Fic: "Phases" [Hamma, others, R, gen-nish]
Title: Phases
Author: sporkyadrasteia
Rating: R
Summary: There is an ebb and flow to everything, even revenge.
Warnings: Darkfic with descriptions of murder and rape in the mix
A/N: Many thanks to loveroftheflame for volunteering to beta this mess. :D The events in this fic take place chronologically but the time passed between two consecutive sections may vary a lot.
You are alone in this locked cell in this rocking ship of steel and it is this fact more than anything that humiliates you.
Had you left in the previous raid, you would have been with Akna the healer and Chupun, your neighbor. Had you submitted to the raid before that, you would have been in the comfort of the great Pikatti, who could pin an otter seal 100 paces away with his ice daggers, and perhaps that brave young son of Kara who had only begun his first lessons before the Fire ships docked. But, while as you have failed as have your family, friends and heroes, you have no one to hug, no one to talk to, no one to share your fears.
And you hate these men of flame and metal for making the life of the last Southern waterbender painful as well as meaningless.
You learn that the truth is worse than your nightmares.
Your prison cell is next to Lika; you remember her as a sweet-faced girl but these horrible years have sunken her cheeks and dimmed her eyes. She was fond of sea prunes, you remember. You avoid eye contact with her.
Lika has a secret. When given her drink by the guards, Lika takes care to be extra messy so that a few drops fall onto her clothes. She waits until the guards leave to sift out the precious drops from the thin fabric.
The warden catches her in the act, finally one day, and he lets her burn in her rags to teach everyone a lesson. Your own drinking water is still rationed, so you choose not to cry.
The young guard on night-duty eyes you hungrily as he passes by. They call him the Watcher and his duty is to unshackle the prisoners after they have had their day's drink. Tonight, he saves you for last.
It is pitch dark when he finally unlocks your cell. His hands slither over your cheeks, your breasts, your waist before he drops his pants and gives a satisfied growl as he lifts your smock. As he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts and thrusts into you against the rough floor of the cell, your arms are still shackled and your mouth is gagged. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and dream of sunsets on sparkling ice back home.
The outside world disappears in the prison camp. There is only the Schedule: brutal waking at dawn, midday meal at noon, dinner meal and drink at dusk. And rounds and rounds and rounds by the Warden interspersed between all these times. You adapt to this and learn to expect nothing more.
Yet, you overhear two young guards whisper about the failed attempt on the Northern Water Tribe and nearly gasp in excitement. Where there is disappointment in the Fire Nation's efforts, there is hope. And you begin to dream of freedom once again.
Your discovery is almost an accident. The rats always bother you, biting at your fingers and feet while you sleep. In both irritation and laziness, you pick one up by the tail and dash it against the floor, where it lies, dead with glistening blood oozing from its head. Out of curiosity, you concentrate on its living companion, poised to nibble your toe, and bend to push it away from you. It glides back and lands several feet away from you before scurrying away in fear. As you bend the rat blood stain out of the floor and push the dead rat over the edge, you muse over the possibilities and vow to practice this idea a little more.
Tonight, the Watcher's eyes glance at you once again in anticipation. This time, you are ready and wait for the moon to climb.
It is almost too easy when the key clicks in the lock. You make him collapse on the floor and you want to make him stay there until you can break out to freedom. But no, you think again and smile at him for the first time, imagining neurons, muscles, and blood vessels bulging inside.
Squish.
A/N: So I, being the mindless sheepiest of all humanity, watched "The Puppetmaster" online awhile ago and I was struck by a "HOLY SHIT HAMMA" plotbunny. Which led to this. The pictures of the moon are courtesy of here. Also, many apologies to that one-time FN prison guard in for having turned him into a lecherous rapist-type.
Author: sporkyadrasteia
Rating: R
Summary: There is an ebb and flow to everything, even revenge.
Warnings: Darkfic with descriptions of murder and rape in the mix
A/N: Many thanks to loveroftheflame for volunteering to beta this mess. :D The events in this fic take place chronologically but the time passed between two consecutive sections may vary a lot.
You are alone in this locked cell in this rocking ship of steel and it is this fact more than anything that humiliates you.
Had you left in the previous raid, you would have been with Akna the healer and Chupun, your neighbor. Had you submitted to the raid before that, you would have been in the comfort of the great Pikatti, who could pin an otter seal 100 paces away with his ice daggers, and perhaps that brave young son of Kara who had only begun his first lessons before the Fire ships docked. But, while as you have failed as have your family, friends and heroes, you have no one to hug, no one to talk to, no one to share your fears.
And you hate these men of flame and metal for making the life of the last Southern waterbender painful as well as meaningless.
You learn that the truth is worse than your nightmares.
Your prison cell is next to Lika; you remember her as a sweet-faced girl but these horrible years have sunken her cheeks and dimmed her eyes. She was fond of sea prunes, you remember. You avoid eye contact with her.
Lika has a secret. When given her drink by the guards, Lika takes care to be extra messy so that a few drops fall onto her clothes. She waits until the guards leave to sift out the precious drops from the thin fabric.
The warden catches her in the act, finally one day, and he lets her burn in her rags to teach everyone a lesson. Your own drinking water is still rationed, so you choose not to cry.
The young guard on night-duty eyes you hungrily as he passes by. They call him the Watcher and his duty is to unshackle the prisoners after they have had their day's drink. Tonight, he saves you for last.
It is pitch dark when he finally unlocks your cell. His hands slither over your cheeks, your breasts, your waist before he drops his pants and gives a satisfied growl as he lifts your smock. As he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts and thrusts into you against the rough floor of the cell, your arms are still shackled and your mouth is gagged. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and dream of sunsets on sparkling ice back home.
The outside world disappears in the prison camp. There is only the Schedule: brutal waking at dawn, midday meal at noon, dinner meal and drink at dusk. And rounds and rounds and rounds by the Warden interspersed between all these times. You adapt to this and learn to expect nothing more.
Yet, you overhear two young guards whisper about the failed attempt on the Northern Water Tribe and nearly gasp in excitement. Where there is disappointment in the Fire Nation's efforts, there is hope. And you begin to dream of freedom once again.
Your discovery is almost an accident. The rats always bother you, biting at your fingers and feet while you sleep. In both irritation and laziness, you pick one up by the tail and dash it against the floor, where it lies, dead with glistening blood oozing from its head. Out of curiosity, you concentrate on its living companion, poised to nibble your toe, and bend to push it away from you. It glides back and lands several feet away from you before scurrying away in fear. As you bend the rat blood stain out of the floor and push the dead rat over the edge, you muse over the possibilities and vow to practice this idea a little more.
Tonight, the Watcher's eyes glance at you once again in anticipation. This time, you are ready and wait for the moon to climb.
It is almost too easy when the key clicks in the lock. You make him collapse on the floor and you want to make him stay there until you can break out to freedom. But no, you think again and smile at him for the first time, imagining neurons, muscles, and blood vessels bulging inside.
Squish.
A/N: So I, being the mindless sheepiest of all humanity, watched "The Puppetmaster" online awhile ago and I was struck by a "HOLY SHIT HAMMA" plotbunny. Which led to this. The pictures of the moon are courtesy of here. Also, many apologies to that one-time FN prison guard in for having turned him into a lecherous rapist-type.
