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whumpsday · 11 months

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Kane & Jim BBU AU #2: Loophole

Previous / Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist / Next

content: bbu, pet whump, guns, rescue, begging, reference to holocaust, recovery, amnesia

@bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days #8: Barcode

It had been five years since Master bought 913, and things had gotten marginally better.

Master still hurt him occasionally, but 913 had gotten much better at anticipating his wants and placating his moods. Blasphemously, he had eventually decided he didn't like Master very much at all, but that was okay, as long as he never said it out loud and did his job well.

He even found joys in this life. He wished he could read, but he was unable to parse a single word in the cookbooks in Master's library without getting a splitting headache. He experimented instead, teaching himself, building on WRU's culinary training. He could see himself getting better and better by the day, creating meals both Master and himself could enjoy.

As 913 finished up his evening chores and prepared to go to bed, the window unlocked.

His head whipped around at the sound. To his utter horror, it pushed open, and a young woman with a pistol on her hip climbed through.

"Jim?"

913 backed away, hands up. "You're not- this isn't your house, ma'am," he pointed out dumbly.

The woman stared at him like a long-lost treasure. "Just let me explain," she insisted, her voice low. "I'm your sister."

"I'm a box boy. I don't have a sister." Even as it came out of his mouth, he knew it was a ridiculous point. Of course he had a family out there somewhere, even boxies come from somewhere. He just couldn't remember.

The woman looked like he'd just broken her heart. "Yes you do. It's okay, I'm gonna get you out of here. You're gonna be fine."

913 backed even further away at that, heart racing. He was going to be stolen. He didn't know how to deal with that. He wasn't a person or a guard dog, all he was supposed to do was cook and clean.

"Master!" he cried. "Help!"

"Fuck!" The woman dashed forward and grabbed him, only prompting him to scream louder.

"Master, please help! She's trying to steal me!" 913's life here may not have been perfect, but this crazy person with a gun was not what he wanted to risk it all on. He knew well that things could be much, much worse than they were here.

"Shh! Shut up, shut up!" The woman clamped a hand over his mouth, and though she was smaller than him, she was much stronger. 913 couldn't wriggle out of her grasp no matter how hard he tried.

To his relief, he heard Master coming down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen just as the woman was attempting to manhandle him toward the window.

"Unhand him!" Master commanded indignantly. "That's my box boy! What do you think you're doing!?"

The woman shoved 913 aside and drew her weapon, pointing it squarely at Master, to 913's horror. "Don't move!"

"Don't!" 913 begged. "No, no, please!"

This only made Master more furious, heightening 913's fear. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?"

The woman glared at him. "Kane de Sang. I don't care. I'm taking him home and there's nothing you can do about it."

913 started to cry. "Master, please!"

"It's okay. You're gonna be fine," the woman assured him, like this wasn't the most terrifying moment of his life. Even back in the horrors of the facility, at least he knew everything was under control.

While the woman was distracted comforting him, Master made a break toward 913.

She didn't hesitate. Before 913 could move, she leveled her gun and-

913 startled at the bang, ears ringing as the smell of blood filled the room. Master screamed, clutching his gushing shoulder.

"That's what you get for messing with my family." The woman took 913's arm firmly, and led him back to the window.

He couldn't stop crying, looking back at the tear-blurred image of Master handling his phone with bloody hands, but he didn't resist. He was too scared his captor would kill Master if he did.

His breaths came hard and fast. "Wh-what's gonna happen to me?"

"Nothing, you're safe, I promise." She dragged him to her truck, buckling him into the passenger seat. "We're going home."

"I'm... yours now, ma'am?" 913 asked desperately, trying to get a handle on the situation. "Is Master gonna die?"

"I only managed to get him in the shoulder, I'm sure the paramedics will handle it," the woman said as she sped away. "You're not mine. You don't belong to anyone anymore, okay?"

Suddenly, things clicked into place. "You're pet lib?"

"Yeah." The woman drove like a madman, and 913 gripped the seat to steady himself. "But I'm not here because of that. I'm your sister. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, I was only 15 when they took you."

"I s-signed up," 913 protested weakly.

The woman rolled her eyes. "You didn't sign up. They tried to recruit you and you said no, but they took you anyway and forged your signature. They do this shit all the time."

913 didn't know how to respond to that. He'd always wondered why he would submit himself to this, what his old self was thinking.

"I'm Liz," the woman offered. "Liz Lieberman."

"My designation is 100913," he replied quietly, fingers brushing over the numbers printed below the barcode on his wrist.

"Your name is Jim Lieberman. Short for James Lieberman," Liz informed him. "Just so you know."

A name. He'd always wanted a name. Master never gave him one. His bunkmate back at WRU training had called him Curls when the handlers weren't around, and that's the closest he'd ever had.

Liz glanced at him thumbing at his barcode. "The world is so fucked. Tattooing numbers on Jewish guys' arms again. How does no one see any fucking problem with this?"

"I'm Jewish?" 913 asked.

Liz got that look again, the same one she got when he said he didn't have a sister. Grief. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a bit. 913 looked out as the scenery passed him by, getting farther from home with every passing second.

"Am I ever gonna get to see Master again?" he asked eventually.

"Nope."

Just like that, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I saw him hit you last night," Liz added. "I was looking for a good opportunity to get you out. Do you really wanna go back to that?"

How long had she been watching them through the windows in the night? He didn't want to know.

913 shrugged. "It's the best I've ever had it."

"Doesn't have to be," she countered. "It'll be better. No more hitting. Get that stupid shock collar off you. You can be free again."

The shock collar could come off. The shock collar hadn't come off since it came on, the battery long-dead. He wanted that so much.

"Pets don't have wants," 913 parroted, chastising himself.

Liz grinned at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I never asked if you wanted it."

Ah. A loophole. Jim tried and failed to suppress a smile.

"Well then- I guess- I guess I just have to, ma'am."

taglist in reblog

#kane and jim bbu #kane and jim au #whump #bbucommunity #day8 #barcode #bbu #pet whump #guns #rescue #begging #recovery whump #my writing #whump writing

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nyamadermont · 16 days

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Lost Battle

Angstpril 2024: Day 8 (459 words)

Kya and Lin exchanged worried looks when they arrived at Bolin’s apartment. They set down their gifts a few feet away and crouched down into wary stances.

The door was ajar, and they could barely see a shoe peeking out from under a heap of dark cloth. There was no sound from inside. What light Lin could see seemed to be from the last rays of the setting sun that was fading quickly through the balcony doors.

“I need to get Asami to fit one of those new hand torches to my wrist guard,” Lin muttered. Kya scoffed sharply and popped the cork on her hip flask.

Using her foot, Lin nudged the door open, taking stock of the wider view.

The entry was a mess that was getting harder to distinguish as the darkness deepened.

Lin shifted a foot to slide further inside, but froze when a wet splat hit the floor right in front of her. Both women fell back, trying to let more light in from the hallway.

The redness was wet and viscous.

They locked eyes again. Lin moved more decisively through the doorway.

Lumps covered the floor at random, and a smell was beginning to tickle Lin’s nose. She pinched her nostrils shut to keep from sneezing.

She edged toward the kitchen, but stilled when she heard the muffled sobs. She ducked her head to listen, thinking it might be Bolin trying to keep quiet.

“Bolin? Are you alright?”

“Don’t come in. It’s terrible,” the boy whimpered.

That did it.

She slunk sideways with her back to the wall, moving as fast as she could keep quiet.

The mess on the floor seemed to get worse the closer she got to the kitchen. Lin had walked through crime scenes that were less disturbing.

She peered around the corner of the cabinets to see Bolin, his knees tucked in tight, crying against his crossed arms.

Lin dropped her hand from her face to ask, “What happened?”

But the light flared, and she had to bring her hand up to her eyes. “Kya!” she hissed.

“Bolin, honey, tell us what happened. This is the worst lost battle with a kitchen I’ve seen in a long, long time.”

Still crouched, Lin lifted her hand to shade her eyes so she could look.

Food covered every surface she could see. Batter, sauce, dumpling wrappers, egg shells… but beyond that, she couldn’t identify most of the mess.

“I think I forgot to break the eggs, and they kind of exploded.”

“Cooking lessons begin tomorrow.”

Bolin looked up, a mix of hope and panic on his egg-streaked face.

“Bolin, sweetie! I’m home! I brought the dessert you asked for!”

They did get to eat the dessert.

About an hour later.

#angstpril2024 #angstpril 2024 #avatar the legend of korra #legend of korra #fanfiction #day8 #lost battle #nyama's shorter stories #kyalin #lin beifong #bolin

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itsawhumpsideblog · 3 days

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BBU Community Days 2024, Day 8

April 21 / Writing Prompt: "OUTSIDE" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

CW: for institutionalized slavery, burns, neglect, abuse, guns mentioned but not used, more swearing than usual, murder (takes place offscreen)

On Monday, the week the Outside Pet arrived, Nathan burnt the chicken cacciatore he was making and Master pressed his arm to the stove as punishment.

There was a very long instant in which Nathan felt a heat so high that it registered as freezing cold and his knees turned to jelly. His mouth dropped open, but he was too stunned to scream. The world stood frozen in that moment and it was filled with pain and a fear of what would happen next- but even beneath all that, the part of Nathan that still wanted to live was pulling his reactions under careful control.

If he screamed, he had to be careful not to swear. If the screams came out in words, they had to be ones that wouldn't have been erased. He couldn't beg for relief, because he wasn't supposed to know it might be available. He had to be a good Pet, even now, or it was all over and who knew what would happen to him?

Knowing this Master, he would wind up fertilizing the wildflowers that grew in the woods behind the house. He wouldn't be the first.

All of these thoughts came and went almost instantly. His arm wasn't touching the stovetop for more than a second or two, which was plenty long enough to leave a burn, and then Master pulled it up and let him go.

"I'll order a pizza," he said, sounding more disgusted than was reasonable when discussing a ruined dinner that he could easily afford to replace. "Don't let me see you before breakfast." Then he left in a huff, already picking up his phone.

Nathan managed to keep his mouth clamped shut until Master was gone. It was easier not to betray himself if he didn't say anything at all. Then he walked slowly to the pantry where his bed was, on the floor below the spice racks. He was holding his arm out in front of himself, grasping his elbow, and he couldn't stop staring at the blister that had already formed.

Nathan entered the pantry and very carefully pulled the door shut. He knelt on the human-sized dog bed with the scruffy blue blanket and only then did he begin to wail.

The next morning, Nathan was careful to be up on time, although it wasn't as though he had slept much to begin with. His arm hurt, of course, and when he had been able to stop screaming, he had gone out to spend most of the night hovering over the sink, running room-temperature water over the burn to keep the pain at bay just far enough. When the time came that he had to either sit down or fall down, he had wrapped the arm in a wet towel and gone back to lay on his bed and blow softly across the burn to keep it cool.

The day passed badly. Master was gone for most of it and Nathan completed his chores though a haze of pain. It was hard to stand and hard to move and the one thing he wanted to do- lie down and sleep until he felt better- was out of the question.

Wednesday was worse and Nathan woke to a fever that made him feel achy and wrung-out. He had a cautious look at his arm when he emerged from the pantry and found that he didn't care to look more closely. It was enough to know that it was blistered and painful and obviously infected.

Master seemed to be busy with something and kept checking his phone all through breakfast, instead of watching his morning soap opera, as he usually did.

"Stay in the kitchen today," he said when Nathan cleared away the plates. Nathan nodded, and for just a moment he realized that Master was looking closely at him. That was unusual and Nathan dropped his gaze to the carpet. He hoped he hadn't aroused any suspicion, but Master looked back down at his phone and began tapping on the screen and it was impossible to say what he had been thinking.

Nathan gripped the plate firmly as he made his way back into the kitchen, stumbling just a little. He washed the dishes and cleaned the countertop and then realized with pathetic gratitude that he had nothing else to do until lunch.

Over the next couple of hours, Nathan's fever raged and when the man in the WRU uniform brought the box around the house to the back garden, Nathan was curled up in the kitchen window with tears in his eyes, feeling very sorry for himself. He was so unwell that it took him several seconds to realize what the box on the large handcart was and even then, he couldn't find the energy to be interested.

Master came around the corner of the house a moment later and he helped the WRU employee lay the box down so that they could unlatch the lid. Nathan laid his woozy head against the cool of the glass and watched as they opened the box and stood back. There was a long moment in which nothing happened and then a young man emerged from the box.

He was tall and looked very strong- and very afraid. His sandy hair was tousled and his t-shirt and soft pants didn't look like they were keeping him warm enough. Nathan thought feverishly that perhaps the new pet would swap with him and then they would both feel better.

Master tipped the WRU employee, who put the box back on the handcart and left. Then he turned on his new Pet and seemed to be issuing some kind of orders. The new Pet nodded eagerly, looking desperate to please. Master reached up and cuffed him and the Pet cringed, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, but he was nodding. Finally Master nodded as well and left his new Pet in the garden.

That night, after dinner, Master strode into the kitchen and set a small orange bottle down on the counter, not very gently. The sound startled Nathan, who was mechanically washing dishes while stars spun across his field of vision.

"You know what that is?" he asked Nathan, and for once Nathan didn't have to pretend to be ignorant of the sorts of things any human would know. He could barely see the counter at all, and certainly not clearly. Nathan shook his head.

"Pills," Master explained. "Take one every night until they're gone. Don't miss a day and don't leave any left over. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Nathan managed to say.

"Good. I'm not losing money on you." Master left the kitchen and as soon as the dishes were done, Nathan took the bottle in shaking hands and fumbled it open. He took one of the rather large pills and washed it down with a swig of water, wincing as it caught in his throat. Then he looked over his shoulder to make sure Master wasn't watching and read the label, very slowly and methodically.

"Pen-i-cill-in," he sounded out. He wasn't a very good reader at the best of times and the fever made his eyes feel hot and dry. When he could finally comprehend the word, though, he sighed in relief. Master wasn't going to let the infection kill him, after all. Nathan was deeply grateful and then annoyed at himself for feeling gratitude towards a man who had intentionally burned him.

As the penicillin worked its magic and the burn on his arm healed into a rough scar, Nathan's mind cleared and he had more energy to think of the Pet who lived outside. He was evidently not allowed indoors at all and Nathan certainly wasn't allowed into the garden, but he watched the other Pet from time to time.

Mostly, during the day, the other Pet slept, curled up in the softest grass or under a bush. But at night, before he went to bed, Nathan saw the Pet marching around the house in one circle after another, patrolling, keeping watch over the place.

This worried Nathan immensely. He had come to learn, during his- god, had it been a year already?- in his Master's home that Master knew some really unsavory people. Even worse, he had made other unsavory people very angry and possibly owed them money.

Call it what it was- Nathan still knew the words. Master was some kind of big shot in the world of organized crime. Nathan had seen all three parts of The Godfather, plus Goodfellas and at least half of The Sopranos. He knew the kinds of things his Master did and he knew who the men were who came to the house wearing guns on their hips and conferred with Master in the study until late in the night. He felt like Spider every time he brought them dinner.

And outside, the other Pet was all that stood between men like that and Master. He was a big Pet and he looked strong, sure, but Nathan didn't have much faith that he would last long against a determined enemy. Every morning, Nathan woke with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach and it stayed there until he was able to get to the window and see that the outside Pet was still alive.

Nathan had never seen the outside Pet fight, but there were signs that it happened frequently. The Pet would be there in the morning, under the bush, with a black eye or rubbing at his knee with his eyebrows knit and Nathan would wonder what had gone on and how much longer the other Pet could stand it.

The worry got the better of Nathan one day when he took his morning look through the window to find that the outside Pet had blood all over his chin and shirt. Nathan served Master breakfast and began the cleaning, but froze and stopped to listen when he heard the front door open and shut and then the sound of Master's truck starting.

Sure enough, the truck's noise continued for a moment and then receded gradually, meaning that Master had left the house. All of a sudden, Nathan knew what he was going to do. He quickly ran a washcloth under the sink and, on an impulse that would later cause him great anxiety, grabbed a banana out of the bowl on the counter.

At the back door, he stopped to make sure that the alarm wasn't set. It often wasn't, during the day, and this was no exception. He darted to the front windows and peered at the driveway and then down the street to make sure the truck really was gone. It was nowhere in sight.

Heart beating quickly, Nathan took the washcloth and the fruit and slipped as quietly as he could out the back door. He was still looking over his shoulder as he hurried to the garden.

The other Pet was sitting there with his legs outstretched and one hand holding his swollen jaw. His brow was knitted with worry and pain and blood dripped from his nose over his open lips to drench his shirt.

"Hey, buddy," Nathan said as he approached, speaking very carefully, almost as if he was talking to a strange dog. The other Pet's head shot up and he winced and made a pained face.

"Sorry," Nathan went on. "I didn't mean to scare you." He crossed the garden and knelt by the other Pet. "I was- well, I was kinda worried about you. You look pretty beat up."

The other Pet nodded, very carefully. His eyes were bleary and he put his other hand to his head, holding himself gingerly.

"Does it hurt? Looks like your nose might be broken."

The other Pet nodded, looking exhausted and then gestured with both hands straight along either side of his nose. Then he pointed to himself and made the gesture again.

"Sorry- what do you-" Nathan started and then put the pieces together. "Whoa, did you set your own nose?" The other Pet nodded and looked suddenly deeply weary.

"Wow, man, okay. You must be tough!" The other Pet shrugged. "Listen, I can't stay out here long, but I brought you some food and I thought you might want to clean up. Yeah?"

Tears rose in the other Pet's eyes and he nodded. "Okay," Nathan said. "You sit tight. I got you, and then I gotta get back in the house before Master comes home. Okay?"

The outside Pet looked very frightened at the mention of their Master, but he sat still and obedient while Nathan carefully wiped the blood from his face. His nose wasn't bleeding as ferociously as it must have done at first and he seemed to be able to breathe through it, which was something.

"Okay, I'll wash this up," Nathan said when he had finished. It should be easy enough to sneak one more thing into the laundry, since he was the only one who ever did it. "And here- eat this." He peeled the banana and gave the fruit to the other Pet, who took it in one bloody hand and stared at it like he was going to burst into tears. "I know," Nathan added, "Master probably gives you shitty dog food or something. But this is yours. Enjoy!" And he hurried to the back door, suddenly desperate to be inside and out of trouble.

Once he had gone out to the garden once, Nathan found himself both anxious to go back and terrified of being outdoors again. He saw the outside Pet watching the kitchen window sometimes and Nathan waved at him when he could, but it was hard to find a time that they were both awake and Master left the house. He tended to be gone in the evenings, when the outside Pet had work to do.

But it did happen from time to time. One day, Nathan was just pulling a tray of muffins out of the oven when he heard the signal of the closing door and the truck's noise. The outside Pet was curled up under a bush and Nathan was seized by a sudden boldness. He wrapped a muffin in a kitchen towel and ran.

Without meaning to, he surprised the outside Pet again. The young man was half dozing under a bush and jumped a little, but relaxed again when he realized it was only Nathan.

"Hey, buddy, I brought you something." Nathan knelt by him and pulled the towel open to reveal the muffin, full of chocolate chips and steaming slightly in the cool air. The outside Pet looked at it in amazement and then pointed at himself with a questioning look.

"That's what I said, right? For you." Nathan handed it to him and the other Pet held the muffin for a moment, wondering at it. "Fresh out of the oven."

The muffin was gone in seconds, despite the heat. The outside Pet opened his mouth to breath out steam and looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Was it good?" The outside Pet nodded. "Great, that's great. Hey- you don't talk, do you?" Nathan asked. It had only just occurred to him.

The outside Pet looked a little embarrassed and shook his head.

"How come?" The response was a gesture and facial expression that told Nathan it was a long story and impossible to relate without words. "Eh, don't worry about it. We're all fucked up."

The outside Pet looked shocked at the language, but also like he wanted to laugh. Then he peered more closely at Nathan. He reached over and ran his rough fingers along Nathan's burned arm with infinite gentleness. He looked up at Nathan with a question on his face and concern in his eyes.

"Master did that," Nathan confirmed. The other Pet scowled. Then he raised an eyebrow in another question. Somehow Nathan found that he was having no trouble understanding. "Yeah, it hurt! I got really sick, too. Teach me to burn chicken, I guess." The outside Pet shook his head and patted Nathan's scar tenderly, as if comforting him.

"Thanks, buddy." Nathan smiled at him but realized that he was reaching the limit of how long he could stand being outside before the fear of getting caught overwhelmed him. "Look, I gotta go but I'll try to come back soon. Sleep well!" The outside Pet smiled and curled back up under the bush.

Every night since the attack, when the strangers had killed his Master and the outside Pet, Nathan had woken from the same nightmare. In it, as in real life, he had heard sounds outside and rushed to the window in time to see them murder the poor outside Pet. Then they had seen him and in the dream, he was stuck to the floor but trying to run as they broke down the door...

Nathan was not running now. He had been inside a box for a couple of hours, stowed for transport, and now he was being spilled onto the floor of some building. The pain in his leg was overwhelming and he could barely think straight, but he knew he had to keep quiet. He had to keep his mouth shut and keep his secret. If he wasn't being used for parts, only his silence now would ensure his continued survival.

Nathan lay on his back, doing his best not to move. It wasn't too difficult at the moment. There were voices, but his head swam so fiercely that he couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded like they were coming from a long way away. But at least the voice droning on above him was mild and didn't sound angry and the hands that were touching his bruises were gentle and hadn't pressed down too hard.

Until they got to his leg.

That was when Nathan screamed at the top of his lungs, swearing, because he couldn't help it. The hands moved to the other break, above his ankle and he screamed again, sobbing as he cried out.

What seemed to be the examination finished and there were gentle hands on his face, smoothing his hair back. Through the weight of his pain, Nathan found himself answering questions, pouring out information about himself as if that was a safe thing to do. Part of him was talking, giving up his name as if there would be no repercussions. Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he felt sick with pain and fear.

"I'm so sorry. I mean, this Pet is so sorry, Master, Mistress," he mumbled.

There was a silence, and then Mistress's voice saying, hesitantly, "Are you... no offense...But are you actually a Pet?"

"Yes, Mistress." If it had been safe, he would have begged her to believe him.

"Only, I've never heard a Box Boy swear before. We have two other... um... former Pets staying with us now and neither of them ever does."

Something about that sentence broke through Nathan's pain-fogged mind. "Did you say former?"

The next few minutes flew by as Nathan struggled to comprehend everything they were saying and what it all meant for him. He was still trying to wrap his mind around it as they hauled him into the next room and made him as comfortable as they could on the sofa.

It was there, sitting in that strange room and trying desperately to maintain some kind of composure while they arranged his leg and talked at him and made introductions, that Nathan finally saw the Pet.

It was like watching the sun rise, Nathan thought later. When everything is so dark that you feel all alone in the world and then that first ray of light appears over the horizon, shining hopeful and bright across the world, straight to you.

"Buddy?" he asked. "It's- is it really you? You survived?"

And the outside Pet lifted a battered and swollen face to meet his eyes, and nodded, and smiled.

Master List

Notes: I went through a phase where I watched a lot of movies about the Mafia. The reference to "Spider" is from Goodfellas.

I also meant to have this done earlier, but life was what it was, so here we are! Better late than never, and this will be part 2 of a trilogy of prequel stories I did according to the BBU Community Days 2024 prompts.

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump, @starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

#bbucommunity #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #the safehouse #pet whump #day8

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callaeidae3 · 5 months

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A Month of Whump Winter Whumperland - Day 8: Comfort: Rescue

"You're gonna be okay."

@amonthofwhump

#amow winter whumperland 2023 #day8 #comfort: rescue #whump art #unconscious #hypothermia #cradled #hurt comfort #kindall k series #kk1 #the case of kindall k #yuuki takahashi #kyle kindall #i draw this scene a lot because it's one of my favourites #and it's a good one for practicing drawing with #it's one of the very first scenes i imagined when i first wrote this story too #and the feels still hit me hard in the emotions haha

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maracujatangerine · 11 months

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75. Reflection

CW: discussion of body image, scars, chronic pain, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

After stepping out of the shower, Coriander dried its hair with a fluffy, beige towel. The pet looked up and met its own grey eyes in the mirror.

The reflection was misty around the edges with steam from the hot water, but Coriander could still see the changes.

The lines of its body were more filled-out, each rib no longer sharply visible. The bruises since long faded. Even the scars seemed less prominent now. Miss Lydia encouraged the pet to eat well, to work in the garden and to do some moderate exercise. It could feel the difference in its own body, it felt stronger, more energetic. It still hurt, especially its damaged shoulder, but the pain took less place in its mind.

Wrapping its towel around its hips, it studied its tattoo in the mirror.

247084

The number had been a part of its life for as long as it could remember. It was just a normal thing. It wasn’t until lately that Coriander had started to consider how odd it was that among everyone the pet met on an everyday basis, it was the only one marked in this way.

Before, it has always been surrounded by other pets. The difference between them and people had been clear as day. Now, looking at itself in the mirror, the bar code looked strange, almost unfamiliar.

A knock on the door broke Cory’s reverie.

“Sorry Cory, may I come in? I just want to get my toothbrush.”

“Y-yes Miss Lydia. This pet is ready.” Coriander hurried to unlock the door and stepped aside to let his owner enter.

“Oh, look at you, so squeaky clean.” With a grin, she suddenly reached up and playfully tousled his blonde hair.

The pet started at the quick movement, but more in surprise than in fear. As it turned towards her, like a flower turning towards the sun, it knew that she would describe that as healing. Perhaps the pet would, too.

A glimpse of dark numbers in the mirror, before Coriander turned away, reminded the pet that not all things may be healed.

This post is a part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side . This is my entry for day 8: Bar Code.

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #bbucommunity #bbu #day8 #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #lydia and coriander #pet whumpee #whump event #whump fic #original writing

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artistoftales · 6 months

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Soooooooooo. I've made some changes to Aset artwork. I keep noticing how Neb-het and hers are not similar, including some details that parallels to Nut. Considering their twins, I thought it was fair to update Aset artwork a bit.

#akhtober#egyptian#deities#drawing#mythology#art#aset#isis#day8#digitaldrawing#magic#pagan#witchcraft#illustration#simple#kemetic#firealpaca#artist#artistoninstagram#myart#dahkyarts#artistoftales#artistonig

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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 19 days

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Welcome To The Outpost: Part 1.3 - Lost Battle

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Clone Commander Mayday, Clone Trooper Hexx, Clone Trooper Veetch, Additional Clone Troopers Word Count: ~3810 Warnings: Minor Character Deaths Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: An attempt to engage the raiders ends up attracting unwanted attention from the native wildlife, costing the lives of even more of Mayday’s clone troopers.

Read Part 1.1 - Frozen Read Part 1.2 - Rise From The Ashes

The horizon belched a slick of oily smoke towards the sky. Mayday’s heart dropped as he watched it, pressing one hand to his com.

“Krake, come in.”

No response. Around him his troopers looked between each other, knowing dips of helmets bobbing through the squad before they turned almost as one to gaze out across the ice field to the crashed snow-bike.

Krake had leapt onto the snowmobile as the raiders had fled, barely clinging to the webbing they used to secure the crate of stolen cargo. It seemed like his intervention had stopped them getting away, but at a price.

Taking a deep breath, Mayday turned back to survey the depot. The entryway of the storage building smoked softly, the doors a mangled mess of metal from the detonator that had blown it open to admit the raiders.

“Ferox, reckon you can fix that?”

The engineer grunted. “Gonna have to, aren’t I.”

“Helix, Hexx, stay here and help him.” Mayday shouldered his blaster and tightened the wrap of fabric keeping the cold out of the neck of his armour. “The rest of you, let’s go retrieve the cargo… and our brother.”

The six clones set out from the base, past the edge of the hard-standing which was swept clear of snow and into the chilled wilderness beyond. Recon and Telmer walked in front, footfalls crunching through the thin crust on the surface of the snow to sink them into the powdery stuff beneath. Mayday and Veetch walked in their footsteps, and Atlas and Axis behind them.

The datapad hooked to his belt beeped. Mayday retrieved it and checked the screen.

[Seismic activity alert: Low]

Atlas had his rangefinder down, rifle to his shoulder as he surveyed their destination. “There’s movement out there, commander.”

Mayday failed to stifle a sigh. “Drop low to the ground, boys,” he instructed, doing so and noting that at least the scavenged strips of fabric tied around the joints of his armour were stopping the cold from getting in. He shook himself – it was no time to be worrying about the state of his knees.

The troopers followed their commander’s example without a word. It was almost impossible to spot white clone armour against the snow; better to risk the chill of the ground than stand out as targets against the darker background of the depot itself.

“Atlas?” Mayday asked roughly, and the sniper poked his head up, sighting along his scope again.

“Kriff,” he swore softly. “More bikes. They’re gonna grab the crate from the one Krake crashed.”

Blaster fire skimmed towards them across the bright white of the midday blind snow glare. Mayday dropped further, so close to the ground that his cuirass brushed the snow.

“Close the distance,” he ordered. “Atlas, keep them pinned down until we can engage.”

The air filled with the roar of snowmobile engines as a further two of the machines surged down from the pass to join the skirmish. The new bikes slewed in front of the downed machine, sending up a spray of snow to obscure their motions, but Atlas fired into it regardless.

Advancing as fast as they could despite the snow, Mayday’s squad quickly stormed the position and fought back against the men who tried to drag the stolen cargo from the damaged snowmobile to hook it up to their own. Blaster fire was traded, vicious in close combat.

The datapad’s beeping went unnoticed.

Using the damaged snowmobile for cover, it took mere minutes for Mayday’s squad to rout the would-be thieves. Abandoning their attempts to attach the crate to their remaining snow bikes, the handful of raiders who had been on-foot vaulted onto their companions’ rides to retreat. Clouds of snow were kicked up once more as the riders spun their machines away from the clones to flee back into the mountains.

Veetch ran forwards with a triumphant cry, raking blaster-fire after the retreating bikes before turning back to his squad and wrenching his helmet off to reveal his grinning face.

“Did you see that?” he crowed, leaping and punching the air enthusiastically. “We bring the fight to them, and they go running!” His eyes shone. “Better than staying inside the perimeter, right Commander? We should do this every time!”

Recon cuffed Veetch round the back of the head, then retrieved the younger clone’s helmet. “Krake died,” he admonished shortly. “Show some respect.”

“Cut the kid some slack,” said Telmer, taking Veetch’s bucket from Recon and returning it with a sympathetic smile. “It’s nice to have an easy win for once.”

Mayday stood slowly, gaze going past Veetch to the retreating snowmobiles. The raiders outnumbered them. The fact they abandoned their prize so easily made him uneasy.

His private com line chirped. Hexx’s voice sounded by his ear, tight with concern.

“Did you get the seismograph update?”

Mayday pulled the datapad from his belt again, tapping to activate the display.

[Seismic activity alert: Medium]

And, as he watched:

[Seismic activity alert: High]

He swore under his breath. The ‘low’ alert had been more than the readings from the incoming bikes. Turning to his squad he barked the command, “Back to the depot. Now.”

Axis looked up from where he was gently lifting Krake’s body from under the downed snowmobile. “Commander?” he asked cautiously.

Mayday quickly commed Atlas, the sniper still in position further out in the snow. “Atlas, return to base.” Then, muttered under his breath, “Ferox’d better make sure those kriffing beacons are working…”

“We’re on it,” came Hexx’s grim reassurance. “Just get yourselves back here as fast as you can.”

Pulling his helmet back into place, Veetch slung his blaster and moved to the crate. “I’ll help drag the supplies-”

“Leave them,” ordered Mayday.

“But sir-”

“They’re not important.”

Mayday knew the lie of his words, knew the Empire valued the unchanged count of boxes stored at the facility above the lives of the clone troopers guarding them. Right now it didn’t matter. His boys were in danger and he was going to get them back to the depot without risking more of their lives for inanimate cargo.

Unease spread through the squad, who started moving after Mayday with increasing speed. Axis had Krake slung over his shoulders, and Telmer and Recon walked either side of him with their blasters ready.

The tranquil snowscape erupted around them. In a shower of ice and roaring monster the frost wyrm breached beneath the spot the troopers had just abandoned, armoured head flinging the disabled snowmobile into the air.

Almost as one the clone troopers turned, necks craning up to watch the wyrm’s body stretch towards the sky with the sheer power of its lunge.

Over their heads a volley of rifle-bolts arced towards the wyrm. Mayday glanced along the snow-field to see Atlas crouched, barely visible against the surrounding snow-glare, scope trained on the new threat.

The creature’s thick, segmented body shuddered as the blaster bolts hit into it – an annoyance, nothing more. Slowly the mighty wyrm leaned, then crashed into the snow, blunt snout snapping and the great maw churning up the ground.

“RUN.”

Mayday’s command was almost redundant. His troops were already moving, scrambling over ground that shifted beneath their feet as the vast creature’s emergence fractured the permafrost beneath the snow.

Telmer and Axis raced ahead, quickly reaching Atlas who was still trying to hit the weak points on the wyrm’s armoured form. Mayday was close behind them, turning back to check for the last members of the squad.

Veetch and Recon were nowhere in sight.

The wyrm twisted atop the ice, angling straight towards the retreating clones – and the depot. Mayday risked a glance back, didn’t have time to take in whether the beacons were pulsing with their protective red lights. He brought his own blaster up, scanning the snowscape beneath the advancing wyrm through the scope.

“Recon, Veetch, come in.”

“I’m with Recon, sir,” came Veetch’s reply.

“Where is he?”

Recon responded with a grim laugh. “Trapped in the ice, Commander. Got my leg stuck in a fissure.”

Mayday glanced at the three troopers with him. “I’m going back for them.”

“Not alone,” said Axis immediately, letting Krake’s body slide to the ground beside his brother and pulling a thermal detonator from his belt.

Mayday huffed his begrudging acknowledgement. “Atlas, Telmer-”

“I’ll get Krake back to base,” volunteered Telmer. “Permission to access heavy ordnance?”

“Granted,” nodded Mayday. “Atlas?”

“Covering fire as best I can, Commander,” confirmed the sniper. “I’ll try and keep its attention off you.”

Mayday grit his teeth, then started running again. Outstripping him, Axis raced ahead, laying down his own blaster fire in the space between Atlas’ shots. The blue-glow blaster bolts from the clones’ rifles barely pitted the creature’s skull-plate.

Axis skidded in the snow, long slide bringing him into a defensive crouch until he lobbed the thermal detonator in a strong overarm throw.

The device rolled under the wyrm’s lunging body, the explosion swallowed by ice and armour. The creature thrashed from side to side, the thunderous clack of its snapping jaws reverberating from the nearby mountains.

Beneath the layer of snowfall the ice crust creaked ominously. Atlas and Axis didn’t let up their volley of fire, working to keep the wyrm distracted by their attacks instead of noticing the other clone trooper closing on it.

At last Mayday spotted Veetch flagging him down and angled his path to bring him close – far too close for comfort – to where the wyrm heaved its body along the ice to pursue the twins.

Without Veetch, he doubted he would have found Recon. The clone was well below the level of the surrounding ground, soft snow cascading into a crack that had opened up in the lower layer of permafrost. Recon’s blaster was discarded, the clone scrabbling with both arms to try and maintain his purchase on the sliding snow. One leg and hip disappeared into the dark crevasse beneath him. The other knee was caught on the edge of the lip of ice, and slipping.

As soon as Mayday was close Veetch flung himself to the ground, spreading his weight on the treacherous snow lest he sink also. He stretched his rifle out to Recon, the struggling clone grabbing onto the barrel and holding tight.

“Good to see you,” panted Recon as Mayday appeared at Veetch’s side.

Mayday carefully skidded down the shifting snow, chancing his weight on the ice beneath. The snap and pop of fracturing permafrost could be heard despite the blanket of snow on top of it.

“Recon. Grab my hand.” Mayday reached out cautiously, feet spread wide to keep his balance on ground which trembled with every movement of the gargantuan wyrm. From their position in the pit he could no longer see the creature, but it’s presence was a constant danger.

Recon loosed one hand from the rifle, straining to reach Mayday’s outstretched hand. On the edge of the fissure his knee slipped, and his whole body plunged deeper into the crack.

Veetch and Recon’s startled cries echoed in synchronicity, and Mayday fought every instinct that told him to lunge and catch his fallen trooper. Recon scrabbled at the edge of the ice, up to his armpits in the crevasse now, forearms failing to find purchase on the slick ice.

Ice creaked, and Recon grunted. With a snap a huge crack appeared in his cuirass, white plastoid fracturing to reveal the black body-glove beneath.

“The ice is shifting as the wyrm moves,” gasped Veetch, breathless and fraught. “C’mon, Recon, you have to get up!”

The black visor of Recon’s helmet tilted up, gazing at Veetch.

The ice closed, vice-like. Blood misted from the seams of Recon’s armour as his torso was crushed between the shifting ice-plates.

“Recon!”

Almost as fast as it had closed the ice was pulling apart again, splintering, and now great chunks began to drop into the wyrm channels beneath. Recon’s body slithered helplessly away. Mayday threw himself to one side, landing prone in the snow, then whipped his head around in time to see Veetch sliding uncontrollably towards the now gaping crevasse. He lunged, trying to catch the rifle still in Veetch’s outstretched hand.

Cold-numbed fingers closed around the barrel and held fast. Mayday grunted as Veetch’s descent stalled with a jerk, held fast as snow cascaded past him whilst the young clone scrambled to avoid being drawn into the vortex of crumbling ice.

“I’ve got Veetch,” Mayday grit into the com as he struggled to his feet, grabbing his trooper and hauling him the rest of the way to safety. “Fall back!”

Veetch staggered against Mayday as they reached the lip of the pit, both hands clinging to his commander’s shoulders.

“Recon… I couldn’t…”

“No time for that, kid,” muttered Mayday.

Limbs weighted by weariness despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, Mayday dragged them upright and skirted round the brittle ground near the wyrm. Their pace was unsteady, Veetch trembling under his firm grasp.

The ground continued to quake as the creature thrashed, body convulsing with powerful waves as it lunged towards the clone troopers who harried it.

“Commander.” Hexx’s calm voice sounded through the com. “Telmer is on his way back to you. Ferox… advises that we don’t rely on the beacons. Karking Empire have got a lot to answer for, posting us out here without the equipment to keep us safe.”

Veetch stumbled. Mayday caught him again. “Come on, lad. Nearly there.”

Axis and Atlas were fighting a running battle, never staying in one spot long enough for the wyrm to strike. Each time it readied for an attack the brothers went scrambling away, criss-crossing their tracks in the deep snow. Mayday and Veetch reached them at almost the same time Telmer did, heavy kit box containing the outpost’s single rocket launcher in tow.

Axis dove past where Mayday and Telmer were wrenching the box open. “Last one,” he called with false cheer as he lobbed another thermal detonator towards their target.

The device chinked against the permafrost, then rolled and dropped into the crevasse from which the wyrm had emerged.

A distant, muffled thump was the sound of the detonator exploding. The wyrm threw its head back with a cacophonous screech, body going rigid, vertical; then inexorably, under the weight of gravity, it slid down beneath the ice and out of view.

The six troopers stood in a daze, numbed by the sudden silence of the battlefield. Mayday had the rocket launcher in his hands, Telmer almost ready to load the first warhead. Atlas straightened from his position hidden in the snow, walking forwards, and Axis clapped a hand to Veetch’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

“What happened?” asked Veetch in a trembling voice. “Did we kill it?”

“Doubt it,” said Axis as lightly as he could muster. “Probably just blew a deeper hole in the ice. Let’s get out of here before it comes back.”

Mayday quickly checked the datapad. [Seismic activity alert: High]

“Back to the outpost, everyone,” he ordered shortly. The more experienced troopers moved instantly, but Veetch edged towards the crater left by the frost wyrm.

“Veetch,” called Telmer, firm but not unkind. “Come on.”

“Recon… R-Recon’s down there,” stammered the young clone, turning back to look at his brothers, his posture imploring. “We have to recover his body.”

“Later, Veetch,” said Mayday with calm finality.

“A-and the cargo. Th-the Empire’ll-”

“Screw the Empire,” snorted Atlas softly.

Axis slung his blaster, heading back towards the youngest member of their squad. “Hey,” he said, gently coaxing. “C’mon. Let’s head back.”

“Recon’s dead,” said Veetch. “I couldn’t save him. I just watched.”

“You didn’t ‘just watch’.” Mayday’s voice was gravelly. He stood, resting the launcher on his shoulder. “You did everything you could.”

“You heard the commander,” said Axis reassuringly. “I bet Recon knew it too. Now come on, we need to get back. It’s not safe out here.”

He rested a hand on Veetch’s shoulder, steering him away from the edge of the pit. Veetch allowed himself to be guided, standing a little straighter and blaster coming back to his hands in readiness.

The ground heaved. The two clones froze and exchanged a look.

Unhesitating, Axis threw Veetch forwards, the younger clone stumbling into the others and whipping round as the gigantic monstrosity erupted from the ground once more, demolishing the edge of the ice.

It was all they could do to watch in horror as Axis was snagged on the jaws of the wyrm as it breached, flung into the air to be caught by the churning maw, a pulsing, grinding channel of muscle and teeth. Then Atlas was shouting, a wordless cry, levelling his rifle to fire into the fleshy mouth. Telmer and Mayday were moving as one, Telmer loading the rocket, Mayday sighting through the rangefinder.

The jaws crunched closed once, twice on Axis’s shattered body, before the frost wyrm turned its broad head towards the remaining clone troopers and lunged.

The rocket flew, whistling on its short journey. The warhead arced into the creature’s throat and lodged there, embedded in the fleshy folds between teeth.

The explosion blew a hole through the back of the creature’s head, burnt scraps of gore and viscera flying free. With a dying exhale the wyrm heaved to a halt, smoke curling from its now slack maw, the ground tremoring and then settling as it crashed into the stillness of death.

Mayday lowered the rocket launcher slowly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Behind him Telmer sat suddenly, adrenaline abandoning him. Atlas fell to his knees, rifle sliding from his grip. Veetch was stock still, trembling like a leaf.

The datapad beeped.

[Seismic activity alert: None]

The outpost was subdued. Mayday had ordered them to move all the crates of cargo from the damaged storage unit into the main building, lest the raiders try and take advantage in another strike. That job had taken them the rest of the daylight hours; now evening, and inactivity, gave them time to process their losses.

Ferox’s face was painted in a dark, teary glower, eyes red-rimmed from the furious tears he had shed over losing their brothers; most of all over losing Recon, who had been with him since before the Barton IV assignment.

He sat with Helix and Telmer, the three of them talking in low voices, making disinterested plans to repair the damaged storage unit. Occasionally they would fall quiet and watch as Veetch paced past, the young clone restless and agitated, gaze darting wildly about the enclosed space like he was seeking an escape.

By contrast Atlas sat in numb silence, gaze distant and unfocused as his hands trembled around a rapidly cooling mug of caf. Hexx had tucked a blanket closely about his shoulders but the shaking in his body was nothing to do with the cold. He hadn’t spoken a word since carrying his batchmate’s broken body back to the depot.

Mayday and Hexx stood by the main door, armoured and ready for duty. Ferox had brought the beacons back online, but Mayday had suggested he would man the watchtower as well, as added security. Hexx had simply geared up without question.

Helmet in hands, Mayday paused, his gaze roving over the remaining members of his small squad. Then he laid it down, heading to his locker.

He came back holding a sealed bottle of Correlian brandy, the amber liquid glinting in the low light of the depot.

He tossed the bottle to Ferox, then pointed at Veetch.

“Get him drunk,” he instructed flatly. Then he turned a sympathetic gaze on Atlas. “Probably him, too.”

Telmer and Helix leaned in to inspect the bottle with interest. “Where did you get this?” asked Ferox, his curiosity reluctantly piqued as he cracked the seal and inhaled.

“I was saving it,” said Mayday shortly. “For something special. Celebrate the end of this posting, maybe.” He glanced again at the haggard troops, barely half of them left from his original command of twelve. “Seems as good a time as any to open it now.”

“You joining us for a drink, commander?” asked Telmer softly.

Mayday shook his head. “You boys relax.” He knew how hollow it sounded. “Me and Hexx will be outside if you need us.”

The two older clones walked a perimeter patrol of the depot before heading to their post in the watch-tower. Twilight cast long shadows over the valley, the sun hidden behind the mountains and the sky lit in a pale wash of blue with the last of the dying sunlight.

Mayday climbed the sentry tower, then removed his helmet to survey the churned snowscape. His hair and beard whipped in the wind, snow crystals settling on the lengths and not melting. Hexx climbed silently to his side, leaning his forearms on the edge and letting it take his weight.

“Gotta admire them,” Mayday commented after a time.

“What?”

“The vultures.” He indicated the huge dark birds which clustered in vast numbers around the fallen ice wyrm. Some circled overhead. silhouetted against the dusky sky. Others pecked and tore at the red shreds of flesh hanging from the soft inside of the wyrm’s slack, dead jaws.

Hexx merely grunted, shifting his position to ease the ache of cold from his frame.

“They’ll go after anything. No prey is too big. They’re making a tidy job of stripping that carcass.”

“Good thing we got our brothers back to the depot then,” muttered Hexx bitterly.

“At least they died.”

Mayday’s voice was odd, soft and strained. Hexx turned to look at him, studying the faraway look in Mayday’s brown eyes.

“Commander?” probed Hexx, tone laden with gentle concern.

“We’ve got no medic. We’ve got next to no med supplies. Better they died out there, quickly, than slowly and in pain from their injuries in here.”

Mayday’s usual bite of sarcasm was absent. He merely sounded exhausted.

“We’re losing this battle,” he continued softly, voice almost lost to the dancing wind. “Against this planet. Against this posting.”

“’Keep fighting, show the Empire what us clone troopers are made of’,” quoted Hexx. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Mayday snorted a humourless laugh. “I thought you didn’t believe in all that.”

“I believe in you,” said Hexx loyally. He nudged Mayday’s helmet in his hands. “Put that back on, before you freeze out here.”

Something that was almost a smile ghosted against Mayday’s lips before he did as Hexx bid, replacing his bucket and tightening the wraps to keep the cold out.

“Think those boys will leave any drink for us?” he asked.

Now it was Hexx’s turn to laugh. “Not a chance.”

Mayday sighed. “That’s fine. They deserve it. They deserve… so much more than this.”

Hexx didn’t reply.

The two clones watched the ruined scene of battle on the horizon until darkness swallowed it. And kept watching long into the night.

Read Part 1.4 - No Way Out

Welcome to Angstpril!

This writing project is a collaboration between myself, @the-little-moment and @kybercrystals94 to bring you a fabulous series of angst-based Bad Batch fanfiction. We've shared the prompts between us so don't forget to check all of our blogs to catch the whole month's worth of stories!

My series of 10 stories will focus on Clone Commander Mayday and the Barton IV Outpost. Stay tuned to follow Mayday's journey to the bitter end...

Don't forget to check out @the-little-moment's stories:- Day 1 - Homesick Day 4 - Longing

And @kybercrystals94's stories:- Day 3 - Broken Hearted Day 6 - This Isn't Going To Work

#angstpril2024 #thebadbatch #fanfiction #day8 #lost battle #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #tbb fanfic #clone commander mayday #commander mayday #barton iv #the outpost #clone trooper hexx #clone trooper veetch #littlekyberthoughts

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