#for? for him to be medicated’ scar is not a bitch. leave him alone. he is nothing like NS or wayback for that matter

[simcardiac-arrested]

ok now why the fuck are people tagging my out of character ask answer as goodtimeswithscar from hermitcraft

[eleadore]

top five scenes/lines/moments from drarry fic

rookie moves by peu_a_peu - not gonna lie, every single scene. but you put a gun to my head and make me pick just one, i'll pick two -

“You should’ve died, Draco,” Nott snarled. “If you had a shred of honor you’d have died.” “Well guess what, Theodore?” Malfoy said, with a horrible, mocking smile. “I don’t, and I lived.” Nott stared daggers into Malfoy. His hands went behind the armchair. Harry knew instantly: he was about to do something stupid. There was no time to do anything but give Malfoy a hard shove just as Nott cried, “Avada Kedavra!” A jet of green lightning cracked through the spot where Malfoy had just been standing, charging the air, hitting the wall with a terrible explosion. “What are you doing, Theodore?!” Malfoy wailed as he ducked for cover behind the couch. “We’re throwing AKs at ten in the morning?!”

jesus i've read it 800 times and i am as we speak gasping for air

McGonagall turned, and absorbed the other half of we. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said, quelling unsuccessfully what sounded like considerable shock. “Auror Malfoy,” Malfoy corrected her. “Professor.” “Well.” She blinked a number of times before speaking diplomatically. “I can’t say it’s the career I’d have predicted for you. But one’s former students do turn up in surprising fields.” Malfoy smiled the shit-eating smile of someone who couldn’t be given detention. Who was, in fact, medically calm. “It’s a calling.”

running on air by eleventy7 - you already know

Do you remember when we were eleven? Let's go back to that. I'll throw Remembralls into the sky and you can try to catch them. Sometimes I think you can just keep my wand. I think of all the Dark spells I performed, all the Unforgiveables I tried to cast with it.  But then I remember when I was eleven years old, learning Lumos and casting mending charms, and it's hard to let go of that. So give me my wand, or give me a timeturner.

trouble, my old friend by tepre - the one with the fucking buttons

He says, “Tell me,” and Harry – running low on sleep, confused and aroused and altogether unfamiliar to this new world of desire – can’t quite keep himself in check. He wants, for a moment, simply wants, knows not what to do with it, where to direct it, and the feeling bubbles like wild magic. He realises a fraction too late that no, not like, but magic – staring at the spot where Malfoy’s scar disappears below the high collar of his shirt. The stiff hem of the doublet, buttoned shut over his Adam’s apple. With a small sound, the top button of the doublet pops open. Then the second, the third. Malfoy sucks in a breath.

ain't no friend of mine by lettered - when harry's being a little bitch and dog!draco simply will not stand for it

Potter slammed open the door. For a moment he just stared down at Draco with that annoying face of his, with the insane hair, and the disfigured scar. Then he yanked the slobbery scarf out of Draco's mouth, and said, low and tight, "Leave me the fuck alone, why don't you; don't you see I don't bloody care; I don't want anyone near me; I DON'T WANT YOU; I NEVER WANTED YOU; GO AWAY!" And Draco all the sudden remembered why he'd joined the Inquisition Squad. Potter in fifth year had been exactly like this and it was really annoying.

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by oknowkiss - the one where draco hands harry his business card

Harry reads the card again. Flips it over. Looks at Draco, watches him sip his tea. Notices one of his bra straps is showing. Reads the card a third time. Fails to make sense of anything at all. “Have you lost your goddamn fucking mind?” Harry snaps, throwing the card back at Draco. “What in the absolute shit is this?” “Did you read the card?” Draco asks. He tucks it back into his bra. “I feel like you’re asking questions that have all been answered by the card.”

bonus 1: if an injury is to be inflicted by shealwaysreads - when draco meets ron and hermione The Morning After

Draco’s smile threatened to bloom into genuine delight at the look on her face. He had dressed deliberately casually, forgoing his usual high-collared robes for a pair of charcoal grey trousers and a pale grey shirt; open at the collar to expose the mess Potter made of his neck and collarbones. She opened and shut her mouth twice, before Weasley broke the silence and stepped towards Draco, towing Granger along with him.

bonus 2: owl was well by fencer_x - when draco flies to the burrow bc he's "bored" and gets beat up by crookshanks

“Er,” Potter said, giving Draco a comfortable berth of several steps. “That was Crookshanks. Hermione’s cat. We’re gonna watch him while she and her folks are in Germany for the holiday to visit family in Dusseldorf.” He frowned to himself, brows knitting in confusion. “I thought he could see through Animagus transformations, though. I’m not sure why he’d attack—oh. Guess he recognised you.” Oh, indeed. Draco ran his fingers through his hair—he probably looked a fright now. “I suppose it’s going to hold a grudge against me for all nine of its lives, then.”

ask me top 5/10 anything

[aliettali]

I wanna know more about your clone ocs!

thank you so much for asking this you have opened the floodgates i am so sorry! 

i have nine: tidbit, crypt, oops, flipside, sher, intel, three-two, pint, and dangle. i’ve only (officially) drawn crypt and tidbit so far, but i do have a sketch for oops that i’ll be putting in here as reference. it is also worth mentioning that only crypt and tidbit are actually alive - the others all died so they dont have as much lore!

everyone except tidbit (crypt + co) are batchmates. the large majority of them die before they can individualize so they don’t have many unique designs my bad! also they’re all relatively young- i’d like to think that they’re fresh out of kamino and get assigned to the 501st on umbara almost immediately. and that goes SPLENDID (all of them die except for crypt, who is left to deal with losing every single one of his batchmates within a single campaign)

putting things under a "keep reading" section because it gets pretty long

crypt ct-4342:

well he WAS going to be a medic and them umbara fucked him up so severely (physically and mentally) that he couldnt deal w the hypothetical consequences of having blood on his hands anymore

now hes a slicer (he goes back to get medic certified because he does want to save people but that’s a separate character arc) 

honestly i signed him up for bad things happen bingo and he just has to deal with it

doesnt get a name until after umbara, chose it because a) encryption, slicing reference b) crypt -> grave -> his brothers never got one

facial/corneal scarring that holds his right eye slightly open+ some hearing loss that he makes up for with (unsanctioned) modifications to his bucket. outer arm scarring too because he shielded his head

tidbit ct-2719:

field medic ! hes also a little bitch but a) older and b) aware of concepts such as “emotional maturity” and “compartmentalization” so he’s doing ok 

he and crypt hit it off pretty quickly because it took him exactly three whole days of being stationed w the 501st to sprain an ankle by doing a cartwheel on a sloped floor (dangle dared him to)... but he was polite and nice and compliant in the medbay which is rare

theyre the most brother figures to ever i love them dearly

anyway tidbit keeps his hair short because he got fed up w it getting in his face when leaning over people you know how it is. never plans on getting a tattoo because he’s seen too many people in the medbay with ink related infections for that to happen, settles for hair bs instead

got his name because he tells his patients random bullshit to distract them

mostly closed off bc he’s seen a lot of troopers die (he cares far too much and it’s becoming a problem) and if he can’t save them in time then it means he’s losing those he loves because of his own incompetence

oops ct-4748 (dies on umbara): 

this motherfucker decided to catch an activated thermal detonator and tossed it back so late that he burnt his eyebrows off permanently (he also has burns on his hand but they wear gloves)

the only thing he said was “oops” so that’s his brand now

overall he was a pretty chill guy too bad he died saving crypt 

(he dies draped on top of crypt, who wakes up half thinking that they’re back on kamino in a batch pile but nope! oops is dead sher is dead pint is dead three-two is dead he can only pray that dangle and intel are alright) (crypt gets up and casts oops off and has to leave him behind, stumbling through a veritable graveyard, almost blind in one eye and teary-eyed in the other, and almost gets shot when he finally finds more troopers) (they’re the 212th but its okay they're alive and okay) (he gets through the disguise clusterfuck and crypt races over to tidbit to ask about dangle and intel) (they’re dead and gone and he has never been so alone)

flipside ct-4344 (dies on umbara):

little bitch, got his name because he really hated the kamino bunk pillows and kept flipping them over to get at the cooler side (he just ran really hot for no reason)

dies in a classic krell “push forward no matter the consequences” maneuver- he's the first of the batch to die actually good for him

was probably the closest to straight up defecting out of everyone

sher ct-4190 (dies on umbara):

the calm normal guy, he and intel are probably the reasons the batch got off kamino in the first place

slightly longer hair than regulation - he wanted to grow it out into a ponytail but guess what happened

was an older brother out of necessity but the others realized how hard he was taking it whenever any of them did something reckless and got hurt as a result so they toned it down a bit

forces crypt to go on without him when he gets shot and subsequently dies alone

he was going to be a sniper bc he always had steady hands (his batchmates always asked him to cut their hair for them) (he was trembling when he died) (i think he was too kind to survive much longer than that anyway)

intel ct-4223 (dies on umbara):

REALLY focused on making plans, the second most responsible

“guys, please, what’s the plan? we have intel for this test, we just watched the other group take it-”

“you and your intel. i say our plan is to FUCK IT and BALL” 

he and sher try really hard to manage the others. sadly kamino does not manufacture child leashes

gets killed on umbara like a good soldier who follows orders (krell tactics again)

he dies painfully aware of his own insignificance bc preciously he was driven by some hope that hey!!! if we get past this training/test/battle we won’t be forgotten but exactly three people end up remembering him as a person lmao (tidbit, crypt, rex)

i think he and dogma fucking hated each other

pint ct-4337 (dies on umbara):

the only one of them to have paint on their armor pre-umbara and thats through sheer bad luck - he walked into a room and kicked over a can of paint and got some of it on his boot toe

dies alongside intel

three-two ct-4332 (dies on umbara):

never chose a name, pretty withdrawn from the rest of his batch bc he, unfortunately, is hyperaware of his circumstances and what will happen to his brothers after the war

aggressively regulation haircut

as soon as intel and pint are killed in front of him he realizes that they might not matter in the long run but his brothers wormed their ways into his heart and now they're gone before he even chose a name. he didnt even get to tell them his name and they're dead (messes up and gets shot moments later)

dangle ct-4322 (dies on umbara):

suspiciously flexible, probably hypermobile, loved dangling (!) from the top bunk with his legs on the bed and his entire upper body just. hanging there

saw shaak ti do a sick jedi trick ONCE and decided that was his brand so he liked practicing cartwheels and splits and backbends in his spare time

they didnt have music (cant have shit on kamino) so he hummed his own and imagined dances to them

dies on umbara ft the clone eating plant thing because he was under the impression that crypt was just killed

[jetblackknight]

Tell us more about your trans verse Vergil =D

( Non-Roleplay blogs please do not interact, thank you. This blog is a roleplay account of Vergil, from Devil May Cry, and it intends to stay that way. I block non-roleplay blogs on interaction. Please do not steal any headcanons here, either, thank you. These were cultivated over decades of Vergil's existence within the franchise and I hold them dear to me. )

If I did that, we would be here for years, but the gist is:

Vergil found a suitable suitor somewhere in Fortuna after being unable to control his teenage hormonal urges ( ovulation . . what a bitch ! It ruined all of Vergil's nefarious evil power plans ! )

Vergil did not realize he was pregnant until long after he lost track of the suitor—well under Arkham's influence ( we'll say about. . . at sixteen weeks )

He did what he had to do to ensure Nero's survival, much to the hatred of his humanity

He birthed Nero, alone, away from Arkham's watchful ( and somewhat abusive ) eye, but Nero breeched . Vergil had to cut him out, no medication, no hesitation . It is the single most painful thing Vergil has experienced physically .

Vergil left Nero in the good hands of a local Fortuna orphanage, not knowing if he would ever love Nero ( Nero was almost a month, at that point . . . something about his humanity's maternal instinct ; he could not leave the child to starve, so he fed him himself )

He did not have the means to acquire either top or bottom surgery. He finds no hatred in his ( teeny tiny bug bite ) breasts nor his lack of penis

Vergil left Nero with a blank blanket he found in the Sparda Manor, after bringing him along ( somewhere after Devil May Cry 4: Special Edition's Vergil campaign, but before Devil May Cry 3's main campaign. . . Vergil was with Arkham for some time before the events of 3, so, you know . It gets muddy here ) to Red Grave to search both for Sparda and his brother

Leaving Nero was the most difficult thing Vergil had to do here, too. More so because he could not provide. He split his own milk between feeding Nero and gathering it in a cooler in whatever sanitized plastic bottles he could scrounge, so that Nero would at least have some food and not formula

He left Nero in a fit of furious tears. Nero never cried out, as if he knew ( at least, I'd like to think so )

Leaving Nero is what left Vergil so bitter just before the events of 3

He still suffered abuse at the hands of Mundus, the same horrifying abuse he suffered in his main universe

He came out brand new at the end of devil May Cry 5, but the C-Section scar remains .

He does not go for hormonal replacement or top / bottom surgery once free ; he has no feelings one way or another for his body, but he does find pride in his bottom as it is . He doesn't need hormones because he can manipulate his body ( for the most part ) at will . Changing his appearance from feminine to masculine was as easy as thinking about it.

He has tried, in the past, to change other aspects, but cannot . As such, he still cannot grow facial hair or body hair, apart from a small happy trail and the usual pubic / head / butt hair.

I am probably missing a lot of headcanons here, but this is the general story / gist . Mundus didn't discriminate between verses . The abuse was still very much the same—physical, mental, sexual . Take it as you will .

[gildedmuse]

HCA Ikkaku: Don't worry, stick around long enough and you get use to the three Ds of this office: dynamics, drama and dick measuring.

Trainee Nurse Rebecca: *bright red* (Please don't tell me that last one is literal.)

Ikkaku: *disappointed sigh* Sadly, not that we know of.

HCA Perona: Oh!

HCA Perona: And NEVER bring up the ankle scars.

(No one wants to listen to Law spend all day bitching about how the one time he had to visit home Zoro just happens to get himself caught in some kind of Plains Beast hunting trap and they had that OTHER surgeon work on him.)

Charge Nurse Cindry, Appearing Behind The Four From Absolutely No Where: It's true. *Darkness rising from her aura despite her unchanging, neutral expression* The other surgeon still hasn't recovered.

Sabo: *whisper to Ikkaku* What other surgeon?

Ikkaku: Exactly.

Rebecca: I think I might regret taking this position....

It was supposed to be small Northern hospital on some out of the way, rural little town! The next near Island is basically just a marine training base with their own medical center!

It's meant to be quiet! Calm! Easy!

Sabo: Yeah, I was told it was supposed to - Ahh!

The shrapened tip of a giant black blade cuts into through the floor, standing there next to a tall, dark, shirtless man. Shouldn't people wear shirts in a hospitals?

Rebecca and Sabo look around only to find that both HCAs and the Charge Nurse have somehow vanished, leaving them all alone with a man whose aura absolutely exudes 'leave me alone' energy... How Helpful.

Rebecca: C-can I help you?

Dracule Hawkeyes Mihawk: I need to see Trafalgar. Preferably without any more of this needless small talk.

Sabo: If you'd just go to check in and triage we can get you-

Ikkaku: Whose the- oh.... um.... Did you come in to see Roronoa?

Mihawk: No, my business is with your young doctor.

Ikkaku: Shit. DOCTOR TRAFALGAR WE HAVE ANOTHER ONE! CODE GOLD!

With credit towards @jhaernyl who shared some fantastic doctor/surgeon humor with me that ended up leading to.....

The ZoLaw AU No One Asked For...

Where Law is a surgeon on some small Northern Island.

Recently Transfered Nurse Sabo: Excuse me, sir, there is a man here? Roronoa Zoro. He's apparently suffered a small injury.

Law: *sighs* Let me guess, that loudmouthed robot made him come in.

Nurse Sabo: No, he-

Law: Robo-ya's wife then. At least one of them is sensible.

Sabo: He came alone, sir, said he was training and suddenly felt something was off balance. I couldn't -

Law: *Going completely still*

Law: *Turning and grabbing the poor new trainee by the shoulders* QUICK! Answer me this: did he finish his training?

Sabo: Err, no, he said he was worried and he came right in so-

Law: BEPO GRAB THE CRASH CART! WE HAVE A CODE GREEN!!!

Law rooming down the whole hospital.

Law: WE CANT LET HIM GET AWAY HE IS SERIOUSLY INJURED *Pointing dramatically as Shachi and Penguin nod to one another, both grab jing gurneys and blocking off the ER exit*

Zoro: *Raising an eyebrow, though also still suspiciously holding onto his arm* Honestly, Torao it was no big deal, I feel fine now.

Law: *sighs* Zoro-ya... *looking down at the floor.*

*....And there is just a trail of blood on the floor leading to Zoro who is holding into his arm which he has (roughly) bandaged on.*

Zoro: What?

Law: .... Zoro-ya, give me your arm. Now.

Zoro: Torao, I told you, its fine, I just needed some ba-

Law: Give. Me. Your. Arm.

Zoro: Tch *hands over his stupid traitor arm*

Trainee Nurse Rebecca: *passes out cold*

Law: Zoro-ya, what has Law said about cutting off your own limbs!?

Zoro: But you always fix it and it was easier than-

Law: That's not the point Zoro-ya! You can't just cut off limbs whenever it's easy!

Sabo: So are they always like this?

Older HCA Ikkaku, who is used to these idiots: *holds out popcorn bucket to share*

No words. Her show is on.

Sabo: But none of the TVs are-Ooooh HCA Ikkaku: I said shhh!

Ikkaku: Roronoa just mentioned Doctor Trafalgar just being sour over Zoro's ankle stitches. That ALWAYS leads to drama.

2nd HCA aka Perona: *appearing from nowhere to grab a handful of popcorn* Doctor Trafalgar hates those scars. Everyone in the hospital - depth, probably the whole town - knows as much. Law doesn't exactly make it a secret.

Like catching someone up on a your favorite long running television show.

Only its live and one of the people is holding a detached bloody arm.

Ikkaku: *ignoring the wide eyes stare from young nurse* Ooh, Looks like Roronoa is going to let him attach it.

Perona: *giggling* Doctor Trafalgar is gonna give him such a hard time! Horohoro, I'll bet he wouldn't even call for the anesthesiologist!

Law: AND DON'T BOTHER GETTING CESEAR! WE'RE DOING THIS NOW!

Ikkaku: Yo, new guy, stop just standing around and get your pal there off the floor.

Perona: And hurry up, we doesn't want to miss when Roronoa finally smiles. Doctor Trafalgar goes bright red! It's SOOO cute! 💕

She's right, too, as anyone whose worked there long enough will attest. It's the best part of the whole show.

The trainee and new transfer are not sure about all this, but the employees who have worked there awhile seem to be.... enjoying it?

Law: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, IDIOT!? WHAT IF I WASN'T HERE TODAY!? AND DON'T JUST ACT LIKE IT WAS A MINOR PAIN!!!

Zoro: Hey! Last time, when Robin made me come (damn noisy witch) and I showed the lady what was wrong, she passed out and you got all-

Law: Because you can't just show our poor check in team a gaping chest wound, Zoro-ya!

Law: *eyebrow twitching* Still! You're supposed to mention when you've CUT OFF YOUR OWN ARM!

It doesn't seem fair for Torao is getting so upset with him, especially since this time Zoro came in without even being made to. Oh, and he knew it wouldn't be a problem! Torao is the best surgeon in the world, Zoro knew he'd be able to fix him.

Sure enough.....

Zoro: Oye, Torao! Look at that! It's good as new! *Bright, sharp smile* See, ai knew there was a reason we kept you around!

Law: *immediately frozen*

HCA Ikkaku: *nudges nurse* Wait for it...

Law: *frozen*

HCA Perona: *holding onto the trainee Nurse too tightly, eyes wide* Here it comes....

Law: *whole face turns bright pink, pulling his surgery mask up as if hiding* Whatever you idiot! Now, stop getting yourself hurt! I'm not sewing on any other limbs for another month at least, I swear!

Zoro: You are the best, Torao *smile getting even brighter*

Perona: 💕 Ahh, aren't they so cute? 💕

Rebecca: Are they?

Sabo: Or are they just scary?

Zoro: *still with that sharp smile as he twists his arm, practicing all his sword moves. Absolutely glowing with pride* Not even a scar, doc. You really are the best.

Law: Of course I didn't leave a scar! I'm not some useless sack of flesh like that Hogsback asshole. I would never leave you with an unwanted mark.

Zoro: *still studying his arm, smile becoming softer, warmer* You know... I wouldn't mind a little mark. So long as it was from you.

And Law's mask gets pulled up so high he's practically got his eyes covered.

(It's both.)

(They're both adorable and scary.)

[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚. | 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐨.| (M) | PT 11.

synopsis; park areum is a small journalist who gets mistaken for a sex worker one day. she gets kidnapped and then given to lee jeno, an infamous mafia for creating war and havoc.

warnings; lower caps intended!!, this is part 11/20 action, fighting scenes, short love triangle, mafia romance, cursing/mature language, jeno falls in love hard, !jealous mafia jeno, enemies to lovers, smut!!, makeout scenes, gripping, degrading, praising, jeno is a bit of a dick but we been knew. park areum is a bad bitch <3.

previous part 10 | masterlink chapters | next part 12

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the smell of clean lemons and pine polluted the boy’s sense of smell, their sight was focusing on the white bed with covers on the green clothed girl unconscious cold, the white coat figure with soft black bangs resting perfectly against his brows flips the drip with his fingers. the doctor soon turns around watching the three boys.

“the girl went into a slight shock, body went into too much of adrenaline before it washes out and left the girl unable to deal with the pain..” he pauses closing areum’s medical files down.

“how did this happen exactly?” kun interrogates forward. a hand reaching down for areum’s right palm covered with thick white plain bandage. “the nails will take up to six months to grow back, i sprayed antiseptics on them too.” kun explains.

jaemin forcefully pushes through to check on areum worryingly, he stares jeno down as if he were a blemish sore spot in the room. “ask jeno, he caused this to areum.”

jeno grits down his teeth as his eyes travel down to areum, foul guilt corrupting inside the cold heart of his. he’s melting down just the sight of jaemin holding areum close, then saying it’s hot— which it is, but jeno believes he was doing the right thing too.

he wanted this to be fair, equality over equity; but not like this. hurting areum was the least thing on his bucket list of things to do.

“you know very well I’ve done this to be fair and to protect areum.” jeno reminds him deeply.

“and look what that turned up looking like,” jaemin thickly swallows the upsetting emotions. “you don’t protect areum, jeno. if anything you cause shit to happen to her,” jaemin spat.

Jeno knits forward his eyebrows arching them, his nose flares in fury— disbelief and both offended now. Jeno’s mouth twitches as he grabs jaemin’s collar quickly, pulling the slimmer boy to him. “you don’t know shit, na jaemin!” jeno yells.

jaemin bent backwards, slamming his knuckles past his nose, jeno flys back on the floor, he lashed up instantly punching jaemin from underneath with the fist, however soon held by haechan immediately to separate the two from coming back to fight back. kun holding jaemin against his shoulders, jeno with bloody nose, bruised lip, black lingering eyes haunting jaemin’s fiery brown orbs. the leo boy on far end coughs out blood from the busted lip.

“separate them!” kun shouts to Haechan, the younger boy quickly dragging his boss outside the nurse patient’s block.

jaemin exhales out, kun quickly scanning the torn lip. the older male sighs out, “boys will be boys.”

the light brunette takes a seat, going back to holding areum’s hands in his lovingly. kun brings out the small antiseptic spray, going to the front of Jaemin. “why are you so riled up?” he asks, jaemin calmly sits still, watching kun take amends on his wound.

kun pulls away, closing the antiseptic spray. jaemin softly glances to areum. “she deserves better,” he explains to the older man. kun softly sighs, “And punching was the way to solve that?”

jaemin said nothing. the older man with white savvy doctor coat, stood up temporarily leaving the two alone in the room.

Areum on the hospital bed was a repeating after image in his brain. jeno drops the files on the side in his study room, he can’t focus when areum is not okay.

something was wrong with him these days. jeno runs the scarred thick fingers through his hair, sighing.

haechan entering the study room after a single knock, he reveals the cup of coffee. he puts it down on Jeno’s desk, small steam coming out of it.

he looks up to the tan boy when watching the cup. “why did you bring me hot coffee when i asked for ice!” jeno exclaims.

haechan’s lips turn upside down, “you did ask for hot coffee—“

“oh i did?” he mutters, ‘great now i’m forgetting things because of the situation,’ he thinks deeply. Jeno stands up walking past haechan, “forget it, I’m off work duty.” he said leaving the suffocating room, feeling like he is a jinx to everyone.

jaemin’s words of ‘you cause this shit to happen to areum’ gave Jeno a slight flashback, maybe he was right. he was bad for areum.

jeno shrugs the idea off. he needs to focus on having areum back instead, it’s not about him, this is about areum needing to wake up.

jeno looks in the small window on the door noticing areum was alone. the man slowly twists the door knob before closing it shut, heart aching the moment areum’s peaceful unconscious view came into his sight again.

he slants himself down on the chair next to the bed, interlocking his fingers with her right hand, bandaged up in the white cloths. he slowly fiddles with it, thinking about how johnny was performing the torture method once again.

“i’m such an idiot. i will discontinue the task for you areum…” jeno murmurs to himself. he can’t believe he let the method continue. he is willing to take it out for areum’s safety.

his eyes squint shut at the memory. jeno staring down at the floor.

he was so nervous, so anxious, longing for areum to come back to them. the place was not the same without the girl running around getting in everyone’s business and conversation. he misses the way areum intrudes next to him, wanting to partake in anything with positive attitude and mindset despite everything being dangerous.

she is reckless, fearless, brave and intelligent; jeno wishes to see those again. he silently bites on the bottom lip having those memories replay.

the cabin memories, areum saving him at the hotel; her crying face in bed showing the most vulnerable and fragile side of her— the side she never wants anyone to see. areum’s angry side was something he also misses.

if she can’t wake up in the next hour or two he might just go crazy.

jeno looks up glancing at her hand, his lips softly pecking it as he gently holds it with two hands, praying into areum’s wounded hand that is fully bandaged. “please come back to me, areum.” jeno utters quietly.

jaemin softly opens the door halfway noticing jeno sitting beside areum on the bed, he softens the gaze and closes the door leaving the two alone for some privacy. he has to respect him nevertheless the beef the two have currently.

“jeno..?” the voice he so longs to hear all this time has answered, almost like his prayer was listened upon from the unspoken universe. the man sits up, watching the girl murmur softly as her eyelashes flutter open in disoriented matter.

he stands up softly, feeling her interlocking fingers back with his own. “areum!” jeno softly said as his ears perk up in relief and happiness.

“stay with me please,” she quietly asks, looking around the room suspiciously. she felt sort of intimidated by the new surrounding and place, jeno nods kissing on her hand once again, this time reassuring her. “ I’m not leaving your side, don’t worry,” jeno soothes.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from copyrighting and plagiarising my work!

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[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[kkachis]

Plz show us the forbidden discord vlad ideas.

so you have wished it, so it shall be *desiree laugh*

edited and expanded from what i posted in discord, but here it is:

while in the real world, the answer to “why does vlad’s ghost form look like that” might be "it was an easy way to code him as a refined asshole villain", in the world of the story, you can make it much more interesting. once you try the fanon of a ghost’s appearance being influenced by their self-image on for size, things get interesting, because it begs the question - why a vampire?

on one level, it's a projection of what he wants to be: vampires are domineering, strong, powerful, terrifying. it's a far cry from his bedbound state in the medical facility, left at the mercy of prodding doctors and nurses who may or may not have had his best interests in mind (given the GIW, or a prototypical version of them, have probably been around long enough for vlad's case to be of interest). if he’s powerful and menacing in his ghost form, that’s as distanced as he can be as the poor case study in room 529.

and about power: vampires lurk in the night. they exert absolute control over their unsuspecting victims, and that’s what everyone else is to vlad: unsuspecting, unknowing. vulnerable, not knowing that any games they play with him don’t follow human rules anymore. power is important for vlad to wield, either as a means to a to fulfill his obsessions or as a goal in and of itself - depends on your take on vlad. there’s also projecting that power to other ghosts to establish himself on the pecking order.

on another level, it's accepting and leaning into the qualities in himself that he perceives as monstrous. the world wants to give him an accident that destroys his humanity? it wants to take away the love of his life and tear apart the few friendships he had? it wants to ruin his degree, to leave him bedbound and his face scarred and his hair forever marked with what had been done to him?

the world wants a freak?

fine. he’ll show them a monster.

vlad is a spiteful bitch. he also doesn’t see himself as a good person by any means. he abuses his powers for his own gain left and right, so it makes sense that if he knowingly leans into being a bad person, his form will match it. he’ll be monstrous in both how he looks and in his behaviour. he knows he’s the bad guy. he knows he's a monster. he owns it. and if he owns it, it can't hurt him.

but on yet another level that vlad doesn't want to acknowledge...

what is a vampire? a lonely thing in a lonely castle. something inhuman. something alone, alone, alone. it's a parasite that relies on other human beings to feed it. what is he, lying around in a hospital, terrifyingly dependent? what is he, flying around and stealing money to line his own pockets? a parasite. a lonely thing in a lonely castle.

lonely dracula in a castle doesn't need friends or lovers, only meals. he’s not exactly unaware of the stories that come with vampires. but it’s not like he wants to face that.

i think that it's most interesting when a character has multiple "levels" of thinking about things. we often don't want to admit everything about how we tick. i find it's especially helpful to break down the "levels" in the thinking of villains, because they usually have the deepest levels of cognitive dissonance and things they don't want to admit. a hero is usually forced to face it and overcome it. a villain tends to get mired in it until they lose themselves. the truth is, all these levels of vlad’s subconscious contribute to his ghost form’s appearance - now the next most interesting question is what do people think is the truth?

vlad is smart and self-aware enough to acknowledge his desire to radiate power. it's the smart thing, arguably - project power to the ghosts, separate his human and ghost half's appearances. amassing power? just the logical thing to do for an ambitious man like him. he will admit that he embraces monstrosity, though that he admits secondarily. he'd rather pretend that he's smart all the way through.

danny probably thinks that the monstrosity is the true place where it comes from - vlad is unrepentantly manipulative and a constant source of terror in his life. projection of power sounds more like an excuse. to danny, embracing the monster within is precisely what delineates himself from plasmius, and why danny looks so much more human.

that third level is what you drag out of vlad kicking and screaming. in those terribly vulnerable moments of introspection, where you're completely honest with yourself for an awful, shitty moment, that's when vlad might just admit why he sees himself as a vampire. there's an insane lonely thing in him, and it never stopped howling. it never stopped begging for warm human hands. it never stopped repulsing him with its weakness. he's not just a monster because he's a bad person - he's a monster because he's pathetic.

[dodo-begone]

Fear for my Lover

Pairing: DSMP!Quackity x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warning: Blood, stitches, bruises, injuries, cursing, frontier first aid (sorry if i missed something)

Summary: Life had been busy lately. Very busy. The night was peaceful and you were more than happy to take advantage of the quiet. Even with Quackity there with you. Fate had other plans though and absolutely ruined what would've been an amazing night.

A/n: i,,, this was meant to be SHORT but also- haha i got 2-3 more parts planned brrrrrr. Also used a dialogue prompt thingy for this- you'll see them in there. They're highlighted.

You thought nothing of it when Quackity said that he was going out. Beforehand he told you that he might have to stay late to do some work. You weren’t sure if he had finished or not, but his departure only confirmed the thought that no, he had not finished business.

With a sigh, you walk over to the couch and flop onto it. The exhaustion from the many months of constant work was catching up. You missed how life was before. Even when you were stuck under Schlatt’s rule on Manberg. Yes, it was quite tedious and annoying, but you weren’t completely rebuilding a nation from the ground up along with its citizens.

The physical work of building was tiresome, but something relaxation and a few nights of rest could easily reverse the effects. Though the mental strain was a completely different story. All of the paperwork was tedious and could keep you up at night just because you need to get one more paper done before dawn. Or just knowing that you aren’t able to help everyone in the new L’manberg. So many had given up hope, were tired of the vicious cycle that they had been caught in. It may not have been going on long, but it still had its effect on everyone all the same.

So much work and so little recreational time. There was little time to care for oneself with so much work on their plate. Let alone spend time with your loved ones. Even if they lived in the same house as you. It felt alienating when you weren’t able to even have a small conversation with your significant other.

Your thoughts were deafeningly loud. Sometimes even covering each other when they brought up memories of anxieties of the past and future. That’s why it was rather surprising when the entire L’manberg cabinet ran through your front door in a frenzy. Jumping off of the couch, you try to survey the situation. What in Pime’s name could be going on?

Their hysterical cacophony of voices were all that reached your ears. You didn’t even need to hear their words when you saw Quackity’s limp body in Fundy’s arms.

Without a second thought, you push your way over to Fundy and Quackity, quickly searching him for injuries. Well, the injuries part was pretty obvious with all of the blood. But the extent of the injuries were another story. What could be going on? How bad was it? Oh Prime, why was there so much blood?

In the frenzy you must’ve said something because something happened. One moment you are near the entrance with your beloved in the arms of his co-worker and the next you’re tending to his wounds in your shared bed. Nobody else was in the room. It was just you and Quackity. Your Quackity. And a bowl of water and a small stack of wash clothes and towels.

Your hands quacked from both worry and the sobs you were desperately holding back. Something was stabbing the interior of your throat as it closed from the overwhelming emotions that filled your body.

What terrified you was that Quackity wasn’t completely unconscious. He definitely wasn’t completely there but he was still awake and babbling. More muttering because of how frail and faint his voice was, but it was still a bunch of nonsense. How you wished to know what he was saying, what he was thinking. Now wasn’t the time, but you feared that if you didn’t know now that he’d never tell you. Shit hit the fan and he came back like this. Either his pride or his desire to “protect” you would keep him from spilling the tea. This was your only chance.

All you were able to do was open your mouth before Quackity was making this harder. He was extremely weak from the blood loss and you were in a race against time to stop the river of blood that just seemed to flow freely from his wounds. You had been holding his bigger wounds tightly, trying to put as much pressure as you could to slow the blood loss or stop it completely. Each attempt to settle Quackity only leads to him resisting more, weakly fighting you to get up. Soon his behavior had gone on for too long, in your humble opinion, and he was still as stubborn as he was in the beginning.

With what little common sense you had left in your nearly hysterical state, you tried to reason with him. “Quackity,” you pleaded, still trying to gently push him back onto the bed so he was laying. “Please lay down, Duckie. It’s for your own good. Just let me bandage you up and I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”

From an outsider’s perspective, the attempt was silly. It really wouldn’t have gotten much of a reaction from your confused lover. And yet you still tried anyway, hoping that anything would help at this point. You were desperate.

His silence spoke volumes. In some stroke of luck, Quackity heard your words. That or he became too tired to fight and “speak”. Either way, you were taking what you could get. It was a victory and your goal was reached. Without much, if any fight at all, you managed to get Quackity back into bed and went back to patching up his wounds.

They were much worse than you hoped. Your wish that it was a smaller wound with a ton of blood oozing out was swiftly dashed when you started to clean up the blood from its source. Well, more accurately from anywhere and cleaning until you found the source. Although a bad idea, you had patched up his smaller, easy to access wounds. Though you couldn’t dodge the challenge that stood before you, glaring at you from Quackity’s face.

Petechiae, scratches, and bruises also decorated his face in a hideous manner. The centerpiece of it all was a large scar that traveled from his lip to his eye, all on the left side, was the most obvious wound. The others could heal on their own, but that cut, could you even call it a cut, was in dire need of assistance. It was probably already infected and trying to heal itself. But it was too big, too wide to heal naturally. Intervention was needed and it was needed stat!

Blankly you stare at his face, mind running a mile a minute trying to think of remedies and solutions. Sadly there weren’t many options available. Ponk was too far away to call for his medical expertise, not even considering how late it was. Would he even still be awake? Let alone awake enough to do stitches? You could wait till morning but who knows what condition Quackity would be in at dawn. Something had to be done and it had to be done now. Only one plausible solution remained and it definitely wasn’t pleasant.

Swiftly you leave Quackity, moving out of the room as quickly as you could. Quackity tried to reach out to you but just missed your sleeve. Though you didn’t notice or know. You had things to get done and to get them done you needed equipment. Desperately you search around the house, pulling out anything you’d need. More clean towels, a bowl of clean water since the one you had been using was more than dirtied and the towels absolutely soiled. Placing them half-hazardly on a flat surface, you scurried around to find the other necessary equipment. After having to catch your sewing tin and lighter from falling a few times, you grab everything you previously gathered and make your treacherous journey back to Quackity.

When you return, he’s once again sitting up in bed. Weakly, mind you, as he fell back onto the mattress at the sight of you. You wished to scold him for going against what you asked of him, but it didn’t matter now. With no time to waste, you dump your supplies onto the nightstand and fumble around, trying to get everything prepared.

As nimbly as your shaky hands could spare, you set up your thread and needle as if you were going to start sewing a gorgeous design into a quilt. You stared at the bowl of water you had, debating whether or not to use your sad little lighter to heat up that big ole bowl… it’s better if you didn’t. Other than being faster, how much better would it be for sanitizing the needle? It’d take ages to get the water boiling and even then it might not be enough. A flame straight out of a lighter? Seemed better. It got the job done quicker and would be warmer than the boiling water so it was going to kill more bacteria and germ than the boiling water. That’s what you hoped, at least. This is why you aren’t a medic.

Shakily, you ignite the lighter and hold the needle to the flame, slowly rotating it to equally distribute the heat. As tedious and anxiety inducing as it was, it would be worth it in the end. The stitch is only temporary until you can get Ponk to come over, hopefully by early tomorrow. Or later today? What time even was it- Snap out of it! This isn’t the time to be doing this!

You didn’t know how hot the needle had to be to be considered “sanitized” but you had waited long enough. At least that’s what it felt like. Plus the part of the needle you’re holding is getting pretty hot.

When you go in for the first suture, the hiss of pain before you even punctured the skin was a good indicator to you. Not that he was awake enough to still be actively feeling things, but to be able to vocally express his pain and that the needle was hot enough to probably kill most bacteria and germs if it hurt to touch. Hesitation is making you its bitch, holding you still and making you contemplate if what you’re doing is right. Of course what you’re doing is right. It has to be. It’s one of the best and only options you have.

Before you did anything else, you grabbed one of the towels and rolled it up. Gently you pried his mouth open and placed it in like a gag. He wasn’t going to be able to grip much and he’d be grinding his teeth together from pain. Previous experience with stitches and similar frontier medical procedures has taught you one thing; having a gag to bite on helps every part. The patient gets a way to release their pain and the “doctor” is less likely to be hurt by the patient since the patient will have something else to focus on hurting. It doesn’t work entirely but it’s better than hearing the unmuffled screams of agony and feels better to have something to grip onto as hard as you can.

After getting him situated, you position yourself again. With a deep breath, you start off the first suture. Quackity’s muffled scream was heartbreaking yet shocking. Even with you expecting it, it still spooked you a bit. But everything was okay. This was for the best. And then you continued on. Slowly you added stitch after stitch after stitch until you thought you did enough. Really it was a combination of “this is adequate” and “i’m too anxious to keep going because what if i mess up”. Without anesthetics, it was just horrific for both parties to go through with this endeavor. He was moving around so much, trying to twist and turn away from the pain being done to him. His movements were so often and large enough to make you nervous about going near his eyes. What if you poked it out? Or made him blind?

Looking back at the stitches and what they held together, it was obvious that his eyesight was going to be impaired from now on. His eyes were looking completely different from each other now. The regular on the right and the horrific product of whatever he did on his left. A white film covered his eyes like a snow blanket. He was now blind in that eye or going blind.

Realistically, he was going blind but you still held out for the unrealistic hope that he’d be almost entirely okay afterwards. You knew it was unrealistic, but you still hoped.

You Quackity didn’t deserve this.

Once you have cleaned up the mess you made, you start to pack everything up. Needle in the bowl to be cleaned, remaining threat back into the tin, bowls moved away from where they’d get bumped and dumped. Slowly and methodically you finish your tasks. The adrenaline of the night is slowly leaving your body and exhaustion is once again taking hold of you. Oh how you hated that. Absolutely despised the feeling.

After everything was to your liking, you go to check on Quackity again before you leave to give and get some silent rest for the two of you. It’s the least you could do for him after all of this.

He seemed comfortable after everything, peaceful in fact. It was such a calming sight and it eased your guilt of hurting him. Everything you did was for the greater good, you mentally remind yourself. It was to help prevent further infection and it was only temporary. Until you could get proper help for him.

Without much thought, you sit by the bed and lay your head upon it. So much blood got onto the blankets and the sheets. You’d need to clean that quickly. After Quackity gets help and is moved or can be moved, that is. Which would hopefully be tomorrow. Slowly you start to doze off. Or was it zoning out? Either or you were slowly calming down further. To the point where you almost fell asleep.

Jolting awake, you begrudgingly haul yourself off the floor and start your long and tiring journey to the living room. The couch was comfier than the floor, after all. No matter how much you wanted to sleep by Quackity.

Your dawdling is stopped by something on your sleeve. At first you think your sleeve got caught on something so you tug in hopes of being untangled from said object. Nothing happens so you just tug harder. But still nothing happens. Eventually your little tug of war becomes too annoying and has been prolonged enough. You whirl around to see what in Prime’s name you could be caught on.

Low and behold it was the man of the hour, surprisingly. Quackity had grabbed onto your sleeve and just held you there. Confused, you walk back to the bed and sit, holding his face and inspecting for any new signs of pain. Anything that would show that he was feeling something different, something worse. You hoped that he wasn’t feeling like that, but it was a naive hope. Wounds were not an unfamiliar concept to you and yet you’d always hope for such fantastical things to the point where it was odd.

In return for you holding his face, he went to gently hold yours. A soft smile makes an appearance upon your face after the action.

“How’re you feeling, Ducking,” you whisper. Silence once again makes its presence known and it’s very loud and obnoxious about it. “Sorry. I know you’re in a lot of pain. That was stupid of me to ask.”

Quackity chuckles at your slip up and you’re more than happy to join him. Slowly your chuckling drowned out by the silence that had obnoxiously told you how wrong you were to ask your beloved if he was in pain when it was more than obvious that he was, indeed, in pain. You take a deep breath and release a sigh.

“You need to sleep. It’ll help with the healing and hopefully with the pain until tomorrow. I plan on calling Ponk to do some actual doctor shit on you because Prime knows how amazing my skills are.” Once again you attempt to leave Quackity to sleep, but stopped by his grip on your sleeve.

“Please,” he rasped. God his voice was so hoarse after everything. You felt terrible as you were part of the cause and yet you couldn’t do anything nor bring yourself to feel too bad. It was all for the greater good, after all. For his health.

“Please what?”

“Please stay with me,” he begged, looking straight into your eyes with his only working one. The sight was pitiful. Such a prideful man who could do so much left in such a weakened state. You hated seeing him like this. Nobody liked seeing their loved ones in a position like that. And how could you deny him that request, especially with what he went through tonight. You still didn’t know what it was but the aftermath was horrific enough to give a small clue as to what happened.

“Of course,” you reply, smiling warmly and climbing into bed with him. The moment you’re under the blankets and sheets, he gently pulls you into a hug. For his or your sake, you’re unsure. You hope that it’s his though. “Anything for my Duckie.”

[arts-and-drafts]

Minecraft Championships

(Another fic for my Hermit Tommy AU, set when Tommy finally joins MCC again! Enjoy :)c)

-

Tommy stared at the white portal buzzing in front of him. It was time for Minecraft Championships, an event he hadn't attended since before his exile.

Familiar fear tingled in the back of his mind. He almost certainly would run into the old members of the Dream SMP on the other side of the portal. He spent so long trying to heal from the scars the SMP ripped into him, both physically and mentally. He didn't want to dig up old memories after he tried so hard to move past them.

But his hand was clenched over his compass, something he'd only recently felt safe enough to carry with him outside of his ender chest.

Tubbo could be on the other side. His Tubbo.

But if he was, what would Tommy say? What would he do? Tubbo threw him out, but he was still the most important person in the universe to Tommy. That was one thing from his past he refused to leave behind.

Did Tubbo even feel the same? Would he be glad to see him again?

Did he even care?

Grian's hand touching his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts.

"...You don't have to go if you don't want to." Grian offered, a knowing but gentle look in his eyes. Tommy took a breath.

"No, I--it's okay. I'll come." Tommy replied, tucking his compass back under his shirt. "You all suck without me anyway." He grinned at Grian, who glared mockingly in response. "Oh, I'm sure you bring so much to the table." He commented dryly.

"MCC is my bitch." Tommy declared confidently, dodging Grian's swipe at him with a high pitched laugh. "Watch it, or I'll tell Scar to make you restock Scara again." Grian smiled.

The hermit offered his hand, and Tommy took it. They stepped through the white portal together.

-

Tommy downed his glass bottle of water in one big swig, wiping his forehead with his other arm. They were halfway through MCC, and finally got a chance to break and reconvene with their teams.

Grian, Ren, Tommy and False were chosen to represent Hermitcraft in MCC, and they were killing it, scoring 2nd place as a team so far in the games. On top of that, Tommy hadn't seen anyone from the SMP. He was just having a good time, winning a championship with his friends.

Tommy listened to the hypnotizing chatter of the hundreds of contestants in the lobby, his group having fanned out during the break. Grian had left to socialize with a multitude of outer-server friends, while Ren and False were talking with a green skinned player on another team that Tommy didn't recognize.

Tommy quickly averted his eyes. That guy looked too much like-

Without warning, something grabbed Tommy's arm and violently pulled him off the bench he was resting at, his yell of surprise quickly drowned out by the crowd. Tommy tried to swing at his assailant, but went rigid as soon as he looked up.

"You shouldn't have run." Dream hissed, dragging Tommy to his feet by the arm. Tommy's blood turned to ice as he was suddenly flung back to Logstedshire, to exile, to bitter loneliness, turning out his pitiful supply of resources to his warden for fear of being killed.

Tommy couldn't do anything to defend himself as Dream started to pull him to the portal back to the SMP.

"They don't need you. I've told you I'm your only friend. I'm the only one that cares." Dream growled, his voice dangerously low with fury. "Friends don't abandon friends. I thought Tubbo already taught you that."

Tommy flinched. His breath was trapped in his lungs, paralyzed as Dream dragged him closer and closer to the past he tried so hard to escape.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking?!" Dream continued, his tone scalding. "A YEAR, Tommy!! You ran away for a fucking YEAR!!"

Dream's voice had a layer of desperation lying underneath. It was then that Tommy clicked.

Dream needed him.

He needed Tommy to be broken, to be hateful, to be ostracized and abandoned by everyone he loved. Dream needed the conflict, the chaos, the malice.

But Tommy did not need him. Tommy was not alone like Dream was.

"HELP!!" Tommy's cry exploded from his chest, fueled by all the fear and resentment he'd kept pent up for so long. "GRIAN!! HELP ME!!"

Dream halted his unwavering path to his SMP to snap back to Tommy, instantly clapping his gloved hand over the boy's mouth before he could scream anything else, but the damage was already done. Tommy struggled against Dream's arms, punching and kicking and squirming to escape, continuing to scream despite Dream's hand muffling his voice.

For the first time since L'manburg, Tommy fought back with the same ferocity that burned inside him all those years ago.

Tommy saw a flash of enchanted blue, and suddenly Dream's grip on his arm and face was released. He was immediately pulled into the arms of Ren with a gasp, safe and warm and secure. Tommy clung to the hermit for dear life, daring to open his eyes to see what had become of Dream.

Dream was on the ground, carefully still. His mask lay sliced clean in half beside him, a razor-thin cut bleeding down the middle of his face. Tommy's eyes widened.

False and Grian stood between Dream and Tommy, False with her diamond sword poised to Dream's throat with deadly accuracy. Grian's wings were extended to their full wingspan, an intimidating wall of gray feathers trembling with fury.

"Get out." False ordered, low and dangerous. A violent expression crossed Dream's face, Tommy could see his face, he could see the look in his eyes, but he said nothing. False flicked her sword up, wordlessly repeating her demand.

Dream slowly got to his feet, his eyes moving to the crowd of people who were now silent, watching. Dream pulled his hood tighter around his head in a pitiful attempt to hide his naked face as he backed up to the SMP portal.

Dream locked eyes with Tommy before he stepped through, and Tommy was turned to stone by the sheer amount of hatred that was visible in his former captor's expression.

The connection was broken by Grian storming towards Dream, his fists balled so tightly that Tommy could see his white knuckles. For the first time in Tommy's life, he saw real terror in Dream's eyes.

Dream stepped through the portal quicker than he'd ever moved before right as Grian cleared the distance.

"DON'T COME BACK!" Grian roared, reeling back his fist to bring it clean through the portal.

The doorway shattered on impact, breaking the SMP's connection to the MCC lobby with the force of a ghast's fireball. Stunned silence followed, broken only by Grian's heaving breaths as he tried to calm himself.

Tommy didn't realize how tightly he was holding Ren until the werewolf shifted uncomfortably under his grip. He quickly released his friend's shirt.

Then Grian and False turned back to Tommy, their anger dissipating into concern as quickly as it came. They ran to him and pulled each other into a shaking embrace, Tommy at the center of his three saviors.

"Gods, oh Tommy--" Grian stammered, squeezing Tommy tighter and burying his face into his hair. "I'm so sorry, we didn't know he would--"

"Are you okay?" False asked feverishly, her fingers flitting nervously over the arm where Dream grabbed him. "Did he hurt you? Do you need a medic?"

"No, no--" Tommy tried to say, but he was interrupted by Ren. "What did he want from you? Is he dangerous?"

"Guys," Tommy said, raising his voice to silence their questions. "I'm--I'm okay now. Thank you for saving me," he assured, his voice catching on the last word. He tried to wipe away tears that he just noticed were flowing down his face.

"I-I want to go. Please." Tommy begged, his voice very small. The crowd of contestants watching them were now suffocating instead of comfortable.

Tommy expected his friends to hesitate, but he was surprised by how quickly they unanimously nodded. "Of course, no problem." Ren affirmed, helping Tommy to his feet. "Let's get out of here."

"But--" Tommy tried to oppose, looking at the scoreboard.

"Don't worry about MCC." False cut him off. "There's always next year."

Tommy's words lodged in his throat, gratitude and relief swelling in his soul. He let himself be guided back to the portal to Hermitcraft, his bandaged hands gripping Ren and False's arms like a lifeline as Grian's wing laid a comforting weight on his back.

As the group disappeared into the white tear in reality, a figure watches in silent shock from the other side of the lobby, a finally still compass gripped in shaking hands.

END.

[mangospams]

Ok, so like this is a bit long but bare with me:

Yandere!Dabi who thought that live was just some straight-up bullshit that people talked about , that all of it was just lust and who never ever had time for that.

Yandere!Dabi who is also virgin!dabi, and thinks- no knows that no one would ever want him, because whenever he looks at his scars, he thinks that they are hideous, that it is disgusting, that the only thing that keeps him from falling apart are those cheap ass staples that aren’t properly put together, that he applied when he run away from home with barely any experience of the outside world, that wherever he goes the smell of burnt skin follows, because that what he knows its true, what he believes is true, what he was taught from that sperm donor who dares call himself a father- a hero.

Yandere!Dabi who knows that he don’t deserve anything, that he is too selfish to know or care about anyone or anything but his goal.

Yandere!dabi who expects you to scream, sneer in disgust or anything when you bump into him in an alleyway all bloodied up from a son of a bitch that managed to tear away his staples, that expect you to scream bloody murder about the big bad villain, that expect you to call the police, or a hero— anyone.

But instead, you fuss around in your bag for some alcohol and bandages, that you—are his biggest fan ( simp ) from the real world, that you weren’t granted the gift of a quirk when you were transported into this world, that you didn’t want to— promised yourself that you won’t interfere with the story-line— but how could you?

How could you leave the one person ( fictional or not ) that helped you through rough times, when things got too tense, when things became too overwhelming, with school, work, and with c0vid, when your parents were being too much of an assholes, when that one toxic friend became too much and you had to cut them off?

When you had cried, sobbed, at his past? When you felt your heart and world tear apart for him? When you had admired him for oh so long? For all the shit that he went through? For all the shit that he had endured? For all the shit that he didn’t deserve?!

So, when you find him in an alleyway all alone and bloodied up, at the brink of death, you just HAD to help him, you banged him, and carried him to your house ( that maybe you didn’t have a quirk, but you had material arts, medical knowledge and a gun—lots of them ), helped him recover and nursed him to health.

And when yandere!dabi wakes up, to an unfamiliar ceiling, he is on edge, he is ready to blast whatever mf decided it was a good idea to kidnap him, but when he sees you—oh sweet innocent you on a chair nearby, sleeping soundly, eye-bags around your eyes, and he is the cause of that, that you nursed him to health, that the fresh pair of staples on his body feels less painful, and that the thing that sparked in his heart was unfamiliar— hope, faith, love?

He doesn’t know what to call it, but maybe just maybe there is a chance for him, and maybe just maybe that chance is with you…

-💅🏼

( sorry, this was long- its my first time writing this let alone sending it to someone, also English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any errors )

Oh gosh this is so long, I wish I could respond to everything because I absolutely love this idea!!! I love the trope of the darling being from our world, being transported to the BNHA world 🥺🥺 ‘Because of his bleeding, he basically passed out before you could do anything. You just throw his arm around you and yours around him, trying to hobble back to your apartment. It takes a while though, considering your pulling Dabi with you

He wakes up, freaking out until he sees you. When it hits him that you helped him, he’s immediately in love. He’s never had anyone care about him before so know that you have? Oh he’s never letting you go

He actually picks you up of the chair your sleeping on, putting you into your bed. Definitely writes a tiny note for you when you wake up, it’s a tiny torn piece of paper that just says thank you and see you later on it

Also he’s never taking out the staples that you put in while nursing him. They don’t match his other ones but he doesn’t care. He’s not replacing them 💖

Also don’t worry about your grammar, darling, English isn’t my first language either. You did good, no need to apologize 🥺🥺🥺

[stressisakiller]

I'm Glad it's You

Steve Rogers x reader soulmate AU

As you wish part 3

Summary: A difficult conversation and a whole lot of fluff

Warnings: none, couple of curse words, mentions brainwashing

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I finally got to this chapter!! I am so sorry it took so long life has been hectic. Hope yall like it!

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Blinking your eyes open you are surprised to see that you are still in the living room. You can't remember falling asleep last night. Then you feel the arm that's thrown over your stomach and the breath of the super soldier sleeping beside you. Right you think, Captain America is my soulmate and we fell asleep watching the princess bride. That was a sentence you never thought possible.

You carefully shuffle around for a better angle to see the man next to you. His mouth is slightly open and he had moved from mostly sitting up to lying on his side, one arm under your head the other around your waist. His hair is adorably messy, you wouldn't have thought that his hair could be anything but perfect. It is strangely endearing to see him like this, completely relaxed and looking slightly ruffled. 

Your gaze on his face seems to rouse him from his sleep, eyes slowly blinking open and taking in the world around him. He startles awake when he realizes how close you are and the fact that his arms are wrapped around you.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean..” He starts apologizing while trying to untangle himself from you.

You cut him off by snuggling closer to him, your voice is muffled by his chest as you speak. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, that was the best sleep I’ve had in ages, plus you’re my soulmate, I doubt cuddling on the couch all night will be the worst thing we do.” You look up to see a slight blush painting his cheeks at your words.

“I never said it was," he counters, still a little flustered, "but we only just figured this out last night and I didn’t want to assume anything.” He quickly gains his composure back, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of you in his arms. That is until Tony walks in.. 

"Please no sex on the couch, it's a bitch to clean." He states loudly causing you to laugh at his antics. You force yourself to leave the warmth that is Steve's arms and walk over to Tony who is grabbing a cup of coffee.

“I’m still mad at you, you know, for not telling me earlier.” You state matter of factly. "All this time I thought I'd end up dying alone because of one of your experiments gone wrong, and it turns out that you knew who my soulmate is for months."

He looks at you for a moment, contemplating how to respond before softening and giving you a kiss on the forehead,

 “I’m sorry little Buttercup, I should have told you earlier and not just assumed that you already knew.” You smile at this softer side of Tony, the side that he usually only allows you to see. 

You pour yourself and Steve a cup of coffee, asking him how he likes it.

"A good amount of cream and a spoonful of sugar." He states looking a little sheepish. You smile at the fact that Captain America likes a little coffee with his creamer. 

You jump slightly when you feel his arms sliding around your waist and his chin on your shoulder. 

"Thank you, doll, that looks perfect." His voice is soft in your ear. You quickly realize Steve is an affectionate man that likes to cuddle and is quickly warming up to the fact that you enjoy it too. 

You lean back into his embrace, reveling the simple fact that you could. You found your soulmate and you were already head over heels for the man. 

Your mom always loved to cook and she taught you when you were young. So you decide to make up some pancakes and french toast for breakfast, after all, it isn't everyday that you find your other half.

Tony and Steve help set the table and everything while you cook. Steve askes if he can help but Tony knows that you enjoyed taking care of the cooking by yourself. That may partially come from the fact that, for the most part, Tony is a terrible cook and you don't want him anywhere near your food.

Once the table is set and you are well on your way to cooking breakfast, Steve and Tony sit down and start to talk. Steve, always the one to go straight to business, begins to ask about the girl he brought in the day before.

“She’s still unconscious, from the look of her she's been in some terrible fights, she has multiple gun wounds and some scars that look to be from some wicked knife wounds.” Tony answers, feeling a little bit of sympathy for the unconscious girl in the medical wing.

“Well all the same, I need to find out who so is and why she shot me.” Steve answers allowing a little bit of the exasperation he is feeling to slip into his words.

“She shot you?” Your voice is laced with worry and you walk up to him, placing the food in your hand on the table, “are you ok?” Your eyes search his body to see if you could find the wound he spoke of.

“Yes doll, she shot me. I had the bullet removed and the skin is almost completely healed." His voice is gentle, reassuring, letting you know that there is nothing for you to worry about. 

"Anyway, it was like she wasn't shooting to kill. It was like she aimed for the spot that would cause the least amount of damage." His entire face is scrunched up in confusion, before he shakes his head and continues. "But I must speak with her when she wakes. That is the only way we can find out for sure.”

“Well until then, let's eat and then maybe you can come up with me to my lab so I can make you that punching bag.” You say setting the last of the food onto the table and grabbing some orange juice.

“You weren’t kidding about that?” Steve's voice is incredulous, he really didn't think that you would actually make a punching bag for him.

“Of course I was serious, I never kid.” You can’t help the smile that slips through the serious look you are putting on.

The next two days pass with you and Seve spending as much time together as possible. You are quickly able to develop a punching bag for him and even develop a couple of smaller items to help make missions easier as well. You are surprised how happy it makes you to have Steve in the lab with you. You share stories of your childhood and are surprised by the similarities, especially when it comes to your health. He tells you about Brooklyn, and his friend Bucky. About trying to get drafted and the events that lead to him becoming Captain American. You enjoy how willing he is to share his life with you and how easy it is for you to return the favor. You are in the middle of telling him the story of how you met Tony when Jarvis comes over the speaker.

“Mr. Rogers, the woman you brought in has awoken.”

 

You look at each other before rushing down the halfway to the medical wing. Steve steps in first and you quietly follow him, not wanting to get in the way. 

“Oh good you’re awake,” Steve’s voice is harder than you had ever heard before, and you watch as the girl tenses up even more. 

“Now I get to ask you all of the questions that I’ve been waiting to ask you for the past 3 days.” You watch him pull a chair up and sit, his pose meant to intimidate. 

“Who are you? Why did you shoot me? What were you doing in that town and where did you get these?” You flinch slightly at the anger in his voice, glad that it isn’t currently directed at you. 

Steve is holding up a pair of dog tags, and you wonder what they have to do with anything. The girl seems to be reeling from the questions trying to decide how to answer. You are curious as to what she will have to say. Her voice is desperate when she finally speaks.

“My name is Alison, my father is Hydra and forced me to become one of their experiments, a soldier for them. I was planning on escaping but I never could, I couldn’t leave him there.” Leave him? Leave who you wonder, her voice grows more desperate when she speaks of him, he must be important to her. You focus back in on what she is saying. 

“I couldn’t leave him, not when I could do something to save him. I couldn’t leave him there all alone.” You can tell that she is close to tears as she speaks and that there is no lie in her words.

Steve balks, “Wait a minute, you’re Hydra.” He spits the words out at her causing you to look at him in confusion. 

“Not by choice.” Her voice is steel. She holds no love for her father or this Hydra organization.

Steve finally asks the question that is bugging you. “Alright then, who is this “he” you keep mentioning?” He leans back crossing his arms, waiting for her answer.

She stares at him for a moment, as if deciding whether she can trust him or not. She seems to come to a conclusion. Taking a deep breath she answers, 

“My soulmate, the soldier, the man on the dog tags, James Buchanan Barnes.” You can't help but gasp, James was Steve’s best friend, he had told you all about him the last couple of days. Your gaze immediately turns to Steve to see his reaction, his whole body has gone stiff, his eyes narrowed, teeth clenched.

“You’re lying. I watched him fall from the train, I watched him die! There is no way in hell he is your soulmate.” His anger is rolling off of him in waves.

 You however remain strangely calm after the initial shock of her words. What she said makes sense, after all a 95 year old super soldier who was assumed dead for 70 years is your soulmate. Who's to say that James didn’t survive the fall?

 You step up to Steve and softly place your hand on his shoulder.

The girl is still frantically trying to convince him, “I’m not lying! I swear! Hydra got to him. They made him into a weapon, they brainwashed him and put him on ice when they didn’t need him so that they could control him better. I swear, I’m not lying!" Her voice is practically hysterical at the end.

 Leaning in to Steve you murmur to him, 

“Steve, you survived an airplane crash and being frozen in a glacier for decades. Maybe she is telling the truth.” Your voice is soft, placating. 

He turns to you, the hardness of his face softening at the sincerity he can see in your eyes. 

“Fine,” he says turning back to the girl, Alison, “I can’t fully trust you and I can’t let you go, so you will have to live here in the tower, under surveillance. If you want us to trust you, you will have to prove yourself trustworthy.” Steve stands after this declaration, unlocking the cuffs on her wrists. You turn to her, 

“I’ll make sure that they have a room ready for you as soon as you are well enough to leave the hospital.” You give her a soft smile, heaven knows she needs it. You pause a second, alone in the room with her, Steve had walked swiftly out the door as soon as he had undone the cuffs. 

“I just have one last question,” she nods at you when you pause, “I know you shot Steve. But you missed anything important on purpose, didn’t you?"

She just gives you a secret smile and lays back against the pillow, but it is all you need to know the type of woman she is. You can tell already that you like this girl, and that it won’t take you long to trust her. Giving her one last look you step out the door, calling for Jarvis to make sure a room is ready for the new guest. You have a Steve to find. 

 

He is exactly where you expect him to be, punching the shit out of the punching bag you made him. 

“Hey Soldier.” You call to him, as you lean against the doorway. You watch as his body slouches at the sound of your voice, today was a lot.

“She said that Bucky is her soulmate,” his eyes are red as they catch yours, “what if he is alive and I could have saved him. All this time I thought that I watched him die and now there is this chance that he is alive. What if I abandoned him?” 

His voice breaks at the question, he looks so vulnerable. You step quickly towards him, keeping your movements light. When you reach him you take the hand that is hanging limply by his side and place it on your cheek.

“Hey, love, look at me.” His eyes slide up from the floor. “There was no way you could have known and nothing you could have done to help. If he is alive, I will be right there with you and we will do whatever it takes to get him back. He is your family, and that makes him mine, and we don’t leave family behind.” His eyes are full of tears as he leans his head against yours. 

The toll of the day, makes itself apparent in the slouch of his shoulders and the weight of his forehead. You slowly pull yourself out of the embrace, grasping his hand and pulling him with you.

“Come on, we both need sleep and there is no way in hell I’m letting you sleep by yourself after the day we just had.” He nods and follows your gentle pull to your room in the tower. 

Since you have lived here the longest you have one of the nicest rooms, save Tony of course. Entering the room you have Steve sit on the edge of the bed while you start up the shower for him. You place out a couple of towels out on the vanity and step back into your room. 

Steve hasn’t moved since you walked into the bathroom. You step up to him and gently place your hand on his cheek.

“Love, I have the shower running for you, everything is set out and I placed a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt in there for you, they should fit. Go ahead and get cleaned up and then you can come lay down.”

He stares at you listlessly for a moment before nodding and moving to do exactly as you suggested. As he showers you change into your pjs, you would take your shower in the morning. You grab the book on your bedside table and allow yourself to get lost in the words for a moment. The sound of the shower turning off brings you back to reality, as Steve steps out of the bathroom in just the sweatpants. 

Your first thought is holy shit followed quickly by the thought that whoever decided that you would be the perfect soulmate for this specimen might have been mistaken . 

Steve is having a similar train of thought, looking at you in your too large shirt and messy bun, knowing that behind your beauty is a heart of gold. He can't believe his luck.

He walks to the other side of the bed, drying off his hair and throwing the towel in the hamper. Pausing for a moment at the empty side of the bed, searching your face for any trace of doubt. Instead all he sees is you smiling at him and gesturing for him to take his place beside you.

 Settling into the bed he is surprised when you lean over and place your head in his lap.

“I’m glad it’s you.” He smiles at the soft admission, thankful that he finally found you after all these years.

“I’m glad it’s you too, doll. For the longest time I thought I would never find you, I thought you may not even exist. But I did and you are even more amazing than I could have ever hoped for." He pauses for a moment deciding whether to say what's on his mind or not. He is hesitant as he starts to speak. 

"Thank you for today, for calming me when I needed it and for being there for me. Not many people have seen me cry, but I’m glad that you have and that you aren’t disappointed in me for not staying strong.” At his words you immediately sit up and stare him straight in the eyes.

“You listen here, Steve Rogers." You poke him in the chest as you speak. " I never want you to feel like you have to keep up appearances when you are around me. You may need to be strong for others but not for me. I am here for you, no matter what, and that especially includes the moments where you can no longer be strong. You better remember that, I will never judge you for the way you feel.” Taking in your intense stare, Steve feels warmth spreading through his body. Yes , he thinks, he is very glad that it's you. 

Smiling at you and nodding Steve grasps your arms and pulls you into his chest, savoring the feeling of your head resting over his heart. He can’t remember the last time he felt as content as he does in this moment. The world may feel like it's moments away from crashing down around him, but right now all he can think about is you. 

Tagged users: @writerwrites

[impalaspixie]

Outrun the Past (Chapter 2)

Pairing: AU! Dean x Reader

Warnings for series: Swearing, mentions of self-harm, homelessness, past assault/abuse, depression, violence, angst, fluff, and soulmates (are they even classed as a warning?). Maybe more that I miss along the way?

Word Count: 1343 +

A/n: Quite a few of you enjoyed chapter one! I hope you enjoy this part too. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know 😊

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“Y/N, what did I tell you about disobeying me?” A deep voice spoke as it approached you, the snap of his belt in his hands making you flinch in fear. “Let’s make sure we can get you to remember.” His smirk only growing as he raised his fist.

You sat up quickly, eyes wide as tears slowly slipped down your face. Looking around, you were confused, how did you end up on a bed? A comfortable and soft bed mind you, but you didn’t remember going to a motel. The door opened and you were about to scream when you saw Dean, the bartender walk through. Just seeing him, you could feel yourself relax slightly but it was clear you were still tense and on edge.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You were in a bad way the last night.” Dean told you, walking over with a small bowl of mixed berries and some pain medication. He gently set it down on the nightstand and silently asked for permission to touch your face.

“What happened last night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as he carefully pushed your hair to behind your ear to look at a small cut on your eyebrow where your eye was bruised.

“Found you under a park bench, two jackasses were hurting you. Don’t worry though, they won’t be coming anywhere near you any time soon. Your ribs are a little bruised and you have a small cut here, but you’ll live Miss girl with a dream.” He told you as he gently touched the cut before moving away. “I wasn’t sure what you like food wise so, I brought you some berries. My idiot brother thinks everyone likes fruit but honestly, it’s waffles or pancakes that people like the most.”

“Thank you, Dean.” You said softly as you slowly ate a few berries, taking the pain medication at the same time. “It’s Y/N by the way and waffles are better than anything else for breakfast.” You saw him raise an eyebrow, causing you to giggle slightly. The sound of your giggle obviously made him happy since a smile broke out on his face. “My name, it’s Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, that’s a beautiful name for a very beautiful lady.” Dean told you with a wink. Standing up to walk over to pull out some clothes for you to wear. “Hope you don’t mind; I got a friend to pick up some clothes for you this morning. I don’t think you’d want to stay in those, they’re a bit muddy. Why were you out like that anyway?” He asked you, placing the clothes at the end of the bed.

You looked up at Dean, biting your lip nervously as you nodded, closing your eyes briefly whilst you ate, the fear slowly bubbling up in your chest again as to what was going to happen next. Unbeknownst to you, Dean could feel that fear as well. “R-right, thank you again. Like I said before, just heading for my dream.” You said simply, finishing off the fruit and placing the bowl on the nightstand.

“A girl with dreams usually makes sure they have enough money for a motel, you didn’t even have enough to cover the beer. Cut the crap and just tell me why you’re really here okay?” Dean said, eyeing you up. Even with his small outburst, he kept his tone even and as calm as possible, but you couldn’t help but let the tears fall.

“I… I was kicked out of my home. I don’t drive so I’ve been walking for a month, and I finally ran out of money.” You admitted quietly. It wasn’t really lying; you did run out of money but maybe it wasn’t the full truth.

“What about your parents? Friends? What about a soulmate, everyone has a soulmate?” Dean asked, concern filling his eyes as he watched your movements. The fact you’d been by yourself for over a month with no money concerned him greatly.

“Soulmate?” You asked, refusing to address about your parents. A weird was felt in your chest when you saw Dean grow even more concerned. It was as though you could feel the concern he felt.

“Everyone is born with a soulmate. Then there’s lucky ones like my brother Sam. Sammy has two the lucky son of a bitch. He lost his first one though to a house fire. He was head over heels for Jess, but he’s now happily married with Ruby.” Dean explained with a smile.

“How do you know they’re your soulmate? Have you met yours?” You asked, mentally cursing your father for never teaching you about soulmates. You saw Dean look down as he shook his head.

“Never met mine, although I think I will very soon.” He started, his eyes lingering on you for a few moments. “Well, there’s usually three different signs. First, there’s the mark sign; both soulmates will have the same mark. Second, both will feel similar feelings, if I were hurting and I met my soulmate, she would also feel it but only after we meet for the first time. The final one is, you naturally feel safe around your soulmate.” He explained, you nodded along as you took it all in.

“I was just told my ‘mark’ was just a scar.” You told Dean, lifting your shirt up slightly to show him the star on your side. You flinched away slightly when you felt Dean’s fingers trace it gently.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have... Well, it’s definitely not a scar.” He told you with a soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll meet yours soon… Or maybe you’ve already met him.” He said with a smile as he stood up.

“Maybe, I’ll be out of your hair soon by the way, I-I’ll repay you for the clothes.” You told him as you stood up, a little shaky at first until Dean steadied you.

“In the condition you’re in, no way. If you’re comfortable with it, you can stay here. Or at my mum’s motel if that’ll make you feel better? Then when you’ve fully healed, you can make the decision to leave or not. I can take you wherever you want in my car. In the meantime, the bar needs an extra pair of hands, and you can earn some extra money. Win-win situation if you ask me and you might even meet your soulmate.”

“I mean, knowing about them now… I would like to meet him one day.” You admitted quietly, watching Dean’s smile grow.

“Great! You go get showered and I’ll meet you downstairs, then, I’ll show you around the town, introduce you to a few locals and friends of mine. You’ll love it here.” He told you with a bright smile, quickly heading out of the room, leaving you standing alone in the room.

You took a deep breath as you walked into the bathroom, getting undressed and stepping under the water falling. A million thoughts running through your mind as you cleaned off. ‘Everything Dean had told me about soulmates was how I felt about him, but he can’t be my soulmate right? Otherwise, he would have told me, surely he would have…’

Dean’s POV

“Hey Sammy… Yeah, no I’m fine. I think I finally found her though. I’m certain it’s her, we have the same mark. I’m worried about her though, she’s been hurt before, she barely trusts me. I can feel it. I haven’t told her just yet… Okay, see you later.” I told Sam over the phone before hanging up and placing my phone down.

I took a deep breath as I smiled a small bit. Now that I’ve found her, I can’t let her go. I won’t let her go; I just don’t want to scare her away and telling her too soon after everything could scare her away for good.

I can feel her loneliness in my chest, and it breaks my heart. “I’ll fix you sweetheart, I promise.” I mumbled to myself as I thought of the perfect plan.

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[ladykissingfish]

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Eight // Kakuzu

What is with this group and wasting their free time doing such inane and pointless things? The old guy can think of at least 50 other activities (the majority of which involve making money) that everyone could be doing, rather than lining up to kiss each under a little green plant. When it’s his turn in the spotlight, he tries as hard as he can to back out of his “obligation” ... but Pein (and Kakuzu’s own persistent partner, Hidan) insist that Kakuzu participate. Kakuzu sighs and nods; he’s smart enough to know when he’s been defeated. However, Pein should know that Kakuzu will be adding a little extra money to his paycheck that week, for “hazard pay”.

Pein

Nagato was more interested in Kakuzu joining his group than any of the others. Immortality, money-sense, expertise and wisdom ... this is the man who survived the wars of the past. This is the man who survived the mighty Hashirama, God of all shinobi. Still, Nagato is no fool; he realizes that Kakuzu’s number one priority in life isn’t the Akatsuki, but money. Kakuzu would probably (and had likely thought about) betray them all in exchange for a tidy sum. So Nagato (as Pein) works to keep Kakuzu content enough to remain loyal, including making him the group’s treasurer and giving him complete control over everyone’s finances. And Kakuzu remains highly useful; strategizing, completing missions twice as fast (and ten times as efficient) as his younger teammates. Pein approaches Kakuzu and gives him a light kiss on the forehead, before returning to his room. He reminds himself to speak to Kakuzu later; he has some ideas about weapons he’d like to procure for the group, and needs to see if it would be financially feasible to do so.

Konan

Kakuzu genuinely likes Konan, and appreciates her company. Many men of Kakuzu’s generation were raised on the belief system that women were solely meant to be wives, child-bearers, and home-makers; to call a female a ninja was deemed unthinkable. But Kakuzu was a rarity in that he never saw this as being the case; man or woman, one’s inner strength was all that mattered in regards to being a shinobi. He’s spoken with Konan at length about her childhood, and the trauma she endured, and he knows that this little blue-haired lady is a sight tougher than a LOT of people (and Kakuzu’s met quite a few in his long life). Konan walks up to him and he smiles; it’s rare for Kakuzu to smile, but Konan brings it out of him. “Good evening, Kakuzu-san. I think it’s my turn.” He nods, and slips off his mask so that his lips are exposed. He leans down and very, very gently kisses her cheek. Her blushing skin is soft and her smile is beautiful as she thanks him and steps away, to let the next person go.

Kisame

Nobody knows this about Kakuzu (and he fears he would be mocked if they did), but the old guy puts a lot of emphasis on the idea of exercise. Five hearts is a lot of responsibility, and staying healthy is how Kakuzu intends to keep living forever. So every night, when the others are asleep and after he’s done with his reading, he’ll spend some time in his room exercising. One night Kisame passed by his open door and saw him using a pair of heavy books as make-shift weights. The next evening Kisame came to Kakuzu’s room with a set of real barbells , which he casually gave to Kakuzu with the admonition not to overdo it. Kakuzu greatly appreciated the gesture (and the unspoken support), and the two have been good friends ever since. But ... a kiss between them would just be too strange, so Kisame comes up with a better option: an arm-wrestling match, Kisame grabs the kitchen table and two chairs and sets them up under the mistletoe. Of course the rest of the Akatsuki gathers to watch, hooting and hollering and placing bets on who will win. Kisame and Kakuzu are both fairly evenly matched, so that challenge goes on for a while. Finally, with a final grunt of exertion, Kakuzu is able to slam Kisame’s hand into the table. Everyone claps, and Kisame laughs and tells Kakuzu that he’s “one tough son of a bitch”; high compliment coming from a man who was half-shark.

Itachi

Out of all the members of the Akatsuki, Itachi was by far the least problematic of the younger ones. Quiet, thoughtful, quick and efficient in completing missions. And polite; always forthcoming with “please” and “thank you”, and never failing to use honorifics with the others, even though some of them (ie Deidara and Hidan) don’t show him that same respect back. One time Kakuzu had caught a cold that stubbornly hung on for several days. Itachi came to his room every day with a cup of congestion-easing tea, something that Kakuzu didn’t ask for, but greatly appreciated nonetheless. Itachi comes up to him and nods. “Kakuzu-san.” “Itachi-san.” Itachi leans up and gives him a light kiss to the cheek, and Kakuzu is struck by a particular urge — to hug this kid. Something about him, perhaps everything about him, seems like a cry for parental love and affection. Kakuzu resists this odd impulse, but Itachi seems to sense that it’s something he wanted, because he leans over again and very briefly puts his arms around the older man. “Thank you,” he murmurs, before walking away. Kakuzu watches him go, slightly shaking his head.

Tobi

Tobi gives Kakuzu an uneasy feeling deep within his heart(s). Running around, speaking loudly, eating nothing but candy and sweets, acting like a complete fool — it’s an act. Kakuzu has never been more convinced of anything in his life. The only question is, why is Tobi putting on this act? To deceive them all into a false sense of security, before striking? Kakuzu has hunted bounties a good deal of his life, and a lot of the more difficult ones to catch have acted EXACTLY the way Tobi does, in order to throw off potential bounty hunters. Kakuzu learned to see through them, the same way he sees through Tobi. But to tip one’s hand and give away what you know is unthinkable in the chase and capture game, so Kakuzu never lets on what he actually believes. “Oh boy Kakuzu-san; does Tobi get a kissy now?!” Kakuzu nods, and Tobi slides his mask halfway off (Kakuzu notes the lines on the side of his face; accident, most likely. Possibly a disfiguring one) and the strange glint of his eye. Before Tobi can act, Kakuzu puts a hand on his face and kisses his forehead. “There. Now go.” Tobi slides the mask back on and hurries away with his usual chatter and giggling, and Kakuzu reminds himself to loom through the bingo book later for bounties with visible scarring on the left side of the face.

Zetsu

Five hearts means more blood needed to sustain said hearts. More blood means a stronger scent. A stronger scent means ... Kakuzu smells delicious to someone like Zetsu. Zetsu approaches him and looks around quickly; the two are alone. His brain runs through every possible scenario in which he could successfully kill and eat Kakuzu. He’s victorious in a few ... but most end with him mutilated by the man’s tentacles, and having to face the wrath of Pein on top of everything else. So he simply sighs, flicks out his tongue to taste the saltiness of Kakuzu’s cheek, and walks away again. Just that one taste was almost enough to make zetsu throw restraint to the wind and eat his fill, so he leaves before he can do anything he’ll regret. Kakuzu wipes off his cheek in mild disgust ... in a group full of freaks, Zetsu certainly seemed to take the cake.

Deidara

Kakuzu still remembers the day they brought this kid into the group. And that’s exactly what he was; a kid. Barely 15 years old, with a powerful “gift”, and full of anger at a village he felt betrayed him in not trying to understand his unique sense of ‘art’. Fast forward several years later and Deidara had changed, and most of that change was the better. Kakuzu could only surmise that the kid matured due to the constant council and guidance of his older and wiser partner Sasori; Kakuzu feels mildly jealous that Sasori was able to reign some measure of improvement over HIS young partner, but Kakuzu couldn’t do a thing with Hidan. Still, though, even Sasori hadn’t been able to completely tame the kid, as evidenced by Deidara managing to get BOTH arms blown off in a tussle with some Konoha nin. Kakuzu had been tasked with sewing his new arms back on, but to the kids credit, despite his painful the procedure had been, he didn’t utter a sound. Had even thanked Kakuzu, twice, afterwards. Deidara walks up to him and looks almost shy; 19 years old now and still with the face of a child. Kakuzu leans down and kisses the kid’s forehead, again noting his soft and smooth — and LONG — his hair was. It sways as Deidara walks away, and Kakuzu wonders how much he could get for those luscious locks, from the right buyer.

Sasori

Respect. Out of all the words that Kakuzu could use to describe how he felt about Sasori, Respect was at the top of the list. And the funny thing was, Kakuzu hadn’t even met the REAL Sasori until almost a year of being in the Akatsuki. The two had been sent on a mission, and at night, near the campfire, a soft metal sound made Kakuzu turn his head. It was a small, slender redhead, emerging from the being that Kakuzu had THOUGHT was a real person. The two had looked at each other for a while, and then started a game of cards as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As time went on, the two became closer. They both shared an interest in/knowledge of medical jutsu and procedures, and would often come to one another with questions or with articles on different medicines. Kakuzu nods at him as he walks up, and Sasori does the same. He thinks about it, bends down and kisses Sasori’s left cheek, and Sasori smiles at him, bidding him a quiet Good Evening before going back to his room.

Hidan

“Hey old fuck; you’ve been dying to get your hands on my sexy body all day, haven’t ya, pervert?” Kakuzu would roll his eyes at Hidan’s comment, but at this point, he’s ridiculously used to the things his partner says and does. As he looks at Hidan’s face, he wonders, and not for the first time, whether this is a punishment of sorts. Gaining five hearts and creating a kind of immortality only came for Kakuzu at the end of a long and bloody road, one paved with the unwilling sacrifices of other people. Was it Fate, that the Gods had put THIS man, this loud, overbearing, foul-mouthed heathen, into his path? And as the one person who just might be immortal, too? Hidan often joked about “When all these other assholes bite the big one, me and you might as well get married, bastard.” But what in the world was he saying? Surely he was joking; why would someone as young and attractive as Hidan want to be with Kakuzu? Kakuzu who was heaven knows how many times Hidan’s age, and — “So we gonna slobber each other or what?” “You’ve got a big mouth, brat. Learn to shut up once in a while.” “MAKE me shut up, fuck-face.” So Kakuzu grabs Hidan around the waist, tilts him back, and sinks into his lips. Kakuzu’s mouth is rough and scarred but Hidan’s is smooth and soft, and the contrast creates a dizzying effect for both men. Hidan grasps Kakuzu’s shoulders tighter, leaving slight nail-prints in Kakuzu’s flesh. Their lips are touching but in this moment it feels like everything is touching, even their very souls (if either of them still had one, that is). When Kakuzu finally breaks the kiss and pulls Hidan back up, the white-haired immortal seems fairly disorientated ... but that doesn’t stop his mouth. “You’re an even bigger pervert than I thought, old fuck. Who the hell said you could stick your tongue in my mouth?? And why —” Kakuzu suddenly reaches out and grabs Hidan’s face with both hands, this time pulling him forward into a very soft, closed-mouth kiss. “Better?” Instead of a smartass answer, Hidan simply nods; and now he’s smiling as he walks away. If he were to turn around at any point, he’d surely gasp; because Kakuzu’s smile was even bigger than Hidan’s own. “Stupid kid,” Kakuzu mutters to himself, still smiling as he makes his way back to his room.

[dontcare77ghj]

Clones

Bucky x reader x Loki

Non-reader POV

The team had seen a lot of things in their time together. Nothing really surprised anyone anymore.

"How's it going, Nat?" Bucky asked as he decked a HYDRA soldier in the head.

"Easy pickings," Natasha said with a smirk. "Even without Tony's tech, it's like taking candy from a baby." 

"Marvelous, can we hurry this along then?" Loki asked as he stabbed an agent in the torso. "James and I have plans."

"So sorry, your highness, are we interrupting your date time dealing with these assholes?" Tony asked sarcastically through the coms.

"Yes, you are," Loki said as he and Bucky finished off the soldiers.

"Hallway secured," Bucky announced to the others. "We're going to check for additional files or information."

"Be careful." Steve encouraged the two.

"Dine in or out tonight, James?" Loki asked as they began to check rooms. 

"Let's dine-in," Bucky said, shutting a door. "We can lock down the floor and ignore everyone else."

"I like the way you think, Sargent." Loki grinned.

"You two do know that everyone can hear you, right?" Tony groaned. 

"Of course. Jealous?" Loki asked the billionaire.

"Holy shit," Natasha said, cutting in on the arguing men.

"Tasha, what's wrong?" Clint quickly asked. "Tash." 

"HYDRA cloned a person," Natasha announced. 

"What?" 

"Twenty-seven years ago, HYDRA teamed up with a group called Dyad. Together they created a hundred clones." Natasha explained. 

"Are there any in the facility?" Steve asked her.

"It says here only one survived the experiment and the further experiments since," Natasha said. "They're still in the facility somewhere."

"Are they dangerous?" Steve questioned.

"It doesn't say," Natasha informed him.

"Bucky, Loki, the two of you need to be on guard," Steve ordered the two. "We don't know what HYDRA has created."

"A girl, Steve," Bucky said. "They created a girl."

All the while, Natasha had been explaining what she had found, Loki and Bucky had still been checking rooms. The rooms down the hall were all almost identical, containing a single bed, toilet, and sink.

All except for one.

Loki had opened the door at the end of the hallway to reveal a single woman inside.

At the sound of the door opening, the woman's head snapped up, and she rushed into the corner.

"Hey, it's okay. We're not going to hurt you." Bucky said, lowering his gun quickly.

The woman didn't respond as she pushed herself further into the corner. Bucky turned away when he realized the woman was nude.

"Darling, it's okay. He's not lying, we're not here to hurt you." Loki said, creeping forward slowly. Loki kept his hands in front of him as he kneeled in front of her. "My name is Loki, and that is James." He introduced, unclipping his cape and holding it out to her. "It's quite cold in here. Take it." He said, offering the cloak to her.

The woman stared at him for several seconds before reaching a shaking hand out and gently taking the cloak.

"Thank you." The woman whispered as she wrapped the material around herself tautly.

"Of course." Loki smiled gently. "Do you have a name you could give us?"

The woman shifted the cloak to reveal 324a23 branded onto her collar bone.

"Is there anything else we could call you?" Bucky asked, standing behind Loki.

"Freak. It. Bitch." The woman supplied as she tightened the cloak around herself again. Both men felt their hearts ache for the woman in front of them.

"Doll, how would you like to leave?" Bucky asked, resting his hand on Loki's shoulder. At the suggestion, the woman began to shake her head aggressively as she pushed herself as far into the corner as she could.

"I knew this was too good to be true." She muttered before looking up with wide eyes. "I wasn't thinking about it, I swear! I wasn't going to. Please, I learnt my lesson last time."

"Darling, darling, breathe," Loki said, putting his hand on Bucky's and squeezing it. "We're not going to hurt you, I swear. We're not HYDRA."

"We're the good guys," Bucky added. "We want to help you, get you out of here, and away from the people who'd hurt you. You'd be safe. They could never touch you again."

"They'd find me." She whispered, shaking her head. "I belong to them."

"You don't belong to anyone." Loki denied her.

"I don't?" She asked, tilting her head in confusion.

"You don't." Bucky nodded. "Allow us to help you. Come with us." He said, extending his hand towards her.

The woman looked between Bucky and Loki for many minutes, staring each down. It was only after intently looking at both men did the woman reach her hand towards Buckys.

"It's a good thing we all keep spare clothes on the jet." Bucky attempted a joke as Loki wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders.

The team had brought the woman back to the Tower. Bucky and Loki had led her back to the medbay where Bruce began to check her over.

"She's asleep," Bruce said as the three exited her room.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" Tony asked, pushing off the wall.

"We have a woman who has clearly been abused for most of her life," Bruce said, not mincing words. "There doesn't appear to be anything broken, but she is covered in bruises and scars."

"I can't believe she's a clone." Tony sighed.

"Are you able to get a sample of her DNA? See just what's been done?" Steve asked.

"Analyse that sentence, Steve." Natasha cut in. "She's been abused and experimented on for her entire life, and you want to stick more needles in her? After we promised her, she'd be safe with us?"

"I didn't mean it like that." Steve defended himself. "I just meant that I doubt they told her what they did to her. It could be a comfort to her if we could tell her."

"Steve, we're going to have a talk about emotional sensitivity later." Bucky sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"We're not going to do that," Bruce said, placating those around him. "When she wakes up, we'll see if she answers our questions, but I won't push her."

"She shouldn't wake up alone," Natasha said. "She might panic. One of us should sit with her."

"Brother, you or James should volunteer," Thor spoke up. "The two of you found her, and she seems to trust you."

"An eloquent idea, Thor." Loki agreed.

"We'll both sit with her." Bucky nodded. "We'll let you know when she wakes up."

The woman had been asleep for two hours. Bucky and Loki had taken up their post at her bedside, quietly talking to each other.

The two were conversing about trivial things in their lives when the woman lurched upright.

"Easy, darling," Loki said soothingly. "You're okay. You're safe." He added after the woman snapped her head towards him.

"Where am I?" She croaked, coughing at the discomfort in her throat.

"Here," Bucky said, passing her a glass of water. "It's safe," Bucky told her, noticing her hesitance.

"You didn't answer my question." The woman pointed out after gulping down half the glass.

"We're in the medical bay of the Avengers Tower. We're in New York, and you're safe." Bucky promised her. 

"JARVIS, will you please alert Doctor Banner that our patient is awake?" Loki asked.

"Doctor?" The woman wearily questioned.

"A friend," Loki confirmed. "Strictly just to make sure you're well." He assured her.

The woman nodded at the God's words before leaning back deeply into the bed.

"I didn't know beds could feel this comfortable." She sighed happily.

"And to think I was just about to apologize for the bedding." Bucky smiled at her.

"If you find a bed softer than this, I'm never going to leave it." The woman warned him as Bruce entered.

"Hello, I'm Bruce. Bruce Banner." Bruce introduced himself, standing by the door.

"324a23." The woman replied, not noticing the men wince slightly.

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked her, walking to stand at the end of the bed. "Fine." She responded, almost mechanically.

"Darling, it's okay to tell Bruce if you're hurt," Loki said. "He only wants to help you."

"My chest." She murmured, not looking at the doctor. 

"We ran a scan on you when you arrived, and it did conclude you have several bruised ribs. Unfortunately, I can't do much to help, but I can offer you some pain medication."

"They don't work." The woman informed him. "I burn them off too quickly."

"That's okay. We have plenty of people here who do the same thing. I could get some of the ones we created for you." Bruce offered.

"That would be very kind, thank you." She said, still not looking at the doctor. "Of course," Bruce said, fetching the medication he and Tony had created. "I'll only give you one, for now, just in case it's too strong."

The woman swallowed the medication without water, and then Bruce nodded at Bucky and Loki.

"Doll," Bucky started. "We have to ask you what happened to you there. What they did to you."

"You don't have to tell us now. You can tell us whenever you're comfortable." Loki added as she tensed.

"But you'll still need me to talk about it." She shook her head. "I don't know all the finer details." She sighed.

"Do you understand what you are?" Bruce asked delicately.

"That I'm a clone? I grew up with a ninety-nine other girls who looked exactly like me. Even if I wasn't told, it wouldn't be hard to figure out." She chuckled without humor. "What do you need to know?" She sniffed.

"We need to know what they did to you and the other girls," Bruce informed her.

"My sisters. What they did to my sisters and me." The woman corrected him. "It was a lot of testing. When we were younger, it was standardized testing. There were tests for agility, IQ, endurance, things like that," The woman began, her voice growing distant. "But then it changed."

"Take all the time you need." Bruce encouraged her.

"My sisters started getting sick. They started dying." She said after a minute. "The men didn't know what was happening to them, but seventy of my sisters died by eight. After that, all the men seemed to be in a panic. Tests were more frequent, and the types of testing changed."

"What did they do, doll?" Bucky asked gently.

"Wanted to see how much we could endure." She responded, eyes glazing over. "Electrocution, drowning, waterboarding. Locked us in boxes to see how long until we broke. They broke 321a24's mind, and we all watched as they shot her in the head. They checked how fast we healed, physically and mentally, and they tested if we were still sterile. They designed us to be sterile, they didn't need to keep testing." She murmured, wiping away her eyes at the tears that threatened to fall.

"Did any of your sisters survive?" Bruce asked. "Could any of them have gotten out and not said anything?"

"If they did, they would still be dead. We belong to HYDRA. I watched my sisters all die, I'm the last of us, no question." The woman told him. "I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep, please?"

"Of course." Bruce nodded. "If you need anything, JARVIS will alert us." He said as she rolled onto her side, facing away from the three. 

The three men exited her room to find the rest of the team waiting outside.

"Well, fuck." Tony said after a moment of silence.  

The woman had been in the Tower for almost three months. Bruce, with help from Loki and Bucky, had convinced the woman to speak to a psychologist. 

Slowly, people began to notice little changes in the woman. She rarely jumped when people entered her room, the frequency in which she disassociated decreased, and those who visited had witnessed the woman genuinely relax and appear happy.

"Knock, knock, darling," Loki said, standing in the doorway with Bucky behind him.

The two had grown protective of the woman when she arrived. Sitting in the room with her, attempting to coax her out of her shell. The three had become quite close during her time in the Tower.

"Hungry?" Bucky asked, shaking a takeaway bag in his hands.

"Starved." She nodded, putting her book to the side.

"What are you reading?" Loki questioned, taking the book in hand as they sat at her bedside. "Baby names?" He rose a brow.

"It's from Tony." She blushed. "He says I need a real name."

"Ah. Any luck?" Bucky asked, handing her her food. 

"None." She sighed. "Who knew choosing a name could be so hard?"

"Millions of parents all around the world are sympathizing with you right now," Loki said, opening his lunch.

"You included?" Bucky teased, receiving an elbow to the ribs in return.

"Hush now."

"I wonder what my mother would have named me." The woman murmured, looking down at the food in her lap.

"What do you mean, doll?" 

"They surrogated all one hundred of us. I've always wondered what she wanted for me." The woman admitted.

"We could see if Natasha found anything on her. Maybe she's still out there." Bucky suggested. 

"I think any of the surrogates are long dead." She reasoned. "It's just a nice thought sometimes. I think we all had it at one point." She chuckled sadly.

"You miss them," Bucky said. "Your sisters."

"Yeah. A little strange, I suppose all things considering." She said.

"No. It's not strange. Not at all." Loki shook his head.

"He's right. I understand what it's like to miss family. It's perfectly natural." Bucky assured her.

"Thank you." The woman whispered, taking Bucky's hand in her own and squeezing it tightly.

"Of course, doll."

Reader POV "Are your eyes closed?" Loki asked once more.

"Bucky has his hands over my eyes, and you're the God of lies, you should know I'm not lying." You laughed, holding onto Bucky's wrists.

"I'm just checking."

You had been rescued from your prison four months ago. Freedom was a dream you and your sisters would wistfully imagine when you were younger, and now you had it.

Bucky and Loki had been heaven-sent. The two had been the ones to take you from your cell, had been beside you when you woke, and had helped you adjust to living free.

You had grown close to a handful of the Tower's inhabitants, Natasha, Thor, Tony, to name a few, but none of those bonds came close to the one you had with Bucky and Loki.

"Are we almost at whatever surprise you have?" You asked. "My nerves are building the longer we keep walking."

"We're almost there. And I promise you're going to like this surprise." Bucky promised you.

"Alright, are you ready?" Loki asked as the three of you stopped.

"As ready as I can be." You told him. Bucky removed his hands, and you took a second to adjust to the sudden brightness. "Where are we?" You asked, looking around the large room. "Is this your room?"

"No. It's yours." Bucky answered, standing beside Loki.

“All this, is mine?” You asked, gaping at the room around you. 

“And more.” Loki smirked. “Ready for the grand tour?” He asked, extending an arm to you.

You laughed breathlessly as you took Loki’s arm in yours. He and Bucky showed you around what was now your space, your home.

“And last, but not least,” Bucky started, hand on the handle of the last door. “Your new bedroom.” He said, opening the door.

“Wanda helped decorate it, but if you don’t like it we can help you change it.” Loki said, watching you take it all in.

“Doll, are you alright?” Bucky asked as you began to cry silently.

“Thank you.” You sobbed, crushing into Bucky. Bucky froze momentarily before wrapping his arms around you. “Thank you both so much.”

“You don’t have to thank us for anything.” Bucky told you. 

“You’ve shown me more kindness than anyone has ever shown me. And you didn’t have to, shouldn’t have to. I’m not human, and I’m not like other people. I’m damaged, and-” You began to ramble only to freeze in place when Bucky pressed a finger to your lips.

“You never have to thank us for helping you.” Bucky said firmly.

“You deserve all the kindness we can give. And more.” Loki added, coming to stand behind you.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked you. 

“But, Loki, you and Loki,” You trailed off unsure.

“Loki and I have been talking. We’ve both fallen for you. If you don’t feel the same, we won’t push. We can still remain friends.” Bucky told you.

“But if you want this, want us, we will keep you safe as long as you want us. We’ll love you, for as long as you allow us to.” Loki said.

“So, can I kiss you?” Bucky repeated.

Slowly, you nodded at him and he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was sweet, gentle, different to what you expected.

When Bucky pulled away, Loki gently turned you towards him. He gazed at you inquisitively and when you nodded your consent he too kissed you.

“Will you allow us to take you on a date, darling?” Loki asked after he pulled away.

“Y/N.” You whispered.

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Y/N.” You smiled.

“Will you allow us to take you on a date, Y/N?” Loki asked you with a grin.

“Yes. I would love to.”

Taglist is always open, as are requests.

Taglist

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[ratisnotcrying]

you’re useless

Summary: “Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

Prompt: "You're useless." from palettes-and-prompts

Pairings: background Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay

Warnings: implied child abuse, descriptions of violence, hidden injury, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: this is crossposted on ao3 - ik that repeticism isnt a word but im making it one for this fic 

~~~

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

~~~

Rowan isn’t quite sure how they found themself on board the Carte Blanche and on the outskirts of the Aurinko crime family.

They had the typical, cliché backstory of a lone-wolf operating within the underbelly of society - a surface-perfect home life destroyed by something seemingly mundane blah blah blah, trust issues, a long line of enemies, enough friends to count on one hand, and nothing much else to show for over two decades of living.

One good thing about working alone is the need to get creative, and this is what had put them on Buddy’s radar in the first place. A few years ago, Rowan had been hired to acquire a tank of rare fish - this is about where they stopped asking questions, they didn't care as long as they got paid - and, after some very elaborate lies, an even more elaborate disguise and a rigged game of cards, they had managed to win a tank of the ugliest fish they had ever seen.

The part that caught Buddy’s attention, though, was the escape. Rowan had been found out before they had a chance to get out of the building, and had only managed to escape because they had memorised the security’s routes. It took a bit of guesswork, but they had been able to work out where the security would be coming from, found an unguarded window, clambered down a drain pipe, fish tank sloshing precariously in their bag, and landed near perfectly in a pile of rubbish bags outside the window - if you discount the broken bottle that had gouged their leg.

Buddy had picked Rowan up a few weeks after Juno and Rita, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, no matter how much anyone may have wanted it to be.

The problem wasn’t that Rowan couldn’t do their job - if that were the case they wouldn’t be here. No, the problem was that being thrown into close quarters with a bunch of strangers was… a lot. Especially for someone who had been alone for so long.

Rowan liked Jet well enough, he was straightforward and honest but intense; Buddy’s ‘take no shit but do no harm’ attitude aligned perfectly with her unwavering morals, and this was a welcome relief from the lies and deceit Rowan had lived with for so long. Rita and Peter were surprisingly welcoming, and Rowan formed a reluctant almost-friendship with Vespa. Juno, though. He and Rowan were too alike: fiercely independent, stubborn as a mule, and they both fell back into old habits as easily as anything.

Maybe this clash of bad habits, the deceptive comfort in being who you were, even for a moment, is how this job went so spectacularly wrong.

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job. Rita had taken out the security cameras, Jet was waiting in the car, and Juno was sneaking down the darkened hallways with Rowan.

“I still don’t understand why we need this goddamn painting. It looks like a baby threw up crayons and then just threw up on a canvas.”

“I’ve just eaten, Juno, shush if you don’t want me to throw up too.”

“Rowan, darling, please do not do that - this painting is priceless and highly sought after, which is why, Juno, we need to swap this for the information August Reid is refusing to give us. I did mention this in our family meeting before you left.”

Vespa’s aggravated voice piped up in the background of Buddy’s comms, “He was too busy swooning all over Ransom to pay attention.”

~~~

They had gotten the painting easily, so it was just a matter of getting out again. Rowan had been tasked with studying the guards’ shift patterns and routes, and had had no problem getting them in. Apparently, their luck couldn't hold.

They crept forwards, leading Juno left, right, left again, ducking this way and that to avoid the, quite frankly excessive, number of guards patrolling the halls. And that’s when it happened.

Rowan ducked right around a corner into another corridor, one that was supposed to be empty for another six minutes at least and there, at the other end, was a guard. A guard who was looking right at them.

“Crap.”

“What? Rowan we need to kee- crap.”

Both of their comms beeped, Buddy asking them questions with thinly veiled panic in her voice, but neither of them answered, stood frozen, eyes locked with the guard. Then all hell broke loose.

Everyone took out their guns and bullets started flying, the guard was shouting and footsteps could be heard thundering closer from all directions.

A tidal wave of de ja vu crashed over Rowan, “Fuck, this way,” they shouted, turning to run, voice tinged with something Juno didn’t have time to decipher, but Juno grabbed their sleeve and dragged them in the opposite direction.

“Hell no. You are done giving directions, I am not letting you get me killed here.”

They ran back the way they had come, and Juno skidded to a stop in front of a storage cupboard.

“Get in, quickly. There’s a vent at the top we need to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”

Rowan wasn't sure - there was a searing pain in their side that sent shocks of nausea through them with each breath and black dots into their vision with each movement. But this was their fault - they had failed at the one job they had - the one thing they were supposed to be able to do, they got themself shot and had put Juno in danger. They did not need to hold the job up any longer - they just had to get out of here and they could deal with the shot later.

It was a tight squeeze, both of them were crammed awkwardly into the vents, waiting for Rita to work out where they were so she could guide them out.

“Christ, it’s cramped in here - my side is killing me.” Rowan muttered to themself.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Everything seemed to shift and sharpen, Rowan suddenly violently aware of everything around them whilst simultaneously being blurred by memories they had tried so hard to bury: Juno was trying to listen and see if they had been found, there was shouting from down the hall, the smell of musty metal was almost overwhelming and Rowan jerked as if physically struck by Juno’s words, completely at a loss for what to say. Luckily, Rita, who had been on the comms, was not quite as speechless.

“Mistah Steel! That is a horrible thing to say, how could you-”

“Goddamnit Rita, I don't have time for this - how they hell do we get out of here?”

~~~

Jet was still outside with the car, and took off at break-neck speed as soon as the doors were shut. Juno sat in the front seat, the painting on his lap, talking to Buddy about something, and Rowan was slouched in the back, trying to cover up the fact that their organs were about to fall out. Well, that was an exaggeration. Probably. Just to be safe they grabbed a jacket they had left in the car weeks ago and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around themself to try and hide the blood and hopefully-not-organs.

Juno had gotten a bit banged up in the vents, so when they arrived back at the Carte Blanche he went straight to the medical bay to meet Buddy with the painting and then to get checked.

“Rowan, it is recommended that you also get checked out. You look very ill,” Jet said as Rowan turned away from the medical bay and towards their room.

“No worries, Jet, I just want to get changed first - these clothes are filthy.”

~~~

“It was a mistake, darling, the best of us make them.”

“Yeah, well, it ws a stupid mistake - all they had to do was make sure they knew where the guards would be and then make sure we weren’t there!”

Vespa growled at Juno, who was gesticulating wildly whilst she was trying to wrap a bandage around his arm.

“Juno, I don’t care if Rowan walked straight up to that guard and told him why you were there - we are a family, and you will not speak to any member of this family like that.”

“That’s another thing - I get why everyone is here except Rowan - you said it was some daring escape that brought them here, but after today’s performance… what exactly do they bring to the table?”

“I’m going to leave that for you to work out, Juno.” Buddy said tersely.

He deflated a little, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Goddamnit.

“Are we about done here, Vespa, I’ve got places to be.”

~~~

Rowan would quite like a stiff drink right about now. Partially to actually drink, but mainly because they had run out of steriliser and this wound was definitely going to get infected and it would be this whole thing and they would get ill and-

“Get it together, Rowan.” They hissed, pulling out a sterile needle and taking a deep breath as they began to stitch themself up. This was not the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last, that Rowan has had to do this - working alone and working recklessly meant most jobs ended with soft pink staining bandages and staining baths, throat and skin burning from cheap whiskey. Tonight didn’t have to be different.

The shot had skimmed their side so, luckily, no organs were falling out, but it was still going to be a bitch to heal, likely would be ripped open a few times and leave a nasty scar. This, unfortunately, was also not uncommon.

The painful repeticism of the needle going in and out lulled Rowan into a violent comfort they tried to avoid, the panicked calm soothing them until they couldn't quite hold back the memories they had been reminded of earlier.

Raised voices, gritted teeth and finger shaped bruises. Running, up stairs, through doors, arou-

There was a knock at their door. They flinched, snapping back to reality.

“Rowan, it’s Juno. Can I- can we talk?”

They almost said yes, just called Juno in like nothing was wrong. Then their brain kicked it’s way through the fog and realised they were sitting in bloody trousers, half stitched up wound and thread fully exposed to anyone who might walk in.

“Rowan?”

They picked up the shirt closest to them - part of a matching pyjama set - and tried to tuck the needle away so they could carry on when Juno was gone, and threw the door open.

“Sorry, I was just getting changed. Just sit anywhere.” They mumbled, haphazardly shoving piles of washing off of a chair.

“Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I know that you didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s been a rough week, not that that’s an excuse for what I said- are you alright?”

Rowan had half-sat, half-fallen back onto their seat on the bed and was focusing very hard on not fainting, so much so that they couldn’t really understand what Juno was saying. Maybe this wound was worse than they had thought. They nodded and hoped for the best.

“Right… Anyways, what I actually came to say is that I'm sorry I called you useless. You made a mistake, no one died, well I don’t think anyone died. Whatever, it couldn’t have been avoided. I know that I can be abrasive,” he said with a look that meant he had been told this many, many times before, “but that doesn’t mean that- Rowan, you really look like crap.”

“Wow, thanks, Juno, you say the sweetest things,” they took a deep breath and tried not to panic at the fact that they couldn’t really feel most of their torso anymore, “I know you didn’t mean it, we’re fine. Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine, I just need a nap.” The last words were pointed, hinting sharply at Juno to leave.

“Yeah, because slurred speech and sweating and shaking all scream ‘I’m fine’,” he paused for a moment and Rowan could almost see the cogs whirring, piecing together the information - bullets flying, the unidentified something in Rowan’s voice, the jacket they hadn’t been wearing before, the sterile wrappers on the bed… Then the last piece clicked into place, “Rowan, is that blood?”

They looked down at their top - their white pyjama top - as their vision began to fade out, their head too heavy to hold up and mouth too numb to speak, “No-”

~~~

When they came to, they were in the medical wing wearing a loose sleep shirt - distinctly not soaked in blood - and shorts. They tried to get up and go but a not-so-gentle hand pushed them back to lying down.

“Goddamnit, stop moving. You’ve already ripped your stitches once and you weren’t even awake,” Vespa growled, fussing with the bandages wrapped tight around Rowan’s middle.

“Sorry, I’ve always been lively in bed.”

“That’s cute, darling. What’s not cute is the stunt you pulled last night - if Juno hadn’t come to see you when he did... “ An uncomfortable look passed over Buddy’s face, “Let’s not dwell on that. I will want to talk about this later, but, for now, somebody else wants to see you.”

“Great,” Rowan tried to get up again, “Where are they?”

“Nice try, tough guy, but you’re staying right here until mean old Vespa lets you out.”

“Bite me, Steel.”

“No, thanks, I think I'll leave that to-” He cut himself off at Buddy's warning glance and didn't speak again until Buddy and Vespa had both left the room.

Rowan glanced at the bandage wrapped around Juno’s bicep, “Is it bad?”

“No, just a flesh wound, unlike that one you’re sporting - what was the plan? Stitch it up and hope you didn't drop dead in the middle of the next job?”

“Something like that.”

“Goddamnit. Okay, I don't know how much of what I said yesterday you heard but I'm sorry for what I said. I know we don't really… get along, but you remind me of,” he sighed, “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Juno, I really don't need a pep talk.”

“Well, here's the thing - you absolutely do because this,” he gestured to the bandages and the bed, “can’t happen again. You can't see that we care about you - you wouldn't be here if Buddy didn't think you were worth something and Rita is the best judge of character I know; she thinks you’re great. You have a goddamn family here, Rowan, stop trying to push us out.”

Rowan sighed, and Juno graciously didn't mention the tears in their eyes. “I don't know how to-” Rowan shook their head.

“We aren't going anywhere, Rowan, I know that's not what you want to hear but I don't care. For right now you need to stay here and stop ripping out your stitches. Take care of yourself for once. Then we can work on whatever complexes you’re holding onto so tight.” Juno said, squeezing Rowan’s shoulder as he stood.

Rowan didn’t say anything till he was half-way out the door, “Hey, Juno? Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”