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10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat · 3 years ago

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What I See

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN Medic Reader

Premise: My musings here resulted in this. You're a medic in the 501st who works closely with Kix. At first you think the crush you have on him is one-sided, until one day you look through his sketchbook and are surprised by a portrait he drew.

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: G

Other notes: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like clones

AO3

Being an army medic had its ups and downs, its slower periods and bursts of intense stressful activity. You wouldn’t trade it for anything though. The pay was better than what you earned as a civilian medical worker, your patients were much more agreeable (even though there was the occasional trooper who insisted he was fighting fit when he was still far from being so) and your coworkers were professional and easy to get along with. One coworker in particular was your favorite, and you looked forward to the shifts you shared with him.

When you first met Kix, you admired him for the love and care he showed his fellow clones and commanding officers. The two of you quickly developed a rapport; he always laughed at the bad jokes you made, and you liked to challenge him to competitions to see who could restock supply shelves in the med bay the fastest … he always won, but every time you’d stick your tongue out at him and say “I’ll get you next time!” and he would only respond with a knowing smirk.

During down time, when there were no patients and paperwork was handled, Kix would sit at his desk with a leather-bound book and a pencil. It was an odd at first, seeing the rich brown leather and sheets of paper in an austerely sterile all-white setting filled with holopads and technology, but it also looked right in his hands. Without meaning to, you’d sometimes watch as he focused intensely on whatever he was scribbling into the book, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

“Jesse teases me and tells me I should just take pictures,” he explained one day as he showed you some drawings in his book, “but I find this relaxing.” He flipped to a sketch of a grassy plain with mountains in the background. You marveled at the details: the colors and shading on the mountains looked like sunlight glistening off their stony faces, the grass looked so realistically textured you thought it would feel like the real thing if you touched it, and he even added some wildflowers as well.

After seeing the meticulous designs he shaved into his hair, it was no surprise that Kix was an artist.

“Looks like it could be a picture,” you commented.

“Fives said something similar once, when we were down on Felucia he caught me drawing this-“ he flipped through the book to show you a drawing of a wide-trunked tree with large drooping leaves. “I just draw what I see,” he added with a shrug.

“You’re really talented though, the best I can draw is a stick figure.”

Kix cracked a small smile. “That was once the best I could do too,” he said.

The way his lips curved in his smile, the way his eyes shone as he looked at you - in that moment you realized just how beautiful he was. Sure, he was good-looking – all the clones were – but he stood out to you.

There was no use denying it, you had a crush on him.

Before there was a chance for your thoughts to betray you in any way, Kix’s comm beeped. “Duty calls,” he said, closing his sketchbook and stashing it in a drawer under his desk. He then stood up and made his way to his station, and you followed suit. Whatever was about to come into the med bay, it would keep you busy enough to distract yourself … so you hoped.

It had to be strictly professional between yourself and Kix, you reminded yourself as the first wave of injured troopers came into the medbay. Besides, given how quickly he could turn on a heel from artist to medic like that demonstrated how dedicated he was to his work, you knew he would never let anything get in the way of his duty.

Four rotations went by. Kix went on a mission with the rest of Torrent Company, leaving you to manage the med bay on your own during your shift. It was more of the same, really … but you thought about him more than you would care to admit. Of course, you always thought about him when he went on missions, you told yourself. Everyone worried about their coworkers, right? Especially if there was a chance they might not come back?

He always came back, you told yourself. This time wouldn’t be any different.

Only it was both more of the same and different. You were working on paperwork when the med bay doors suddenly flew open, and troopers began pouring in. As soon as you commed some off-duty medics to report to the med bay, you manned the triage station so you could tend to the more critically injured troopers first. It was hectic, a flurry of stressful activity, making sure everyone who needed a bed had one and every wound and scrape was patched up. It wasn’t until everything quieted down that you found Kix in one of the beds.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him. He was asleep, undressed from the waist up with bandages and bacta patches affixed to spots on his shoulder and the side of his head, and his lower half covered with a blanket. Nodes attached to pulse points on his inner arm connected to a machine by his bed that recorded his vital signs, and everything looked normal at first glance. His chart reported a direct blaster hit to his shoulder and a graze on his head, with an expectation of a full recovery, signed off by one of the medics you called in to help. You owed that medic big time, you thought.

A glance at the nearest chronometer revealed that your shift ended three hours ago, but you couldn’t leave. You didn’t want to leave. So you grabbed a chair and pulled it over to Kix’s bed so you could sit by him. Someone had to keep an eye on him after all. It was professional courtesy, you told yourself, that was all. Besides, even though your body ached and felt heavy with exhaustion, your mind was too active and on edge for sleep.

On the floor by his bed were his things: his armor, neatly stacked and organized, next to his medical pack. Inside his pack you found his sketchbook, and you figured you could pass the time by looking at his drawings again. You found the sketch of the plain and the mountain again and took a few more minutes to admire the detail. Then the tree on Felucia, and then a tooka cat, and when you turned the page you nearly dropped the book in surprise.

Kix had drawn you. In the picture you looked off in the distance, chin propped up on your hand. The detail was incredible: the shape of your nose, your mouth, your eyebrows, all rendered with magnificent accuracy. You wondered if he drew it from memory, or used a picture as a reference, or sketched you one day on duty when you weren’t paying attention.

It had to be a picture, you decided. What you saw before you … it was an idealized version of yourself. Better-looking than anything you ever saw in the mirror.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you heard a weak drowsy voice calling your name. You looked up and saw that Kix had woken up, his head turned towards you and his half-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“Oh- you’re awake!” you stammered, your cheeks flushing with heat as you slammed the sketchbook shut. You sprang to your feet and came to his bedside – to tend to him as a medical professional, you reminded yourself.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“My job,” you answered plainly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” he answered glibly. “But I meant, what are you doing with that?” he nodded his head best he could and glanced to the sketchbook that was still in your hand.

“Oh-“ You froze for a second. “I- sorry, I just really like your ….” Your sentence trailed off as you saw apprehension flash across his face.

“It’s fine,” Kix murmured as he averted his gaze away from you.

“I … I saw you drew me.”

“Yeah … drew that when I was away … was missing you.”

Oh. Maybe he was crushing on you too … the idea was equal parts exciting and scary.

“Missed you too,” you returned, reaching down to give his wrist a gentle squeeze. “And it’s a really good drawing of me too. Did you use a picture for reference or something?”

“Memory,” Kix said plainly.

“Wow …” You opened up the sketchbook again to your drawing and gave it another lookover. “And you made me look better than I actually do.”

“No. I told you before, I draw what I see.”

Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and you looked up to meet Kix’s gaze again. Tired as he was, he looked at you with a soft admiration, as if he was appreciating a fine work of art standing directly in front of him. Your mind was both full and blank at the same time, feeling flattered and treasured but at the same time unsure of how to respond to him.

“I … I’ve been putting off telling you how I feel about you,” he continued, “because –“

“Your duty comes first, I understand,” you cut him off as you sat down on the edge of the bed, turning your torso to better face him and setting the sketchbook down by his head.

“No, not that. Well, it has to, but – but that doesn’t mean I can’t want more out of life.” Kix paused. He raised his hand and reached it towards you. You responded by raising up your own hand, taking his in yours, and holding it in your lap. Your other hand came to rest on his wrist. He was so warm under your touch, soft and solid and steady. You knew that you would eventually have to let go, but you didn’t want to.

“My favorite part of the day is when I get to see you, whether it’s here or in passing somewhere on the ship,” he continued, “and on the battlefield after I got shot, as I was lying there, all I could think about was how I might never see you again.”

“Kix, I-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted you. “Except, if- if after the war’s over you wanted to give it a shot? You and me?”

“Yes.” The words immediately fell from your lips as your mouth widened into a smile. You didn’t even have to think about it, and the potential consequences that the higher-ups in the GAR might inflict upon the both of you for even entertaining the idea didn’t matter. It just felt right, the idea of you and him. You couldn’t begin to explain it.

Kix returned your smile. You raised his hand to your mouth and softly kissed the back of it before lowering it back down to your lap. Before you could disentangle your hands from his, he returned that gesture as well, pulling your hand that was intertwined with his to his mouth and pressing little kisses into your knuckles. The feeling of his lips on your hand sent pleasant little tingles through your skin.

“Let’s talk about it some more after you’ve recovered,” you suggested.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed absentmindedly. He shifted slightly in bed but suddenly stopped and froze in place, his face twisting into a pained grimace and a hiss escaping through his teeth.

“You okay?” You asked, pulling your hand back to you and scanning his body for any other signs of distress.

“Yeah, just hurts is all.”

“Let me get you some painkillers.”

“No need, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Kix, I insist.” You told him in the sternest voice you could muster.

“I have the right to refuse treatment, especially if the treatment is better spent on my brothers who are in worse shape than I am.”

He was right, he did have the right to refuse treatment. But you couldn’t bear the idea of him being in pain.

“Okay … how about a sleeping aid then? Or some water? Can I get you anything?”

“If you want to do something for me, go get some rest. I’ll still be here when you report for your next shift.”

“Ugh, fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Ah come on, you know you love me.” Kix said teasingly, punctuating his statement with a smirk and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Giving him a small laugh and a half-hearted eye roll, you pushed yourself up onto your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Before you turned to leave, you took his hand in yours again, and took a moment to gaze in his eyes. It took everything in you to not immediately start imagining a life with him after the war. There wasn’t even any guarantee there was going to be a life after the war – the cruiser you were on might be destroyed tomorrow by the Separatists for all you knew – but the idea still filled you with hope and joy. Something to look forward to with him. Something else to fight for.

#kix x reader #kix x you #clone medic kix x reader #clone medic kix #clone trooper #clone wars #star wars #my writing

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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January 27, 2021: The Raid: Redemption (2011)

So, uh...I’ve switched things up a touch. Originally, I was going to do Lindy West’s suggestion today, but...no. No, I need something good to pick me up from yesterday’s disappointment. So, we move from the United States to a country with far, FAR less movies: Indonesia.

The country of over 17,000 islands hasn’t exactly made a lot of films, but their film industry does exist. I might look more into these films someday, but the one film that EVERYBODY recommends is Gareth Evans’ The Raid: Redemption. And no, Gareth isn’t an INdonesian name; it’s a Welsh name for a Welsh director best known for his Indonesian films. Interesting, innit?

See, Evans was hired to direct a film about the Indonesian martial art type, pencak silat. One of the specialists he filmed was Iko Uwais, who was a deliveryman at the time. Together, the two made the movie Merantau in 2009, and it was a big success in Indonesia. So, the two reunited for another film.

And hopefully, that film will leave me more satisfied than The Expendables did. Shall we? SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

The day begins as a policeman, Rama (Iko Uwais), prays, spars aggressively with a training bag, and says goodbye to his pregnant wife (Fikha Effendi). His father (Henky Solaiman) is also there, and he promises to “get him back.” Don’t know who “him” is, so I’m intrigued.

In a truck, 20 SWAT agents, Rama included, are being briefed on an upcoming raid of a building that would appear to be a crime hotel run by drug lord Tama (Ray Sahetapy). While raids have been attempted before, none have been particularly successful. This time, however, they pledge to take down as many people as humanly possible, and clean up the city of Jakarta as a result.

The agents, led by Jaka (Joe Taslim) and Wayhu (Pierre Gruno), stand below the massive concrete apartment building, and creep their way into it. They split into two groups: one takes out a guard, and goes in through one entrance. The other encounters Gofar (Iang Darmawan), an innocent tenant with a sick wife upstairs. Hothead Bowo grabs and threatens him, before being told off by Rama.

Rama promises to get the man to his wife and apartment safely, and the group goes in. The raid’s begun as they begin arrests of everybody in the building, floor-by-floor. They make it to the sixth floor, where they encounter a child in a hallway. They fail to calm the child down, and he runs to warn a friend...and is then shot in the neck by Wahyu. This movie just killed a kid, guys. Holy shit.

The second kid raises a building-wide alarm, and now EVERYBODY knows that the police are here, including Tama and his two lieutenants, Andi (Donny Alamsyah) and Mad Dog (Yahan Ruihan). And now, all hell breaks loose.

Tama’s reinforcements arrive, and take out the officers RUTHLESSLY. One guy single-handedly takes back the fifth floor, and the SWAT truck is shot up as well. Snipers take out officers on the outside and in windows. And as our remaining officers start to realize this, Tama makes an announcement over the comms, announcing both the SWAT team’s position and free rent in the apartment building for those who take them out. Yeah, they’re FUCKED.

What’s even worse is that nobody knows that this team is there, according to Wahyu, which means that there are no reinforcements coming. Also affirms my suspicions that Wahyu is a SHITTY cop, holy shit. And as I’m thinking that, with all of the men in a dark stairwell…

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HOLY FUCK!!! Tama’s men above, SWAT below, trading gunfire and picking each other off like a close-up trench war! The only light during the fight is from their muzzle fire! This is...amazing, oh my God.

Tama and his guys are watching from cameras all the while, and Tama seems to know Wahyu, and how shitty a cop he is. He gives the order: wipe them out, and destroy any evidence they were here. Nobody will know. Nice one, Wahyu; nice one. The SWAT team narrowly escapes into a room, only to be greeted by gunfire from the outside. Trapped again, Rama comes up with a solution: get to the floor below by chopping through the floor with an axe! FUCK YES.

And the action doesn’t stop there! They get ambushed in that room, and use the axe to defend themselves, as well as fighting and guns. At one point, the criminals come in through the floor above, and a guy catches one in mid-fall, and THROWS HIM THROUGH A WINDOW WHAT

And then, AND FUCKING THEN, they put a tank of compressed flammable gas in an empty fridge, shove it against the door, throw a FUCKING GRENADE IN THERE, AND BLOW THE FRIDGE THROUGH THE GUYS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR

WHOOOOOOOO I’M BACK BABY THIS FUCKIN’ RULES

Tama, frustrated at the damage and loss of his men, sends Andi and Mad Dog to take care of the situation. Meanwhile, a scarce handful of officers are left, including Rama, Bowo, Jaka, Wayhu, Dagu (Eka Rahmadia) (whom I haven’t yet had cause to mention), and about three more officers have survived.

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Rama and Bowo make their way to the 7th floor, where Rama hopes to leave the badly injured Bowo with the tenant from earlier. Rama fights off, just...SO many gang members, allegedly pulling no punches (allegedly because he totally does, if you look at the fights), and eventually makes it to Gofar’s door. Despite his sick wife and reluctance to help, he agrees to take them in. Tama’s men barge in, looking for the men, who are hiding within a hidden wall compartment. And that’s when…

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS FUCKIN’ RAD AS HELL

But Andi, another of Tama’s men, is headed down to take care of this mess. On the elevator down, he TAKES OUT TWO OF HIS COLLEAGUES, WHAT?!? OK, some questions to resolve here, but I’m sure we’ll get to it. Rama leaves to find the others, and immediately gets into another fight. He throws a man down a staircase at one point.

Ow. OW. Just when he’s cornered by sword-boy and more goons, we get yet another Rama hallway fight, this one much more authentic-feeling, damn! And it ends with Rama tackling a dude out of a window, FALLING WITH HIM ONTO A FIRE ESCAPE, AND DIVING INTO ANOTHER APARTMENT LIKE A GODDAMN CHAMPION

And unlike other stereotypical action protagonists, he’s not exactly OK after all this. He stumbles about, hallucinates a little for good measure, and almost passes out until found by...someone he knows. The “him” from earlier perhaps? Iiiiiiinteresting.

Back to the other SWAT agents, finally! Holed up in an apartment, Wayhu writes off Rama and Bowo as dead. Jaka ain’t exactly happy about this comment, or with Wayhu. We now find out that this mission isn’t sanctioned by the police, hence no reinforcements. Additionally, Wayhu may not be on the up-and-up, as it’s implied that he may be a corrupt cop. Jaka, tired of his bullshit, gathers the men to go find their colleagues.

Not that that lasts very long, because Mad Dog ambushes them literally as soon as they open the door. Holding Jaka at gunpoint, he guides him back into the apartment, where the two fight. Oh, and this one’s GOOD. It’s REAL good, holy shit.

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Cool as it is, though, it represents the end for Jaka, and Mad Dog snaps his neck, and he’s gone. Damn. HELL of a fight, though. Mad Dog’s doing well, but how about Andi?

Well, Andi’s the guy who took Rama, and yes, he’s the “him” that Rama mentioned to their father. That’s right, THEIR father, because Andi’s his brother. They bond and catch up, and while they do clearly love each other, they’re also estranged, due to their differing paths in life. But Rama signed up for this mission SPECIFICALLY to get Andi back home, to their father. Andi refuses, and tells Rama to leave before he gets killed. Rama also refuses, not wanting to abandon his colleagues to the gang. And so, they part ways.

We’re down to four now: Rama, Wayhu, Bowo, and Dagu. Rama proposes going for Tama, the location of whom the corrupt Wayhu already knows. Just like how Tama knows that Andi is a traitor, having saved Rama. Tama stabs Andi in the hand, and questions him on who Rama is, and the nature of their relationship. I’m sure it’ll end well for Andi.

Our three remaining non-injured cops take out a drug lab in the building, where we get some more good fight choreography, and the reason that Dagu is here: he’s a pretty goddamn good fighter. And I know I’m breaking records for the number of videos in this one, but their fights are...just stellar.

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Afterwords, Rama finds his brother being used as a human punching bag by Mad Dog. See here’s the thing about Mad Dog; he’s a brawler at heart. While he might use guns to kill or threaten people if he has to, he prefers to use his hands and feet. And now...it’s two on one. This gon’ be güd.

Wayhu and Dagu, meanwhile, corner Tama in his office. Whew, finally, good guys prevail.

AWWWWWWW, DAGU! We hardly knew ye! Literally, I’m not sure you did literally anything the whole movie, except for fight that one time, like 6 minutes ago. Wayhu holds up Tama at gunpoint, ordering him to get them out of there safely.

The fight between Mad Dog and the brothers is still happening, by the way, and it’s still awesome...despite the terrible sound editing during these fights. Yeah, I’ll get there in the Epilogue. This fight, though, is crazy. It’s incredibly difficult to track who exactly has the upper hand throughout, but eventually, Mad Dog reveals that it’s him. He locks Rama in the same stranglehold that killed Jaka...and then...I’m putting this fight in video right here, because the ending is amazing. THE WHOLE FIGHT IS AMAZING

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After that’s all said and done, the brothers escape, and encounter Wayhu and Tama. Wayhu fires upon the brothers, fully turned traitor at this point. Tama tells Wayhu that there isn’t much hope for him anyway, especially as the person who ordered Wayhu to take the hit already told Tama that the raid was going to happen. No, this was never about Tama; Wayhu was the target all along, as they sent him there to die.

Not that it matters, as he kills Tama regardless. Realizing that he doesn’t have much better luck outside of the building at this point, he tries to do the same to himself, only to finally be out of bullets. WHOOF.

It’s over. With Andi’s help, they get evidence against Tama and all of the corrupt cops that he dealt with, retrieve Bowo, and leave the building. Andi stays behind, once again stating that this is where he belongs. The brothers part ways once again.

And THAT...was The Raid: Redemption. GOD. DIGGITY. DAMN. EPILOGUE.

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numeronubisexualhawkeye · 6 years ago

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Tuck and Roll

3060 Words

sequel to Take Cover

(got like 4 requests on here and another 4 on ao3 to finish this so i’ll be posting the next 3 chapters on my ao3, MajorMinor)

The first two weeks in Portugal were infuriating. Despite the fact that Theo was a big donor to the graduate school Clint and Natasha were pretending to be enrolled in, he was elusive. Natasha had gone against all logic and spent her days trying to go after Theo by herself, spending hours out in town and in the university, scouting out the locations they had been tipped off about Theo’s trafficking. It was hard doing it alone, or at least she felt as though she was working alone.

After their argument that first night, Clint had become reclusive. He only ever signed to her, which she only managed to catch bits and pieces of, she had only just started learning ASL which was miles different than the Russian standard she had been taught in the Red Room. Natasha had only spoken to him in Russian some days, trying to reciprocate his stubborn attitude. She knew he didn’t understand it well enough to respond, and felt it was a fair trade for him only signing to her for the first few days after their fight.

By the end of the first week though, their silent treatment had run its course. They needed to speak to each other to work and to survive, but since Clint was still too much in his own head to do that, they took to treating this as if it were a solo mission. Natasha would go out during the day and talk to Theo’s colleagues and clients, coming off as an enthusiastic grad student that just wanted to get to know him. Clint going full covert mode and spending night after night in the tow, putting that Hawkeye codename to use as he watched Theo move about the city.

Neither one of them ever had much to report back at the apartment. Theo was elusive, working as indirectly as possible when he could. Clint had caught mostly only been able to watch him through the windows of his home, which was occupied only by him and his house staff. There was nothing redeemable about what Theo was doing, but at least he had the nerve to not have a wife or kids amongst his business. By the third week, both of them were tense from their own emotions and lack of action. Clint wanted to spring a trap in Theo’s house, draw him out and ambush him. Natasha wanted to catch him off guard, get under his skin, and work her way to where she needed to be to get this job over with.

On the Friday of their third week however, there was a breakthrough, a gloriously simple one, but a breakthrough nonetheless. Natasha had been in the library of the university, flipping through some tome on Portuguese art, when she heard a murmur of voices behind her. She shut the book and looked around the shelves, and there he was; Theo.

There was a gang of students and staff going up to him, telling him how grateful they were for his generous donations to the library and various departments of the school. Natasha made her way toward him, and he caught her immediately. He waved off the people around him and stepped to her.

“Hello! Long time no see. How have you been?” he started.

Natasha slipped into the sugary voice she had used the night they first met. “Oh fine, same as always. Me and David have been meaning to get out, but work and school keeps us busy.”

Theo smiled. “Well, I’m sure I can help you with that.” He took a card out of his pocket, wrote down an address and phone number and passed it to her. “Join me for dinner someday. You can set it up with my assistant. I’d be more than happy to show you the more...secretive pleasures this city has.”

Ew. “Thank you. I’ll tell David, I’m sure he’d be glad to get to talk to you.”

Theo’s expression wavered a little at that. “Ha. Well, I hope to see you again soon Anya.”

When Natasha had told Clint about the set up, he looked annoyed, but she didn’t wait for him to have any smart remarks. “I’ve already set it up for Sunday evening. Clear your nesting hours.”

When Sunday rolled around, Natasha was itching with anticipation. Finally, something to fucking do on this mission. The restaurant wasn’t far from the apartment they had been holed up in, so she walked, Clint following closely on the adjacent streets until they both reached the restaurant, where Theo was waiting outside.

“Ah, Anya, I’m so glad to see you.” he had his arms stretched wide for a hug. “Where’s David?”

“He got food poisoning, but he sends his regards.” She heard Clint chuff out a laugh in her comm.

Theo led them inside to a table toward the back of the restaurant. There was a guard standing on either side of the table, which put Natasha on alert. Theo may have presented himself as an elusive and private man, but this was a clear indicator of his shady dealings on the side.

Clint was somewhere in the upper floors of the neighboring building, watching through windows and seeing she and Theo's every move while being completely invisible to any untrained eyes. Natasha felt about as safe as possible on missions like this. Even if Theo or either of the men standing guard beside him tried something, she could take them out, and if she couldn't, well, Clint's code name wasn't Hawkeye for nothing.

She drank one glass of wine and picked over her food. She may not have been as susceptible to alcohol as Theo may have been, but she didn't want him to get the idea that she was too comfortable around him. This had been arranged as something strictly professional, discussing the programs at the university, gaining his trust so she could get into his professional circles, not personal.

“So, Anya,” Theo said, “what exactly brought you and your um, husband, here?” He said ‘husband' the way little kids talk about broccoli. It was something gross and annoying, something he wanted to push to the edge of his plate and flick to a dog waiting under the table.

Clint could hear everything through the wire she was wearing. Natasha gave a small smile. “Well when we met in undergrad, we were both on a humanities track, European history and all. So when we graduated, and then married, we decided, why not come to the heart of where all great exploration began y'know? Get a hands on experience in that history.”

Theo smiled and laughed. “Smart girl you must be. Not many people appreciate a woman with so much, curiosity and appreciation for the Old World.”

“Well we both paid 35k to get degrees in it, so I would hope to have a bit of appreciation for it.” Natasha tried to keep bringing Clint, well, David, in the conversation, keep Theo's focus professional. His files had said that he worked with his traffickers and clients through his allies, professors and politicians with a taste for their students and interns.

Professional is what was preferred, but Natasha had a sick feeling that she was going to have to take the personal route. This mission was already going into its third week without much progress. The stress of this mission plus the added weight of the tension between she and Clint made working conditions seem far worse than they actually were. Natasha just wanted the whole thing to be over with so they could go back stateside, and she could request a new partner.

“Ah, you Americans and your money. I can respect it though, spending it on such a quality education.” Theo said as he waved down the waiter. “I’ll take check now. Both our meals are together.”

“Oh no, I can pay.” Natasha said determined. Professional, this was professional, she didn’t want Theo to get any funny ideas. But he had funny ideas when he first saw her, and when she took this dinner. He was expecting something from her now, especially after three weeks of trying to weasel herself to this exact scenario.

“Please, it’s my pleasure.” Theo’s voice dropped to that low gravelly tone older men take up when they think they’re being sexy, when in reality they sound like a dog with a bad chest cold.

“Natasha.”

Clint’s voice in her ear was a shock, and she fumbled with her reply after he disrupted her. “Well, if you insist, but I’m not making this a habit.”

“Natasha.” Clint was sounding more irritated. The fact that he was saying anything at all was a surprise to her. There hadn’t been anything especially insightful during this dinner. All she had learned was Theo was the same as every old sleaze that preyed on women; too much money, and not enough people telling him no. Natasha was begging for anything, anything to happen so she could get an opening on this guy. How could someone this simple be so hard to infiltrate?

The waiter left to bring back the check, and it was just the two, well three, counting Clint’s now active part in this conversation, of them.

“So,” Theo started, “any plans for the rest of the night?”

Fuck. It was such an obvious move to get any intel that she needed to wrap this mission up, but she didn’t want to do this. But why? She had slept with more men for work than she had for her own enjoyment, it was the one death she couldn’t escape, even now after so many months with Shield.

“Don’t you dare.” Clint’s voice said harshly in her ear. She wanted to be irritated with his interjections, she dealt with men like Theo for a living, she could handle this. But something about having Clint in her ear made her anxiety worsen. He was watching her, he could see everything, hear everything, Theo didn’t know, but what if he did? Was he trying to set her up? Would they get back to his penthouse and there would be Clint, tied up and beaten to a pulp by one of Theo’s goons? No, he couldn’t know, he had barely lifted his gaze up from the neckline of her dress, even with the modest cut he wouldn’t stop staring.

Why was she so worried? This was work, Theo was work. Clint was a part of work. But when Theo reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of her’s, she pulled back harder and faster than she had meant to. His touch snapped her out of her stupor.

“I’ve got to get home to David.” she said. Clint’s cover name felt like an anchor, and just like everything about this night and this mission, she hated it. Why did he have such a hold on her all of a sudden? Why was she letting Clint’s hooks get into her? Natasha had dealt with men like Theo, would keep dealing with them even if she ever had the chance to leave Shield. They had barely spoken to each other since the first night, but now all of a sudden, she wanted to be home, no, in the apartment, don’t make this personal Natasha. She wanted to be in the apartment with Clint. Why? Why, fucking why?

“Ah, perhaps another time then.” Theo said, if he caught wind of her sudden anxiety, he didn’t show it. He leaned across the table to grab Natasha’s hand and kiss it, but she snatched away and got up abruptly.

“Until next time senhor.” Natasha said before she whipped around and walked out the restaurant.

The entire walk home, Clint was silent in her ear. She caught a few quick glances of him moving through the streets as they both made their way back to the apartment, but neither one of them made a sound. He had reached the apartment before her, the door already unlocked when she got there. Inside, he was sitting on the couch, but his posture was rigid, and he stood up when she stepped inside.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

“If you have something smart to say, just say it Barton.” Natasha snapped. She didn’t give him time to answer, just kicked off her heels, and shut the door to the bedroom.

Again.

No.

You sound like a porn star.

Do it again.

Come on babe.

Fucking Christ Natalia, do it again.

Again.

Natalia!

You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous

“Natasha.”

Do you want to go back under?

Do it again.

“Wake up.”

Anya.

You’re not like the others.

Do you like that?

Natalia.

“Nat.”

Any plans for the rest of the night?

“Natasha. NATASHA!”

She bolted upward, butting her forehead against something hard. She winced and pushed away at whatever she had hit, hands fumbling in the dark. Her fingers brushed against skin, and she screamed.

“Hey, hey!” a light switched on, and there was Clint, kneeling in bed beside her. “Chill, you’re okay. You’re okay.” his voice was soft but stern.

Natasha got out of bed and stood there staring at him for a few seconds, breathing heavily. The back of her neck was beaded with sweat despite the fact that the air conditioning was on full blast. She felt shaky and a little disoriented. She stumbled forward, trying to muster up the attitude she had had with him the last couple of weeks so she could push him out of the room and go back to sleep. But she tripped over herself and had to put her hands down in front of her to catch her on the mattress.

“Woah, are you okay?” Clint inched forward on the bed, hands outstretched cautiously. Did that Theo guy give you something?”

She shook her head. She was fine, wasn’t she? Theo was just another disgusting human to be dealt with, she could handle this, she could. But why was his voice in her head hours later? But it hadn’t just been Theo’s voice. It was never just going to be Theo’s voice.

A shiver ran through her body, and Clint noticed. She felt his weight settle next to her on the edge of the bed. “Nat.”

She swallowed hard and took in a gulp of air. What did she want to say? What could she say? Sorry for waking you up with my nightmare screaming. Go back to the couch, I’ll be fine once we kill this guy.

“Do you need some water? Aspirin?” Clint asked.

Natasha’s voice finally remembered how to work. “Vodka.” she said hoarsely. “Well, anything alcoholic, if we have it.” Clint nodded and went to the kitchen.

Natasha sat in the same position, barely moving while he was gone. There had been so many men like Theo before that she couldn’t count them if her life depended on it. Human traffickers, drug peddlers, arms dealers, straight up fucking war criminals, why was he sticking so hard and why had he brought them all back into her head at once? And he hadn’t just brought up the men she had killed or put away. Fucking Christ Natalia, do it again. The Red Room. The instructor who had trained her to do the very thing she was supposed to do without any fear or anxiety was coming back years later, and her voice still sent waves of emotions so horrible Natasha didn’t have words in any language to describe them.

She was glad when Clint finally came back into the room with a glass of vodka in one hand and the entire bottle in the other. She took the bottle and shot back a few gulps before setting it on the nightstand.

“Bad dream” Clint asked.

“Bad life.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Both of them taking swigs from the bottle, the glass forgotten on the nightstand. She was starting to cool off, the sweat on the back of her neck feeling too cold against her skin. The shakes in her body had stopped, and she could breathe easily again. Despite all that, she was wide awake.

“How did you hear me?” she asked suddenly.

Clint passed the bottle back to her. “What?”

“You. How did you hear me?” she looked over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 2:36 in the morning. “I know you don’t sleep with your hearing aids in, especially not on non-violent missions like this. So how did you hear me?”

He turned his face away from he, unable to answer. He might not have been looking, but Natasha knew the body language, it was shame. But what for?

“I kept them in tonight.” he finally said, face still away. “You looked so rattled when you got back, thought that guy might have slipped you something, so I stayed awake as long as I could until I was certain you were asleep and no one would break the door down. I heard you screaming about thirty minutes after I fell asleep.” His words came slowly, like he kept debating if he should stop, or change his story, but he didn’t.

There it was, that concern that she didn’t need. She tensed again, preparing to be angry, but the feeling swelling in her chest wasn’t hot, it was a different kind of heat. Her entire body felt flush with embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all have bad nights. Comes with the job. Just gotta hope they don’t turn into even worse days.” He got up from the bed. “You can keep the bottle.”

“Clint,”

But he was already to the bedroom door, closing it gently behind him. Natasha let out a sigh, took a few more swigs from the bottle, and went back to sleep. She left the light on, just in case she woke up again, but she didn’t.

When she awoke that morning, Clint was gone. She called him a couple times, but there was no answer. No note, nothing missing from the apartment, his bow and arrows still stashed in the closet by the front door. What she did notice though, was the news report on the tv when she switched it on as she sat down to eat breakfast.

Theo was missing, and so was her partner.

#k.txt #clintasha #fic tag

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Proof you don't have to be in the fashion industry to enjoy Paris Fashion Week

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Yahoo Lifestyle is going to Paris Fashion Week on a shoestring budget, and we’re taking you along with us. Every day for a week, we’ll give you tips on how to pack, where to stay, and how to enjoy the French capital without breaking the bank — or forgoing any of the fun. Follow us on Instagram for daily stories. Today’s lesson: How to enjoy fashion week beyond the shows.

For many seasons, jaded fashion editors have griped about the exhausting four-leg international race that is fashion month.

Attending fashion week shows in New York, London, Paris, and Milan isn’t as effortless as showing up and taking a seat. There are the mobs of photographers and fans to fight through, the sometimes hourslong wait for shows to begin, and suffocating heat inside packed-to-the-gills venues. But let me be clear: This first-world-problem-ridden style writer is not complaining!

For the uninitiated, fashion week, and in this case Paris Fashion Week (PFW), is a biannual gathering of fashion editors, bloggers, models, and buyers to attend shows and events. And for as much as designers claim that they want fashion to be democratic — fashion for all! — it’s not.

Meticulously curated guest lists mean even some fashion industry insiders aren’t invited to high-profile shows (I’m not saying I was denied tickets to events that would’ve made my heart sing, but I don’t know anyone who would voluntarily skip the chance to see a Chanel rocket blast off.)

Alas, take comfort in knowing there are a few ways to get in on fashion week action without being officially invited to participate. For instance, you might end up with a better view of the shows from your phone than if you attended yourself. (Follow a brand you like or a fashion editor on Instagram — ahem, @hautetakes — for live show updates.)

And for more immersive experiences, read on for three easy ways to feel like you’re on par with the fashion elite.

written in the sky #pfw

A post shared by alex carmen mondalek (@hautetakes) on Sep 30, 2017 at 6:45am PDT

1. Find a fashion exhibit

There are dozens of museums and historical sites to explore in Paris, but if you’re a fashion fanatic, the city’s art scene becomes especially vibrant during Fashion Week. This year’s must-sees include: a Christian Dior exhibit at Musée des Arts Décoratifs (open until January 2018), the newly unveiled Yves Saint Laurent museum, the Irving Penn exhibit at the Grand Palais (open through January 2018), and the Palais Galliera’s Museum of Fashion.

Before you go to any of the city’s museums, consider a few things: Will an exhibit you want to see be open to the public when you’re in town? In addition to checking a museum’s normal operating hours (for example, Musée des Arts Décoratifs, like most museums in Paris, is closed on Mondays), make sure a museum isn’t closed for a privately held event, which is frequently the case during Paris Fashion Week.

Once you’ve confirmed that the exhibits you want to see will be open during your trip, consider whether you want to purchase tickets individually or purchase a pass that gets you into multiple museums. A Paris Museum Pass, available for purchase through the city’s Convention and Visitors Bureau, may be a cost effective way to maximize your museum experience, depending on how many places you want to visit.

The cost of the Christian Dior exhibit, for example, is 11 euros for an adult; Let’s say you also wanted to attend the Louvre Museum, you’d be paying another 17 euros to do that, bringing your total to 28 euros. Meanwhile, a two-day museum pass is 48 euros and also allows you to skip the lines when you visit. So ask yourself: Will you visit more than two museums or exhibits while in Paris? If the answer to that question is “yes,” you may save money by purchasing a museum pass.

2. Look for pop-up shops and store events

Several retailers and concept stores host pop-up shops and events in Paris during Fashion Week, knowing that international visitors will be in town scoping the area’s busiest shopping districts (including Le Marais, Saint Germain, and Rue Saint Honoré.)

That means it’s easy to spot OG supermodels like Claudia Schiffer, who hosted a book signing at the Colette concept store during Paris Fashion Week, up close. The events are open to the public and often free, unless you decide to purchase, in this case, a book to be signed.

Before your trip to Paris, search any one of these store’s Instagram pages or websites to see if they’ve posted about upcoming events: Colette (closing December 2017), the Comme des Garçons Trading Museum, Le Bon Marché, Le Centre Commercial, and Démocratie. (If you don’t see anything online, you can always use that old trick called the phone call to find more information.)

3. Be part of the shows

Guerrilla fashion shows — those staged in public places — are increasingly common, as seen during the New York leg of fashion month. Paris is no exception, meaning you don’t need a ticket to see fashion’s power players in action.

This season, the Saint Laurent fashion show was held outside at the Place de Varsovie, overlooking the Eiffel Tower, leaving hundreds of people without tickets with a front row view; Gypsy Sport held its show on the streets of Place de la République; Dumitrascu went underground, literally sending models down a Paris metro station platform.

To be sure, most shows are still held inside a venue, but you’re likely to spot celebrities, models, and editors heading into the shows if you know where to look. The official Paris Fashion Week calendar is available online to the public, and many brands host their shows at the same venues every season (Chanel, for example, is almost always shown at the Grand Palais.)

And if you’re traveling to Paris outside of Fashion Week or miss the chance to glimpse a show for yourself, you can always watch a show at Galeries Lafayette, which hosts shows weekly on Fridays at 3 p.m. to showcase in-house brands. For this, you must reserve a ticket online for 12 euros.

When in doubt, follow street style photographers like bread crumbs.