#as a kid and a teen. potential just hung over me heavily. but now i get it

[lesbicastagna]

anyone else feels untouchable because of their youth or is it just a me thing. i know it isn't i just find it so fascinating cause i'm aware of it but also can't stop myself from feeling it. so weird and specific feeling

#its not even about all the time i have it's more. this also has to do with health obv. as a generally healthy and able bodied person #when i was younger i never understood what it meant when ppl talked about it. feeling invincibile full of potential etc i felt very trapped #as a kid and a teen. potential just hung over me heavily. but now i get it #i feel it watching my parents and grandparents get older and frailer like i feel worried etc but i cannot emphatize #the loss of loved ones hits me but not in the same way. its like death just brushes by like theres a barrier #just an inherent energy and will and hope for the future that i feel only comes from being so young still #a #its funny to me cause im not even someone who has a lot of plans or shit im just like yeah but i will vibe on. forever

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever. 

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast— you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong.  You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners. 

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment.  Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

 content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #tony stark x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #clint barton x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!thor #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!natasha romanoff #wow i give up its too many #posies chapter 1 #will reblog w tags in just a sec

[raevenlywrites]

Okay, so. The point I wanted to make earlier was something like this:

TL;DR: Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. More kids need access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable.

(Did I just put a tldr at the START of my post? why yes I did. why? because i’m about to drop this entire damned ESSAY under a read more because it’s dash destroying (think of it as an abstract on a scientific paper) ... (no, it is nothing like an abstract on a scientific paper. wtf did I say that) ... (anyways))

(Can you tell its an ADHD night? are there enough parenthetical asides in this yet?)

...

(no)

.

ANYWAYS

When I was a teen, I read a book called In The Forests Of The Night. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention it before, but believe it or not, it was only TONIGHT that it occurred to me that this book and its fellows is my hyperfixation. Because, for the first TWO THIRDS OF MY LIFE, I didn’t know to think of myself as someone with hyperfixations. Hell, I didn’t even know what a hyperfixation was. I am one of the countless adults who has self diagnosed as ADHD or autistic or SOMETHING, and this is the story of how not having a diagnosis growing up hurt me.

So. I read this book. My now-wife-then-unbeknownst-crush gave it to me as part of our ignorant teen courtship. You’ll like this, she said, trying to share an interest with me in order to bond. Thank you, I said, not knowing I wanted to smooch her face. Unimportant, but I like reminding myself when I look at back my teen years how queer I already was without knowing. And this story is mostly for my benefit of getting it off my chest, so smoochy thoughts included.

So I read this book. It’s short, 200 pages or so, and if I’m honest with myself as an informed adult, nothing spectacular. It’s not bad, but its not ground breaking. None of the books are. But they broke new ground in Me, and what grew out of them has literally shaped the course of my entire personality.

Raev, I hear you say, it’s not great to base your entire personality on a bit of pop culture.

Shut up, I said, I’m telling this story and anyways insert-edgy-media-here dudebros have been doing it forever. Anyways.

So I read this book. I read it again, and again. I read all the books that went with it, but I stayed especially hung up on Forests. Why? Partially because it was the first one I read. Partially because the MC and I share a name, and therefore in my little teen head a connection. It was the first time “Rachel” felt like an identity, instead of just an identifier, and one that way too many of my classmates shared. Rachel was a badass, stifled by her Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. I was a badass, stifled by my Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. Rachel became a vampire, spiteful and spitfire the entire way. She did it on her own terms (so my teen reading of the text went), spurning every attempt of her kind to show her the ways of the vampire. She had a nemesis, a clear, concrete reason for her pain, and took charge of that pain and overcame it to be a complete and utter badass by the end of the book (again, so my teen reading went. Part of the problem here was my teenness. Part of it was my neurodivergence, which I will get to (you didn’t think this would be a SHORT story, did you? I warned you I have ADHD and that this was my hyperfixation; how did you think this was gonna go?))

So I identified heavily with the protag, and with its shocking author. This lifechanging book was written by a teen, like me! Holy cats, I said to myself, why, if she can do it, so can I! I had just started writing my own first novel (a shameless retelling of Star Wars, hyperfixation of my grade school years), and immediately trashed it to write my own vampire thing. Because vampires were clearly IT and I was gonna be a cool badass author hero, just like the MC of the second book.

Then the shapeshifter books came out, and so did I.

It’s really unrelated, but that was a fun transition, and as previously stated, author-type. Anyways.

So I came out to my girlcrush, angsted about that a lot, and continued to gobble up the books. Did you know there’s a website, she said. There’s like a whole fan community and everything.

Now, part of the problem here was being part of the first generation on the internet. It was relatively new, and so stranger danger and not being entirely comfortable on the internet and all that had its part to play. But this is also where the hyperfixation finally comes into play.

I liked Nyeusigrube A LOT. A lot a lot. So much so that I made my own conlang, my own mythos, my own entire story universe patterned after this one but not exactly this one. For whatever reason, it never occurred to me to self-insert, just to shamelessly copy. That one I can’t explain, but this one I can now understand through the lens of an adult.

Nyeusigrube was my especially special interest, and I had no idea that was a normal, healthy thing.

So tangled up in all this was my raised-too-conservative freak out about being Not Straight. I had finally figured out I liked girlfriend, if not that I was incredibly bisexual yet, and that was a Big Deal. Super cool author I hero-worshiped was one of those “Do I want to BE her or just want her?” kind of idolations, but again, didn’t know that at the time either. So these two very normal things that I knew NOTHING about were getting tangled together in a rat king of Issues with a generous slathering of Shame glue to hold them all together. Add to it the paranoia/RSD/general not-great-at-social sides of my neurodivergence, and basically I had decided I was Too Weird and liked this book Too Much and if I so much as LOOKED at the websites/forums/etc, everyone would know and that would be Bad.

Did I have a clear idea of how that would look? Not really? I didn’t need to. Just the thought of checking out the fansites was enough to send me into a panicking guilt/shame spiral about how much I enjoyed the books. Everyone will KNOW, I thought, and it will be BAD. The End. It was Not Normal how much I liked the books and I will freak everyone out.

So.

If I had just KNOWN that hyperfixations were a thing, I might have still felt weird, but I don’t think I would have AGONIZED (and I do mean fucking AGONIZED) over how shockingly Not Normal my level of interest went. I might have still felt bad, because I didn’t have a diagnosis, and therefore probably wouldn’t have given myself permission of admit I had a hyperfixation, but at least I wouldn’t have wallowed in ignorance. Now, if I’d had the knowledge and the diagnosis, I probably would have still been too shy to interact, but I wouldnt’ have wasted hours of my life in panicked/guilt/shame spirals. If I’d have a diagnosis and a support group? If I’d had a diagnosis and been raised with the normalization of being queer? If I’d had medication, role models, a safe place to open up and communicate, so on and so on? Like, you get the idea, right?

I consider myself immeasurably lucky that my love of writing and vampires and high school girlfriend survived all this. (My equally intense boy crush of the time did not (not because I don’t like boys but because I fell down another hyperfixation spiral and no PERSON should ever be subjected to that but I digress)). As I said, this is my especially special hyperfixation. I can’t imagine how many hours of enjoyment I might have gotten out of the forums, the fan arts, the roleplaying groups, the FRIENDSHIPS, my gods, can you imagine the friendships? Anyways, what I’m really saying is that it caused me real emotional Pain and Trauma, thinking something was Wrong with me for my level of interest. A lot of people have regrets about like not trying out for the team or not asking so and so out or whatever, but mine is a stupid fansite. I have deep and palpable regrets about letting my fear and shame keep me from something so harmless and silly, and as I said before I don’t think I have a concise or tidy ending, but this was what I wanted to say on the matter so there it is.

TL;DR: (hey, didn’t you already post this part? Yes, yes I did. I’m doing it again, but this time its the In Conclusion bit instead of the summary bit) ...(abstract. they’re called abstracts)...(this is still FAR from a scientific paper) (ANYWAYS) Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. I was stunted and harmed by this lack of education, and I guess my point is I hope no one else has to go through that. If my stupid little story can fix a thing, I want it to be that. More kids needs access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

#raev rambles

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: A mission gone awry, too many memories, too much blood, and not enough time. Bruce races to save a son he couldn't save before.

Prologue, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8

_____________

Now.

Neither Jason nor Bruce wore seatbelts as they tore down the narrow German backroads, Bruce taking cues from Barbara on shortcuts and potential traffic holdups and watching her remotely change lights to green whenever necessary. Somehow they didn’t encounter a single officer on the way there—whether by luck or some additional maneuvering on her part, Bruce did not care.

He stared ahead, fighting the urge to glance over at Jason every few seconds as he maneuvered through the downpour. In the stuffy cabin, the smell of blood hung thick and coppery in the air, and he swallowed against a roll of nausea as he worked to keep the boy talking.

“Jason? Hey.” With one hand, he jostled Jason’s knee roughly. “Hold on.”

“M’awake.”

“Good. Talk to me. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when we get back?”

“Crash…all of your German cars…”

Despite everything, Bruce’s cheek twitched with something almost like a smile. “You love those cars.”

“Not anymore. Whole country is…dead to me.”

“Alright. What else?” They took a particularly hard turn and Jason groaned as it threw him against the door. “Sorry.”

“Dammit. Dammit,” he hissed, his voice hitching, and something about the tone dragged Bruce’s eyes off the road to glance at him for just a second. Jason’s face was scrunched in pain, eyes squeezed shut, and though he was soaked to the bone, fresh tears stood out against his cheeks anyway. Panic pooled in Bruce’s gut as his heart leapt into his throat.

“I’m cold, B…” Jason whispered. “I’m…I’m really cold…”

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

Then.

“God, it’s hot in here,” Jason said, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the dusty warehouse floor with a heavy thump. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably.

Bruce’s eyes were trained through the clouded window at the apartment building across the street. “It’s an unairconditioned distribution center in the middle of a heat wave.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s kind of my point.” Pulling off his helmet, Jason shook his sweat-drenched hair, purposely splattering Bruce in the spray, then puffed out his cheeks with a sigh. “How are you not frying right now?”

“Breathable fabric.”

“That was a dig at my costume, wasn’t it? Dickwing said the same thing last week. What do you guys have against my look?”

Bruce eyed the bundle of leather at Jason’s feet, the thick cargo pants, the dense helmet tucked under his arm. “It’s a little heavy.”

“Well, my days of running around the city in glorified underwear are done so you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“We’re not the ones passing out from heat exhaustion.”

“He told you that?” Jason demanded. “That little—”

Whatever he was about to say stopped abruptly as Bruce held up a finger. Jason leaned forward to get a better view out the window.

“Looks like the show’s about to start,” the teen said, watching a man carry a duffle bag into the apartment. “How long before the others get here?”

“Should be within the hour.” Bruce glanced at Jason as the boy let out a massive yawn. “You don’t get enough sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Jason let himself slide down the wall and crossed his hands behind his head, adding, “Kidding! Geez,” when he noticed Bruce’s disapproving stare. “If you get this bent out of shape over a couple jokes, what are you gonna do when I finally die for real?”

Bruce’s jaw flexed. “I have no intention of finding out.”

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

Now.

By the time they were pulling up to the small flower shop on the outskirts of town, Jason was barely conscious and no longer truly responsive. An old woman with an umbrella and thick glasses ran up to meet them, as Bruce leapt out of the car and hurried around to the passenger side,

“Where are you hurt?” she asked, looking Bruce up and down quickly.

“Not me.” He opened the door and Jason’s head turned to look at her. He lifted a bloody hand from his gut and offered a limp wave before his eyes rolled and his body went slack.

The woman hissed something in German and ran back to hold open the shop door as Bruce maneuvered Jason out of the car and carried him inside. She led the way through the aisles of dusty vases and long-dead bouquets toward the tiny bathroom in the back where she pressed her hand to the mirror over the sink.

A red outline appeared around her hand, blinked, then flashed green, and a second later a section of the wall rumbled away with a small shower of dust and debris, to reveal a steep staircase that dropped into darkness.

Dr. Ziegler rushed ahead, the sound of her hurried steps swallowed by Bruce’s much heavier footfalls as he followed closely behind. Motion sensing lights popped on throughout the cave as they went, illuminating a much smaller, less equipped version of the cave back in Gotham.

“I’m going to need your help,” Dr. Ziegler said, already setting up supplies in the med bay.

“Understood.” Bruce laid Jason on the operating table and started working to remove the young man’s gear. As he peeled the reinforced garment away from the wound, he fought back an audible curse. This was the first time he was seeing the injury clearly, and here, under the stark surgical lights, the deep wound looked almost alive itself—pumping out dark swells of blood in tune with Jason’s own heart.

Nearby machines sprung on as Bruce hooked Jason up to them, sticking sensors along his chest and arms, clipping the pulse ox to his finger. He had just secured the gas mask to the Jason’s face when, against all odds, the boy’s eyes fluttered open.

“Jason?” Bruce said, his voice low enough that Dr. Ziegler wouldn’t be able to hear.

The teen brought a trembling hand up to his face and tugged weakly at the mask, unable to pull it down. His fingers left bloody smudges on the plastic.

Bruce lowered it to Jason’s chin. Beside them, one of the monitors was wailing. Jason’s vital signs were deteriorating quickly—too quickly.

“I don’t…wanna leave again…” His voice cracked as more blood burbled up and over the corners of his mouth. When he spoke again, it almost sounded like he was drowning. “I don’t…I don’t wanna leave...”

Bruce turned Jason to his side as he gagged and more blood spilled from his mouth and nose.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he promised as Jason’s coughing subsided. “You’re right here with me.”

The boy’s dark eyes were half-lidded but focused when he asked, “D-d’you think…I’ll…come back…this time…?”

“Come back from where?”

Jason blinked heavily, his gaze drifting as the anesthesia finally took effect.

“Come back from where?” Bruce demanded, but the boy’s eyes rolled back and he was gone.

“We have to begin,” Ziegler said from the other side of the table, resituating the mask on Jason’s face. “We have a lot of work to do.”

#a little bit louder now #batfam fanfiction #batfam fanfic #batman fic #batman fanfiction #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #whump #whump fic #hurt/comfort

[deanofwhumpuniversity]

Chambers Authority: Becoming

This is the first of this verse I’ve posted here, and it’s pretty gross. A real Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. Nearly 4k words of...whatever the hell this is.

CW: Self-mutilation, amputation, cannibalism, medical whump, intubation, choking, acid, guns, blood, gore, human sacrifice, murder, death, immortal whumpee of a sort. 

It started last October, on a night so quiet and comfortably cool I should have known it wouldn’t last. I was sitting in the passenger seat, finishing a granola bar when the radio chirped to life with a no-nonsense message from dispatch. “Ambulance requested at 1002 Pike St.”

We didn’t have to speak; my partner was already putting the truck in gear while I picked up the CB. “Team Sierra Hotel responding, we’re on the north side. Details?”

There was an uncharacteristic pause before the dispatcher came back. “It was...a strange call. We’ve also reached out to PD.”

A spike of anxiety shot through me. It’s never pleasant, rushing to some horrible scene, mentally preparing while physically you just can’t do anything until you get there. All that adrenaline with nowhere to go might just be the worst part of the job. Aside from, y’know, everything else. But this was a new kind of harrowing: situation in progress, bracing for nothing and everything. My brain dredged up every sort of first response procedure I knew, like I was cramming for EMT exams all over again. It was overwhelming and useless, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts, when the radio clicked back to life one final time. “They just said that someone’s going to die.”

Our siren was blaring outside and the road was flying past, and I hoped I had misunderstood; but Roman shot a concerned look at the radio and then at me, and I knew he’d heard it too.

“Come back, dispatch? I did not copy.” The radio only played a low whine, almost more the whirr of magnetic tape than any of the familiar fuzzy sounds the CB usually made. After a few more moments I gave up, switching the machine to police frequency. “This is SH 176 emergency medical, who’s responding to the call on Pike?” My only answer was that same low mechanical rasp. No voices came back over the radio, to me or anyone else. The constant chatter characteristic of the police band was simply...gone.

The silence stretched as I stared at the dashboard radio, microphone sitting useless in my hand. 

WHAM! I startled back to awareness as Roman thumped the side of his fist into the radio, trying to jostle it to life. I shot him a look as I hung up the mic and took a deep breath to settle my nerves; he kept his eyes on the road and we began to slow. I realized we were on Pike Street, our destination coming up on the left. The area was all nondescript commercial buildings, small warehouses with vague signs that gave no indication what sort of business they did.

We came to a stop on the wrong side of the street, lights and sirens granting us permission to ignore the rules of the road. It seemed we’d gotten here first. There were no other emergency vehicles, no police, no one coordinating the scene. “What do we even take in?” It was part genuine question, part musing aloud. With no hint of what we’d find inside, I had no idea what our potential patient -- or patients -- might need.

Roman didn’t answer, staring out into the night with a look of consternation furrowing his brow. He leaned forward and flicked a switch, killing our siren but leaving the lights flashing. The silence was so sudden I could feel a ghostly echo of the blare bouncing off my eardrums. I popped my ears and craned in my seat, but I didn’t see any lights but ours bouncing off the glass storefronts; there were no distant wails of sirens coming to join us.

My partner opened his door and hopped out. “I guess it’s on us.” Of course it was fine for us to respond first; that was the job and we didn’t need the police here to get to work. But something in the stillness, thrown into ghoulish contrast by the flashing red and blue, seemed...different from our usual calls.

“What if this isn’t the place?” What if I had heard the dispatcher wrong? If we somehow both had? I knew it wasn’t likely, but the look Roman gave me showed he had doubts too. He leaned back into the cab and switched through the frequencies on the radio. Dispatch, police, back again. Then to a random band. All silent. There wasn’t even a momentary shock of static as the frequencies changed. He shrugged, grabbed a trauma kit, and started off toward the building, leaving his door hanging open. 

I pulled my own first responder kit from behind my seat and followed after him, telling myself it was purely professionalism that hastened my step -- the ability to do my job without need for direction -- and not an expanding discomfort at the thought of being alone in that garishly lighted stillness.

I surveyed the building for side doors and open windows as we approached, inwardly cringing at the idea of breaking the glass front door only to discover we were, in fact, in the wrong place. But Roman gripped the handle and the door swung open soundlessly, as though it were perfectly natural and the place was open for business at whatever ungodly hour of the morning. This seemed to give him pause, and he stood holding the door open for just a moment before continuing on into an unlit lobby.

We looked around for a moment, at the magazine-laden tables and a desk with its darkened computer; a hallway led further into the building, with lights on toward the end, our only obvious choice to proceed. Heading that way I began to hear a voice, muffled by distance but clear enough, and I realized it was the first speech I’d heard for many minutes. I was almost comforted by the normalcy of hearing other people before I began to process what the voice was saying.

“No! No. You’re crazy! This is crazy, why are you doing this?”

Roman and I picked up our pace, hustling toward the sound. We rounded a corner and came to a set of propped-open double doors. The room beyond was large and cluttered with equipment, but my trained eye was drawn immediately to the carnage at its center.

A young man -- maybe a teen, but it was hard to tell -- sat strapped to something like a modified dentist’s chair. His face and shirt were spattered with blood; I couldn’t immediately tell if it was his, or if it was all coming from the slab of gore being held to his mouth. A darker, silver-haired man stood before him, offering up a piece of bleeding meat with his right hand. The man’s left arm was...gone. His dress shirt had been tied off above the elbow, a rubber tourniquet knotted over the bloody sleeve. A table beside them was strewn with irregular chunks of flesh, unrecognizable except for a hand.

The man’s voice was quiet, almost pleading, despite his clear control over the scene. “There isn’t time for squeamishness, Mads.” His head was cocked and brows were knit with worry, as though he was pressing some much-needed medication on the boy and not some raw remnant of his own mutilated body. “We have to hurry! Just do as you’re meant to and everything will be alright.”

The boy in the chair let out a muffled grunt, struggling in his restraints but unwilling to open his mouth to cry out. He tossed back and forth against a leather strap across his chest, cycling his knees up and down in the mere inch of give that the ankle cuffs afforded him. As we watched, frozen, one of the straps gave way and he kicked out, barely glancing the man but knocking the table and its grotesque bounty to the floor.

The man let out a frustrated growl and stepped back. A black-robed figure I hadn’t noticed before rushed forward and grabbed the boy’s leg, wrestling it back into place.

Suddenly I was shoved hard to the side, barely catching myself against the wall of the hallway before I struck my head. I turned to see Roman, ducking to the other side of the hall and taking a position in the sliver of protected space behind the mostly-open door. As I regained my senses I took in more of the room, seeing now that some dozen black clad people ringed the space, standing nearly unmoving in the shadows. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my partner signalling at me; I turned to look as he pointed his thumb back the way we’d come, then held his hand up to his mouth like a phone. I nodded, yes, the radio, then turned back to the grisly scene playing out in the room. What could I do for this kid? We needed the police. 

The older man, though, clearly required medical attention; his sleeve was soaking through over the stump of his arm, the cloth saturated enough now to begin dripping freely. A morbidly hilarious image ran through my mind -- of me simply walking in and offering the aggressor first aid. Would he leave the kid be and let me staunch the wound? Somehow I doubted it.

The figure at the boy’s feet gave up on the broken restraint, sitting back on their heels and simply holding the kid’s leg in place. The man had righted the table and was gathering up the wet meat that had fallen to the floor. He sighed heavily, and his voice took on a disappointed tone. “Alright, Maddox, have it your way. Just...remember, it didn’t have to be like this.”

He strode away, to the poorly-lit edge of the room, and the boy -- Maddox, it seemed -- took the opportunity to shout in earnest, alternating “Help!” and “Stop, please!” and “Let me go!” as he rocked forward and back against a leather strap buckled across his chest. The shadowed figures held their silent vigil, unmoved by his outbursts.

When the man stepped back into the light, he held a jumble of supplies bundled in the crook of his remaining arm.  He dumped them onto the table, letting them slop into the bloody mess, and I heard a metal clank among the soft, wet noises. 

Maddox stopped mid-shout, leaning back and raising his hands as far as the restraints would let him, in a half-warding, half-placating gesture. “Let’s just talk about this, ok? Just...just don’t--” 

The silver-haired man selected an implement from the pile, and stepped well into the boy’s space, looming over him. He pushed what I could see was a speculum toward Maddox’s mouth, and the stump of his left arm moved -- as though he was trying to hold his victim steady and he’d forgotten his new amputee status. He fixed his gaze on one of the robed figures and nodded, and they rushed forward, grabbing the boy’s head and pulling it sharply back. They grasped his chin, and Maddox’s eyes screwed shut with effort as he clenched his jaw. With two people scrabbling at his mouth, he couldn’t resist long.

He gave one last sobbing cry -- “Don’t, please don’t do this! Dad! --” before the speculum wedged into his mouth, holding his tongue down and distorting his cries. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched the man reach for a spool of plastic tubing.

Movement to my right alerted me to Roman’s return, and I hissed as loudly as I dared, “Did you get anyone on the radio? Are the cops here?” When I got no response I dragged my eyes away from the horrifying display. Across the hall, behind the other door, was a man I’d never seen before White shirt and jeans, with an obvious underarm holster. He was braced against the wall, holding a handgun in ready position, his attention firmly on the boy in the chair. Plain-clothes cop. Oh thank God.

The officer didn’t acknowledge me before he ducked into the room, keeping to the wall and quickly disappearing from my view around the corner. A loud, sickeningly wet choking caught my attention, but the man had positioned himself up on the chair, kneeling over the seated boy and blocking his face from view. All I could see were Maddox’s fingers flexing and digging into the armrests, and his legs tossing side to side as far as they could, movements no longer controlled but instinctive, animal struggles to survive.

The man stepped back down onto the floor and grabbed a chunk of flesh from the table, then stuffed it into a funnel I could see had been crudely jammed into the top of the thick tubing. It shouldn’t have fit -- couldn’t possibly have fit -- but I heard a thick sloshing, and saw as a white froth started to stream from the boy’s mouth around the intruding tube. The foam quickly began to turn pink, and thick rivulets of blood ran from the corners of his mouth to meet under his upturned chin.

“Oh holy Jesus!” Roman’s voice came from right beside me and I spun toward him; I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself as my stomach reeled. He took hold of my upper arms, clearly seeing I needed the help. “The cops are here!” He began to pull me away from the doorway and back down the hall. 

“I know!” I whispered back, but he cocked his head in confusion. Before I could tell him about the officer, a shot rang out from the room. We both ducked reflexively, and my partner started pulling me back to the lobby. He’d already brought the gurney -- somehow I hadn’t heard him dragging in the heavy equipment, and I caught myself feeling bad I’d been too distracted to come and help him. When he shot me a concerned look, I realized I had let out a maddened giggle at the ridiculous thought.

Outside on the street, lights and sirens blared. The chaos of uniformed figures bustling to and fro beyond the glass doors lent a morbid sort of normalcy to this horrific night. But none of them rushed in to back up their comrade; more shots rang out from the back and I saw the gathered police ducking behind the vehicles pulled up out front. But my fear and confusion took a backseat to instinct as Roman began to pull the gurney further into the building, and I took position behind it, matching his hurried but careful pace.

A new scene of carnage greeted us in the back room. Several of the robed figures lay in spreading pools of blood, unmoving; but the one-armed man and the plain-clothes officer were nowhere to be seen. Maddox, still strapped to the chair, seemed to be fully seizing, lurching purposelessly in his restraints, the unsupported tube in his mouth hanging down and dragging his head forward. 

We parked the gurney and Roman set about undoing the straps, while I assessed how best to safely remove the tubing from the boy’s throat. I gripped his chin and turned his head up, and I met his eyes -- terrified, suffering...and aware. Despite his body’s violent convulsions, he held my gaze. A gurgling whimper left his lips. I pulled as gently as I could on the tube, and felt none of the sort of rough resistance I expected; instead it felt as though it was dragging through thick mud. Liquid gore began to absolutely pour out of the boy’s mouth, and I was struck by a noxious, almost chemical smell.

“Oh fuck, Roman, I don’t -- ! Acid. I think it’s acid.”

“Just keep moving, Elke. We have to keep trying.” He was in full EMT mode, voice full of urgency but detached. I tried to push my panic down and let training take over. Roman had freed the boy’s limbs and was bundling up his legs. I pushed my arm under his shoulder and supported his head, preparing to move him to the gurney. “One, two, three, lift!”

We lay him down and his whines became a tortured keening; the boy squeezed his eyes shut and tears streamed down the sides of his face. I could feel the tube jerking in my hand as his body shuddered with sobs, but I couldn’t make much sense of the bottom of his face through all the blood. After a few more wracking coughs he seemed to run out of air, and drew in a long, rattling breath that started harsh and quickly became grotesquely wet, as though he was aspirating his own liquified throat. His eyes shot open and he shrieked; he began to claw at his chest and neck, arching up off the gurney in agony.

“Leave the tube, maybe we can get him some oxygen!” Roman was pulling the gurney now, heading back to the ambulance as though there were some miraculous treatment there, as though if we somehow got the kid to the hospital we’d be able to put his ravaged organs back together. 

A wave of dizziness flowed over me from head to toes as I could feel myself giving up; but the boy was still looking at me, eyes bright and clear and desperate. So I just kept moving.

We burst out the front door and beelined for the back of the ambulance. The police outside went from barking at each other, to shouting questions at us -- but the few who came close enough to see the patient backed off quickly. Once the gurney was secure in the cabin, Roman hopped behind the wheel and flipped the siren back on. I pulled one of the rear doors closed; as I grabbed the other a hand shot out of the dark and held it open. I jumped back in surprise, and the plain-clothes cop from inside hoisted himself up into the ambulance. 

“Hey! I’m sorry, but, you can’t --” He pulled the door shut behind him and slid onto the bench opposite me. I didn’t have time to argue. Maddox didn’t have time. “We’re clear!” I called to my partner, and he pulled out onto the thankfully empty nighttime streets.

I went for an oxygen bag and began peeling it from it’s sterile package, when I realized the officer was speaking. “Provoneaux got away, but not all is lost, yeah? There’s still time.” He wasn’t speaking to me; his eyes were fixed on Maddox’s. He stood up, hunched from the low clearance, and reached toward the boy’s face. Before I could register what he was doing, he took hold of the tracheal tube, and yanked.

Thick blood sprayed across the roof of the ambulance, spattering hot and sticky on my face and painting the man’s rumpled white shirt. Muffled whimpers became an agonized howl as what was left of the boy’s mouth was freed. The cop set his large hand against the Maddox’s gore-streaked chin, forcing his mouth shut and covering his nose. I grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to push him away, but he was slick with blood and freakishly strong. “Roman!” I cried out in a panic, unsure if I wanted him to stop and help, or just drive faster.

Instead, he yanked the wheel to the side, tossing us about and jostling the gurney. I felt the man’s grip falter, before he climbed fully over Maddox’s prone body, and pressed his whole weight down over the dying boy’s face. I shoved at him, punched his shoulder to no effect, then my eye lighted on an oxygen tank hooked to the wall. Pulling it down quickly, I put my whole weight into my swing, bashing it into the side of the man’s head. He tumbled to the floor, bringing up his arms to block any further blows.

“You don’t understand!” He was speaking to me for the first time, and I found myself hesitating. I held the oxygen tank ready for another swing, but I didn’t have an easy shot with Maddox between us. The man looked up at me over his raised arms. “If the sacrifice dies, the ritual will complete.”

“If...WHAT?” That was probably the last thing I’d expected to hear, and I simply could not imagine what I was supposed to say to that.

“He has to die some other way.” The man was panting with exertion, but his voice was strangely calm. “Do you really think you can save him? Do you?”

I looked down at the kid, whose eyes flicked back and forth between me and the officer, wide with fear and pain. His chest was hitching with short, failing breaths; what I could see of his face seemed to hold a pleading expression. A treasonous thought ran through my mind, that all I could do for him now was ease his suffering, but I would not give it voice. I would not tell him I was giving up on him. 

I tossed the oxygen tank onto the man, and saw his eyes widen before he covered his head and ducked flat to the floor. I heard it connect, heard his grunt of pain, but I turned my attention to the manual oxygen bag I’d been opening. Tossing the packaging aside, I leaned over the boy and pressed the bag to his face. I tried in vain to force air into his destroyed body, but I could tell now he was making short, sharp exhales, not taking in any breaths. Helplessly clutching the apparatus, I reached my other hand up and brushed the boy’s dark, wavy hair from his forehead. “It’s ok, Maddox,” I lied. “Shh, it’ll be ok.” His shoulders settled back, and his gasps began to gentle. He held my gaze, and I watched as his eyes went still and dark. 

I stood at his side for a moment, an eternity, choking down the sobs that wanted to claw up from my chest. The ambulance bounced over a rough patch of road and I slumped back on the bench, suddenly feeling weak and small as the adrenaline seemed to drain from me. I turned to the man now sitting on the floor opposite me; he looked as spent as I felt.

“Elke?” Roman called from the front. I could see his eyes in the rear-view mirror, probably trying to puzzle out just what on earth was happening back here.

“Roman, stop.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. I almost couldn’t hear it myself over that useless, pointless siren. “Stop it! Turn it off!” The shout hitched in my throat, but we coasted to a stop and I heard my partner open his door and climb out.

“You’re not a cop.” That one shout was all I’d had, my voice quiet again. I kept my gaze on the boy’s body, not wanting to look at the man, the would-be murderer. “Who are you?”

“I’m...Will.” He paused, the way that addicts do when they don’t want to tell the EMTs who they are or what they took. 

“Sure. Will.”

“I’m with the Chambers Authority.” He laughed dryly. “Not that that...means anything. I’m the one who called you, but I was too late. No one is more sorry about that than me, I assure you.”

It was my turn to laugh. There was no humor in it. 

The back doors swung open and Roman surveyed the scene with concern. “What did you do?” he asked, his tone strangely light.

“This psycho, I -- I tried to stop him, but -- !” I couldn’t sustain my anger for more than a few words. “I don’t think there’s anything that would have mattered.”

“No,” Roman replied, “what did you do?” How did you do it?”

I followed his gaze to the body of the young man on the stretcher. His chest was still, and he was deathly silent. But his hands were flexing, and his eyes began to blink. And then he sat up.

#whump #blood #gore #medical whump #amputation cw #choking tw #cannibalism #death tw #self mutilation cw #intubation tw #acid tw #guns tw #human sacrifice #murder tw #immortal whumpee #chambers authority #missives from the dean #elke reinhart #roman baluyot #maddox provoneaux

[platypan]

「Part One」 「My other Teen Wolf stuff on AO3 」 For Shaycora22, may your day improve!

The deputy slowed well before they approached the motel.  Derek wasn’t in any particular hurry to get there--he knew Laura was taking a twentieth or thirtieth shower, trying to wash the greasy ash residue from her hair and nostrils.  Still, he wanted to be curled in the cheap, scratchy blankets hearing her bitch about the quality of the free shampoo much more than he wanted to be anywhere else, too far away to hear her thumping around and her heart beating through the bathroom door.  “Sheriff said to make sure you got something in your stomach,” the man grinned, wandering down side streets to a small diner. 

Derek blinked, trying to remember when he’d eaten last.  As the deputy pushed him into a booth, something thudded heavily against the side of the building.  The deputy shoved Derek back into his seat, rolling his eyes.  “Sit down, I need to make some phone calls.”  He slid out of the booth and stalked out to the phone booth on the street corner, and Derek was left with the cheery server asking him what he wanted from a seemingly endless list of beverages.

“Chocolate milkshake,” said a small, wheezy voice from the booth behind him, and he flinched.  

“Strawberry milkshake,” he told her, ignoring the whispered “Boooo,” behind him.  Once she was gone, he frowned at the menu.  “...what’d you do, ride your bike?” he whispered back.  “You smell gross.  Why are you following me?”

“He knows,” the little voice whispered back, panting. 

Derek’s milkshake thumped down on the table in front of him, and the server turned to lean down into the next booth.  “What are you doing down there, St--”

“Sorry!” the kid’s limbs flailed against the padded seat, but also thonked against the table and table leg, and Derek grimaced in sympathy.  “I sure am hungry like a wolf, can I get some curly fries?”

The menu crumpled in Derek’s hands, and he quickly flattened it as Deputy Brûlébois came back in and dropped in the seat across from him.  

“Take your time.”  

Derek nodded, wondering how it was to not be able to hear hearts racing.  His felt like it was about to explode.  

“Just trying to sniff out something to wolf down!” the boy behind him stage-whispered to the server, who laughed.  “What’s smoking hot today, uh, Velma?  Just burning with potential?”

She snorted, leaning in to talk him through the specials, and Derek registered the deputy’s voice like it was coming from the other end of the train tunnel instead of across the table.  

“Kid,” the man sounded annoyed.  

“Y-yeah,” Derek refocused on the menu.

“Who’re you winking at,” Velma cackled at the terrifying ten-year-old behind him.  “I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”  

“Sister, definitely,” the kid thumped his elbow against their adjoining seat cushion.  “Just a sister.”

Derek felt his throat closing again, choking on a huge breath as he registered the Deputy’s hands on his, smacking his arm.  

“Order a fu--why don’t you just order a burger?” Brûlébois slammed his fist into the table.

“A burning hot sister,” the kid repeated, and Velma smacked him with the menu, cackling, and spun over to face Derek and the deputy.  

“Hey, you guys ready to--you okay, honey?”

Derek kept his lips pressed between his teeth, eyes lowered, wondering whether he would regenerate if he wolfed out, terrifying the deputy and the waitstaff, and got shot in the head.  He gave a belated nod, feeling across his nails with his thumb before pointing at something on the menu.  Velma paused, and he realized he’d selected the Little Princess Rainbow Sprinkle Strawberry Stuffed Sparkle Waffles, but she wrote it down without comment, and turned to smile at the deputy.

“Gimme whatever you’ve got on tap, it’s gonna be a long day,” he leaned back, eyes narrowed at Derek.

“Tip your milkshake,” the little voice behind Derek whispered.  “He’ll have to go clean up.”

When Derek froze, staring down at the table, the back of the booth thumped him again.  “Come on, dude, it’s just strawberry.”

Derek turned, knocking it with his elbow, and Deputy Brûlébois swore as it dumped across the table into his lap.  He slammed his fist into the seat, teeth bared at Derek, then yanked himself out of the booth and stomped off to the restroom.  The kid scrabbled out of his booth and hauled at Derek’s shoulder.  

“Okay, dude, come on, we gotta go--”

Moments later, Derek found himself shoved into the phone booth.  “Call her!  Call your sister, I heard them, they were staking her or something.”

His shaking fingers misdialed once, but she picked up on the second try.  “Laura.  Something’s--I don’t know what--”

“Derek!” she gasped back.  “Are you okay?  There’s a--there’re a bunch of--”

The kid grabbed the phone.  “Get out of there, go to--” he rattled off an address, as Derek tried to get his claws to retract.  “Scott’s dad’s an FBI agent.  You can get in from their roof.  I don’t even know what the hell, but they said they were gonna stake you guys or something and they had real guns--”

“Is Derek okay!?” Derek could hear her scrambling around in the hotel room.

“I’ve got him, we’ll meet you there,” the kid said, standing straighter, and Derek reached for the phone just as she hung up.  The next thing Derek knew he was manhandled onto a shiny purple bicycle, the kid clambering on behind and grabbing at his jacket.  “Go go go!  Summon your bats!”

“What?!” Derek pedalled, feeling somewhat relieved--since this had to be a dream, maybe some of the last week had been.  “What are you talking about.”

“They were all eating garlic!” the kid yelled over the air rushing by, slinging an arm around Derek’s shoulder so he could flail directions.  Derek swung the bike around the corner so fast the tires screeched.  “They had crossbows!  They called you monsters--”

Derek focused on pedalling, knees nearly to his ears, following the flailed pointing fingers out of the corners of his eyes.  Behind them, the deputy’s siren started in the diner parking lot.  

“Shit, here, turn--” Stiles yelled in his ear, directing him down a driveway and a yard, and they crashed through a three-foot high pile of sword ferns to get to tree cover.  It was clearer under the massive California pines, and Derek focused on avoiding ivy.

“So are they just all crazy?” the kid asked, once Derek slowed enough to stay on a winding trail.  “They said you could transform.  They had to get Laura before she transformed.”

“...with you standing there?” Derek was glad the hunters were idiots, but it seemed convenient.  

The kid scoffed.  “I was in a locker.  I was trying to steal more handcuffs.”

“...more handcuffs,” Derek repeated, nearly crashing them as he tried to frown over his shoulder.  

“And I want a crossbow,” he whispered in Derek’s ear, and Derek was forced to consider the possibility that if werewolves were real, so, possibly, were goblins.

“Are you a vampire or not,” the kid smacked his shoulder, and Derek couldn’t help snickering.

“Not.  Vampires aren’t real.  Neither’s Santa.”

“I know that!  They weren’t hunting Santa!”

“So you’re useless.”

Yeah, Derek thought, pretty much. “I’m good at riding bikes,” he powered up a hill, and heard the kid going “Oooooo.”

The house was deserted when they pulled up, and Derek tossed the kid up to the roof over the porch before jumping after him.  “Hey,” Laura’s voice came from the window.

“He says you guys aren’t even vampires,” Stiles sighed, clambering through the window and landing mostly on his head.  

“...he’s right,” Laura bit her lips, then grabbed Derek as he climbed through the window, hugging him tightly.  “Are you okay?!”

“I didn’t get my sparkle princess waffles,” Derek admitted, and she laughed into his shoulder, her voice rough.

“Who’re you?” she asked the kid.

“Some goblin,” Derek ducked away from the kid’s flung pillow.  “He kidnapped me from the diner.”

“Well,” Laura dropped to sit on the stranger’s bed.  “Thanks.”

“I should call my dad--” the goblin began, and she shook her head, holding her hand out.  

“Thank you very much.  But we’ll go now.  I’ve got a full gas tank.  We’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” the goblin deflated, shaking her hand.  “...kinda sucks you aren’t actually vampires.”

“It would be convenient,” she nodded.  “Except during the day.  Thank you, goblin.”

“I’m not--!  What--!” the kid stomped.  “I saved you!  I gave up my curly fries for this!”

“Yes you did,” she leaned to pull him into a hug with Derek, but they both frantically wriggled free, sharing a wide-eyed look.  

“G’bye, non-Draculas, I guess,” the kid waved, then folded his arms, and Laura snorted, dragging Derek to the window.  

“Bye, Goblin.”

He flipped them off, grinning, and Derek ducked after his sister through the window, back across the roof, and jumped to the ground next to the small bicycle.  He’d pedalled so hard those first few miles he could smell the tires.

“G’bye, stupid humans,” the kid stage-whispered from the window, and Derek turned and waved, before Laura drug him into the car.

“What was that,” she laughed.  “What was he, like seven?”

“No idea.  He heard them talking about crossbows, and killing you before you transformed,” he took a shaky breath.  “He was hiding in a locker, trying to steal handcuffs.”

“...maybe he was a goblin,” she blinked at the road, and smacking the map into his hands.  “Welp.  Goodbye forever, Beacon Hills,” she yelled out the sunroof.

Derek grinned.  “Goodbye, Goblin!” he joined in, yanking his sweatshirt from the back and inhaling.  It still smelled like home, and he swallowed, making a mental note to put it in a plastic bag.  He cleared his throat.  “Let’s stop for milkshakes.”

She nodded, snorting a laugh, and wiped her eyes.

「My other Teen Wolf stuff on AO3 」

#sterek #stiles x derek #platypan #platypan prompts #platypan fic #teen wolf

[megwritesfanfiction]

Concrete - (BNHA/MHA - Kacchako)

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku No Hero Academia. I am not making a profit off of this.

A/N: ... My husband said this was mean when he beta'd this for me. Debating on there being a second part? Maybe? I dunno...

AO3 LINK

“Where the hell is she?”

Midoriya shook his head, checking over each shoulder as the dust from the collapsing building engulfed them. “I don’t know,” he shouted. “She-“ He turned, starting at the destruction is awe. “She said she heard someone, so she went back in.”

“No.” She wasn’t that stupid. “What the hell do you mean she went back in?”

“She said she heard someone screaming,” Midoriya sputtered, cement and drywall crunching underneath his boots. “Kacchan,” he shook his head, looking at the broken bricks and dust at his feet. Everyone, heroes and civilians alike, was covered in dust, blood, scrapes, and bruises. “Uraraka was right behind me. She went back, but,” he looked at where the building once was. “I swear- I saw her, she-“

“You let her?!” Bakugo screamed, grabbing the teen by his suit.

Midoriya’s eyes wide, his own panic slowly rising. “What was I supposed to do?!”

People around him were screaming, crying out in agony from injuries and panic as Bakugo fought for control. He felt the sting of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he fought to breathe, “You weren’t supposed to leave her alone in there!”

“I didn’t!” Midoriya yelled, yanking himself out of Bakugo’s grasp. “She was right behind me!”

“Then where is she?!” Bakugo shouted, looking around them as the dust began to settle around them.

Midoriya looked around him. Dust covered bodies moved like ghosts wandering in the afterlife, eyes hollow and traumatized as police, firefighters, and heroes worked on rescue and recovery.

They could see women screaming for their children.

Children covered in dust and blood wailing for comfort.

Wives and husbands embracing each other, while others screamed.

“I don’t know,” Midoriya whispered shaking his head. “She-“

“I swear to god Deku if sh-“ He couldn’t finish that sentence. “Uravity!” He screamed running toward the center of the damage. The pit of his elbow covered his mouth as be battled through the dust. “Uravity!” He screamed, frantically looking around him. “Uraraka!” He weaved in between bodies, quickly checking each person to make sure they weren’t her. Bakugo circled around the rubble, chest heaving. She couldn’t be underneath the slabs of broken concrete, steel, and drywall.

Uraraka knew better.

“Ochako!”

She’d know to get as far out as she could to increase her chances of being found underneath the rubble, rather than being in the center of the building during the collapse. Even then, she couldn’t be pinned.

He trusted that she’d float herself out of the damage. She had to have.

Bakugo stopped, breathing heavily as his eyes scanned the area. Several bodies were strewn out around the area, a black tag dangling from their wrists marked their fate.

Dead on scene.

“Fuck,” he whispered, wheezing at the sight of a slender wrist and matted chestnut brown hair peeking out from under a large concrete slab. Bright red pooled around the body, staining the asphalt.

That wasn’t her.

He collapsed down, hands bunching on his knees as he felt panic throb through his chest and his stomach turn. “Ochako!” He screamed as loud as his voice could carry, tears squeezing from his eyes as he heaved.

That wasn’t her.

His hands dug into knees, jaw clenching as he fought the urge to scream.

“That’s not her,” he whispered as he hung down. “That’s not her.”

That body had a black sleeve like her suit.

“Damn it,” he whimpered, legs feel nearly buckling.

She’d taken her bracelets off before the the mission, afraid they’d get caught on something during the rescue effort.

It could be her.

Soaked palms slowly lowered to the ground as Bakugo’s knees finally gave out. Heavy tears clung to his eyelashes as he struggled for air, trying to get his brain to cling to reason.

She could have escaped.

Just because she hadn’t exited directly behind Midoriya didn’t mean she hadn’t gotten out safely. The perimeter of this building was huge. Uraraka could be on the other side.

Alive.

Not pinned beneath a piece of rubble with a black tag tied to her.

Bakugo wasn’t going to be able to focus until he found her. “Ochako,” he whispered, biting down on his lip. His eyes screwed shut. He swallowed a bitter lump of anguish as he focused on blocking out the noise around him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bakugo knew death was a likely outcome in their profession. Whether they battled adversaries or the elements, their jobs were dangerous. Each time any of them answered the call to protect, they recognized it could potentially be their last time.

He just didn’t think it would be this soon.

The two of them were supposed to have more time together. They were supposed to graduate, become pros, get married, have kids, have a future, and bicker over places to eat.

She wouldn’t do this to him.

He had to keep moving. If she was pinned beneath the rubble, Bakugo knew he had minutes to get her out.

She could be somewhere on scene helping to dig bodies out from the rubble.

“It’s Ground Zero!”

Soft uneven footsteps echoed in Bakugo’s ears. “It is,” a breathy voice answered in front of him.

Bakugo’s head snapped up, feeling air crush from his lungs. “Ochako…” He panted, watching her appear from the dust.

Uraraka limped toward him, covered from head to toe in dust and debris. Her suit was ripped and brown hair matted with blood as she cradled a child against her chest. One of her boots was missing and the other was broken and barely hanging on her foot.

“I need a medic!” Bakugo roared running over to her, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped her walk.

“I’m fine,” Uraraka breathed heavily as she leaned against him. “We’re,” she pushed a smile on her face as ignored the pain radiating through her body. Uraraka looked down at the boy in her arms. “Going to help you find your parents, okay buddy?”

The little boy looked up at her. Eyes wide and wet with tears as he gave her a little nod.

“We’re getting you to a hospital,” Bakugo insisted, tentatively placing a hand on top of her hand. He pulled his hand back seeing his palm covered in blood. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s,” Uraraka wheezed, shaking her head to chase away the darkness. “Just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“You-“

“We have to help Hiroshi find his mom.” Her pace slowed as she felt the effects of adrenaline fade from her system.

“Give me the kid,” Bakugo commanded gently, stopping them. He gently lifted the boy from her arms carrying him on his hip and tucking his other arm securely next to her.

“I’m-“

“We need to get you to a medic,” he tugged her, feeling her steps get heavy. “Now.”

“I-“ She gasped, feeling the adrenaline fade. The sudden searing in her side caused her chest to clench. Air rushed out of her lungs as Uraraka found it hard to take in another breath. “Katsu-“

“Shit!” Bakugo yelled as her knees buckled.

Uraraka fell forward, hands barely catching her fall as she landed on her side. Blood spilled around her.

Why hadn’t he seen she was bleeding? Where was all that blood coming from?

“Shit, shit, shit…” Bakugo murmured placing the kid on the ground. “Hey kid!” He firmly held Hiroshi’s shoulders. “I need you to run and get help for us, okay?”

Hiroshi stared at the fallen hero eyes wide and scared as he watched the ground around her turn bright red.

“Kid!” Fuck, what had she called the kid? “Hiroshi!” Bakugo barked, quickly exhaling as he tried to calm himself. If he scared the kid, he wouldn’t be able to help. “Uravity is going to be fine, but we need you to get someone. She needs help, understand?”

The child nodded slowly. “Okay,” Hiroshi whispered his eyes wide with fear.

“Go get help,” Bakugo repeated. He gave the child a gentle push as he crawled over to Uraraka. “Ochako, what hurts? I need you to talk to me.” His hands trembled as he gently rolled her to her back.

Uraraka’s hands pressed against her side she looked down noticing a jagged piece of metal sticking out.

“Shit, why didn’t you say anything?” He murmured, pressing around the metal penetrating her skin. The best case scenario would be a superficial wound, but her irregular breathing and blood loss let him know that this wasn’t the best case scenario.

“Didn’t hurt,” she gasped, eyes fluttering closed. The kid pressed against her side must have steadied the metal penetrating her side.

“Hey you, don’t close your eyes!” Bakugo yelled. He moved a hand off her side and gently tapped the side of her face. “Keep talking to me. What day is it?” In all of the first-aid classes, they’d stressed the importance to keeping someone in critical condition conscious as long as possible.

“Um,” Uraraka frowned, swallowing heavily as she tried to think through the pain rolling through her body. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Thursday.” To be fair, she never knew what day it was. “Who am I?”

A dry laugh crackled from her chest as she licked her lips. “Deku?”

“You’re not funny,” he chuckled, ignoring the fear bubbling in his chest. Her skin was slowly blending in with the ash caked against her skin. “My name?”

“Katsuki,” she exhaled slowly feeling her body become weightless.

“What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

Uraraka closed her eyes, the world feeling unsteady around around her, “I’m tired.”

“Eyes open!” He barked. His palms slipped against her blood soaked skin. “Don’t you start that shit.”

She opened her eyes slowly smiling at him. Her fingers wrapped around his hands. “It’s okay.”

“You better not close your eyes!”

“I just need to sleep,” her chest rattled as she inhaled sharply. “Just a few minutes. I promise.”

“No!” He yelled. Bakugo dropped her hands, returning them around the penetrating wound at her side as he held pressure. “What did you eat this morning?”

“Um,” she whispered, her eyes fell closed for a moment. “I’m so tired.” She couldn’t remember.

He dropped his forehead to her’s. “You ate those frosted little animal cookies this morning, remember?”

Tears leaked from her eyes as a small smile appeared on her face. “Yeah?” She whispered, feeling the pain leave her body.

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing back emotion.

Bakugo decided he wouldn’t break in front of her.

If these were her last moments, he was going to make sure Uraraka left feeling comforted and unafraid. “You ate half the box before I told you to put them down,” he chuckled tightly as he felt tears cloud his vision.

Her eyes opened, looking at him with sorrow as the light faded, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“Yeah?”

“There! Over there!”

Help was coming, but he couldn’t look away from her. “Of course not, Koko,” he watched as her eyes grow heavy.

A smile flashed on her face at the sound of her nickname. “I love you,” Uraraka whispered in a long exhale.

“You can have as many as you want we get home.” I love you more.

#kacchako #bnha fanfiction #kacchako fanfiction #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #bakugo x uraraka

[agirlunderarock]

Writing through the Decade: 14 years old (2012)

So this was some sorta original fiction, I think it was supposed to turn into an Avengers fanfic or something. I don’t even know if this is finished. I haven’t read through it in forever, So I’m going to apologize for whatever cluster of word barf this turns out to be. I was fourteen when I wrote this, I’m pretty sure....

I think there was some influence from the Maximum Ride series and Percy Jackson and the Hunger Games and a lot of things

Running from myself

Clutching my arms close to my body, I tried to keep hold on whatever warmth I had left. The ground below was littered with my small camp from last night, and the tree I slept in creaked with every move I made. The late morning sun shined brightly through the leaves above me. The sun light felt good so I spread open my feathery charcoal wings on my back and let the sun warm them. I jumped gracefully from my branch and landed lightly on the ground near where I hung my food supply. Its been close to a year since I ran away from my old life. My family, friends, the idiots with the media who just wanted their stupid story, all of them out of my life. Then unfortunately, the gruesome images come crawling back to me. The insane monster of a man holding a knife to my back, the countless syringes he plunged into my arm, the fiery explosion that finally ended him and his heinous experiments. It’s because of him that I have wings, and my body morphs into different people. I finished eating my breakfast, and began to clean up my small camp. I didn’t have much to pack up really; one frying pan, a small pot, three small water bottles, matches, my small food supply, a compass, and two sets of clothes, all of which fit into my back pack. Before long, it looked just like the world around it. Normal, something I wished I could be again. I just finished changing when the bush next to me started to rustle violently. I jumped back just as a large German Sheppard leaped forward, teeth bared, and ready to attack. His cold bloodthirsty eyes eyed me viciously as I took out my frying pan. “How is this possible?” I said eyeing the dog cautiously. “I’m miles away from any city! I’m in the middle of freaken nowhere!” I thought panic rising in my chest. I held up the pan as another dog bounded out from the brush behind me. “Mae, Mae, Mae.” A cold voice cackled from somewhere behind the trees. “Did you really think you could escape me that easily?” “I thought you were dead,” I said flatly. “And in what way is making a laboratory explode easy? But then again I guess you monsters would know all about that kind of thing.” I added to hide the fear boiling up. “Monster? Is that really what you think of me, Mae?” the insane mad man said pretending to be taken back as he stepped into my view. Allister’s mouth twisted into a cruel sneer, and his blacker than his soul eyes laughed at my frying pan weapon. “So since you’re not dead after all, what do you want with me?” I demanded eyeing the snarling dogs. The way his sneer blurred into a vicious smile, made my stomach churn. “Isn’t it obvious? My only surviving test subject got away from me.” He reached for something on his belt as he crept closer. The dogs snapped at my heels as I tried to step back. “And I intend to get it back!” Allister shouted as he flung a weighted net at me. In that same instant, my wings burst open and propelled me up and over the dogs as they jumped at my feet. The net came crashing down on the beast as they tried attack again. Allister’s cruel smile melted into an icy glare as I smirked at the failed capture. “You’ve lost your touch Allister.” I mocked as I landed again. “But it seems that’s not the only thing you’ve lost.” I said noticing his most of his blood red hair was either missing or burned. I heard more rustling to my right. On instinct, I swung my pan just as a Doberman Pincher hurled its self at me. It yelped in pain and fell to the ground with a sickening thud. “You little brat!” Allister shouted in rage as he drew his gun. In one fluid movement, I grabbed my pack, and used the monster’s chest as a spring bored to take off into the afternoon sky. “So long Monster. You won’t be missed!” I taunted as Allister stumbled to his feet. The wind felt so amazing as it flowed through my feathers, and the day seemed as bright as I felt. BANG! Pain shot through my leg. “You son of a biscuit!” I shouted as I glared down at the monster. With that, I took off into the clouds faster.

~~~~~~~

When I felt I was at least out sight I dared to glance down at my still stinging leg. To my surprise, it wasn’t completely gushing blood. It only cut the skin and what little it had bled already stopped. “Huh I guess it just grazed me,” I thought as I continued soaring over the countryside. The trees became smaller and smaller as I flew west. I really didn’t have a set destination, I went wherever I wanted, whenever I pleased. Soon the small forest gave way to smaller and dryer trees and then eventually farmlands. Considering I was somewhere in southwestern Tennessee and now I was seeing more of what looked like northeastern Texas, I had to say I was making pretty good time getting nowhere. I checked my water supply and decided I needed a refill. I swooped down closer to look for a river or any source of water really. I landed heavily along the bank of a large rushing river. I knelt down by the edge and unpacked my water bottles as I crouched over the side. I jumped back startled that the reflection I saw wasn’t mine. Staring at me with startled crystal blue eyes, and messy midnight black hair, was a teenage boy. I looked behind me, but of course no one was there. I looked back at water and the boys face relaxed along with mine. He or I guess I should I let out a sigh of relief. Sad blue eyes stared back at me as I filled my water bottles. Unlike when I usually shift, I knew the boy I looked like, and it broke my heart to see his face again. Skyler, was the best friend a girl could ask for. He was always there when I needed him and kept me out of trouble. Little did I know he turned out to be something like an agent in training. I still don’t fully understand what he did. Anyways, the Monster wanted to kill Skyler along with the other agents like him, and anyone related to them in anyway. That’s how I got dragged into this mess. Allister came after us one day when we went to an amusement park. He posed as a park security officer and accused Skyler and me of vandalizing the park in order to get us out of the public eye. As soon as we were out of sight he pulled out his gun, shot Skyler in the back, and kidnapped me in chaos that unleashed through the gunfire. For a month, I was held captive, tested on and relived Skyler’s final moments. Allister said the experiments were to unlock mankind’s true potential, when in reality he wanted to watch me suffer. Not long after I was changed into the body-morphing freak I am today, some kind of tremor rocked the entire laboratory. Allister cursed at his monitoring system just as the doors to the room were blown open. There stood Skyler gun in hand, ready to shoot the Monster. The next thing I knew I was running for my life as the building went into emergency lockdown and slowly counted down the seconds I had left. I made it out in time, while the explosion threw Skyler violently from the exit. It was there as he laid dying in my arms that I finally believed him when he said he loved me. I shook my head trying to clear my thoughts, as I continued refilling my water. I closed my eyes and concentrated on trying to look like my self again. Slowly but surely I felt my long hair grow back and my body turn smaller. I looked back in the river and saw a worn out, puffy brown eyed, beaten down, long black haired teen-aged girl. “Back normal,” I thought with relief. I looked up at the sky as the last fingers of sunlight stretched across the horizon. I debated staying there near the river, but it still felt too close to where Allister found me this morning. So it was a race against time to get nowhere fast. Again I took off soaring into the sun set, I could feel the wind pick up and it brought the smell of rain with it. I started to panic slightly. I had never flown in the rain and with night falling I really didn’t want to get caught in it. The clouds began to darken as I kept flying, yet some how I had the bright idea to keep going the same direction. Lightning flashed across the purple orange sky, and my wings caught the now raging wind. “That’s it I need to find shelter,” I thought finally. I looked down and saw nothing that looked like it could protect me from the storm. A small strip of grey caught my eye as it snaked its way through the countryside. I dove down to get a better look at the highway, and that’s when I saw it. I deep red Chevy truck flying down the road. I don’t know why but that particular truck called out to me. It had two covers on the tailgate, so the gap was just big enough for me to climb into, and that’s exactly what I did. No sooner had I crawled under the protection of the tailgate covers did the rain start coming down. “Thank God I found this just in time,” I thought very relieved. Slowly I let the steady rumble of the trucks engine put me to sleep.

~~~~~

“Hey! Hey, kid wake up! Darn it kid wake up, people are gonna think I kidnapped you or something!” A strong girl’s voice yelled at me as she pulled my legs over the edge of the tailgate. “Ouch!” I yelped in pain when she hit my wounded calf. I flinched back when my eyes flew open to a harsh glaring afternoon sun. “Good you’re up. Now get out of my truck.” The girl said sharply. She looked a little older than me, at least nineteen maybe twenty. Her brown hair fell in light layers to her shoulders, and her brown eyes seemed to be analyzing everything at once. She looked frustrated but there was a hint of sympathy in her stern face. “Where am I?” I asked rubbing the sleep from eyes. “At a gas station in Roswell, New Mexico kid.” She said flatly and unsurprised. “How the heck did you get in the back of my truck?” She asked part of her southern accent showing through. “Well one, stop calling me kid. I’m sixteen and you’re what nineteen? Twenty? You’re still pretty much a kid still if you’re calling me kid. Second it doesn’t matter, I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the lift.” I said jumping down from the truck. The girl looked at me with serious eyes, trying to figure me out. “What’s your name kid?” I didn’t answer “When’s the last time you ate some thing?” “Yesterday morning.” “Geez what’ve you been eating? Your as thin as a tooth pick!” She said looking me over her eyes softening the tiniest bit. I shrugged I wasn’t going to argue I figured I looked pretty bad and sick. “Okay kid here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to buy you some food and then get you to a phone or police station so you can call your parents. Okay?” she said leaving no room for debate. “Come on I think you might like a hot dog from here or something.” “Mae” I said quietly hopping out of the truck and trying unsuccessfully to hid my wings. “What did you–?” She stuttered when she saw my wings. “My names Mae. Not kid.” I said stubbornly ignoring the stares as we walked to the gas station convenient store. “What’s yours?” I asked not looking at her. “Andrea Wayne. What’s your last name I need it for when I drop you off.” I stayed quiet for a long time. “Kyle.” I finally said. I needed the food but I didn’t want Andrea to take me back. Sure she thought she was doing something good, but as soon as we paid I planed on running away. But when we walked out I some how couldn’t find the strength to do it. Andrea was the first person in a year to show me any kind of kindness and if I’m being honest I really didn’t want her to go. We climbed in her truck, then ate lunch in silence. There was something calming about eating lunch with a total stranger. Once Andrea finished she started the truck and started down the road. I couldn’t help it, tears started rolling down my face. I couldn’t believe what was happening. All year I didn’t cry, and now I felt like I was about to have a mental break down in front of a complete stranger. Andrea noticed but didn’t say anything at first. “Happy to go home Mae?” She questioned. She seemed to know already but I guess she felt she still needed to ask. “No. Not really. I don’t want to go back.” I said tears streaming down my face, yet some how my voice was even. For some reason I just started unleashing everything on Andrea. Everything I had kept bottled up over the last year. “I know it probably sounds weird, but I don’t want to go. Everyone back home looks at me like I’m a monster. I don’t know if you noticed but I have huge bird wings on my back!” I started almost yelling now. Andrea didn’t flinch, her steady eyes stayed on the road, while she absorbed everything I’ve told her. “I cant go back. He’ll find me. He’ll hurt my family, friends, heck he might even kill you now just for helping me!” “Hey, its okay Mae. Its okay.” Andrea said in a soft voice. She turned to look at me, her eyes growing wide with shock, then she quickly recovered. “Did I forget to mention that I’m a shape shifting freak?” I smiled through my tears. “What do I look like?” I asked taking a glance at the side mirror. It didn’t surprise me when the face I saw was Andrea’s. I looked just like her only I seemed more fragile, and broken. I concentrated on my own looks and gradually I began to look like my self again. “Mae, I wont take you back if that’s really what you want. But I wont have you flying all over the country like some wild child. I also don’t think I could live with myself if I let you do that and who ever is after you gets a hold of you. You can stay with me, but you have to tell me everything that’s happened. I mean everything.” Andrea said staring at the open road. “Okay,” I sighed. “But get ready for long story.” I told her everything. She said she wanted the whole story and that’s what she got. Everything from meeting Skyler, to finding out he was an agent, when I got kidnapped, the experiments, to Skyler dying in my arms. I told her about how when I got home my family kind of pushed me to the side, how alone I felt, how everyday reporters would swarm my house interrogating me about my life and the kidnapping. I told her how I couldn’t take it any more, how trapped I felt. I told her about what happened the morning before I met her how I wound up in the back of her truck. If something freaked her out, she didn’t show it. She seemed totally calm as I explained everything her only comment was, “When we stop for the night I need to bandage your leg, other wise it’ll get infected.” It was only six o’clock, but we still stopped when we made it to Albuquerque. Andrea pulled into some dinky little hotel and told me to wait in the truck. Five minutes later, she came back with a triumphant smile and keys to room in her hand. I grabbed my pack and followed Andrea to the room. “Hey how did do you feel about pizza for dinner?” she asked looking at small plastic menu. “They have room service here?” I said in disbelief. “I know right! So I’ll take that as a yes.” She said laughing. It seemed like Andrea was really starting to open up to me. “Dude when’s the last time you’ve had a shower?” She said as she walked passed me to get the phone. “Uhhh.” I stuttered. The only thing I was able to do was swim in rivers and I wasn’t about to do that without clothes. “Like a shower, shower, or like a dump freezing river water on my self shower.” I laughed. “You nasty go take a shower!” Andrea laughed throwing a towel at me. I caught the towel and got my stuff together. “What about my leg?” I asked a little bit worried. “Oh yeah let me take a look.” She said grabbing a small black pouch. “Okay looks like that bullet just barely scraped you. Lucky too, if it would’ve gone through it may have punctured your main vein that runs through there. What kind of gun was it?” she said as she cleaned it up. “I’m not sure. Just looked like a hand gun.” I said wincing. “Mhmm. Well this is interesting….” She mumbled as she took a better look at the small gash. “Are you studying to become a doctor?” I asked curious. She laughed lightly as if the thought of her being a doctor was amusing. “No. I’m actually a mercenary.” She looked up at me with careful eyes, studying my reaction. “But I won’t work for someone who wants their enemies dead. I might be good with a gun but that doesn’t mean like using it. I have almost all of my guns rigged with tranquilizers. No real bullets. You can call me a crook, a thief, a bandit, what ever other names they have for robbers, but I wont ever be called a murderer. I’ll steal and rob, but I’m not going to take someone’s life. That’s not my choice.” She said still looking at my wound. Her calm face turned confused then concerned, then calm again. Something was up. “What’s wrong?” I asked panic started to rise in chest. “Nothing. You should be okay now. Just make sure you clean it good when you take your shower.” She said not meeting my eyes. “Okay if you say so.” I said panicking slightly and went to the bathroom. By the time I got out I heard Andrea’s muffled steady voice coming from the main room. It sounded like she was talking on the phone. I assumed she was ordering the pizza but then as I listened closer she sounded pissed. “How did you get this number...........Like I’m gonna believe that trash. No, why should I? I don’t care…..how much? I don’t know…..I’ll think about it. But I swear if you ever call this number again, you’ll be sorry.” Andrea said sternly. As I stepped out of the bathroom she hung up the phone. Before I could ask who it was she took out the battery, crushed the SD card, opened the door and threw the phone out side. “What did you do that for?” I asked cautiously. “That freak scientist guy freaken called me. He some how knew you were with me and got my number. He could use it to track us.” Andrea said quickly. She scanned the room abruptly then her head snapped to my injured leg. “Mae let me see your leg!” she demanded. “What’s wrong?” I asked panic flooding through me. “Darn it! I knew the cut looked off!” Andrea said inspecting my leg. She looked me dead in the eyes when she spoke again. “Mae the reason that graze hurt so much was because the bullet didn’t just scrape the skin. You were actually hit, but not with a bullet. It was a tracking devise! Mae we have to go now!” Andrea said urgently. She was already getting up and packing her things. “Why should I trust you? You’re a mercenary right? You steal to get paid. How do I know that you’re not just going to hand me over to Allister. Give me one good reason why I should trust you!” I demanded angrily. Andrea looked defeated, as if she knew that was coming. The sad look on her face confirmed my suspicions until she said, “Because I’m your only chance Mae. I know what you’re going through. Of course you probably already figured I’m running too.” She looked me straight in the eyes daring me to question her. “I was raised by crazed uncle who wanted to see the world crumble. He trained me to kill. He trained me to be his personal weapon. I was too blind to see that and now I’m stuck in this mess. I’ve tried to come clean countless times, and every time I just fell into the same routine. Heck, when you flew into the back of my truck I was just running my former boss, who was also my boy friend. When I found you in the tailgate, I was just going to let you go on your way. But when I looked at you I saw something. I saw someone scared, and worried, yet a fighter. I saw my self. I saw a girl not only running for her life but also running from herself. And I knew I had to help you.” She finished hanging her head “I’m sorry.” I said packing up my gear. “Its okay. I figured sooner or later we’d have that discussion.” She smiled weakly then added, “The pizza should be here any sec—“ A knock at the door cut her off. “Who is it?” Andrea said eyeing the door. “Pizza guy.” A deep muffled voice said from the other side of the door. Andrea slowly opened the door. A lean guy stood in the door way his baseball cap covering his eyes. He looked at Andrea then at me. His cold dark eyes seemed to stare right through me. A flash of recognition flickered across face. I didn’t think when I kicked him out the door. His hat fell off revealing singed red hair. “Allister!” I growled. “Mae my dear, nice to see you too.” He said coldly as he stumbled into the parking lot. I stepped out side ready make a run for it. Andrea stayed near the door gun in hand ready to fire. Allister saw this and smiled evilly. “Andrea, have you had a chance to think over my offer?” he said pulling out a stack of cash. “Yes I did, and decided only a sicko would work for a monster like you.” She spat angrily. “Oh such a shame.” He pulled out a small remote and the room exploded throwing Andrea through the air. She landed hard on the ground and didn’t move. Knots formed in my stomach. “Another person is dead because of me,” I thought in despair. I stared at Andrea’s limp body as she laid motionless. “Andrea get up!” I yelled desperately as I felt a tug in my arm. “Now Mae, how many more people must die before you realize you belong to me?” Allister cackled. I turned to look at him and I spat in his face. “Let go of me you sick monster!” I yelled as I tried to get out of his grip. “You little brat! Its useless to try to escape me! Even with the powers I gave you, you’re still to pathetic to even fight back! You cannot fathom the plans I have for you. Though I don’t know why I would still use you after all the trouble you’ve caused me. Then again I could always erase your memory and then you would comply.” He said angrily. I was running low on options and time. Mind reeling I bit down hard on the Monster’s hand. A salty taste contaminated my mouth when Allister released me. He glared at me with hate-filled eyes and pulled out his gun. “I don’t need you!” he spat. “I can use others! With or without you I will –“ “BANG!” There stood Andrea gun drawn and breathing heavily. She looked pissed and relieved at the same time. I ran up to her before she fell over. “Man that guy just wouldn’t shut up.” She sighed with relief. “Welcome to my world.” I said sarcastically. “Was that a real bullet?” I asked cautiously. Andrea just nodded. My eyes grew wide, “Are you okay? I mean you just killed someone!” I said shocked. “I’m fine. I didn’t shoot a person. I shot a monster,” she said quietly. “Well then, now what do we do? The police have been looking for this guy for ever, and now he’s gone. So where does that put us?” Andrea stayed quiet for a long time. “Well I’m pretty sure we’re still going to have to live on the run, but it also means we have to buy another pizza.”

#Sierra speaks #Sierra writes #My writing #REALLY OLD WRITING #Writing through the decade #Baby me had a lot strange ways to end stories