam in her memories whenever she could. Whenever she needed. She'd think about the games she and her dad had used to play. About lessons he'd taught her and days they'd spent together. About hugs and braided hair and kisses to her head. The memories had felt faint and washed away underneath everything, but she'd clung to them like a lifeline.

That being said, she hadn't expected Dad's voice to sound like that. For him to look like this. He was always so put together in her mind--so strong--even when he was messy from the lab or tired from a long day of work, always accompanied by fond child-like adoration. But now he didn't look it.

There were bruises on his face, faint but still noticeably purple. His hair wasn't as dark or thick as she remembered, growing back just a little higher on his hairline, and more lines grabbed and pulled at his face. But that wasn't what ruined her memory of strength and warmth, people aged after all, that was just reality. It was the expression on his face and glossing over his eyes. It was the way he'd said her name, so unsure and weary.

Penny, finally, looked away from Dad, instead glancing over at Yelena and trying not to look like she was too desperate for help. Yelena stared back, raising her brows and gesturing to Tony with a slight nod of her head, as if telling her to not be a coward. But Penny didn't know how to do that. Not now.

Thankfully, Natasha took over.

"I'm going to go get us some dinner. Yelena?"

Okay, so not the kind of help she'd been looking for.

Yelena gave Penny one last glance, nodded, and then followed the Avenger out of the door.

The door clicked shut and then it was just father and daughter.

"Penny," he tried again.

She hid a flinch at how small and tired his voice was, how broken he felt standing only feet from her. She hid her shock and her fear and apprehension exactly how she'd been taught, schooling her features into something easy and bored. She let her shoulders drop and her posture loosen, but the hardest part was hardening her stare. That had always been the biggest complaint of her handlers. Her senses had been sharp but her expression always so readable by her eyes.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice cool and casual on default. The words felt terrible leaving her lips, so she crossed her arms in an attempt to feel more stable. "It's been a while."

He chuckled, short and sad. "Yeah. You could say that."

And then there was silence. It trickled in, slow, awkward, and tense between them. Penny tried not to let it get to her, but she couldn't deny that she wasn't tired and disappointed. When Yelena had smashed the antidote beside her, it was the first time the teenager had seen clearly in a long time, and her first thought had been of her Dad. There had been worries about if he missed her and if he'd been okay, but a fear had stabbed at her so strongly that she was still thinking about it.

Would he still love her? After all she'd done? She had hurt people. She had killed people. Not in defense. Not in good reason. But in fear and control.

"I, uh..." Penny blinked at her dad's voice, beating away her thoughts and instead focusing back on the bruised and stuttering man in front of her. "Sorry. I would've thought of something better to say if I'd known I was going to see you again. Maybe some presents too. Do you still like those peanut butter cookies?"

"The ones we used to make?" she asked. "With the Hershey Kisses?"

"Those are the ones."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had them since I was with you."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess you wouldn't have..." he trailed off, glancing down for a moment. She stared at him, watching his expression carefully as he loosened and looked back up at her. "Well, we can't make them again? At home?"

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Penny couldn't stand how dull her voice sounds, like she couldn't care less about something that really made her want to cry in happiness. But...she didn't know what else to do. What to say. The Red Room had made sure she always knew what to do and what to say, but that had been for politicians and businessmen and people she was supposed to trick. She didn't want to trick her dad. She just--she wanted to--

Dad stepped closer, brows furrowed and mouth pulled down in a deep and concerned frown. She kept a wary eye on him as he approached, trying to force down feelings of apprehension and fear that she had become familiar with whenever anybody was in her space. But he stopped about a foot short, his reached out hand halting just away from her face as he whispered, "Oh, piccolina. It's okay." His voice broke. "It's okay. I'm gonna make sure it is... I promise."

And finally she broke.

And it hurt. It really, really hurt.

Penny leaned her cheek into his open hand as hot beads of tears caught on her eyelashes, allowing for Dad to cup his other hand around the back of her head and tentatively pull her in. It took the teenager a moment to adjust, so wired on the need to fight and never let her guard down, but then she just--crumpled.

Like a switch had been flicked, Penny buried her nose into his neck and wrapped her arms around him in a tight squeeze, swallowing down tears. Dad pulled her in tighter, his nose pressed into her tightly braided crown.

And then he sobbed.

It was a strangled, inhuman kind of sound that rumbled from his chest to escape the back of his throat. He cleared his throat, as if embarrassed, but Penny wasn't an idiot. She could still hear his heart thumping and feel a tear slip from his chin onto the back of her neck. It all shocked her, but the sound found itself ringing in her ears painfully more than anything.

She flinched in his hug.

"Oh, Penny. I'm so sorry," he apologized, his voice sore with tears. "So, so sorry."

"For what?" she asked. "Not finding me? You wouldn't have been able to, Dad, even being you. Draykov made sure of it."

"I don't care. I should've done something! I should've--I should've--"

"Dad." He fell silent as she pulled away from him, crossing her arms back over her chest as she came back to her training. Dad stared at her, his dark copper eyes as guilty as she felt. "Please, just... Don't be sorry. Because I'm sorry, and if you're sorry then we're both sorry and we can't both be sorry it's--"

"What on Earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Penny--"

"I'm not ten anymore, Dad. I don't think I'm even a kid anymore... I've--I've done too much harm. I have a lot to be sorry for."

Dad stared at her, a familiar sadness in his eyes. He chewed his cheek, brows furrowed in thought, and she was brought back to a time when she would watch him solve problems in the lab, or try to answer one of her inane questions that she never seemed to be able to stop asking.

"Let me ask you something," he started. "Do you think I'm a bad person? That I'm at fault for losing you?"

"No," she answered immediately, because her dad had always tried, no matter what. She'd known he wasn't perfect, and that a lot of people hated him for the mistakes he'd made, but she'd always known how much he really cared. How much he really cared and tried for the world. For the Avengers. For her.

"Well, then what makes you a bad person? What makes you not a kid anymore?"

Penny could only stare. She could only answer, "I've hurt people."

"I know. And I have too. But you don't think I'm a bad person, so you're not a bad person either. And what about Nat? Or your new very scary friend?"

"I forgot how much I hated arguing with you," she deadpanned.

"'Trying' to argue with me," he corrected, a smile pulling at his face. Surprisingly, she managed to smile back. Even more surprisingly, it didn't feel fake. Sure, it was small and tired, but Penny couldn't remember the last time she'd actually smiled. "See? Everything's going to be okay."

"How do you know?" she asked. "I'm a violator of the Accords. If it ever gets out that I was part of the Red Room--what I did for the Red Room--almost nothing could keep me out of prison. You'll have to explain how you found me and it would make you a violator--"

"I'll handle it," Dad said. "I always handle it. And just because you don't feel like a kid doesn't mean you aren't one. There are protections for you. And we found protections for Nat. Wanda too, if she would've taken them." He muttered the last part under his breath, the words emotionless but regret and guilt clear in his eyes. He cleared his throat and looked back at her with a raised brow. "And how do you know about the Accords? Do they have a current events class in the Red Room?"

"We do actually have to keep up with some events for missions. But, no. I've been reading old newspapers. Did you know you were on the front page for almost two weeks in June?"

"No. Nobody reads the paper anymore. Unless you're a dinosaur anyway."

"Uncle Rhodey likes the paper," she said with that still small but still real smile. "For the crossword puzzles."

"Yeah. Like I said: Dinosaur." With that, the jokes seemed to slide away as he took on a more serious tone. "But I'll handle it. I've already been trying to handle the Accords. You'll be safe, and free, at home, Penny. I promise."

"I can really come home?"

Dad paused. "Did you think you wouldn't?"

Penny shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to. I want to. But I just... I didn't know how safe it would be, and I know how to live by myself. How to avoid suspicion. I was...I was prepared for other options."

"If you were planning on running, why did you meet with me?"

"I don't know," she said. But truthfully, there had been a hole in her heart. A knot in her stomach. She'd just--she'd needed to see her dad. To apologize and let him know she was okay. She'd missed her family for so long, she had to imagine they'd missed her too. In fact, Penny had wanted nothing more to know they'd missed her. That those years in the Red Room wondering where her family was hadn't been because they didn't care.

Realistically, Penny knew Dad had missed her. Had loved her enough to grieve and look for her, but being there for so long--so terribly long--had been enough for seeds of doubt to sprout and root itself in her mind. But the teenager didn't tell her dad that. That would make him upset, and Penny was tired of being upset. Instead, she said, "Just missed you. Wanted to know that you're okay."

"Well, now you're gonna know every day," he said. "And you're going to know that Pepper is okay. And Rhodey and Happy. And you're never going to miss us again."

"Never?"

"Nope. Well, maybe when you go to school. But we can homeschool if you would prefer that. Would you?"

"Oh, uh, I don't--"

"Yeah, never mind. You don't have to know right now," he said with a wave. Then he smiled at her again, that genuine smile that squinted his eyes and pulled at his wrinkled laugh lines. "Right now, why don't we just go home?"

"Yeah," she said. And suddenly no other thought occupied her mind. Home was all she could think of. Of tall New York skyscrapers and the bustling city. Or maybe they'd go back to Malibu, even if his house was gone. Either way she'd see her uncle again. And Pepper. And Happy, who were all family to her. Family she hadn't seen in so long. "Let's go home."

Dad smiled, his eyes misty. Penny smiled back, taking his hand and leaning against him in another hug. He readily accepted, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

The best part: Nothing about him whispered danger. Or discomfort or uneasiness. There was just...comfort.

Just home.

It was the best feeling in the entire world.

—-

“Should we tell Uncle Rhodey we're on the way?"

"Nah. He loves surprises."

"He hates surprises."

"Exactly!"

Penny laughed. And the sound, the feeling, was just like home.

[snowdragon4]

Cops and Robbers. A Bbrae AU

As much as Rachel enjoyed her job, she couldn’t help, but feel exhausted coming home at the end of a long day. Maybe it was the fact that she was on her feet all day, thank goodness for whoever invented flats. Still it was stable and fine work, a solid nine to five, giving her enough time to get home to work on her novel. The monotony of her daily routine was broken up when on her way home she noted a healthy handful of police cars driving around her neighborhood.

“Huh? I wonder if Dick could let me know what’s going on?” She of course was referring to her cop neighbor, Dick Grayson, but driving by his house, all the lights were shut off. “Maybe he and Kory are out.” She shrugged it off and parked her car before entering her home.

She moved through the doors of her modest three bedroom home as she usually did. Keys and mail on the table by her door, purse and jacket on a hook, turned on the TV for a bit of background noise and a nice cold beer in the fridge calling her name. She figured she’d make herself dinner, take a hot bath, and settle in for a night of writing.

With the news in the background she went about her nightly routine.

“—citizens of Jump city should be advised that the suspect could be armed and dangerous. For those who are just joining, please be on the lookout for Garfield Mark Logan, who escaped police custody earlier this evening—“

She took a beer from the fridge and removed the cap. “If his parents named him ‘Garfield’ they belong in prison too.” She commented dryly.

“—Garfield is wanted for the murder—“

She had gone to the counter when something had occurred to her. Going back she opened the door to the fridge and noticed something.

She was a creature of habit and structure, bordering on obsessive compulsiveness, but it made sense to keep her world in order at least. She had so much practice in fact that she noticed things out of place, even if it was just a fleeting glance. In this case there was something wrong with her beer. Was she missing one? She went shopping the other day, and only allowed herself and one a day or less, so surely she couldn’t have had more than one.

She counted a few more times, but came to the conclusion that she was, somehow, short one beer.

She took a step back when she felt something crunch beneath her heel. Lifting her foot she saw a pebble and some dirt, something she hadn’t noticed before. Didn’t she just clean the other day? Looking around she noticed more and more dirt leading from her kitchen and to the back door.

A back door that wasn’t locked.

If there was one thing she was absolutely sure about, it was that she ALWAYS locked her doors.

Her blue eyes flitted to the TV, noting the news report about an escaped convict, but surely he wouldn’t have run into a suburban neighborhood. That kind of stuff only happened in movies. Right?

She broke into a run, heading for her front door, but her hand had barely touched the knob when she felt someone wrap their arm around her waist and a hand clap over her mouth. Reacting purely on instinct, she stumped on their foot, eliciting a manly grunt of pain, and elbowed them in the ribs causing them to release her.

Momentarily free, she ran for the back door, telling herself she just had to get next door to Dick and Korys house. Nobody may have been home, but she would have felt safer in a cops home.

She weaved through the kitchen, aware that he was right behind her, but she kept her eyes on the door. She put her hands around the knob, but felt a pair of hands grab her arms and pull her back. She stumbled over something, him possibly, and fell backwards, hitting her head on the counter and collapsing onto the floor unconscious.

—:0:—

Her head was pounding as she slowly came back to consciousness, but when she tried to move her hands, they were stuck, in fact she couldn’t move any part of her body. Regardless of how much pain she was in, her eyes snapped open, finding that she was tied to a chair. Her hands had been pulled behind the chair, rope wrapping around her wrists and to the bars of the chair. Her ankles had been tied to the bottom rung of the chair and rope had been thrown over her lap, waist, and shoulders to keep her tied firmly to the chair back. Moving her head she felt one of her scarves had been stuffed in between her teeth and tied behind her head.

Saying she was in trouble was an understatement.

She wanted to panic, but she forced her rational, obsessive mind to take control. She took a few breaths through her nose to assess her situation. Looking around she was in her bedroom, the curtains drawn and the door closed. She had been tied to one of her kitchen chairs with rope that she kept in her garage that she used when she went camping to enjoy nature and solitude.

Her panic returned.

She had been unconscious, did he…?

She looked at herself, and aside from the rope she was still in the clothes she was in when she got home, white button up shirt and black skirt with flats, and nothing had been removed. Aside from the pain in her head, and the discomfort of the rope, she didn’t feel pain anywhere else.

Her rational mind returned.

So he knocked me out? Tied me up, but didn’t take advantage of me? He’s probably looting my home. But all of her valuables were in her room, were she was alone.

Still, a strange man was in her home, she was tied up and helpless. This wasn’t good.

Red and blue lights flashed outside her window, and a spark of hope lit inside her. Using her whole body, she began pushing the chair towards the window. If she could somehow get the curtain open, maybe someone could see her and possibly rescue her.

It was worth a shot, but not to be.

The door to her room opened and her chair was quickly grabbed and pulled away from the window. She grunted and growled behind her gag, struggling against the tight ropes. Whatever he was going to do, she was going to make it as hard for him as possible.

But she wasn’t expecting this.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! Please calm down! please!”

She paused. Sorry? Please? She focused on the man, seeing that it wasn’t quite a “man” at all. He was young, twenties maybe, with disheveled blonde hair and a dirty complexion and clothing. His eyes were a piercing green that were pleading, fearful, and remorseful. Her brows narrowed, angry, but curious. What kind of home intruder was this?

He sighed in relief when she settled down. “Thank you.” He stood up and started pacing, his hands running through his blonde locks. “I am so, so, so, so, sorry about this. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Any of this. It's just—ugh!” She involuntarily flinched at his outburst. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry I didn’t mean…” He continued babbling incoherently, that was beginning to grate on her nerves, but looking past him, saw that he had brought in a water bottle. For her maybe?

“Uughmph!” She grunted to get his attention, then motioned her head towards the water bottle.

“Oh! Yeah!” He grabbed it and brought it towards her. “Sorry, I’m just,” he paused, “wait, you're not gonna scream are you?”

She watched him closely, he broke into her home, attacked her, tied her up, and was now helpless and at his mercy.

Yet she wasn’t afraid.

Slowly, she shook her head no. He eyed her for a moment, but slowly came up to slip the gag from her mouth.

She moved her jaw around, sighing with relief, but didn’t scream. “Thank you.” She could see weight being lifted from his shoulders and a small, attractive smile on his lips. “Um, water?”

“Oh yes!” He brought it to her lips and allowed her a small drink. Her eyes closed at the liquid cooling her insides, helping to soothe and calm her down. She finished and he took the bottle away.

“Thank you.” She flexed against the rope. “Now can you untie me?”

The weight returned, and his smile faded into a worried stare. “Um… not yet, but if you don’t scream I’ll keep the gag out.”

Their eyes met, and still she couldn’t find any malice or maliciousness. She didn’t feel threatened, rather this felt like a necessity for him, self preservation, like a cornered animal.

Still she had to keep her guard up.

“Fair enough.”

He sighed again, becoming more relaxed, and he sat on top of her bed, a heavy silence settling between them. “So, um, you’re probably wondering what’s going on?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m mildly curious.”

He laughed nervously. “Right. Well, um, I’m Gar, and I’m…”

“—on the run from the police?” He looked surprised, “you’re on the news. Everyone is looking for you.”

His eyes dipped with what looked like hurt. “Oh.” Her head tilted in curiosity as he leaned forward to put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

Now getting annoyed, “You’ve said that already.” She struggled against the ropes again. “Do you mind telling me what you're doing here?”

He lifted his head, wiping away a few tears. “Sor—erm, yes. Well,” he stood up, “I should start from the beginning I guess. So I was dating this girl, Terra, and I was crazy about her, but what she didn’t tell me was that another guy was obsessed with her. Some guy named Slade, I don’t know, but anyways he was stalking her, calling her, following her, all kinds of stuff.”

He slowed down, his voice tightening up. “I, uh, was at work, and when I got home…” his hands came up to his mouth, “she was…”

She couldn’t help but feel pity for him. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, wiping his tears again. “Thanks. Anyways I called the cops and when they showed up, they arrested ME?”

Her head lifted. “What? Why?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. They just showed up and slapped the cuffs on me! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

She waited a beat, wondering if he was serious or just stupid. “No. I have no idea what it’s like for someone to come uninvited to my home and restrain me against my will.”

He chuckled nervously. “Heh. Sorry—I mean. Um… anyways…”

There was silence for a moment or two. “Why did you escape? Why not just go to the station and plead your case?” She asked.

“I did! I mean, I wanted to…but I don’t know.” His hands ran through his hair again. “The cop car they took me in was T-boned, and the next thing I knew I was running for my life.”

She quirked a brow as she came to the conclusion on her own. “You mean you broke into my home by chance?”

He nodded. “It was the only home I saw with the lights off at the time, I picked the lock, and snuck inside. I grabbed a beer and was gonna leave when the heat died down, but then, I heard your neighbors leave so I hid.”

“Then I got home, and the rest is history.” She finished.

“Yeah. I hid as best I could, but when I saw you see the dirt on the ground, I knew I was done.” He motioned to the ropes. “I didn’t mean to do that to you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just panicked.”

She relaxed a bit. “I see.”

Silence again, this time a bit more uncomfortable. “So, um, what’s your name?”

He shrunk beneath her glare. “You broke into my home, knocked me out, drank my beer, and tied me up. We are not going to have small talk.”

He gulped with another nervous smile. “Cool.”

He clapped his hands on his knees. “So what now?” She asked.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

She pulled against the rope again. “Well if you're open to suggestions.”

“I know, I know, I can untie you and I will, I promise. I just need to think.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well take your time, it’s not like my hands need steady blood flow or anything.” She softened her tone. “But seriously. You need to turn yourself in, if you’re innocent then an investigation will show that.”

He nodded. “I know, I know. I guess I’m just not a fan of being caged or anything.” He stood up. “Just, give me a minute.” He left her alone, giving her a chance to test the ropes again, but they were unyielding. She couldn’t help but feel impressed by his knot work.

After a few minutes of struggling she sat back and relaxed, unable to free herself she had nothing left to do but wait for him to let her go. Hopefully soon since she had lost the feeling in her hands a while ago.

Finally after what felt like ages he returned. “Okay, here’s the plan.” He untied the scarf from her neck. “I’m going to turn myself in, but there’s some things I need to do first, but here’s the bad part. I’m gonna to leave you here.”

She was actually relieved to hear this. He wasn’t dangerous, sure, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be a hostage. “But I’m not gonna untie you either. I’m gonna make a 911 call and tell them about a pretty dark haired woman tied up and get the cops to come and untie you. Sound good?”

Her face was placid as she responded, but ultimately relieved. “Do I have a choice?”

He chuckled. “I guess not. Again, I’m sorry about all this.”

He brought the scarf to her mouth to regag her. “Rachel.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Rachel.”

He smiled. A wide smile that made her stomach flutter. “Rachel. Nice to meet you.”

—:0:—

The door burst open. “Police! Show me your hands!” Rachel flinched at the light shining in her eyes. “Is there anyone else in the house?” She shook her head as the officer came closer once the light was out of her eyes, she saw her neighbor, Dick Grayson remove the gag from her mouth.

“Took you long enough,” she droned, “did you stop for drive through?”

He let out a relieved chuckle, “Don’t you mean, ‘thank you for saving me’?”

“You’re right Dick, how about I give you a big hug… Oh wait.”

He moved behind her and began to undo the ropes. “Did you see who did this to you?”

“Nope.” She stated matter of factly. “They knocked me out and I woke up like this.”

[doormouseetcappendix]

Afro-Futurist Reading List Vol 2.

Afro Futurism Reading List Vol 1:

Afro Futurism Reading List Vol 2:

Black Speculative Fiction Breakdown by Genre

African Fantasy (early myths and fables from the continent): Forest Of A Thousand Deamons: A Hunter's Saga by Daniel O. Fagunwa The Palm Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts by Amos Tutuola Simbi and the Satyr of the Dark Jungle by Amos Tutuola The Brave African Huntress by Amos Tutuola Feather Woman of the Jungle by Amos Tutuola Ajaiyi and his Inherited Poverty by Amos Tutuola The Witch-Herbalist of the Remote Town by Amos Tutuola

Utopia (alternate histories written during the jim crow & antebellum eras): Blake Or The Huts Of Africa by Martin Delany Imperium In Imperio by Sutton E Griggs Light Ahead For The Negro Edward A Johnson One One Blood by Pauline Hopkins Black No More by George Shuyler Lord Of The Sea by MP Sheil

Space Opera (far future sci fi worlds of interplanetary travel): Nova by Samuel R Delany Stars In My Pocket Like Grains Of Sand by Samuel R. Delany Binti Trilogy by Nnedi Okorafor An Unkindness Of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson Rayla 2122 Series by Ytasha Womack Trouble On Triton by Samuel R. Delany Babel 17 by Samuel R Delany Empire Star by Samuel R Delany The Galaxy Game by Karen Lord The Best Of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord Ancient Ancient by Klini Iburu Salaam Escaping Exodus by Nicky Drayden Ascension: Tangled Axon by Jacqueline Koyanagi Teleportality by T Cisco Nadine's Bible Seris by T Lindsey-Billingsley Nigerians In Space Series by Deji Bryce Olukotun

Aliens (alien encounters): Lilith's Brood Trilogy by Octavia Butler Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor Rosewater Trilogy by Tade Thompson The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbell The Wave by Walter Mosley

Dystopia (oppressive futures and realities): Friday Black by Nana Kwame Adjie Brenyah Riot Baby by Tochi Onyebuchi War Girls Series by Tochi Onyebuchi Sunshine Patriots by Bill Campbell Gunmen's Peace by Milton J Davis Dragon Variation by T Cisco

Experimental (literary tricksters): The Ravicka Series by Renee Gladman The Freedom Artist by Ben Okri The Structure Of Dante's Hells by LeRoi Jones The House Of Hunger by Dumbudzo Marachera Black Sunlight By Dumbudzo Marachera Yellow Back Radio Broke Down by Ishmaeel Reed The Last Days Of Louisiana Red by Ishmaeel Reed The Sellout by Paul Beatty Koontown Killing Kaper by Bill Campbell The African Origin Of UFOs by Anthony Joseph Quantum Black Futurism(Theory & Practice Volume 1) by Rasheeda Philips by Rasheeda Philips Spacetime Collapse: From The Congo to Carolinas Spacetime Collapse II: Community Futurisms by Rasheeda Philips consent not to be a single being trilogy by Fred Mot

Post-Apocalyptic (worlds falling apart): The Purple Cloud by MP Shiel Dhalgren by Samuel R Delany The Parable Series by Octavia Butler Brown Girl In The Ring by Nalo Hopkinson

Dying Earth (far future post-apocalyptic worlds + magic):

The Broken Earth Trilogy by NK Jemisin The Einstien Intersection by Samuel R. Delany The Jewels Of Aptor by Samuel R. Delany The Fall Of The Towers Trilogy by Samuel R. Delany Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorofor The Book Of Phoenix by Nnededi Okorofor The Prey Of Gods by Nicky Drayden

Alternate History (alternate timelines and what-ifs): Mumbo Jumbo by Ishmael Reed Everfair by Nisi Shawl The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates The Insh'Allah Series by Steven Barnes Ring Shout by P Djelia Clark A Dead Djinn In Cairo by P Djelia Clark The Black God's Drum by P Djelia Clark Washington Black by Esi Edugyan Pimp My Airship: A Naptown By Airship Story by Maurice Beaudice The Dream Of Perpetual Motion by Dexter Palmer Pym by Matt Johnson, Dread Nation Series by Justina Ireland From Here to Timbuktu by Milton J Davis

High Fantasy (magical kindoms and high adventures): The Neveryorn Series by Samuel R. Delany Black Leapard Red Wolf by Marlon James The Deep by Rivers Solomon & Clipping Imaro Series by Charles R. Saunders The Children Of Blood & Bone by Tomi Adeyemi The Children Of Virtue & Vengeance by Tomi Adeyemi The Sorcerer Of The Wildeeps by Kai Ashai Washington A Taste Of Honey by Kai Ashai Washington Beasts Made Of Night Series by Tochi Onyebuchi A Place Of Nights: War & Ressurection by Oloye Karade, Woman Of The Woods: A Sword & Soul Epic by Milton J Davis Temper by Nicky Drayden They Fly At Ciron by Samuel R. Delany Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman The House Of Discarded Dreams by Etakterina Sedia

Magic Realism (literary naturalism with surreal, dreamlike, and mythic imagery): The Echo Tree & Other Stories by Henry Dumas The Kingdom Of This World by Alejo Carpentier General Sun My Brother by Jacques Stephen Alexis The Famished Road Series by Ben Okri The New Moon's Arms by Nalo Hopkinson The Salt Roads by Nalo Hopkinson Montaro Caine by Sydney Portier Mama Day by Gloria Naylor Redemption In Indigo by Karen Lord Mem by Bethany C Morrow

Urban Fantasy (modern citybound fantasy): The City We Became by NK Jemisin  Sister Mine by Nalo Hopkinson The Chaos by Nalo Hopkinson The Intuitionist by Colson Whitehead Blue Light By Walter Mosley Fire Baptized by Kenya Wright

Time Travel (stories unstuck in time): Kindred by Octavia Butler Version Control by Dexter Palmer Recurrence Plot by Rasheedah Phillips

Horror (nightmare, terrors, and hauntings): Beloved by Toni Morisson African Immortals by Tananarivue Due Fledgling by Octavia Butler The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez Lakewood by Meggan Giddings The Ballad Of Black Tom by Victor Lavalle Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff The Changeling by Victor Lavealle Zone One by Colson Whitehead The Between by Tananarive Due The Good House by Tananarive Due Ghost Summers: Stories by Tananarive Due Unhollowed Graves by Nunzo Onho Catfish Lullaby by AC Wise

Young Adult (books for young adults): Akata Witch Series by Nnedi Okorofor Zarah The Windseeker & The Shadow Speaker by Nnedi Okorofor Long Juju Man by Nnedi Okorofor Ikenga by Nnedi Okorofor Tristan Strong Series by Kwame Mbalia A Song Below Water by Bethany C Morrow Daughters Of Nri by Reni K. Amayo A River Of Royal Blood by Amanda Joy 47 by Walter Mosley

Comics (graphic storytelling) George Herriman Library: Krazy & Ignatz (1919-1921) by George Herriman The Boondocks Complete Collection by Aaron Mcgruder Birth Of A Nation by Aaron Mcgrudger, Reginald Hudlin, & Kyle Baker Prince Of Cats by Ronald Wimberly Concrete Park by Erika Alexander & Tony Puryear Incognegro Series by Matt Johnson Your Black Friend & Other Stories by Ben Passmore Bttm Fdrs Ezra Clayton Daniels & Ben Passmore Sports Is Hell is Ben Passmore LaGuardia by Nnedi Okorofor & Tana Ford Bread & Wine: An Erotic Tale Of New York by Samuel R Delany & Mia Wolff Empire by Samuel R Delany & Howard Chaykin Excellence by Brandon Thomas Bitteroot by David F Walker, Chuck Brown & Sanford Greene Black by Kwanza Osajyefo Niobe: She Is Life by Amandla Stenberg & Sebastian A Jones Black Panther by Christopher Priest Black Panther by Reginald Hudlin Black Panther by Ta-Nehisi Coates Shuri by Nnedi Okorofor World Of Wakanda by Roxane Gay Truth: Red, White, & Black by Kyle Baker House Of Whispers by Nalo Hopkinson & Neil Gaiman Naomi by David F Walker, Brian Micheal Bendis, & Jamal Campbell Far Sector by NK Jemison & Jamal Campbell

Short Stories (collections by single authors): Driftglass by Samuel R Delany, Distant Stars by Samuel R Delany Bloodchild & Other Stories by Octavia Butler Unexpected Stories by Octavia Butler Falling In Love With Hominids by Nalo Hopkinson Skin Folk by Nalo Hopkinson, Kabu Kabu by Nnedi Okorofor, How Long Til Black Future Month? by NK Jemisin Nine Bar Blues by Sheree Reneee Thomas

Anthologies (collections from multiple authors) Dark Matter edited by Sheree Renee Thomas So Long Been Dreaming edited by Nalo Hopkinson Conjure Stories edited by Nalo Hopkinso Whispers From The Cotton Tree Root: Caribbean Fabulist Fiction edited by Nalo Hopkinson Afro SF: Science Fiction by African Writers edited by Wor. W. Hartmaan Stories For Chip: A Tribute To Samuel R Delany edited by Nisi Shawl Octavia's Brood: Science Fiction Stories From Social Justice Movement edited by Adrienne Marie Brown & Walidah Imarisha Mothership: Tales of Afrofuturism and Beyond edited by Bill Campbell The City: Cyberfunk Antholoy edited by Milton J Davis Steamfunk edited by Milton J Davis Dieselfunk edited by Milton J Davis Griots: A Sword & Soul Anthology by Milton J Davis & Charles R Saunders Griots: Sisters Of The Spear by Milton J Davis & Charles R Saunders

Non-Fiction (histories, essays, and arguments) Afrofuturism And The World Of Black Sci-Fi & Fantasy Culture by Ytasha Womack Afrofuturism 2.0: The Rise Of Astral Blackness edited by Reynaldo Anderson & Charles E Jones The Black Imagination: Science Fiction, The Future, and The Speculative by Sandra Jackson & Julie E Woody-Freeman Afro-Futures & Astral Black Travel by Juice Aleem The Sound Of Culture: Diaspora & Black Technopoetics by Louis Cude Soke Black Utopia: The History Of An Idea From Black Nationalism To Afrofuturism by Alex Zamalin Afrouturism Rising: The Literary Pre-History Of A Movement by Isiah Lavendar III A Pure Solar World: Sun Ra & The Birth Of Afrofuturism by Paul Youngquist Where No Black Woman Has Gone Before: Subversive Poryrals In Speculative Film & TV by Diana Adesola Mafe Black Kirby: In Search Of The Motherbox Connection by John Jennings & Stacey Robinson Super Black: American Pop Culture & Black Super-Heroes by Adilifu Nama Black Space: Imagining Race In Science Fiction Film by Adilifu Nama Black Super-Heroes, Milestone Comics, And Their Fans by Jeffery A Brown Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changin Worlds by Adrienne Marie Brown

*cover image from Ytasha Womack’s “Afrofuturism: The World Of Black Sci-Fi & Fantasy Culture”

(please post anything I might have left out in the comments) 

[jordanstrophe]

Evercrest Island, part 5

CW: Whump, dislocation, kidnapped whumpee on a boat, restraints, manhandling, dragging, creepy whumper 

Masterlist

Eden laid defenselessly on the boat, his arms wrenched uncomfortably over his head latched on the rail. He was stuck listening to the ocean flowing beneath him, hours had passed and he hadn’t seen the man yet. He heard the clicking from his cane stamping into the metal platform above him, he couldn’t help to flinch every time it tapped around. The man's threats were stuck in his head, repeating over and over, he could easily kill him if he wanted to. He hadn’t yet so what kind of sign was that? He had to be smart if he wanted to get out of here alive.  

The loud tapping shuttered the stairs, as Thaddeus finally climbed down. Eden jumped up with posture, pressing himself further against the rail. The man looked down at him with a tilted smile, crouching next to him. 

“Look.” He motioned out into the ocean, in the distance, was a small island slowly getting closer. He could see a beach, trees surrounding it with a rooftop poking behind the treetops. Eden didn't take his eyes off it as he couldn’t help but to be fascinated and curious. That is, until horror twisted in his stomach, realizing he was being taken to a remote island in the middle of the ocean.

How was he going to escape this? What was even here? Where was his hope now?

“Wh-what is that?” Eden asked, panic cracking into his voice. He looked up at him with wide eyes darting with fear.

“A place we'll be staying at for a while.” He smiled, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, reaching out to stroke a hand through Eden’s hair.

“Don’t touch me!” Eden barked, twisting his body to evade his touch. There was no way he was going to roll over for his kidnapper that easily. Thaddeus's face changed from amused, to annoyance, as he huffed before rising to his feet. Eden froze when he took in the height of the man, towering over his cringing fetal position.  

He took his cane, lightly touching it to his stomach. Eden gasped, squeezing his eyes shut waiting for the blow. This soon? Was he really going to hurt him this soon? Ge gasped when instead the rod was shoved beneath his shackles, ripping him to his feet by his wrists. 

“Up, on your feet. Let’s go.” He ordered, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. Eden’s entire forearm was almost covered by the grasp of the man’s hand, every resistance in his posture was met with a rough tug. The boat automatically parked at a long dock at the island, the whole boat jostled to a stop as his legs shook, having to use Thaddius weight to steady himself. He glanced around with a puzzled expression, who's controlling the boat if Thaddeus was right here? 

“Wait! What do you want with me?” He cried, his heart beating fast in his chest. 

“Hush now, just do what you’re told.” He grabbed his arm and hoisted him up the dock. The dock was rusted and rotten, falling apart in most areas, creaking beneath his feet. They reached a dirt trail through the forest leading to a massive structure, it almost looked like a lair. Just the sight of the building shot adrenaline through Eden’s body, as he stuck fight or flight mode. 

“Stop! I’m not going with you!” He yelled, pulling back on the man's weight. Thaddeus only sighed, reaching back with his other arm to grab his coat to get an extra grip, but Eden ducked under his arm, being much shorter had an advantages somewhere. He felt the grip on his arm tightening immensely, as he let out a yelp. He could tell that was just a fraction of his strength, but it was enough to hurt. He continued to fight back, as Thaddeus in return continued to drag him along by his arm. He was hardly on his feet anymore, desperately trying to fight away from his grasp. He dug one heel into the ground, swinging his other leg as hard as he could right into the back of his knee, as he jerked in surprise, losing his footing and grasp. Eden bolted from him, treading back down the hill, making it all of five precious yards before he was full on tackled from behind. 

He slammed to the ground, Thaddeus' whole weight pinning him down, as he moved his grasp down to his leg. 

“Wait! What are y-” His cries were cut off as his back was drug across the sharp rocky ground, letting out a cry. Thaddeus had one hand on his ankle, and the other on his leg as he drug him back up the hill by his legs. His waist wasn’t even touching the ground from their height difference, as his back grazed the dirt. He panicked and cried the whole way, till Thaddeus slammed open the metal rusted door, dust and rubble flying around it. 

He let most of his body hit the floor, but he still had a tight unforgiving grasp on his ankle.

“Do I need to break a leg?” He asked with a terrifyingly calm voice.

“N-No! Please n-no, don’t!” He huffed, out of breath as he cringing his whole body in submission. 

“I’m s-s-oryy... Please!” He cried, not able to control the tear that began to fall down his face. His whole body quaking with fear under the man's mercy standing over him, staring down at his collapsed figure, deciding his fate. 

He made his decision, pulling the cane from his side, slamming the tip into the ground next to Eden’s head, as he clamped into a curled defensive pose, covering his head with his bound wrists, the deafening slam echoing through the building. 

“p-please..” He whispered one last time.

“We could have done this the easy way...” He sighed, shaking his head with an exhale. A second hand wrapped around his ankle, as he heard the crack before he felt the pain. The bone in his foot twisted out of its socket as sharp pain shot through his ankle. He let out a sobbing cry as he arched his back off the floor, every tug and twitch trying to pull his leg only shot more stabbing pain. His cries shortly turned to whimpering sobs, as his leg was finally released. He immediately pushed himself sitting up, placing a shaking hand grabbing onto his jeans to try and cope with the twisting agony. 

Thaddeus crouched to his level, as Eden looked up at him with tearful eyes, both filled with fear and anger. 

“Are you going to cooperate now? We could have done this painlessly.” He said, with his eyes blazing cold with no sympathy. Eden reluctantly nodded his head with a bitten back sob. He didn’t have a choice.

He never did.

“Good boy.” His expression turned soft as he ruffled his hair. He flinched in response, but didn’t pull away this time. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

“O-okay.” He rasped, his voice cracking with a sad voice. Thaddeus gently wrapped his arms around his back and knees, weary not to jostle his legs as he carried him away.

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @heathenwhump @whumps-and-stuff @yet-another-heathen

(╯°□°）╯ *:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

[zrtranscripts]

Season 9, Mission 4: Out of the Past

Heist

~

[birds twitter]

AMELIA SPENS: Okay team, let's go over this one more time. General Bakari has sent Abel a distress call from a remote Tunisian base, Red Scorpion, which is probably home to red fungus and definitely home to one Ernest Van Ark.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, despite the fact that you, you know, um, what was it? Oh yes, blew him up with a rocket launcher, Five! That's... [laughs] It's typical! My luck. We get Janine back safe, and oh, who pops up but the devil himself?

AMELIA SPENS: Bakari wants a team to sneak something out of Red Scorpion. Our hope is that it's a red fungus countermeasure. To get there, our team needs to infiltrate New Agadir, a city in the middle of the desert, while posing as Death's Hand, a mercenary group whose greatest hits include assassinating a blue chip CEO using a neurotoxin-tipped knitting needle and overthrowing at least three heads of state.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: This is all so exciting! Proper Mission Impossible stuff!

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, remind me why you brought the new person along. It's Frances, isn't it? From the Hebrides?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I wanted to try a run. Janine said I could come because it's a low-danger assignment, and because I promised to stop asking to be on the Tunisia team if she let me. I overheard Sam talking about the mission.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvellous. Janine should add “make Sam keep a secret” to her bucket list. [sighs] At least you're not pestering me to let you go. I've already had to veto Jody's involvement. I need her here working with me to train runners on McShell tower protocol.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I bet she was thrilled about that.

AMELIA SPENS: Anyway, our problem is getting a team to Tunisia. The information in Bakari's transmission enabled us to contact the Maghreb Protectorate, a government which operates in what used to be parts of Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Another government, that's incredible!

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, they're no use to us yet. They have no jurisdiction over New Agadir, and besides, our governments do not yet trust each other enough for them to provide assistance. Our team can't risk crossing Europe - too many unknowns - and our few ships are all either exploring or acting as repeater stations for overseas agents - too far out to be useful.

All we have left are small coastal merchants. I've found one scow captain willing to take people to Tunisia, but he's cautious. He wants the latest nautical charts. Pre-apocalypse, obviously. Not a lot of hydrographic surveys since Z-Day. You're approaching the London home of Horatio Brewer, famous British investor. Should have what we want.

PETER LYNNE: Are we sure about that, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Fairly. Mr. Brewer was a keen yachtsman. Old Ministry intel says he planned to escape Z-Day by sailing to a second home on the Tunisian coast. Had all the prep work done, then his neighborhood turned gray. We think zoms got him, but he was keeping his preparation safe in a basement vault.

PETER LYNNE: Great. So basically, we're looting a dead man's travel plans. Lovely. Um, see that street across the park, Five? That'll be his, so better hurry while it's still light out. Come on, everybody. Run!

~

[birds twitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wow, this is a classy street. Look at the mansions. That one's got ivory cherubs carved over the gates.

PETER LYNNE: Neighborhood's in pretty awful condition, though. You've got overgrown gardens, smashed windows. No sign of V-types though, thank God. Dearg made me a prototype one-man burn cube, Five, sewn right into my chest. Anti-P-type measure. Got the trigger, but not massively eager to try it.

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe not, but it's the only reason I'm letting you near Tunisia.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So Amelia, who exactly are these Death’s Hands people? Will they be tough to impersonate?

PETER LYNNE: Frances...

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, they're a nasty bunch. Former special ops, freelance since Z-Day. Bakari says they've been traveling the world as hired guns. Their rep gets them a lot of private security gigs. He's given us contact details for the real team, so we can lure them out of our operation’s way.

PETER LYNNE: Frankly, I don't think we should be trusting Bakari. This whole thing is probably a trap, which is why, Frances, Janine said that you can't – [zombies moan] Oh, God damn it!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, isn't that the place we want? Big Georgian house covered in ivy?

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia, there's a horde of zoms milling outside Brewer's house, so we can't make it to the entrance.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Well, we could gain entry by the house next door. Look at the big white mansion. Its roof's half collapsed, sloping into the road. We could clamber across it, jump to Brewer's roof, and get in through his attic window.

AMELIA SPENS: You know Peter, I'm warming to the new blood. Quickly then, off you go. I've got the scow captain waiting on tenterhooks. I need this deal closed ASAP. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we um, we got in through the attic window, followed a ladder leading deeper into the house. Now we've found a sort of private antique collection? So we're in a carpeted hall full of artifacts in glass cases.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: They've got plaques. That's a Roman bust, Celtic coins, an Egyptian amulet. That's a Carthaginian pot from Tunisia. Shouldn't these be in a museum?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah, well, Mr. Brewer was a rather avid black market trader, made a fortune trafficking plundered historical artifacts. Actually, it might make a good impression if our little expedition returns some stolen goods. Grab the Carthaginian pot, Peter.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, burglary with Amelia, just like old times. So let's see. It's a classic. We've got the pot on the pedestal, so if I just lift its case - [alarm blares] Ah. I honestly didn't think the alarm battery would have lasted this long. Um, Five, grab that pot, would you?

[zombies moan]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, guys, apparently there are zoms in the house too, coming up the stairs behind Five. Six big ones in dark suits.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that'll be Brewer's former home security. Alarm's got their attention. Hello! Still on the job, eh, boys?

AMELIA SPENS: Wish I could find staff that dedicated. No need to waste rounds, blueprint says there's a master bedroom down the corridor on your left. Brewer always left a spare key in the lock for his mistress. If you can lure the zombies in, you can trap them there. Run!

~

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Keep going, Five, there's the door past the amphora vases. God, how big is this house?

AMELIA SPENS: It was originally five smaller houses that were joined together behind a Georgian facade. Brewer felt he needed the space.

[door creaks open, floor creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're in the bedroom. There's a – ooh, four-poster bed, lovely. Uh, photos of Brewer and his family. Nice mustache. It's very Howard Hughesian. Um, Frances, you okay?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Zombies! I forgot how scary they are up close. Didn't have them on Dearg. I'm actually shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, uh, oh yeah, of course. No no no, um, it's okay, Frances. See, so the key was in the door and um, here's what we're gonna do. We're all going to get behind the bed. This room's really big, so when the zoms come at us, we'll then be able to circle around and lock them all in.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The house isn't in the best structural condition. There are big cracks in the walls, and that creaking probably means the floor is compromised. If any more bodies start stomping in here -

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: See, there are the zoms and they're... coming straight over the bed, so run for the - ! No, no, no! [shouts]

[floor collapses, glass shatters, PETER and FRANCES cough]

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, Five? What happened?

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The floor gave way under the bed! [coughs] The zoms were too much weight. It just smashed down through the house, took the zoms with it.

[house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: This house is definitely unstable. Yep, uh, sounds like the whole place is coming down.

AMELIA SPENS: If you follow the corridor outside the bedroom, you'll find stairs. Take them down to the basement. It's a reinforced garage, should remain intact if the house collapses. Plus, it's where that vault is. Hurry up, you don't have long to grab those charts, and they're absolutely vital.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, also um, there's a horde of zombies chasing us. Come on, run!

~

[zombies moan, house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Yep, there's the stairs, Five. Straight down, down you go.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The chandeliers overhead are really shaking. Five, look out!

[chandelier falls, glass shatters]

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] That was close! Chandelier smashed right through the stairs. Could have done without the glass shards in my face, to be perfectly honest. Um, edge around the hole it's left in the stairs. [house creaks, zombies moan] Oh, fantastic. Amelia, we just passed the ground floor and I can hear more zombies barging into the house. So that'll be the horde from outside, attracted to all the noise.

AMELIA SPENS: Just keep following the stairs down. There are exits in the basement, but you have to reach the vault first. Run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Yep, yep, yep. Five, close the door, close the door! [door slams shut] Oh, good. Amelia, we've made it. We're in the basement garage, and the stairwell’s collapsed behind us. Ooh, this is a huge concrete car park. There's tons of fancy cars. There's Bentleys, BMWs... a Model T? All right, just, could you give me a minute, Five? I've just got to pick some chandelier out of my face and eyes.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's amazing. Your wounds, the way they're healing. Enhanced cell regeneration? The scientists on Dearg talked about it. [gasps] This is what Van Ark did to you!

PETER LYNNE: Yes, it is. Not really looking forward to meeting him again. Rather pull my kidneys out, honestly. But Janine is not leaving me behind this time. I just got her back and I won't lose her again.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Dearg was his, you know. I was trapped there for ages. If you're going to a Van Ark lab, I can help. And honestly, I can't stay in Abel. It's funny, when we got security fixed at Dearg, first place I wanted to see was where Alice lived. But being there... a lot of older runners, they look at me, they see her. It's hard.

That's why I really came today. I needed to get out. And I guess I started to feel... if I was going to be her ghost, I might as well run, like she did. I don't want to be a ghost, Peter, and I don't want to go back to Dearg. I want to see the world, find out where I fit in.

AMELIA SPENS: People, you should get moving. That wasn't the only staircase leading to the basement.

PETER LYNNE: Over there, Five, look. It's built into the concrete wall, huge round metal door. That looks like a vault to me. Come on, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're at the vault door. Here's the C-4. Do the honors, Five. [explosion] [coughs] Okay. Okay, right. Uh, vault is a big gray room with shelves, lots of shelves. Uh, model yachts, dusty piles of... ooh, gold. Five, Frances, look for those charts.

[paper rustles]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Hey look, found a massive file on a shelf titled Inventory. It's an index of Brewer’s deals and trade contacts. There's a whole chapter on Tunisia.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Gotcha! There's tons of nautical charts on this desk under the sextant. [dragging footsteps] Uh, what was that sound? Five, could you go and check behind the shelf of canned food? [zombie groans] Oh, good. Hello! Amelia, we've found Brewer. Looks like he locked himself in here after he'd been bitten, entombed with his wealth like a rubbish pharaoh.

[laughs] Oh good, we've also got a zombie wife and two zombie children in the shadows. Welcome, everyone. He's taken his whole family down with him. [more zombies growl] And that is going to be the rest of the zombies in the garage. So Five, Frances, we're gonna move towards the door. Need an exit now, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a ramp on the west end of the car park, leads up to the surface. The shutters open from inside. Hurry, get the charts to safety, run!

~

PETER LYNNE: Okay Five, Frances, I think we've lost the zoms. Street looks clear behind us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, I'd call that a success. Five even kept the Carthaginian pot. Now we've got the charts, I can have people heading to Tunisia in days.

PETER LYNNE: Janine's finalized the team. It's her, me, Five, Sam, Maxine, and uh, computer expert. Look, I-I am sorry Frances, uh, but honestly, you are safer here. We're going a long way from home, and trust me, Van Ark isn't to be taken lightly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wait a second, look at this. The folder I took, it's full of photos, Brewer logging artifacts he traded. Look at this Roman mosaic from Tunisia, the symbol in the corner.

PETER LYNNE: That is the endless circle from Mor Island.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's not all. Brewer's notes say he sold the mosaic to a military base code-named Red Scorpion in Tunisia before Z-Day. He says the commander of the Red Scorpion base scared him, told him not to record any names. Whatever that place is, it's definitely connected to the fungus, and they've known about it since way before we have.

~

[one-boring-person]

Whose Side Are You On?

The Terminator (1984) reader insert

Warnings: reference to war, reference to death and injury

Context: I had this idea after watching The Terminator again, and now I'm writing another series (because I have a big brain) with a reader insert. I've basically just added another character to the story, and possibly a little extra plot on the sidelines.😅💛💛 I'm really not expecting this to do well, but I guess it's more for my entertainment than anyone else's 😂

It's probably best to mention I've (somehow) only watched the first of the films, so I'm not entirely well versed in terminator lore, so please don't judge me too harshly 😂

Masterlist

"...she's not normal anymore...she'll kill the lot of us..."

▪▪▪

Pain erupts through my body as it crashes harshly down onto the concrete below me, my shoulder jarring as it catches the brunt of my fall, a sharp cry escaping my lips from the force. Blue energy crackles out around me, clearing the area so that I can properly see where I am, the cold air surrounding me quickly as the burning heat dissipates, leaving me shivering on the floor, naked as the day I was born. Drawing myself to my feet, I cast my eyes around once more, only now noticing the odd scenery and weird structures, feeling out of place as I take a hesitant step towards a plastic box, noticing the bits and pieces sticking from the top of it, hoping to find some clothes somewhere.

Carefully, I rummage through it, finding nothing that could pass as clothes except for a ragged sheet, which I tie around myself with the intention of finding something more suitable to replace it. Shivering, I start off down the passage, eyeing the tall structures around me warily, aware of what could be imminent danger at every turn, my eyes flicking nervously around me to navigate. Before we left, we were told to study some maps and pictures, but none of the old "records" we have come close to portraying the sheer height of some of these buildings. As I walk, I suddenly hear a low muttering, a clatter accompanying it.

Ducking behind a corner, I peer around until I locate the source: a tall man in some sort of uniform, which resembles what we were told the "police" wear. In my head, I remember that these "policemen/women" carry around firearms, something which would greatly benefit me at this point.

Silently, I make my way over to the distracted man, getting as close as I can. As I go, I notice a circle of riveted metal a little way away, the shape vaguely resembling a lid, which I reach for, taking it in my hand before smashing it across the back of the man's head, knocking him out cold. Limply, he falls to the floor, body collapsing harshly against the wall to his left, giving me the perfect opportunity to swiftly remove his clothes.

Rolling him over, I take off his shirt and trousers, slipping them over my own body as I quickly use a strip of fabric from the sheet to the the sleeves to my arms and legs, forcing my feet into his boots as I go. Taking his belt, I pull that on and fasten his hand gun under my arm, sliding his coat on over the top to disguise it, but not before trying to tear off the "Police" logo it bears, knowing these clothes are a little conspicuous. Sighing, I straighten and crack my neck, eager to find what I was told is a "phonebox", where I can find a "phonebook".

Unsurprisingly, it takes me a good hour or two to find one, my initial navigation of the streets unsure and uncomfortable, my clothes drawing far too much attention than I'd like, every suspicious face giving me hostile impressions of a lot of people, though I'm well aware that this is probably just my war-trained mind trying to cope and adjust. When I do come across the phonebox, I swiftly flick through the phonebook there, finding the category listed as "C", dragging my finger down the columns until I find what I'm looking for:

Connor, Sarah

Reading and memorizing the addresses listed, I quickly decide to find a car, choosing to find the other soldier that came through with me, my brother Kyle Reese, who insisted he came across time to save this one girl, before going to complete the reason for my existence in this time. Walking across the road, I duck into another alley, locating a rundown Cadillac nearby, which I quickly break into, using my acquired skills to carefully open it, unlocking the vehicle so I can climb inside. Biting my lip, I easily hijack the wires and start the ignition, finding my bearings of the interior of the vehicle as I put it into drive, guiding it carefully onto the road, making sure to follow the same patterns of traffic I can see, my eyes roaming the pavements as I try to suss out where Kyle is, unsure of his initial plans.

Thankfully, we were made to memorize the exact name and appearance of the correct Sarah Connor, so I know where he's likely to start, though I don't know how he'll go about determining our opposition, the other entity that came through the years with us. A shiver wracks my body at the thought, my mind straying back to my time in the clutches of our hated enemy back home, where I spent most of it blacked out and disorientated, only really remembering that i was rescued from the battlefield by a patrol squad, who had me tied up and led back to base in chains. Even after I returned, the memories are blurred and obscure, nothing really making sense until they told me exactly what happened. Absentmindedly, I touch my face, tracing over the ugly scar that runs around the contours of the right of my head, fitting perfectly around the curve of my forehead, grimacing at the memories that accompany the feeling, pushing them aside as quickly as I can, not intending to let myself dwell on that time.

Biting my lip, I focus on guiding the car around the roads, keeping my eyes out for Kyle, though I'm aware that we may well have ended up on entirely opposite sides of the city, meaning there's a lot of ground to cover before I can find him. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I drive, my attention briefly drawn to the controls on the panel to my right, a hand reaching out to fiddle with some of the buttons. In doing so, I manage to get a sound out of it, some odd mixture of noises flowing from the speakers, which I guess is what is known as music in this day and age. Back home, the only music we heard was that made by bedraggled ex-fighters or children, sometimes even by other soldiers, and even then it was never more than some raw-throated singing and low beating of whatever object was at hand, but it could help to cheer us all up. This music is a complete contrast, the layers of instruments and notes provoking a sense of enjoyment in me, my head moving in time with the beat as I drive along, distracting me from the thought of the threat I will soon have to face.

I search for a good few hours, before deciding to give it a rest, knowing I'll need sleep to function. Driving until I'm just a little way out of town, I pull over into a copse of trees, parking and leaning back in my seat, switching off the music as I pull out the handgun, cradling it in my lap as I close my eyes, attempting to sleep.

Part Two

[tros-for-dinner]

The tros death star fight, reimagined

A little background to set up my re-imagining of the scene: through most of the movie, Rey and Kylo are at cross-purposes. (I wrote the following in two hours, it isn’t perfect yet, keep in mind it’s a revision-in-progress).

Rey: in the start of the movie, she and Kylo experience a vision in the Force together. They both see Rey sitting on the throne, ruler of the galaxy - this Rey is completely alone, having isolated herself from her friends and Kylo. Her pain and anger are immeasurable, and she’s destroying the galaxy with her power in the Force (she’s lashing out, but with the Force). Rey sees the vision, and sets out to find the throne and destroy it. Through the story, she learns more about the throne. (Long story short, palpatine and the throne are a metaphor for how greed corrupts, because greed is the cause of suffering.)

Kylo: in parallel to Rey - he experiences the vision with Rey: in the vision, he is dead because she killed him. He can feel his death approaching but his survival instinct is rebelling, he doesn’t want to succumb to this fate he thinks he’s been born into. He goes to Mustafar in pilgrimage, finds the holocron, gives himself PTO to go where the map leads. (Hux is the one making the actual leadership decisions for the F.O.)

Kylo goes to Exogol and finds the throne and palpatine, who tells him that he can be the most powerful being in the universe…if he kills Rey. Kylo is extremely conflicted about this. He is convinced he’s supposed to want power but he doesn’t want to destroy this person who he has such a deep connection with. Rey finds out he has the map through a force-skype scene and decides she’s going to steal the map from him so she can get to the throne. 

Through their force Skype scenes in the movie, Kylo is trying to convince Rey that she isn’t so high-and-mighty. “We’re not so different,” he says, which is the truth. “What are your friends going to say when they find out you interact with the dark side of the Force as much as any Darksider?” he asks, pointedly. “The dark side is a part of us, whether we like it or not.”

When the gang smuggles themselves aboard Ren’s star destroyer to rescue Chewie (in my reimagining it is Rose they’re rescuing), Rey splits off from the group to find the map (but doesn’t tell her friends that’s what she’s really doing). In the end, she doesn’t find it, and longer escape short, force-pirouettes herself away in the hangar after Kylo lets her go (he stands between her and the troopers so he can stop any blaster bolts they may loose). 

Critical moment: when Kylo sees her face-to-face in the hangar - seeing each other in person for the first time since the throne room - he realizes that he won’t ever be able to kill her, not for any reward in the galaxy. He decides then he’s going to destroy the throne and palpatine. He knows he isn’t strong enough to do it alone. He wants Rey to help him. 

Kylo follows the Falcon to Kif Bir, in effect abandoning the First Order, and tracks Rey out to the Death Star wreckage.

Long part of Finn’s plot short: the Falcon crash lands in a village of ex-stormtroopers, Finn decides he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to free troopers. A couple of months ago I posted to tumblr the scene where he tells Poe, it was pretty well-received and I’m proud of it.

Rey sees the death star, realizes through her experience scavenging imperial ships that there will be a map room (and she can ‘feel it in the Force’ or whatever). Or, the ex-troopers tell her gossip that there’s a map hidden in that piece of the ship in the sea. Either way, Rey makes a gamble and goes out to the death star wreckage without telling anybody.

So all of this leads up to the Death Star. Rey rappels to the Emperor’s chambers and experiences a vision in the Force - dark side rey. This version of her is cruel and uncaring, absolutely fractured by pain and anger and loneliness: what she will become if she keeps pushing her friends away and insisting she can do everything by herself. Because that’s the lesson in this movie: the Force brings us together. None of us can do it alone. Every person needs a community, some sort of social structure in which to exist. To isolate ourselves, not accept help when we need it, to drown in loneliness - these things are antithesis to the Force. Palpatine tells Rey and Kylo that to be powerful, they have to isolate themselves, but that is a lie so he can control them. The truth is, to be powerful, they have to work together.

Rey gets out of the map room/vision, and Kylo has found her. Him being there is a declaration: ‘I’m choosing whatever side you’re on.’ “We need to work together to destroy the throne!” he implores her.

Rey, shaken from the vision, and not yet accepting how she feels about Kylo, rejects this. He destroys the second map in a very stupid attempt to bluff: ‘now the only way to palpatine is with me’. Rey realizes that the second map is still in his ship, which is parked very close by, and chooses to fight Kylo for it.

So: the two of them are actually fighting about something in the death star wreckage. Rey wants to beat kylo so she can get to his ship and fly away alone; Kylo is trying to logic Rey into them working together. He’s not interested in killing her, and refuses the killing blow every time one arises.

Leia is dying. She reaches out in the Force and both Rey and Kylo can feel her presence; both are distracted. Leia tells Ben that she loves him, and she dies.

Rey and Kylo are standing in the ocean spray, shellshocked. Rey recovers first, and she force-snatches Kylo’s ‘saber right out of his hand (or, from the deck, if he drops it in a fit of abstentia).  He startles, trying to grab it back, but it’s too late: Rey is holding his saber in her hand. He stares at her with fear in his eyes, frozen in place.

Rey stops, and looks down at the saber.

She, and the audience, can see how slip-shod his saber is. We see up close the mods and fixes he made to his saber in order to still use his cracked kyber crystal. (For more info, see the Force Awakens Visual Dictionary, I think. Basically, Ben was a fucking nerd but his fix was pretty janky.) Through the Force, Rey can feel the cracked crystal in the saber: it radiates pain in unending waves. It’s a traumatized being, disguised and held together and made mostly functional with a facade of poorly-hidden nerd shit. It’s a metaphor, and Rey feels a surge of compassion for Kylo she hasn’t felt since before the throne room. 

“What happened to it?” she asks Kylo quietly, tears threatening in the back of her eyes. “The kyber.”

He blinks at her, unfreezes a little. There’s grief hidden in his face. “It’s tradition,” he answers her. “M-… Snoke said that to be a true dark-sider, I had to submit the galaxy to my will. The start of that was the crystal. Jedi form a symbiotic relationship with their kyber. Darksiders bend the kyber to their will.” He looks away, fighting his bitter grief. “My resolve wasn’t strong enough. I broke the crystal. It took me ages to find a solution so I could actually use the fractured kyber.”

Rey visibly makes a decision, holds up the ‘saber, then lets go - it is suspended in the air by the Force. She takes a step back.

“I wanted to take your hand,” she confesses to him. It takes real strength for her to say this: it’s her closest-guarded secret. “Ben’s hand.”

He’s gobsmacked at this - but, more than anything, hope dawns across his face. Rey moves her gaze from him to the suspended ‘saber. She holds out her hand in the “Force Stance” towards the ‘saber, but her hand is in a fist. She takes a deliberate inhale, determination on her face, and springs her fist open.

The saber handle explodes - Kylo flinches. When he opens his eyes and looks, he’s surprised to see that she didn’t blast the ‘saber apart and scatter the pieces, as he/we expected: the components of his saber handle are like planets orbiting a miniature star, the kyber crystal. It is glowing bright in the center, and all of Rey’s attention is focused directly on it. As he watches, she heals the crystal, then reassembles the saber as it was before. She floats the saber back to him and he takes it, speechless. He ignites the saber: the blade isn’t nearly as volatile as it was before, but more importantly, instead of being red, it glows white. (Or whatever color healed crystals take, this isn’t the first time it has happened in canon, i think.) He extinguishes it and holsters it.

They take tentative steps toward one another, neither with a lit saber. Both are unsure but keep moving until they’re the closest they’ve been since the elevator.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” she says to him, lifting a hand towards his face. 

He watches, breathless - he and the audience think she’s going to caress his face - but instead, her hand changes trajectory at the last second, passing over his face - it’s the same trick he used against her in the forest in Force Awakens. He passes out. His eyes roll back into his head and he collapses, dead weight - but she catches him with the Force and lowers him down gently, then picks up her heels and runs.

He comes to rather quickly - he’s unfocused for a beat, then comes fully back online - just in time to see his ship high in the sky, driving away. He staggers to his feet, a ship lands behind him. He turns - it’s the KOR. They’re there to pick him up.

“Where to, boss?” his second-in-command asks. Kylo looks at him - them being here means they’re loyal to him, not the FO. He has allies, even in this darkest time. 

“Follow my ship,” he commands, starting to strip his wet clothes. “We’re going to be there for her when she needs us.”

[lindoig8]

Sunday 18 April

We were on the road a little earlier than usual and soon met up with a couple (Dad and adult Daughter, we think) going the other way. We had seen almost no other cars on this road, but they hailed us down and asked if we had seen the other two cars in their party of three vehicles. We had, just a few minutes earlier, so they were not far ahead of us and this car had obviously passed them without recognising them. We knew of a side road up to the Strzelecki Track and suggested that their companions may have taken that route, but it was in the opposite direction they wanted to go – to Lyndhurst rather than Innamincka. They turned around and we let them pass us while they raced off to find their friends – only for us to pass them again 30-40 clicks ahead where they were again studying their maps and GPS. We stopped again and used Heather’s Maps.me app to give them the lie of the land because they couldn’t understand their own GPS. Off they went again and we caught up with them and their travelling companions at the junction with the Strzelecki. They had finally found each other, having probably never been more than 10 clicks apart and having passed each other at least once, possibly twice. I have an excellent navigator aboard so I hope we never get into the sort of pickle they seemed to have succumbed to.

The Strzelecki was something of a disappointment! We drove it 191 kilometres west to Lyndhurst and at least half of it was sealed with a good deal more prepared and ready for sealing. I reckon the government, all governments, should just decide to seal the entire surface of Australia and be done with it. There is so little adventure left in the Outback and we are continually hearing stories of the Outback Way, the Plenty Highway, the Tanami and who knows what else being sealed. It is just so sad!!! It will change the face of the Outback once the luxury hotels and resorts are built to take advantage of the bustling tourist traffic on all the sealed freeways (probably tollways!) – totally destroying the last vestige of romance, excitement and challenge. Within a very few years, there will be no authentic Outback to see and explore. If you want to learn about the Outback, do it now or it will be too late.

We had a few more stops along the way and at one place, I heard water dripping onto the road and found that the tap on one of our water tanks had been broken off when a stone flew up and hit it. I plugged it with 'Blue-tack' but doubted if it would hold (and it didn’t).

We were going to get fuel at Lyndhurst, but the bowser was not working and would be fixed in a few days. So we went south to Copley – alas, it was Sunday and the bowser there was closed too. So we ended up at Leigh Creek again, close to 50 kilometres south of Lyndhurst when we wanted to go north, but at least we got fuel. We booked into the Caravan Park at the service station so we could have showers, only to find we had to return to the servo to get the code for the ablution block.

We then found that another stone had broken the inlet hose to our water tanks so we have had to rely on our own tanks and the DC pump in the van ever since. Fortunately, we figured we had plenty of water to last us to Alice Springs so it was not going to delay us while we arranged repairs - at some unknown location!

It is interesting that we always have hundreds of small gravel stones rolling around on the car roof, making it difficult to open the back because they get lodged in the joint between the door and the roof. Every horizontal surface under the car and van is chockers with similar stones, often quite a lot larger, but the only way they can get onto the roof of the car is to be flicked up onto the sloping front of the van and bounce the 2-3 metres forward onto the car roof. There is plenty of evidence of minor stone damage on the van so I don’t suppose it is all that surprising.

A car and trailer turned up a few minutes after we arrived in the caravan park and the woman pleaded with me to tell her the code for the ablution block because she was desperate to use the toilet. I was reluctant because I thought it was a con, but eventually agreed – and they never returned to the servo to pay for their stay in the park. But next day, they wanted to empty their Portaloo and found the dump-point was padlocked. We never had a key so when she asked me for one, I redirected her to the servo and an hour later she returned, presumably having been forced to pay for the night in order to get the key to the dump-point.

We had a loquacious busybody parked next to us at Leigh Creek who was very eager to tell us all the things we were doing wrong and where we should go instead of what our plans involved, but I eventually escaped him and hid out in the van instead. And he left well before us next morning so I avoided most of his ramblings then too.

Monday 19 April

We needed to exchange our empty gas bottle for a full one so went to the servo only to find that the dust had clagged up the padlock on our gas bottle and I had to use some bolt-cutters to cut the lock off. Dearest gas ever at $50 a bottle – usually under $30. (I subsequently had to cut the clogged padlock off our second gas bottle too!)

Our first stop was Farina – the ruins of what was once a sizeable town of well over 300. There were lots of ruins around of shops, a smithy, school, hardware outlet, train station and yards, a bank, mill, bakery, etc., but in 1955 everyone simply walked away and left the place to crumble in their wake. We have seen quite a few places like this, mainly based around a single industry or service (telegraph or train station, for example), but this was a significant diverse township with a Council and local laws – yet within a single year, it became a deserted, heavily-vandalised ruin. Where did everyone go? What did they do in their new abodes? If they left everything behind, how did they survive? It is not much more than 50 years ago, certainly well within my lifetime, and it seems so hard to understand how people simply decided to leave en masse and how they survived afterwards. It certainly gives me cause for thought.

And why are all such buildings so heavily vandalised? Vandals will wreck anything, but most of the wrecked buildings we saw were made out of stone, often constructed of two layers with an air-gap between and up to about 6-700mm thick. What induces vandals to demolish such structures? It would be bloody hard work for no reward. One of the sidings we saw beside the old Ghan track had been left in such a state that I could have given some of the walls a gentle push and the entire wall and roof would have collapsed on me. It looked quite dangerous so why would anyone deliberately leave a building in such a precarious condition? Some very strange people inhabit this world!

We stopped in Marree to fill out our Northern Territory border forms. It took almost an hour – and they were never even looked at. So much bureaucracy for so little benefit. I have probably always been something of a bureaucrat myself but hopefully, always for a purpose. This Covid thing seems simply to always have been a device to keep the population under the thumb of the politicians.

Marree is at the eastern end of the famous Oodnadatta Track (and at the southern end of the Birdsville Track that we drove a few years ago) and the road itself was probably in better condition than it has been for any of our earlier 3-4 crossings. It is more than 600 kilometres of gravel and ends at Marla on the sealed Stuart Highway. We stopped at several places that day: a couple of defunct railway sidings (from when the Ghan paralleled the road en route to Alice Springs) as well as a few dry riverbeds and occasional watercourses, looking at plants and looking for the very elusive birds – of which there have been very few so far this trip. Surprisingly, at one expansive patch of water, I saw a flock of Silver Gulls (500+ km from the ocean), an Australasian Grebe, some Pacific Black Ducks and some Little Black Cormorants – as well as the usual Budgerigars – many more of them than I can recall on previous trips, but many fewer Zebra Finches.

We stopped to photograph some of the Art in the Desert, quirky stuff erected by a local pastoralist who decided that there needed to be more entertainment along the Track. It is just a string of quaint installations a couple of clicks long on his property beside the Track. I will post a couple of pics if I can find them.

We camped overnight at Coward Springs. Literally an oasis in the desert with an extensive permanent wetland that is the habitat of quite a few waterbirds, despite us not seeing any this trip. There were about 150 people there overnight: very different from our previous visits, and a nice little earner for the current owners at $15 a head (plus $10 a head for day visitors). Mind you, there is a lot of work for them to do, just the two of them looking after a big area with diverse challenges not encountered at most ‘resorts’. There are several big date palms there and on our first visit several years ago, we picked some and put them in our pockets for later – needless to say, our pockets ended up full of a dusty gooey mess that was quite inedible. Once bitten…… so we never indulged this time.

Before dinner, I walked to the natural hot spa but never went in. It is not all that big and there was a family already in it so adding us (even if we had wanted) would have made it a bit crowded. I strolled around the edge of the wetland hoping to see some of its inhabitants, but although I was almost constantly regaled with a cacophony of gentle squeaks and squawks from the reeds and shrubbery, I saw only Crested Pigeons.

[thunderbird-one-ai]

A shoulder to lean on

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go

Rating: Teen

Characters: Scott, Alan

Alan and Scott have been caught in a building that collapsed. Apart from some minor injuries both seem to be okay. Until one of them isn't.

Finally got the second @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt for the wonderful @neuroticphysiologist​ with the prompt of ‘Doesn’t realise they’ve been injured’ with Alan.

Sorry it took so long to get the second one out I moved out of my parents out and stress levels hit the roof ha ha but I’m hopefully going to be posting some more prompts soonish depending on if I get writers block. 

Alan couldn’t understand why mum never came to pick him up anymore. One day Scott showed up instead, and Alan just followed him home from then on. Dad said that mum had gone away forever but will still be watching us from above, but all Alan wanted to do was see mum and he couldn’t. Apart from John who was always looking up at the sky, he always heard Scott talk of how the sky was so different when you were up so high. Alan loved hearing about how high dad and Scott would travel up in the air. He thought that they were meeting mum sometimes they were gone for so long. Alan wanted to do the same, he wanted to see mum too! He wanted to fly just like his Dad and Scott. Alan may have been young, but he knew what high meant. That’s why he started trying to get to all the high spots in the house. One day he found that the window in Johns room lead to a higher place on the house, a place outside that he’d never seen before. He was excited, thinking he might see mum again finally. But sadly, he couldn’t find her and once his dad found him, Johns room was always closed unless someone else was in the room with Alan. Wherever Alan went he always wanted to be high up, just in case, he saw a glimpse of mum. Having a day out in the park? Alan would climb the highest playing frame. Going shopping with Dad or grandma? Alan would race to the highest floor and press himself up against the window. Alan, however, could never get high up when he walked home with Scott. He had to always hold Scott's hand when they walked home meaning Alan couldn’t climb anything and he wasn’t very happy about that. “Alan please stop tugging you know you’re not allowed to climb when dad isn’t around,” Alan looked over to his older brother. “But Scott! You climb all the time!” Alan said annoyed, slowly trying to get to a rather high looking wall. “Alan no, you know the rules. Don’t climb anything now otherwise you won’t be allowed to climb in the park later,” “But you are always so high up! Why can’t I be as high as you!” Alan pouted and he saw his older brother smile softly. “You’ll get taller…. probably,” “I want to be tall now!” Alan saw Scott sigh and move in front of him before kneeling, hands behind him. “If you want to be as tall as me then get on my back, I can show you how I see,” Alan saw Scott smile softly to him. Alan couldn’t contain his excitement; he ran up and jumped onto his big brothers back. Alan moved his arms around Scott’s shoulders and held on as tight as he could, just like he did when holding onto the play bars in the park so he wouldn’t fall. When Scott stood up, Alan's eyes widened. It was amazing! The wall he tried to climb before was now below him. He could even see over the large bushes! Alan was so excited, maybe now he could see mum since he was as tall as his brother now. He moved his head forward, pressing it up against Scott's cheek, making sure to see exactly what his older brother was seeing. Maybe they would see mum together. Once they got home, Alan was a little upset that they couldn’t see mum. Alan so badly wanted to have piggybacks more often and Scott promised that he could get a piggyback every time they walked home. Some days, Scott would run and jump, sending Alan higher into the air. They both laughed and Scott would talk about mum whilst Alan looked for her. But in the end, he never did see her.

TBTBTBTBTBTBTB

Alan groaned as he came to, his head was pounding, and his left leg was killing him. Alan opened his eyes to the same pitch-black he was starring at under his eyelids The world was black around him. He tried to move but that only sent a wave of pain shooting up from his left leg. He moved a hand up to his helmet and switched on the lights, looking around. Debris littered the immediate vicinity around him. He tilted his head down to light up his left leg. He found the source of his pain, his ankle was at a stomach-wrenching angle, no doubt broken. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to clear his head and remember the events beforehand. Soon information flooded back to him. Earthquakes, trapped civilians, helping Scott. Alan gasped as he looked around, causing his ankle to protest. Where was Scott? His brother was nowhere near him. Alan thought back to being he has been knocked unconscious. They had been making there way back up to the surface before they felt the second quake start. The already damaged building couldn’t have supported itself anymore and must have collapsed, with them still inside. “Scott….Scott, do you read me? Come in Scott,” Alan said although he just got static as a response. Alan again tried to move but it only caused him to swear quietly, god forbid Grandma ever finding out about that. Alan knew he had to move, this buildings structural integrity was already non-existent and could very likely again, he had to find Scott before he could high tail it out of there. But with his ankle the way it was, he doubted he’d get very far. He leant back against the wall, looking around taking in everything he could see, hoping to create an escape plan. He was halfway through thinking about hopping before the movement of rubble caught his attention. “Alan? Alan you here?” Alan let out a sigh of relief when he heard Scott's voice. “Scott! I’m over here!” he sat up straight again as he saw his brother run towards him. “Alan!” Scott knelt next to him. “That ankle doesn’t look good. Are you hurt anywhere else?” “Besides a slight headache, I’m okay. Just can’t walk very well…at all,” Alan knew that wouldn’t stop Scott from worrying, he was proven right when Scott started to look him over, just to make sure Alan wasn’t hiding anything else from him. “We need to move, my communicator got busted when the building collapsed. I couldn’t get hold of you so I started searching. I think we fell at least one floor. We need to walk out of the building before we can contact anyone,” Scott said, and Alan nodded in agreement. Once Alan tried to move the lights on his helmet flickered before going out entirely. Just his luck, his helmet getting damaged in all this. Scott’s helmet was the only source of light now. “Looks like that hit to the head did more damage to the helmet than you thankfully,” Scott said before moving in front of Alan, the light illuminating what was left of the room. “Alan shuffle forward and lean against my back, I’m going to have to carry you out.” Alan went to protest but he knew Scott wasn’t going to leave him here to search for help, that wasn’t something Scott did. With some slow movements and pained groans, Alan was against Scott’s back, arms around his older brothers’ shoulders. When Scott slowly stood up, Alan swore he heard the faintest groan leave his brother's lips but thought of it to be nothing more than Alan being a little bigger compared to when they were younger. Once Scott moved his hands under Alan's thighs he started to move slowly over the debris, making sure to jolt Alan's ankle as little as possible. The floor would creak and cracks in the concrete could be heard. Sometimes Scott stopped so the floor would seemingly calm down before moving again. Other times he would stop to catch his breath, Alan would offer to get off his back, but Scott would simply shake his head and continue. They were both aware that another aftershock could happen at any time and without contact from Thunderbird five. they had no idea if or when that would happen. They had to move fast to avoid more injuries. Alan could tell Scott was getting worn out, his movements over the debris were slower, almost as if it took more thinking power to know where Scott was placing his feet. He also heard Scotts breathing slowly get louder as this journey went on and yet the breaks did nothing to help. It then occurred to Alan that he hadn’t even asked if Scott was hurt. “Scott, did you get hurt at all when we fell through the floor?” Alan asked frowning. “Think I hit my head a little, no nausea though so I don’t think I have a concussion but didn’t really think about it. Was focused on trying to find you,” Scott replied with breaths between most words. “Besides, I can rest once we get home.” “Plan on piggybacking me back to the island huh?” Alan said smiling getting a small chuckle from Scott below him. “Maybe one day we can try doing that, you didn’t really get any taller so it might still work.” “Hey! I’m not that short! You’re just…really tall that’s all,” Alan pouted and resorted to lightly banging his head against Scotts, it only made his older brother chuckle again. “Al-an , Sc-tt come in!” Alan jumped as the new panicked voice of another brother. He moved an arm up to open his comms. “John! I read you,” Alan replied “Alan! Glad you hear your voice. Are you okay? We haven’t been able to contact Scott yet,” John said through comms. “He’s with me right now, his comms got busted when the building fell on us,” “Injuries?” “My ankle’s killing me and we’ve both hit our heads but we’re okay. We’re almost at the edge of the building now,” “And make sure Virgil is there waiting for us so he can get Alan sorted!” Scott butted in making Alan roll his eyes. The prospect of seeing daylight again was most likely the reason why Scott upped his pace, that’s what Alan concluded anyway. Once they were approaching a collapsed wall, it began to crumble, revealing the midday sun shining bright. Virgil and Gordon were both there waiting, Virgil looking worried but Gordon looking almost amused at the predicament Alan was in. Something which Alan would have to get him back for eventually. Once they got near Thunderbird Two Alan slid down Scott’s back, keeping his focus on Virgil, mainly to make sure that Virgil got some comfort in the fact he wasn’t dying. Alan definitely wasn’t expecting both Gordon and Virgil to gasp in horror. Alan frowned looking down at himself and realised what they were worried about. His front section was covered red. Virgil was the first to move, helping Alan onto a stretcher and into Thunderbird Two. It was strange, Alan didn’t feel any pain at all, not even on the journey to the edge of the building with Scott. That didn’t stop him worrying though, it was quite a bit of blood. Alan let Virgil work, placing a bio scanner on him, checking on the possible chest wound but Alan noticed his frown of worry turn into a frown of confusion. “Alan undo your suit now,” Vigil demanded, and Alan complied, ‘don’t mess with medic mode Virgil,’ Alan thought to himself. When Alan got the front of his suit lowered, he looked to his chest and frowned as well. His chest was clean, apart from some bruising that was probably from the fall. No cuts, there wasn’t a wound on his chest so where did all the blood come from? Alan thought back to the rescue, wondering if it was any of them who might have been bleeding, but he couldn’t recall any of the public injured that badly. Alan paled and looked up to Virgil. No words were needed before Virgil got the hint and bolted out of Thunderbird Two over to Thunderbird One. Alan was putting the upper half of his suit back on and following his older brothers. By the time he got outside Thunderbird Two, he already saw Virgil leaning over a very still Scott on the floor, he hadn’t even made it back to his thunderbird. He was lying on his front and Alan saw what the cause for the blood loss was. There was a massive gash cutting through his suit going halfway down his back. Now everything that happened in the building made sense. Scott’s slowing movements, the struggle to draw breath in properly. Scott was struggling and Alan didn’t even realise. “Come on Scott, don’t give up on me. You held on this long you idiot,” Alan heard Virgil mumble as he saw him trying to stem the flow. “Let us get him to Thunderbird two Now,” TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB Scott groaned softly as he moved his head slightly. As he opened his eyes, he was rudely greeted by the blinding light of the islands infirmary. Scott brought his mind to a halt. Island infirmary, what was he doing here? “Try not to sit up too quickly Scott, you’re going to collapse again,” Virgil said to Scott’s right, making Scott turn to face him as his eyes got accustomed to the light. In true Scott fashion, he didn’t listen to Virgil but the pulling on his back soon made him freeze. It was a very uncommon sensation. Something was pulling his back, that’s how Scott could describe it anyway. “Ah, didn’t think the pain killers would get rid of it completely. But now I’m glad so I can have a proper scalding at you. I mean what were you thinking! Carrying Alan on your back for almost an hour knowing full well you were in this state!” Scott physically winced when Virgil shouted. Medic mode Virgil was not someone you wanted to mess with because it normally ended with the patient spending the journey back in Two asleep. The fact that Virgil was absolutely fuming meant he’d done something, but Scott was sure he wasn’t that bad. He knew he hit his head but there was only a slight headache nothing else. The tugging sensation from his back then made him think. “I guess I got more banged up than I thought huh….” Scott said absent-mindedly. “A little more banged up? Scott, you hardly breathing when we got to you outside One! Your back needed stitches and we still aren’t sure if an infection won’t settle in yet! You are grounded until you can walk without ripping your wound open again,” Grounded? No, he couldn’t be grounded. It wasn’t long ago that brains had decoded the message sent from Dad. Everyone needed to be at their best to make sure they could find a way to get to him in time. If Scott was grounded, then he couldn’t help getting to dad. “Virgil, I know you’re angry I really do but I genuinely thought I was okay. I didn’t feel a thing! I was worried about Alan and I even told him I banged my head. But I felt fine I swear!” Scott looked up to Virgil, hoping to show how sincere he was. There was a moment of silence. “Your version of fine is much different to actually being fine you know that?” Virgil said, his voice instantly calmer making Scott sigh mentally the unspoken words clearly getting through to him. “Speaking of fine. Can I go now? Since I’m grounded, I’ve got game time to squeeze in,” Scott looked over to his right seeing Alan fashioning a bright red cast around his left ankle. “Alan! You’re okay?” Scott asked worried getting a nod from Alan. “Well Virgil said it was a clean break which is better at healing so only a few weeks off, I guess. Meaning more game time,” Alan said smiling. “More like more revision time, I’m pretty sure I heard Grandma talking about getting some more lessons online for you to complete whilst you are at home,” Virgil said making Alans smile drop immediately. “Aw man, you’ve got to be kidding me! The new instalment of crime racers came out yesterday!” Alan slumped back into his bed sulking, causing the two older Tracy’s in the room to chuckle. “He seems fine to me…” Scott smiled looking back to Virgil who sat down on his bed and spoke in a quieter tone, no doubt so Alan couldn’t hear. “I know you’ve got dad on your mind and believe me; we want to get him back as much as you do. This injury isn’t going to be a setback okay? We can do just as much on the island sitting in one position as we can in the hanger, give or take a few things. But it isn’t just up to you to help get him back. Lean on us for a bit. We can take it, even the squirt over there can,” Virgil’s comment made Scott chuckle quietly again. “Thanks Virgil…. we’ll get him back, together.”