#early shield days

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 1 - Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attack, red room badness (punishments)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: mandated therapy is never fun for anyone.

A/N: it feels like I’ve blinked and it’s October. This is the fourth year of participating in whumptober, and it always seems like such a mess until it’s done. To everyone who encourages, likes and reblogs, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, your words inspire these words and help to bring fic to life. @broken--bow I know we talk about it but thanks for the screaming void, and the cat pictures and everything really, and for making sure there’s no ridiculous errors. <3<3<3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

The Shield psychiatrist offices are nondescript.

The receptionist looks over her glasses to Natasha, then across to Clint and Maria, and hands her a form on a clipboard to fill out.

Annoyed, Natasha purses her lips and holds up handcuffed hands and feels the satisfaction of the shocked look on her face.

The woman passes it to Clint’s open hands and points to the row of chairs.

Maria sits first, Natasha grudgingly sitting next to her and Clint following, staring at the form.

“Tough questions,” he jokes.

“Name? Natasha.”

“Date of birth?”

He peers over the form to Natasha who looks back at him.

“Unknown?”

Maria looks up.

“December 3rd,” she answers.

Natasha can’t help the sharp look to her left, shocked at the accuracy of the information that she thought no one knew.

Maria smirks.

Natasha looks down, her heart beating faster.

Clint continues obliviously.

“What problems are you currently seeking help for?”

He taps the clipboard.

“I might just leave that blank.”

He goes on.

“Treatment goals?”

“Stability?” Maria jokes.

Clint gives her a look. She looks chastised and shrugs in indifference.

Natasha lets it wash over her.

She doesn’t want to be here.

The mandated therapy was a threat, not a choice.

She doesn’t know how Maria knows her birthday, how she got that information.

There’s no one alive that should know it.

There’s a heat that crawls up her neck. The handcuffs feel too tight on her wrists.

“Hmm they have a suicide risk assessment. Maybe you can go over that with the psychiatrist.”

Clint looks over the rest of the form and hands it to Maria.

“Did you have to do this when you came here?”

Natasha stares at her feet, but the silence from Maria at Clint’s jab gives her a source of pleasure at the discomfort and the present that he’s inadvertently given.

Maria stands and gives the form to the receptionist, and Clint winks at Natasha when her back is turned. She realizes then, the comment was intentional. A dig back to the ones Maria had given.

“I’m going to see Director Thompson, are you okay here?”

Clint sits. “I’m here because I want to be,” he declares.

Maria says goodbye and leaves without looking at Natasha.

The radio next to the receptionist hums quietly but feels like static to Natasha.

How does she know?

What else do they know?

It shouldn’t take something so inconsequential to unhinge her, but it has.

“She’s not usually that mean,” Clint tells her.

“She just doesn’t quite trust you yet.”

Natasha knows that, but she’s also unsure if she wants Maria’s trust.

She doesn’t trust her either. Her position is too vulnerable to have enemies and it’s clear she has many.

Locked in a box, only let out for debrief and now apparently psychiatry sessions, she doesn’t like this brand of freedom that Shield has offered.

Clint says it’s just the beginning.

In his ramblings, he says a lot without saying anything.

The door opens.

Her name is called.

Natasha stands diligently, alongside Clint, and hates herself at the fear and apprehension that pools in her gut.

What does the woman know, if Maria knows her birthday?

Do they know about Vladivostok? Her fear of medical?

Do they know about Antonia? Dreykov?

And then a more unsettling thought.

Do they know about Ohio and Yelena?

Clint nudges her forward.

“I’ll be here when you come out,” he promises.

“No debrief today, just this.”

It’s a kindness.

One she likely doesn't deserve.

She looks to the woman standing in the door.

“Hello,” she greets, “I’m Olivia.”

The woman steps to the side and allows Natasha entry.

She takes one last look at Clint, and steps through the door.

.

Olivia sits at a large green two seater couch, and gestures to the one across from her.

A matching set. Natasha is sure that they were picked deliberately for the colour and the spaces it provided.

Whilst they have space for others to sit, it’s clear that they’re meant for only one person.

Natasha imagines, if she was anyone else, that she could take her shoes off and curl her feet underneath her, tucking her body up and feeling safe in position.

Instead, she sits facing the woman, on the edge of the sofa, her cuffed hands neutral on her lap.

“Do you mind if we take them off?” Olivia asks, gesturing.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

The silence isn’t personal, she just doesn’t have words to talk.

Olivia approaches slowly.

“If you want to kill me, I’m sure these won’t stop you. But in case the thought does cross your mind, I’ve not always been a psychiatrist.”

Natasha looks at the woman; really looks at her.

She seems to be about in her 40s, hair pulled back, not unkind, but knowing eyes that bore into Natasha’s when she looks up.

She doesn’t like it.

Doesn’t like how the woman reminds her of the Red Room instructors, the older women who had gone through the program at least twice and ruled the younger girls with manipulation over fear.

Natasha blinks.

She’s not there and this is not the same, she tells herself.

“My name is Olivia,” the woman starts, and then, almost in a way that feels unnerving, she switches to Russian.

“I can speak in either language, depending on what you prefer.”

It’s a question that Natasha prefers not to answer.

She speaks many languages; she’s not adverse to English, but since she’s been here, she feels adverse to words.

A moment passes.

When it’s clear Natasha isn’t going to answer, Olivia continues on.

“We have mandated sessions. They’re ongoing so I feel we are going to see a lot of each other.”

She glances at the form that Clint had started, and failed to finish.

“You prefer Natasha?”

It should be an easy, uncomplicated question.

“If you prefer another name, you can let reception know, but perhaps until you indicate otherwise I’ll continue to call you by the name you request, okay?”

Again the question goes unanswered; and again, the woman continues on.

“You’re here because you agreed to be, defected from the country of your birth, and whilst double agent was offered to you, you decided against it, I think we’d like to know why.”

The statement raises Natasha’s heart rate.

A vision of a widow left hung with the words traitor on her chest hits hard in her memory.

It’s not worth it, she wants to say.

All in or all out, there is no in between when it comes to Russia.

There’s no telling what they would do if they found defectors amongst them.

She feels the electricity of a Red Room debrief on her skin.

Words and secrets wrenched from her lips.

She wants to give a witty comeback; instead, the words get lost in her throat, so unsettled by the last half an hour.

How did Maria know her birthday?

Such a simple thing should not unravel her.

But it does.

The one advantage she had was that she was an enigma. That they didn't know anything about her, except what she had told Clint.

What if that was wrong?

The woman says something.

It doesn’t even register beyond words being spoken.

But it must be important.

The words feel heavy, and the woman repeats them.

“What is it you want, Natasha?”

Want?

‘What is it you want?’

The words play in repeat in her head.

When has she ever wanted anything?

What is it she wants?

That what she wants is something that she’d never get.

Natasha feels her heart rate quicken.

Want?

Her body hot.

How do they know?

Her heart. There’s something wrong with her heart.

Hands clench and she struggles for breath.

This isn’t supposed to happen to her.

Had they drugged her?

The food? Maybe the water.

Would Clint?

Maria.

She would.

She tries to breathe.

The woman.

The woman moves toward her and Natasha looks into her eyes.

They’re kinder.

Her vision blurs. The tidal wave of panic overcomes her.

What if?

What if she’s dying?

Not here.

Let her die alone.

There’s a hand in hers, fleeting.

It’s cold.

It gives Natasha something to focus on.

It’s so cold. Both hands now.

If she could focus, she could eliminate the threat. The woman?

She blinks to clear her vision, shaking her head as her heart rabbits in her chest.

She’s dying.

She forces breath into her lungs, focusing on the coldness in her hands.

It feels like a lifeline.

Time loses meaning, and Natasha doesn’t know how long it takes her to get herself under control again.

Embarrassment burns on her cheeks as the world rights itself.

Terror from the moments before flood adrenaline into her body.

The woman is still in her chair, looking down at her notebook. She looks up and meets Natasha’s eyes.

There’s an ice pack in Natasha’s clenched fists, still doing its job in providing calm and grounding.

Natasha is not stupid.

In the moment she thought she was dying.

Now, she knows it was a panic attack.

She doesn’t think she’s had one since she was eight.

“You’re safe,” the woman tells her.

It’s the first words that register, and whilst she doesn’t believe it, it’s a nice sentiment.

Nothing has happened yet but it doesn’t mean that it won’t.

She can’t imagine what’s going to happen next.

In the Red Room, she was whipped. Madam’s switch across her back twenty times, as she was made to count them.

Here? She doesn’t think it would be the same, but to lose it in public?

In front of the psychiatrist, no less.

She feels like she needs to do damage control.

Lessen the punishment.

She feels like she’s losing it, she gets told her birth day and the woman asks her what she wants and she falls apart.

Taking another breath and handing the ice pack back to the woman, she looks around her and forces herself to calm down.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and croaky, the only words that she’s spoken to another outside of debrief.

The psychiatrist nods.

Natasha bites her lip.

The woman doesn’t ask any questions. She motions to the water and the glass on the table, pours one for herself and then offers another to Natasha.

She sips it, and Natasha nods, thankful.

Her mouth is dry and she can’t remember when she drank something last.

Putting down the glass, Natasha wonders what’s going to happen next.

It takes a moment before the next question comes, but it’s not the words she thinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The offer is kind.

She feels suspicious and angry and embarrassed and looks to the door to leave.

The glass prison she lives in is not safe by any means, but it’s familiar and not this place of questions and interrogation.

Her defenses are low; the lack of sleep and food are taking their toll. It’s clear now, that to be better, she needs to take more care.

She’s smart enough to know better.

She’s better than this.

She was trained better than this.

The anger builds again at the display of weakness and Natasha swallows hard.

“We still have ten minutes. I’m going to tell you a few things, but the rest of the time, we can just sit here. You don’t need to say anything unless you want to.”

The words start slowly.

It’s a plan.

A lifeline.

And Natasha breathes again.

.

<3

[jeanbarton]

Am I the only one who sees a young Clint here? 🤣

[scavengerssuccotash]

What are some of your early SHIELD days headcanons?

Ohhhh! I looooove early SHIELD days headcanons, so thank you for asking!!

Natasha’s defection was definitely the talk of the town! She caused a huge ruckus when she did, from whispered chatter around the water coolers to speculations on the training field her name was inside everyone’s mouth. She reveled in it though. One doesn’t carry the moniker of Black Widow (a whispered legend in its own right in the intelligence field) without a bit of pride. Natasha was smart too, she used the reputation that came from Black Widow to keep most everyone at bay and at a distance. Once she was cleared of the possibility of being a dangle and allowed to roam relatively free she stalked the corridors of SHIELD with an air of awe, shock and fear. Some Agents avoided her completely, the smart ones coward but the dumb ones…the really dumb ones jeered.

That’s when Clint stepped in. His name was also inside everyone’s mouth, alongside Natasha’s on the account of the whole bringing her in thing. For a good four months everyone really thought he was dead because he wasn’t on base and no one knew where he was. So when he landed himself in medical after a fistfight with a fellow agent his first day back it really shocked everyone. Needless to say the speculation of just how Clint got Nat to defect has been a long standing guessing game. Sometimes even Clint and Nat join in, feeding the erroneous rumors by letting something “slip” about that day because they think it’s funny. Only Nat, Clint and Phil know the truth. Fury knows the basics but that is it.

SHIELDs cafeteria is a fucking shit show, some days the food tastes like an outhouse shitter and other days it’s a five star meal. No one really gets why. So, most just avoid it. There’s a running email exchange between Phil, Clint, Nat and the head of nutrition stretching back years. (Seriously, google the CIA and their Cafeteria food, some very hilarious email exchanges got released a while back!)

A fandom favorite of course is that everyone at SHIElD definitely thinks they are fucking, have fucked or that it’s just a matter of time before they do. And I do think that was the case, but after Phil chewed out an Agent in the middle of a crowded lunch room (Italian was catered) no one has been dumb enough to get caught saying it. If it’s out fear of Phil or Nat or a very elaborate blackmail ring run by Clint no one knows and they sure as hell aren’t gonna speculate while on campus.

(There is a bar in the middle of queens though where a janitor will tell you about the time he walked in on Clint and Nat having a quickie in Fury’s office. For a price of course!)

Just some thoughts I have PLENTY more but figured this was getting a bit long 😅

[sidewalk-scrawls]

On another note, I've been sick all week, and I can feel an ear infection coming on, and I really need it to not!

[hollow-jack]

finally my sweet daughter jason derulo is here

[dilfkuza]

watching Nishitani's death scene always leaves me devastated. like noooo king you can't die you haven't gotten your rocks off in a decent fight yet

[retiredcultistredux]

"That's it. He's not listening. I'm going to have to do something drastic." I hit kirby over the head with my shield. "I hope this will knock some sense into you buddy."- 🛡 anon.

Upon being hit in the head, Kirby lost the Poison ability and stumbled forward a bit, stunned and dizzy. Meanwhile, the shadow behind him...

...Yeah, it was Ester. He seemed to be able to control Kirby physically to an extent, yet his hold over the puffball was easily broken with enough force, making him lose his concentration, and therefore his control as well. This caused him to pop up from the shadows, experiencing the same pain as Kirby.

[...Well, you've managed to momentarily stun both Ester and Kirby.]

[lith-myathar]

I genuinely grew up believing that society was going to collapse and that we would all be living in mad max wasteland future by now and like. Yes all of us grew up feeling like we didn't have a future but my upbringing actively told me over and over that The End was coming soon. It's literally doomsday cult shit, but instead of revelations I got peak oil and climate change. And like at the very least those things are real, but the world has not ended, society has not collapsed, and that narrative running through my entire childhood fucked me up bad and left me completely unprepared to function. Like why make any plans? Why have dreams? Why strive for anything in the society we have now when we knew this was coming? But at the same time my parents weren't DOING anything about it. We weren't preppers, we weren't moving to another country, we were just staying put and waiting and worrying, there was always an immediate reason we couldn't act but a long term view of the world that said disaster was coming soon. And at the same time extreme pressure to achieve, because there was this sense that time was running out, money was running out, that I would only ever be safe if I was able to get good grades and degrees and a career that paid well.

I have no point to this post exactly except that I'm still just sort of astounded that that's how I grew up

[blue-eli]

Ink October day nine: Convalescent

To recover health and strength gradually after illness or injury, often by staying off your feet.

[moonlayl]

hey I'm not sure if this is unpopular to say but why did we ever really like Lance hunter? he wasn't that great and really rude to the absolute queen that is Bobbi Morse. like, did he redeem himself? he's not bad, but annoying without many great qualities. honestly it might just be the way he treats bobbi, it just rubs me wrong and gives me the ick.

Hello anon! Sorry this is about a week 4 months late. (I’m awful at this, I know)

So there are several instances in the show where Hunter pisses me off (when he talks about Bobbi behind her back, when he “advises” Fitz not to save Will (which is really inexcusable) when he refuses to say “don’t die out there” to Bobbi because he’s angry she wants to handle ward—the guy who hurt HER—herself, etc…)

But I disagree about him not having good/redeeming qualities. One of his main qualities is his loyalty to the people he cares about. He tells may “shield’s all about the mission, not the person next to you”

And even though I’m the kind of person who thinks that sometimes (not always though) a mission could actually be that important, I have to admire the way Hunter is dedicated to helping out his teammates. He drops everything to rush and help Fitz in s5. Even at the possible expense of his life, or Bobbi, he doesn’t betray the other members in “parting shot”. During a time when he hardly knew Daisy, he still tries to offer her the kind of advice he thought would be helpful, so she wouldn’t get too attached and hurt.

Hunter is also unique in the sense that he actually criticizes shield, and never stops doing so. It is such a relief to have a character in those two seasons so unafraid of calling literally anyone out. When Mack is reasonably angry that Trip died over a mission Coulson refused to share details about, and May tells him to remember his “rank”, Hunter immediately says “really? Rank at a time like this?”

And, for May, especially at that time in the show, going back to the rules and protocols made sense for her. It offered her a certain amount of comfort and familiarity and if she distances herself from emotion and focuses on work, it helps her. I get that.

But what Hunter said is true. One of their members was dead, and while WE, the audience, understand what was going on and why Coulson did what he did, the other members of the team didn’t, and they all had to grieve for Trip without even knowing much of what was going on (Also, Mack literally got possessed by some mist). So he’s right. It really wasn’t the time for pulling the rank card.

This isn’t the first time he’s distrustful of shield (and reasonably so! I wished more characters would call out shield and the director, even if it was Coulson!) and that to me is part of the reason I like him.

Also during s2, when the “real shield” is revealed, despite Bobbi and Mack—the two people Hunter arguably knows best—being a part of it, Hunter still stops at nothing to inform Coulson, because while he may not completely agree with shield, he learned to trust Coulson and he’s LOYAL. He helps Fitz out, legitimately seems determined to locate Daisy after she disappears, and in the third season, he’s very clearly completely overjoyed that simmons is alive. Literally claps and yells “oh fitz, you absolute beauty!” When he hears fitz managed to help rescue simmons.

Those are all the actions and words of a man who CARES.

He also, arguably, is the funniest character on the show. By season 2 and season 3, that humour and wit was quite welcome. I legitimately found myself laughing out loud many times during his scenes. That’s another reason I like him.

As for how he treated Bobbi, I guess the reason it doesn’t bother me the way fitzsimmons bothers me (in terms of how Fitz treats Simmons) is because Bobbi is equally as flawed when it comes to their relationship and scenes as Hunter is. She doesn’t always treat him the best, and he isn’t always treating her the best, yet the both love and care for each other in their own way, so it’s very equal. I don’t think anyone uses them as an example of a perfect and healthy relationship, lol. She was a huge reason their relationship never worked out. I love Bobbi with all my heart and she’s one of my favourite aos characters, but she is a liar and she’s also very manipulative when she wants to be (which is not me hating her, I mean those aren’t good traits but they’re realistic and I WANT female characters to be flawed). We only really see them and their relationship after their divorce and after being informed that she lied to him all throughout their relationship and marriage (which makes sense, she wasn’t going to tell him about shield, but obviously keeping a big secret like that from your partner isn’t a good thing) We also than find out she was lying to him all throughout season 2, when they got back together. 

Hunter has quite a few moments where he’s a complete prick, but given the way he and Bobbi’s relationship was like and how dishonest she usually was with him (and all throughout s2 when they were supposedly trying to rebuild their relationship) him being annoyed at her and making a few comments doesn’t really bother me. 

I mean there’s no actual excuse for misogyny in general and all the aos male characters have certain questionable lines or scenes (due to the writing) so I’m not trying to say his worser moments are okay, I just don’t think he treated Bobbi very badly considering who she is, and what their relationship has always been. Especially when we get scenes like:

Bobbi *while lying to him for so long*: will you never trust me?

Hunter: but I'll never stop wanting to

Like this dude loves her and is protective of her, and overall actually takes her lying to him well (aside from a few comments and jokes). They’re both messed up people who clearly don’t really know how to properly hold on to a marriage and that’s why it kind of works? That’s why it doesn’t bother me as much because it’s like, okay, you both can be so goddamn horrible to each other, but you both care for each other so much. You both bring out the worst and the best in each other depending on the day and situation. 

It’s like Mack said: “Man, you two deserve each other”

This isn’t a Lance Hunter defense post necessarily,  I just want to point out the redeeming qualities I personally see in this character, and why they make me like this character, but I totally understand your opinion op and respect it!

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 2 - Trust Issues

Warnings: food hoarding

Word Count: 1.5k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint talk about Natasha. Clint realizes that bringing in a black widow may not be as easy as he thinks.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Clint yawns.

Maria throws a book at him and groans.

“I’m so bored,” he complains. “How do you do this?”

“That’s what you get, for bringing a stray home,” she rolls her eyes and throws her pen at him.

“They can’t keep me grounded forever right?”

Maria shrugs, “Ask Coulson.”

Clint throws them back at her and glances at the clock.

“I should probably go,” he sighs.

“Pick up time?”

He bows, “I am the chauffeur, am I not?”

“She’s not eating,” Maria tells him as Clint starts to walk away.

“What?”

He turns and eyes her closely.

“She doesn’t eat the food, haven’t you noticed? Not unless it’s packaged or clear liquid.”

She pauses.

“I don’t know what she does eat, have you been giving her food?”

Clint shakes his head.

“Only the occasional granola bar when I’ve eaten one?”

He pauses. “How do you know?”

Maria pauses.

“She’s been here two weeks, what has she been eating?”

“How do you know?”

Looking around, Maria opens the surveillance program on her computer, and rewinds to breakfast.

“Don’t tell Coulson I’m showing you this,” she growls.

Clint looks forward with interest, feeling voyeuristic at watching her.

He knew they’d be surveilling her, but had underestimated just how closely.

It seems stupid in hindsight.

The breakfast is delivered.

The blue tray pushed through a small opening on the floor, and Clint feels angry at how just like prison this must feel for her.

Natasha approaches it, and squats to look at the food.

She inspects the apple, and places it on the bed away from the other food. The scrambled eggs, she touches as though she’s looking for something; pressing them down; then looks at the juice box and places it next to the apple.

The tray gets pushed back, the rest of the cooked food untouched, and, after a moment, taken away.

“Breakfast she eats the most, or takes the most from, I guess.”

Clint keeps watching, but she doesn’t eat. The juice box gets drunk slowly, but the apple is placed inside the small side table drawer.

He glimpses one of the granola bars he’d given her, and he feels like an idiot for not noticing.

“Talk to her about it?”

He nods.

“Why’d you tell me? You don’t even like her?”

Maria looks at him, annoyed at the look.

“Just because I like her, doesn’t mean I want her dead.”

He looks away from the computer, Maria turning the program off.

“Clint, she’s not okay, traumatized black widows; don’t you think you’re out of your depth?”

He takes the criticism and thinks about Natasha’s face as he’d offered her a lifeline. The way she looked so sad and resigned to her fate, and the run and hide through Berlin.

“I’m all she’s got,” he shrugs.

Maria shakes her head, but says nothing.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll chat to you later?”

He leaves without the response, mulling on her words, wondering just how hard this was going to be.

.

Clint waits, just as he promised as the door opens as Natasha steps out.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Olivia tells both the receptionist and Natasha at the door.

The receptionist nods, and gives Clint a smile, ignoring Natasha as she steps out and forward.

“Sorry,” Clint says ruefully, taking the handcuffs from Olivia.

Natasha holds her hands up, face blank, eyes glazed.

They step in line with each other, the walk back to the glass prison punctuated with Clint’s quiet words.

“I feel like you look when I walk out of therapy. Did it go okay?”

He pauses, “you don’t have to answer that.”

When there’s no words, he decides to continue talking.

He knows she doesn’t trust them; any of them. He really wants to know what she talks about in therapy. If she says anything at all or if Olivia just talks to her.

He wonders idly if he needs to talk to someone too.

Probably.

The last couple of months have been… intense, for lack of a better word and he wonders if, like Maria had said, he was out of his depth.

It was not the first time he thought it.

Natasha’s despondency was affecting him.

What did he know about defectors and a traumatised super spy?

He just didn’t want her to die.

Not by his hand, or her own.

“I like her though,” he continues.

“Give her a chance, if you can. She’s… not unlike you, in her background and maybe can help? She’s there to help.”

He mulls on his own words as he leads her a different way back. He’s right.

If anyone can help her; Olivia can.

Determined to show her a different part of the complex, they go through the kitchens, and Clint picks up two apples, throwing her one and then crunching onto the other.

It gives him time to think.

He’s going to need to touch base with Olivia, make sure that she is interacting, doing what was promised.

He could ask her what he should be doing too; for her, for himself.

Clint leads the way back with practiced ease, the silence allowing him to think.

As they enter the first round of checks, he smiles easily to the straight faced guards; then as they get deeper to the third and forth stations, it’s just Clint’s badge letting them in.

It seems to bolster Natasha, the less people around, she matches his steps and bites the apple. At the noise, Clint turns and smiles.

“You don’t eat much,” he observes.

Natasha shrugs and takes another bite.

He laughs at her sass.

“Do you not like the food?”

Natasha looks down.

He feels a little mean, talking about this after she’s just had 90 minutes of therapy.

He’s sure the sessions are not the easiest, and he can see the slight tremor in her hands, despite her trying to mask it by holding onto the apple.

They reach her cell and she steps inside the glass, holding her wrists out for him to release them.

He does.

Taking the cuffs away and pushing them into his pocket.

“Just think about it, okay? If there’s food you want or prefer, just tell me? I can help.”

Natasha looks at her feet and takes two steps back, the door closing and the glass sealing shut.

.

Despite her better judgement, Natasha continues to eat the apple. The constant hunger makes her feel on edge sometimes.

She’s so used to it, that until Clint had said something, she hadn’t given it much thought.

Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, she chews on it and thinks.

Therapy had been tough.

Though not for the first time, Olivia had called her out on things that she shouldn’t know.

Details about the Red Room that only the guards, the officers or widows knew, inner workings of the KGB and Red Room procedures like the trial of the silent knife and graduation.

And whilst Natasha hadn’t had another panic attack, it had been close.

The push to talk and baiting was tempting.

How did she know?

She knew she’d eventually have to talk, but for now, whilst she could hold onto her silence, she wanted to keep it.

It was the only control she had.

Her mind feels like a minefield.

Sometimes, she feels like once she starts talking, she’ll never stop; but the years of self preservation wouldn’t let her.

She sorts the known information, finishing the apple and swallowing slowly, closing her eyes on the onslaught of images and thoughts.

It takes her a moment to let the memory of the silent knife trial pass. The blood on her hands feeling so visceral and real she opens and closes her eyes just to check.

She breathes.

In.

Holds it.

And out.

It has become the easiest thing to do after therapy. To think and sort through all the things that were said, disclosed and asked of her.

After a day like today where she had had to do both debriefing and therapy, she knew that nightmares would be inevitable.

She just hoped that whoever was watching the cameras tonight was sleeping on the job.

Natasha breathes slowly again.

Starting with the image that comes first, she focuses as best she can on sorting real from not real. What they had said, what she had disclosed, information that still was secret and that which had become known.

They were still only on major players of the organisation; those that she knew had ties into the western world. People she had been sent after, political agendas. It was far easier to talk about than herself, though she had a feeling that was coming.

Her mind flashes to Dreykov and she bites the inside of her cheek, drawing blood.

Real or not real.

She tries to ground herself in this moment.

She didn’t trust them.

They knew too much.

She’d told them too much.

There was no going back now.

Natasha thinks of Maria again.

Always an ending thought.

The divulgence of knowing her birthdate.

Information known by a select few but, perhaps also could be found from intel files. It means that somewhere here there’s more intel on her; prior to her coming here.

What she wouldn’t give for that file.

Therapy conversations had given her pause.

It was difficult to think about without her mind flashing back; and she didn’t want to.

Not here.

Not now.

There’s a file on her.

And she wants it.

.

<3

[kittlyns]

One day I am gonna start journaling again and then I won't post all this sad shit on here but until then! *posts another sad post*

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Ahahahah

I feel like shit

And im 99% sure its because I'm stressed

I always feel sick when im stressed

But the stress always gets worse now when that happens cuz of covid. Which makes me feel more sick.

Awesome 👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall Free

"The Food and Drug Administration approved new mRNA coronavirus vaccines Thursday [August 22, 2024], clearing the way for shots manufactured by Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna to start hitting pharmacy shelves and doctor’s offices within a week.

Health officials encourage annual vaccination against the coronavirus, similar to yearly flu shots. Everyone 6 months and older should receive a new vaccine, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends.

The FDA has yet to approve an updated vaccine from Novavax, which uses a more conventional vaccine development method but has faced financial challenges.

Our scientific understanding of coronavirus vaccines has evolved since they debuted in late 2020. Here’s what to know about the new vaccines.

Why are there new vaccines?

The coronavirus keeps evolving to overcome our immune defenses, and the shield offered by vaccines weakens over time. That’s why federal health officials want people to get an annual updated coronavirus vaccine designed to target the latest variants. They approve them for release in late summer or early fall to coincide with flu shots that Americans are already used to getting.

The underlying vaccine technology and manufacturing process are the same, but components change to account for how the virus morphs. The new vaccines target the KP.2 variant because most recent covid cases are caused by that strain or closely related ones...

Do the vaccines prevent infection?

You probably know by now that vaccinated people can still get covid. But the shots do offer some protection against infection, just not the kind of protection you get from highly effective vaccines for other diseases such as measles.

The 2023-2024 vaccine provided 54 percent increased protection against symptomatic covid infections, according to a CDC study of people who tested for the coronavirus at pharmacies during the first four months after that year’s shot was released...

A nasal vaccine could be better at stopping infections outright by increasing immunity where they take hold, and one is being studied in a trial sponsored by the National Institutes of Health.

If you really want to dodge covid, don’t rely on the vaccine alone and take other precautions such as masking or avoiding crowds...

Do the vaccines help prevent transmission?

You may remember from early coverage of coronavirus vaccines that it was unclear whether shots would reduce transmission. Now, scientists say the answer is yes — even if you’re actively shedding virus.

That’s because the vaccine creates antibodies that reduce the amount of virus entering your cells, limiting how much the virus can replicate and make you even sicker. When vaccination prevents symptoms such as coughing and sneezing, people expel fewer respiratory droplets carrying the virus. When it reduces the viral load in an infected person, people become less contagious.

That’s why Peter Hotez, a physician and co-director of the Texas Children’s Hospital Center for Vaccine Development, said he feels more comfortable in a crowded medical conference, where attendees are probably up to date on their vaccines, than in a crowded airport.

“By having so many vaccinated people, it’s decreasing the number of days you are shedding virus if you get a breakthrough infection, and it decreases the amount of virus you are shedding,” Hotez said.

Do vaccines prevent long covid?

While the threat of acute serious respiratory covid disease has faded, developing the lingering symptoms of “long covid” remains a concern for people who have had even mild cases. The CDC says vaccination is the “best available tool” to reduce the risk of long covid in children and adults. The exact mechanism is unclear, but experts theorize that vaccines help by reducing the severity of illness, which is a major risk factor for long covid.

When is the best time to get a new coronavirus vaccine?

It depends on your circumstances, including risk factors for severe disease, when you were last infected or vaccinated, and plans for the months ahead. It’s best to talk these issues through with a doctor.

If you are at high risk and have not recently been vaccinated or infected, you may want to get a shot as soon as possible while cases remain high. The summer wave has shown signs of peaking, but cases can still be elevated and take weeks to return to low levels. It’s hard to predict when a winter wave will begin....

Where do I find vaccines?

CVS said its expects to start administering them within days, and Walgreens said that it would start scheduling appointments to receive shots after Sept. 6 and that customers can walk in before then.

Availability at doctor’s offices might take longer. Finding shots for infants and toddlers could be more difficult because many pharmacies do not administer them and not every pediatrician’s office will stock them given low demand and limited storage space.

This year’s updated coronavirus vaccines are supposed to have a longer shelf life, which eases the financial pressures of stocking them.

The CDC plans to relaunch its vaccine locator when the new vaccines are widely available, and similar services are offered by Moderna and Pfizer."

-via The Washington Post, August 22, 2024

[princessbellecerise]

Baby Blues

Summary ✩ After six months of being married, you and Cregan are still struggling to conceive, leading to you becoming insecure and slightly jealous in your marriage

Warnings ✩ Angst, jealousy, mentions of infertility and pregnancy, self doubt, insecurity, happy ending though

Notes ✩ This is based off of a request and I hope I did it justice. I did put a little twist on it just to make it a little extra angsty but enjoy!

Cregan pulled the covers back and grinned.

A little over a month had passed since your last moon blood, and now that a safe amount of time had gone by, he felt excitement fill him at the idea that you were finally with child.

The two of you had been trying ever since you got married six months ago, but it seemed that the Gods had not yet deemed you fit to be parents. It’s something that’s worried both you and Cregan, as it wasn’t like there was a lack of trying between the two of you, and the Maesters said that you both were healthy. Realistically, your belly should be swollen by now but it just hadn’t happened.

Now though, Cregan felt a sliver of hope rise in his chest. Beside him, you shifted and rolled over sleepily to see why your husband had taken the covers from you. You were cold, but once you saw what he was looking at you immediately warmed up.

“It still hasn’t come,” You realized, fighting a smile. Your heart beating a little faster as you saw the clean sheets.

“No. No it hasn’t,” Cregan, trying and failing to conceal his own grin, said. “It’s been next to two months now.”

“Which could mean nothing,” You chewed your lip, reminding him that sometimes a woman’s blood could be late. But Cregan chose to be optimistic.

“Or…”

You squealed as suddenly, your husband pulled you into his arms and peppered kisses all over your neck. Laughter filled your chambers as you tried to push him away, but Cregan held you firm, his hands gentle as they pressed against your belly. “Mayhaps my seed has finally taken.”

“Mhmm. Well, we’ll see about that,” You said cautiously, not wanting to get your hopes up until you knew for sure. More time would need to pass before you allowed yourself to truly believe, as the heartbreak of your moon blood simply being late would be devastating. You were already worried that something was wrong with your womb and the longer you went without getting pregnant, the more that worry grew.

Over the next few days, you held caution close to your chest as a way to shield yourself in case Cregan was wrong. In case this time was just false hope like all the others, but as the days went on and suddenly it became a month and two weeks without getting your moon blood, you caved.

You and Cregan couldn’t stop grinning the moment you finally revealed to the Maester what was happening. It was too early to be one hundred percent sure, but he assured you that it was a good sign and only time would tell. Despite this, Cregan insisted on celebrating the incident, claiming that there needed to be a feast held to honor the coming of a new heir. Your husband was so excited that you didn’t even have the heart to dissuade him, admittedly excited yourself.

As the Lady of the castle, you made the plans and collaborated with the Maester to send out invitations. And within two more weeks, all of the nearest houses in the North were gathered at Winterfell, happy and merry as they celebrated you and Cregan.

It was a lively feast, and definitely the most exciting event in the North for a while. Cregan had insisted on having the best ale present and the best food, as it was summer and their stores had extra to spare.

You had never seen your husband so alive; so filled with happiness and joy as he drank to his new heir. Of course, you were being moderate and only stuck to cider or water, but you didn’t mind. At least you’d be sober enough to remember this night, and the way that it filled you with such love to see everyone so happy.

To you, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulder and the fear of disappointing Cregan and the North faded. You knew it was silly, as Cregan had reassured you many times that he’d still love you even if you couldn’t provide him with a child, but fulfilling your duty had been drilled into your head since you were born and now you could rest.

You were pregnant, hopefully, and your days of waking up and feeling like a failure were over. That night, you ate, you laughed, you toasted to your unborn babe and you held Cregan tight when later, he whispered to your non-existent baby bump.

“Helloooo thereeee. I’m…I’m your father,” He slurred while you laughed, unable to help yourself as you knew he was one hundred percent piss drunk.

“My love, I think we should be going to bed so you can sleep this off,” You told him, but Cregan waved you off and rested his head on your belly.

“Just…just a minute,” He told you, and he seemed to sober up a little as a small sigh left his lips. “I wanna…I wanna say a few words to our little wolf.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to the exposed skin and nuzzled your belly with his nose, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It took…it took a while for you to get here, didn’t it? Your mother and I…we were worried. I thought…I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me at first and that’s why you didn’t come, but I’m glad to know that me cock still works.”

“Cregan!” You were both amused and a little surprised to hear that it was him he blamed for such a wait, not you. You never realized that your husband felt responsible for not being able to conceive these past few months, and it both saddened your heart and made you feel less alone to know that he carried the same guilt on his shoulders.

“It was no one’s fault the babe took so long,” You reassured him gently, running a hand through his hair. Cregan sighed at your touch, leaning into your lap as he nodded.

“Aye. It just seems like our little wolf is stubborn is all,” He smiled.

He finished off his speech with a few more words of love to your belly, and the entire time you felt yourself smiling bigger and bigger. By the time Cregan had finished, finally stumbling into bed and grumbling about a headache, you were sure that your cheeks were going split from smiling so much. Words couldn’t describe how full your heart felt, how much you were overflowing from sheer happiness and joy. Everything you had ever dreamed of was coming true and it was all because of the little babe growing in your belly.

“Good night, my little moon,” You smiled as you placed a hand over it, almost as a way to protect them as you fell asleep. Sometime during the night, you felt Cregan’s large hand doing the same, and together your warm hands protected your little miracle.

—

The next morning, you woke up with the sun shining on your face. Yawning, you reached over to say good morning to Cregan, only to find the bed empty.

He must have gotten up early, you thought with a frown.

You thought about yesterday, about how carefree and happy your husband had been. He was so excited to know that he was getting another child, excited that little Rickon would have a younger sibling to protect. You were sad to think that he now had to focus on his duties again, but what could you do?

Duty never waits for anyone.

Trying to shake off your disappointment, you cradled your stomach and sat up in bed. After stretching and taking a small sip of water from the pitcher your maids had left you, you yawned again and threw the covers back.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh Gods. Oh no, no, no!”

You scrambled up in a panic as tiny dots of blood stained your sheets, your eyes wide and your stomach dropping to your feet. Horrified, you placed a shaking hand over your mouth as denial flooded your veins—but the proof was there plain as day.

“No. No, no, no! This can’t be happening,” You whimpered, falling to your knees as you touched the satin material.

How could this be possible? You hadn’t…you hadn’t bled for two months, and now all of a sudden your moon blood decided to show up? After everything…the feast, Cregan’s speech last night…

You shook your head as tears blurred your vision. Utter rage and devastation seemed to fill your heart as you sobbed, clutching your stomach as your whole body shook.

Both shame and embarrassment washed over you, knowing that the womb you cradled was empty. All those celebrations, all the toasts and the speeches that were given…it was for nothing.

You weren’t pregnant, and just like that you were back in the same position you were when you first arrived in Winterfell.

Scared. Heartbroken when your moon blood still came after the bedding. Terrified as the thought of being barren and unable to bare Cregan another child haunted you.

All of a sudden, those fears came running back to you and it made you want to throw up. It made you want to shout and scream, ask the Gods what they hated you so much as to allow this.

Why? Why have you all cursed me? Why won’t you let me bare my husband’s child? Am I not good enough? Am I just not meant to be a mother?

No, no. It couldn’t be true. Despite what the Gods thought, you refused to believe it. You didn’t want to believe it, not willing to accept that you had let Cregan down, again.

Gods, and he had been so excited to be a father again. You knew that he always wanted a big family, but sadly his first wife had passed away in childbirth. It had taken him two years to remarry, and now he was stuck with only one son and a second wife that was probably barren.

A cruel fate he had been dealt, really.

And now, as you stared at the droplets of blood staining the sheets, an ugly feeling crawled its way through your chest. Something that felt akin to jealousy, which you knew was ridiculous and borderline sinful.

It was an ugly, awful thing to envy a dead woman—and you swore to yourself that you never would. You knew how much Cregan loved you, and you were mature enough to know that one person could hold love in their heart for two people. Still though, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Arra might have died for it, but at least she gave him an heir. I cannot even offer him anything, You thought bitterly.

The realization just made you cry harder, wondering if when Cregan found out he’d lose his patience with you. You wondered if your husband would curse the Gods as you did; ask them why they’d taken his perfectly good wife away from him and cursed him with a barren one.

You knew that he wouldn’t, as deep down you knew your husband was not that kind of man. Grief however had skewed your mind, and it made you not think straight as you scrambled up.

Wiping your tears, you leaned over the bed and tore the sheets off with one pull. In a frenzy, and motivated by the desire to not let Cregan see them, you stuffed them deep within your closet and sobbed.

You don’t remember when you dressed yourself, or when you even left the room, really.

All you knew was that everything felt like a blur, the whole world passing you by as you aimlessly wandered through Winterfell.

You don’t remember what you were even looking for or why, but eventually you found yourself somewhere that surprised even you. In the hallway of an abandoned corridor, staring at the portrait of Cregan’s late wife.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to go there, or to even stay once you realized what it was. But something kept you rooted to your spot, and you found yourself entranced as you stared at the artwork.

Arra was beautiful, that was for sure. She had long dark hair, common amongst the Northerners, and big blue eyes that seemed to stare at you accusingly.

From what you’d heard from Cregan, she was his childhood sweetheart. Kind and generous, your husband had once reassured you that she’d love even you, when you were once worried that her ghost would somehow blame you for stealing her husband and child.

“Arra was a gentle soul,” Cregan explained, “And she’d love you for the simple fact that you make me happy, and that you are going to be a wonderful mother to her son and his siblings.”

Now, you wondered if that would still hold true. You had failed at the last part, and surely once Cregan found out, the happiness he once found with you would fade.

You wondered if then Arra would still be so accepting of you; a woman who had stolen her husband and her child and couldn’t even do anything to keep him happy.

It haunted you to think so. Sent a burning feeling through your chest. A feeling of failure. A feeling of jealousy, that this woman had given your husband everything you’d ever wanted to give him and more. A feeling of sadness when you realized that she had died for it, and now her place had been taken by someone as useless as you.

A few hours later, that’s where Cregan found you. Staring at the portrait of Arra Norrey, crying your eyes out over a dead woman, his late wife, and the babe that never even existed in your womb.

“Y/N?” Cregan approached you cautiously, alarm and panic in his eyes as he saw you sunken on the floor. You hadn’t know it yet, too caught up in your grief, but you’d been missing pretty much the entire day and no one had been able to find you since this morning.

The sun had long set, and just when Cregan felt like he was about to lose his mind, he remembered one last place he hadn’t checked. A place he used to visit all the time when he was a child, hiding and sneaking away with his now late wife. But he hadn’t had the heart to visit since she died, not until the possibility of you being in danger arose.

It was here that he found you, and immediately your husband rushed over to you, taking you into your arms and inspecting you for any signs of danger as you cried.

“What has happened? Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Somehow, you managed to force the word out, shaking your head as you tried to quiet yourself. You hadn’t meant for him to find you like this, honestly you hadn’t. You’d meant to go find him hours ago and tell him the news, but you were stuck to this spot and you couldn’t move. The entire day you’d been paralyzed with grief and it was obvious you weren’t okay even though you tried to convince him you were.

“I’m fine, Cregan. Really,” You told him, but of course he didn’t believe you.

He reached a hand out to touch your face, wiping your tears as he set his torch down. The new angle allowed you to see his face better, to see the worry and the panic and the grief.

You curled into yourself even more knowing that you had probably caused it, and knowing that you were about to add to it even more.

“Y/N, what happened?” Cregan demanded. He was perplexed. “Why have you been down here the entire day? It’s nearly midnight. We’ve been searching for you for hours. Everyone was worried, I was going out of my mind thinking that something awful had happened to you! And the babe—”

Cregan suddenly paused as you began to cry harder, his eyes wide as you cradled your empty womb. Something in his head seemed to click, an awful thought he’d never even considered before rendering him weak.

“Gods. Has something happened to the babe? Is that why you disappeared?” Cregan panicked, and you couldn’t stop the plethora of tears that slid down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” The dam broke, and you launched yourself into Cregan’s arms as his face turned to horror. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Cregan, I…there is no babe,” You explained to him, and you watched as his expression hardened.

“My love, what are you talking about? What has happened to our child?” He demanded to know. You held your head shamefully.

“The sheets, Cregan,” You told him softly.

He paused. “What?”

“I bled.” The confession left a bitter taste in your mouth, Cregan reeling back in shock. “My moon blood…it came this morning while you were out. I took the sheets…so you wouldn’t know and I…I wanted to tell you, I swear. But I just…I didn’t know how and I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” You whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

You looked away, afraid to see his face. Afraid to see the disappointment and the anger that was sure to come. Afraid to see the same accusing stare that Arra wore.

You averted your eyes, because you didn’t think you could bare watching the moment your husband realized that you were a failure. That it was you all along and not him that couldn’t conceive a child. It was your womb, your body that was preventing his happiness.

You didn’t think you could watch the moment all of it faded away.

“Y/N…”

You flinched as Cregan’s hand gently grabbed your face, making you look at him no matter how hard you tried not to. His rough, calloused fingers stroked your cheek, and he looked awfully gentle for a man that should’ve been angry beyond belief.

“My love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

You blinked, and all of sudden you were gazing into his eyes, one blue and one brown. Both of them looked soft and warm, Cregan sighing as he shook his head.

“You will never be a disappointment,” He said firmly. “Not to me. And I don’t want you to ever think such a thing. You are a good wife—”

“Who has failed you time and time again, Cregan,” You sniffled, “It has been six months, and I have yet to fall pregnant. You already have a son, so we both know it is me. I…I’m the one that keeps disappointing us. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I just…I just want to give you a child already. I want to be just as good as Arra was.”

Cregan had been stabbed before, cut from navel to collar and yet nothing in the world was as painful as watching you break down in his arms, desperate for the child you did not have.

It made him feel helpless to see you cry, and he hated that feeling. Hated that there was nothing he could do except for hold you, and offer you sweet words in hopes that it would soothe the ache.

“And you will. One day, you shall bare me another child, but if the Gods have decided that it won’t be today then so be it. We’ll try again and again until the time is right, and if that time never comes then I’ll still be with you every step of the way,” Cregan whispered.

He rested his forehead against yours and stared into your watery eyes. In the dying light of the torch, he could see the way they danced with a thousand emotions, each one more devastating to see than the last.

“You will be a mother one day my love, but please, do not compare yourself to her,” He continued. “Arra bore me a son, yes, but she gave her life for it. I would rather give Winterfell to my uncle Bennard than to see you perish for a child as well. I cannot…I cannot bare losing you too. Do you understand?”

You could hear the pain in Cregan’s voice, the unspoken truth that he’d rather you never be a mother than to have you leave him as well. It made your heart ache at the thought of never having your own child to share, flesh and blood and bones made from your love.

It would haunt you to the end of your days, but dying and leaving your husband alone in this world would destroy you even more.

You nodded. “I understand,” You told Cregan softly.

The warm fire light died down as you held one another in that corridor.

Nevermind that half the castle was still looking for you; in that moment, you only wanted your husband, his presence the only thing that could soothe the aches.

As Cregan’s strong arms and soft words comforted you, your eyes turned to look at the portrait of Arra. You wondered, if in her final moments she felt the same comforts as you did—content knowing that no matter what happened, she’d have a husband who would be there for her until the very end.

You hoped that she had.

—

In the morning, Cregan declined seeing off his most loyal bannermen, keeping his promise of being by your side whilst you visited the Maester.

You were shaking, undeniably terrified for what he was going to say, but you kept your head high and held onto Cregan’s hand the entire time he examined you.

You told him of your bleeding last morning, and how it had seemingly stopped today. You confessed that you hadn’t been feeling the usual symptoms of morning sickness or fatigue, but your breasts were sore and your appetite seemed to have increased.

Your body was an endless maze of confusion and it put you through emotions you weren’t even capable of understanding. You didn’t see how the Maester could either, really, but you supposed that he was used to these kinds of things more than you were.

After you had answered all of his questions, you braced yourself, squeezing Cregan’s hand as you prepared for the Maester to tell you what he thought.

And to your utter surprise, he merely smiled.

“Bleeding from the womb for a day or two is rare after conception, but possible. The fact that it’s gone away is a good sign, My Lady,” He reassured you.

You felt Cregan gripping your hand tighter as a flurry of emotions filled your body. First, you were shocked. Then you were relieved. And slowly, the grief that had been eating away at your heart faded, and you felt the tiniest bit of something else bleed through.

Hope.

“You mean…?”

You didn’t want to say it out loud, for fear of maybe being wrong, but the Maester seemed to catch on and nodded his head.

“Yes. Gods willing, there should be a new child of Winterfell in about seven months,” He confirmed. And then he added, “Congratulations, My Lady. My Lord.”

He bowed to you and Cregan before leaving the room, also sensing that the two of you might like some privacy.

And he was right.

As soon as the door shut, Cregan pulled you into his arms and let out a shaky breath. You didn’t even have to see his face to know that your husband was smiling, and when you hugged him against you—hard—you could feel warm tears wetting your neck.

“D’you hear that? We’re having a baby,” You laughed in disbelief while Cregan chuckled, sniffling as he kissed alongside your jaw.

“I never doubted that we would,” He said honestly, and all you could do was hold him tighter, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.

“No. No you didn’t.”

[lavandulawrites]

An Escape To Warmer Temperatures

Yandere Capitano x reader

Yandere Capitano is something else<3 Got this idea while doing the archon quest.

Synopsis: Capitano wants to take you with him to Natlan in search of the pyro gnosis

Masterlist

Warnings: spoilers for 5.1, implied murder, implied violence (not towards the reader), obsessiveness, possessiveness, power imbalance

Word count: 1146

The Captain was a righteous man. It was a well known fact. He was tall, way above 190 cm and he was as muscular as a god. He had an aura that made one cower before him, even if you didn’t know about his identity as the 1st Harbinger. His love for you was passionate and over consuming. He sat you above all others and he had told you time after time that he would burn down Teyvat for you. It was no secret that Capitano had shed blood for you. Both his own and the blood of others. He never told you, but you had gotten the glance of blood speckles on his clothing after some had sent you a dirty look and you had overheard his lackeys disposing of what remained of a unfortunate man who had bumped into you.

Capitano was a strange man, but there was no doubt about his love for you.

At night he caged you in an gentle, but firm embrace. His strong arms wrapping around you and keeping you close. At first you had resisted, in fear of what he might do to you, but you caved in when you realised he didn’t mean you any harm.

Capitano was no stupid man, quite on the contrary. He knew about the dangers of the world and wanted nothing more than to shield you from said dangers.

The snow storm had lasted for days, almost a week. The wind hammered against the roof and the snow clouded the sky in an endless stream of white. The old hearth was lit and the flames beckoning you closer. You reached out your hands in an attempt to warm them. The flames were bright and looked like a living breathing being.

The polished floor creaked making his presence known. Your eyes remained focused on the fire rather than his imposing figure. His movements stilled and you knew he was waiting for you to say something.

“You are home” you could almost see your breath in the cold air despite the fire before you.

A low hum could be heard from behind you. A heavy fur trimmed coat was laid around your shoulders in an attempt to stop the shivering of your limbs that you hadn’t been aware of.

“We finished early” the black haired captain replied. His hand stayed on your shoulder. “Are there any special reasons as to why it is so terrible cold in here?”

“The heater broke and the firewood was wet” your eyes were still staring into the flames.

The hand on your shoulder moved its thumb in an comforting manner. “Why didn’t you ask the servants to help you?”

“I don’t mind the cold…” your voice low. The truth was that the temperature inside the grand mansion was one of the few things you could control in your life. It was rather childish, but you couldn’t care less.

“I see…” he sighed. The thumb came to a halt. “There is something I have been wanting to discuss with you.”

The Captain often gave you the illusion that you had something to say in the matter of discussion, but it was only that, an illusion. What he said was final. That much you knew.

“Oh. Go on” your voice was devoid of any emotion as your mind raced through all the possibilities of what he wanted to discuss with you.

“I’m going to Natlan in the search of the gnosis” his hand left your shoulder. “And I want you to come with” his words were filled with authority.

You swallowed as your eyes widened. Natlan…. You had never set foot outside of your homeland. And now he wanted you to come with him to Natlan? You almost wanted to laugh. This was really the last thing you had expected to hear from the rigid man.

You turned around to face him. His beloved helmet was nowhere to be seen. What met you were his dark midnight blue eyes that reminded you of the deep Snezhnayan waters that you could see from your bedroom window. His eyes were deep and you felt like you could drown in the endless blues. His star-like pupils stared right back at you with a whirlwind of emotions you could only hope to place.

A scar ran down one of his eyes and you wondered how he had managed to escape with his eye intact. Multiple other scars littered his skin, but the most noticeable save form the one over his eye, were the one straight over his nose. It had faded to a white colour, but you could imagine it must have looked quite bad when he first got it.

Due to his Khaenri'an blood, his skin was filled with blue veins accompanied with black lines that ran through the entirety of his body. His mouth looked rather normal, but when he smiled or sneered it stretched a little too far for a normal human being. Behind his pale lips were sharp teeth that belonged more in the jaws of a hound, rather than a man. His tongue was long, but he rarely made it known.

Despite the curse he suffered from, he was an undeniable handsome man. His beauty was something that greatly unnerved you as he seemed almost like a beast that made itself appear human in order to come closer to its prey. He was unsettling with his imposing height and muscles, yet you found it hard to tear your eyes from his own.

“Do I have a choice?” your voice were meek despite your effort at sounding indifferent.

He huffed and the corner of his lips turned slightly downward as his dark eyebrows furrowed. “No” Capitano’s voice was soft as if he tried to calm you down. It came as no surprise that he had long sensed your inner turmoil.

His large hands cupped your face gently. His thumbs stroking your cheekbones. He stared at you for a while before he pulled you into an embrace. His strong arms caging you in as your face was pressed against his muscular chest. His hand stroked your back and you found yourself getting calmer.

“I think a change of scenery will do you good” the bit that he was incapable of departing from you for a long period of time was left unsaid, yet the words hung heavy in the air. Suddenly the living room felt as hot as the steps of Natlan.

His hand traveled up to your head were it intertwined with your soft locks. His head came down slightly as he inhaled your scent in a rather desperate motion that seemed unfit for the 1st Harbinger.

“Jeg elsker deg [Name]” the words that left his lips were in the national language of his homeland. Though you didn’t know the language, you understood all too well what those words meant.

Translation

Norwegian → English

Jeg elsker deg = I love you