#if you do not have the actual competency in the field to give medically sound advice... shutting up is free and never goes out of style

[vaguely-concerned]

listen, I'm all for empowerment and awareness of self-care in the mental health field and informing people about things that might help them (MIGHT! little known fact here but there is no one size fits all solution to mental illness! different people with different problems require different things!) but uh hey...

some of you are just out here giving skin care advice to people who're actively on fire and then getting angry and telling them it's their own damn fault that they're burning if that's the attitude they're taking when they say they didn't find it helpful. if all you want to do is feel superior to 'lazy' people who ~just won't help themselves for whatever reason~ when you pulled yourself out of depression by the bootstraps and mindfulness etc. ... I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this but you are not being helpful, you are being a fucking asshole to people who already have more than enough on their plate. at least have the decency to not dress up your bullying as philanthropy.

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 2 & 3

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Watching the de la Reina siblings is a hoot. It's all so deliciously dysfunctional. Damian's three porcelain dolls, all dressed up and filled with generational trauma. How could that not be fun to watch?! I enjoy that Marta is the action oriented one of them. The boys bicker, but she refuses to play their game, instead tries for a solution and an action forward. It’s notable that both brothers turn to her as if her agreement, her word actually holds sway. They’re already making a point of this being a man’s world, but these men, even if it’s a means to play out each other, hang on her word and give it weight.

I’m kind of sad Jesús is such a right villain, because I enjoy him and Marta together. They play off each other well and you instantly get the nuances between them, making it super easy to envision how things were before Andrés return. The way they’ve kept that business afloat, probably stood side by side against their father on a number of occasions. I feel like they’ve kept each other alert, maybe a bit too guarded, but also with a sense of mutual respect despite all of the other muddled feelings of jealousy and resentment and old-fashioned sibling rivalry. In a world where Jesús wasn't such an evil man I think this could have been one of my favourite relationships on the show, if they'd taken the time to develop it more. Especially in the way she yields to him in the beginning and how her character growth comes into play later on.

Carmen is the boss you want to have before she’s even anyone’s boss. The way she is straightforward and stands up to Marta for her own and her fellow workers sake and safety. I wish she was my workplace Union rep. She’s such a competent lady and I'd gladly line up behind. But why throw fucking caveman Tasio around her neck like a noose I’ll never understand. Though I’m getting ahead of myself, or ahead of the show at least.

I mean seriously, what’s up with that opening credit?! Of all the characters, they get a two shot. In bed. The two of them who at this point in time have nothing to tie them together. A flimsy string of connection through fathers, through work. I wasn’t here from the start, but I assume they were shipped from day one? Granted by my arguing maybe Gaspar and Tasio should be shipped too, but at least those two aren't in bed together. And no, don't enlighten me if there are people who do ship them. Some things I'd rather go through life without knowing. This would be one of those.

Lol, Luz is so no-nonsense as she saves Damian's life. “Stop praying and let me stab him with a giant needle, you rich fools!”. Her and Begona sharing the medical field and a bit of empathy with each other is nice too. An ensemble cast that is balanced between men and women seldom leave room for a lot of female friendship, but this one does. I appreciate that.

Fina establishing from the very beginning what she thinks of men, and especially the fool ones like Carmen's deadbeat boyfriend. I feel you. And I am in love with the way she throughout all the episodes to date will be used as a way of voicing what the tired lesbian feminist in all of us wishes she could say, out loud.

If trolls exist, you know like proper giant ones, the kind that can be mistaken for a mountain, covered in moss and trees and then suddenly just opens its eyes and stands up to stretch. You know the kind of trolls you think of when listening to Grieg's In the Mountain King's Hall - yeah those. I imagine if they existed then they'd sound exactly like a sickly Don Damian, like a melodic stone avalanche. That said I’ve never envision mountain trolls to sound Spanish before now. But maybe that’s on me.

Joaquín is a bit of an ass, calling Fina (and the rest of them) lazy - my eyes are narrowed. It wasn’t actually something he developed when he got on my shitlist by flirting with the secretary while having a cute as a button wife or pointing a gun at Marta. Apparently the assery was a pre-existing condition. It’s interesting though that Luis is the one talking about taking over the company, yet he still comes off as the decent one of them.

“You don’t notice the boys?”- Petra, you blonde little snake, don’t call my Fina out like that. Maybe we're allowed to know she's a lesbian, but don't flaunt it in front of the entire canteen like that. It’s kind of funny though how Fina is so clear about Luis not being her type, yet there are so many common denominators between him and Marta both in personality and in physicality (except of course the most important one in this case, their sex).

I know he’s supposed to be one of the good guys, but honestly, Andrés is a bit of a douchebag, isn’t he?! Or maybe that's a bit harsh, but he comes across as pretty smarmy. He's like what the wall behind your stove would be if anthropomorphised, kind of greasy, kind of sticky and in constant need of being hosed down. But yay for not letting the roof drop on your employees, I guess.

[coffee-writesthings]

I may or may not have been feeling inspired-- might try to expand it into a proper fic later but this is more of a refined-ish idea dump. A fic of a fic (Taking Running Blind by @thetriggeredhappy and having a similar plot with different main characters. Congrats, your peer pressure worked! :))

Summary: Spy is blinded, and after an earnest attempt to hide it, Engineer and Sniper notice (not crossteam btw, tho that would be another cool angle). They try to help him as best they can. (It's those 3 being shipped together, since I have trio relationships on my mind lately cus i read this rly good book with one in it it's called Iron Widow you should go read it rn)

At the moment it's more like an organized-ish infodump that I might turn into a proper fic at some point

Okay so Spy going blind, I think he would still be able to see light but nothing else. It'd happen because of some sort of injury that Respawn couldn't cover for some reason and that leads to Medic and Engineer getting anxious as all hell about Respawn. Medic would make Engineer take breaks, and it's during these breaks that he is trying to help Spy deal with day-to-day stuff.

I think the first to notice would've been Sniper, honestly. Looking through a scope it's not hard to assume that his sorta-friend is struggling with backstabs for a reason he can't place. What's going on with the Spook?

It gets even more obvious when Spy's knife lands, not into someone's spine, but their shoulder. it still does damage, but it's not a backstab. he's killed immediately by Pyro who was nearby and he's still blind. He thought maybe respawn would fix it but no nothing was fixed. Fuck.

Since he can only perceive light, he has to hide out for the rest of the match, using his Cloak and Dagger to remain alive and make an excuse as to why he wasn't seen on the field. I think he would hide out with Sniper, trying his damndest to not give the game away.

It's in this next half-hour that he starts getting used to how loud everything else is, without the visual clutter to distract him. For some reason he hears the other team's Heavy nearby, and it tips him off that that's actually the other Spy, using a new tactic.

The knife sinks into Sniper's back easily, but he never expected the second spy (our pov spy) to pin him down and start stabbing wildly, finishing him off with a carefully aimed gunshot before returning to the shadows.

Once the match is over, he makes his way back to the base, using the light and large colored arrows he can process as a guide. All of this is under the guise of his cloak, so nobody notices.

Or, at least that was the plan. He manages to fall into the Engineer, knocking both of them over.

"Spy what the hell are you trying to pull?"

"That's not your business." is the lousy attempt at a coverup he gives. If he knew the only way he could tell who he was talking to was by the sound of his voice... that would be bad for him.

"Then get off me, will ya?"

He does so without making eye contact, he couldn't imagine what his eyes looked like at the moment but it couldn't be good (they probs look normal, if the research i've done is correct)

There isn't another battle for two weeks, so during that time he rests up and figures out some very basic echolocation so he can make his way around the base. it's better, in his mind, to look competent than it is to be hidden. So long as nobody can tell he has a problem, that's fine by him.

~~~

Engineer and Sniper get to talking, and find they both think something's up.

"You think his sight's gotten worse?"

"I can only tell ya what I saw mate, and I saw him swinging blindly. You've seen how his stabs usually are, they're point-perfect on that specific spot on everybody's spines! Just doesn't make any sense."

"He did trip over me... Kinda thought it was some short joke but, now that'cha bring it up, it's kinda suspicious."

"He'd never want us to notice."

Engie snorts, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he'd rather die than admit he needs help."

"What do we do then?"

"We help him, whether he admits he needs it or not."

~~~

The first way they try to help him is subtle, reaaaaal subtle. Sniper asks to take him on a walk, holds his hand and tries to talk to him about that day's battle-- he's a bit blunt but he's got the spirit. Spy complains some, but doesn't really say anything substantial. He's actually surprisingly good at not getting off-track (i've been doing things with my eyes closed as an experiment and your steps can legit get wobbly), using sniper's voice as an anchor of sorts

~~~

Engineer takes the next attempt at getting him to open up, just sort of chilling together though. It's a normal thing they do every couple of weeks to de-stress after battles. Today he thought that it would be nice to watch a tv show together, and it's some history thing idk. He describes some of the images to him, which makes Spy feel a mix of thankful and scared about-- Did he notice something? And he confronts Engie on it, asking what's going on?

"It's been both you and Sniper, what do you think happened?"

"There's no think to it. He pointed it out to me-- you botched a buncha backstabs and it looked like somethin' happened.

"This stays between the two of you and me..." he proceeds to explain what he knows about what happened. He does admit that he is, in fact, blind. He explains that he can perceive changes in light but nothing else. "It's... something like closing your eyes, permanently."

Engie is conflicted, having very little of an idea how to care for someone having vision in a state like that. He's especially not sure what to do in terms of telling Medic for instance (since respawn didn't fix it like expected)

~~~

Still though, he tells Sniper about it after staying up all night doing research on like a million specifics about vision loss (causes, treatment, what to do if it can't be fixed, etc etc)

"Huh, so what can we do right now?"

"He's gonna be real concerned about visibility, so honestly our best bet might be teaching him echolocation."

"You're kidding me!" he lets out a wheeze of a laugh, "Spy, echolocating? Yeah right. By the way when was the last time you slept?"

Engineer responds, "uh, yesterday."

Sniper proceeds to herd him into bed like a border collie, doing everything up to and including a brief attempt to pick him up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Engineer blushes, maybe makes some joke about being a princess

~~~

So anyway they teach Spy how to echolocate (Sniper does, specifically, since he just forced Engineer to get some sleep).

Spy: 'this is a joke, right?"

Sniper: "do you want to do this without help or not? I don't see you being willing to get a white cane" (note: it's super good actually for figuring out ur surroundings and materials, i didn't think it would be as good as it looks but the way it works sounds really damn useful)

Over the next hour or so they do echolocation together, starting with simpler sets of noises (snapping, clicking of tongue, things like that) and then just walking and talking around the base. After a little bit, Spy is able to get a general idea (hehe i misstyped that at first to be gender. Spy is certainly able to get a gender alright) a general idea of the layout of the base. He can't really figure out the rooms without touch and counting the individual doors, and stairs are his worst enemy, but he can do the base mostly.

~~~

The next day is a CTF battle (completely spontaneous for some unknown reason) and Spy hangs out with the intel with Engineer (yknow what fuck it i'm being fancy this isn't 2fort it's Landfall, the foresty one), hoping that the administrator will just think he's having a bad day. They chat while Engie builds and tinkers, about all manner of things. Probably more about what Engie found and remembered in his research.

~~~

Anyway I've been sitting on this a few days, felt like sharing a collection of vibes which may someday be expanded. Btw writing this actually inspired me to take a different direction in an original work lol, I might try to share some of that in the future when I have proper snippets to share

[asmo-baby5]

Burned

Request: @seerachii-art

Description: Mc had gotten very used to the Devildom and would wander around by themself now. They had pacts with the seven highest ranking demons right after the Prince himself and they were close friends with the angels, the powerful sorcerer, and Barbatos and Diavolo themselves. They never accounted for a lower ranking demon wanting to attack them for these relationships.

CW: mentions of burns, slight gore (not a lot)

Lucifer-

•he had gone out looking for Mc after they never showed up for dinner.

•he was very pissed that they went out alone, but he assumed if they really needed help they would call or use their pact to summon him.

•he walked through the Devildom with a very calm demeanor.

•of course, that was right up until he actually saw them.

•Mc was sitting outside of RAD with Barbatos hovering over them like a worried mother.

•"Mc, it is past time for dinner. What are you doing still at..."

•his voice faded out as Mc looked up at him.

•they were holding a damp towel over half their face and tears were flowing freely out of their open eye.

•his normal calm demeanor gave way to an eerie calm.

•"what happened?"

•his voice was low and made Mc flinch away from him.

•they looked so pathetic...

•Barbatos tried to explain what happened but he looked straight at Mc, waiting for their recount of events.

•"he was saying, saying bad things about you." They somehow got out through all the crying.

•lucifer was starting to fill in the blanks himself, but he still needed to assess the damage in order to decide what punishment would befit a lower demon who dared to harm this human.

•Barbatos helped Mc to gently pull the towel away from their face and show Lucifer the large burn covering over their eye.

•the cold towel had stopped the skin from pulling away from their face more than it already had.

•needless to say that calm demeanor quickly turned into burning hot (no pun intended) anger.

•with the help of Barbatos, who had just so happened to be leaving RAD at the time Mc was attacked, Lucifer was able to get them home.

•he offered, more than once, to fly back but they refused so he settled on just carrying them back.

•every fiber of his being wanted to go after the demon that harmed Mc, but he knew he had to get them home and settled before he could even think about leaving their side again.

•Mc refused any magical treatment, so Lucifer took them back to the human world for medical treatment.

•they ended up with a scar over the eye they had unfortunately lost sight in.

•everytime Lucifer saw that scar he'd get very irritated and would be stuck to Mc's side up until he physically could not have them with him for work.

•would pass them onto Simeon so he could keep an eye on them because he didn't trust any of his brothers to keep them completely out of harms way.

•the demon who hurt them was currently (and for the next few centuries) being used as a chew toy for Cerberus.

Mammon-

•rarely let's Mc out of his sight,

•so when they somehow manage to give him the slip one day he starts to freak out, rightfully so.

•not only that but his pact mark was starting to heat up, that only happened when Mc was in trouble.

•he retraces their steps from that day hoping to find Mc at one of the places they had visited.

•he smells them before he actually sees them.

•a mix of tears, sweat, and burnt flesh drew him towards a corner just outside of RAD.

•Mc was holding a sopping wet cloth up to their cheek and was wiping at the tears falling down their face with their free hand.

•every so often they would grimace as they moved the cloth around.

•Mammon was frozen in place looking at his human crying and shaking.

•he could practically feel their pain and their fear.

•he snapped out of it when he caught a glimpse of what was under the cloth.

•"Mc, who the hell burned ya?"

•he tried to keep calm, but let's be honest, being calm when the one person he loved above others was hurt was not exactly easy.

•"who. Burned. You?" His tone dropped to a threatening low growl.

•when Mc flinched at his tone he did calm down a bit though.

•he had to take care of them first before looking for revenge.

•when Mc explained that they were cornered by two lower demons and then lightly burned before they ran away, Mammon had to literally fight to keep from growling.

•it was bad enough for Mc to be attacked, but to be cornered by two demons was the most cowardly thing he had ever heard.

•when he checked the burn his heart clenched.

•there was a good chunk of flesh missing from their cheek.

•he flew them home and tried to convince them to get it magically treated so it wouldn't take as long and there'd be no scar, but Mc refused.

•he didnt leave their side after that incident.

•if you thought Mammon was possessive before, just wait until you see him now.

•he sleeps in Mc's room

•walks with them to school

•constantly texts them when in separate classes

•and goes with them wherever after school

•he doesn't trust anyone else with Mc's wellbeing.

•seeing the scar on their cheek ups his protectiveness and he will follow them around like a puppy.

Levi-

•he knew something was wrong when Mc never showed up for the new episode of an anime they were watching together.

•he was immediately anxious but tried to reason that maybe they were just caught up doing homework or maybe getting snacks and Beel cornered them for the food etc etc.

•yeah, his reasoning quickly turned into overthinking.

•he was about to go looking for them when suddenly he felt a pit in his stomach.

•he could just feel that something in the House of Lamentation was wrong.

•he opened his door only to be met with panicked shouts from floor to floor and the sound of running footsteps.

•like he thought, something was wrong.

•"Leviathan!"

•angry Lucifer shouts were coming from downstairs, so thats where he headed to see what was so wrong.

•he stopped in his tracks though as the view of Mc curled into a ball on Mammon's lap with a towel over their face entered his field of vision.

•he was supposed to be looking after them and the pit in his stomach only grew as he watched Mammon make very small and soft movements with Mc, something he never did ever.

•"Mc...?"

•Levi's voice was small as he got closer and could finally smell it,

•the burnt flesh on Mc's face being held together by the cold towel.

•he almost gagged, and would have if Lucifer didn't suddenly grab his shoulder pulling his senses away from the smell and sight. 

•"where were you!?"

•is all Lucifer had to ask for Levi to realize that Mc got hurt,

•they got hurt on his watch,

•he couldn't protect them.

•"I- I'm ok, okay." Mc had stuttered out, the pain made it hard to string words together

•it took a moment for Levi to compose himself, and even when he did outwardly he was an utter MESS inside.

•do-dont lie, Mc..." he slowly made his way over to them, but kept his distance from them.

•they got hurt because he wasn't competent enough,

•there was no way he could let himself ever indulge in their presence after this.

•he would of course take revenge against whoever dared to hurt Mc,

•but when they reached out and gently held onto Levi's hand, their's still trembling,

•he finally decided that being with them was the only place he wanted to be.

•as much as he wanted to absolutely decimate whoever hurt them, Mc needed him there more,

•and his Henry always came first.

•besides, he was fairly certain Lucifer was already making preparations to take care of the demon.

Satan-

•he was out with Mc looking for some new books from a bookstore that just opened.

•the two got separated for barely two minutes,

•but it was more than enough time for a group of demons to walk over and taunt them.

•Mc's already poor relationship with the other demons in the Devildom had recently got worse.

•its not like Satan didn't know this,

•he was hyper aware of the fact Mc was being targeted more often by lower demons for petty jabs.

•that's why losing them in a new store caused anxiety to creep into his body and sit like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

•Mc had expressed their fear of these demons (cowards, as Satan kindly referred to them) trying something more than jabs,

•so he felt very protective over them since then, wanting them to feel safe when they were with him.

•But safe was the exact opposite of what they were now.

•Satan quickly found Mc, but he also witnessed one demon slap them,

•hard.

•hard enough that they left a burnt handprint scarred onto Mc's cheek.

•Satan could barely process what had happened.

•before he knew it his vision had gone red and he could feel a low growl coming from deep in his gut.

•he was about to go after the demons who did this but Mc stopped him with a whimper that immediately brought him back.

•he wasn't really the most calm all the time,

•but in a crisis he was the best demon to go to because he could keep a surprisingly cool head.

•once his temper had cooled down enough for him to stop clenching both his jaw and his fists, he set to work caring for them.

•As he took the time to properly dress the wound the human way, Mc explained to him what happened.

•the group apparently confronted them about Satan's reputation.

•he was once known as the cruelest and scariest demon right after Lucifer,

•but apparently rumors had started to spread that he had become soft.

•many demons blamed Mc for this change because they had a pact with him and Satan was most definitely not known for having pacts with anyone.

•as he listened to this his anger started to spike again, but he pushed it back down enough to swiftly carry the Mc home.

•he didnt want to have to rely on Lucifer for anything, but only he could come and go between the human world and the Devildom,

•and Mc needed burn treatment in an environment that would promote healing for humans.

•once he knew Mc was being well taken care of though, he finally let his anger rise and bubble at the surface.

•he got a pretty good look at the demons who hurt Mc, and Satan NEVER forgot a face.

•once the Mc had come back, the scar left by the demon made Satan's rage come back anew every time.

•he even requested that Asmo try any and all facials and treatments that could get rid of scars.

•and as for the group of demons?

•well,

•let's just say,

•you should never make the Avatar of Wrath your enemy...

Asmo-

•he and Mc were on a date.

•clothes shopping, tea, sweets, spa, and hairdresser.

•everything was going great,

•Asmo was having the most perfect time being with Mc for so long without his brothers interfering.

•that is, up until their hair appointment.

•the two were separated for a bit because they each needed different treatments done to their hair.

•Asmo didn't think much of it.

•he had taken Mc to this particular hairdresser many times already, so he never thought anything bad could possibly happen to them.

•he was proven wrong when a scream came from the other side of the building,

•the area where Mc was.

•Asmo shot up out of his chair and practically teleported to where they were.

•what he saw made this normally pretty calm demon's blood boil.

•one of the workers was bowing and apologizing repeatedly as Mc looked at them dazedly.

•but what really got to him was the intern hiding behind a corner, laughing.

•"so this is funny, is it?"

•he had snuck up behind them and asked, his voice unusually low.

•"this particular human is under the complete protection of Lord Diavolo, would you like to explain to him why there is now a burn covering half their face?"

•the intern paled at that and shook their head.

•"I would not think so. Now explain to me how this happened."

•the intern explained that they dipped the cloth that goes on Mc's face in scalding hot water.

•they knew Mc was a human and they wanted to test their limits,

•but they adamantly maintained that they never intentionally harmed Mc.

•Asmo was furious, especially because this happened in a place where he was only a few feet away.

•but he did give up on grilling the intern, deciding he'd give their name over to Diavolo and Lucifer later, in favor of comforting Mc.

•they were coming out of their daze but that meant the pain was starting to set in.

•Asmo was able to carry them out of the shop and quickly home before they could scream again,

•or cry.

•he would definitely go on a rampage if Mc started crying and killing a demon in broad daylight was not a good look for his cute image.

•he informed Lucifer what happened and trusted he would then take it to Diavolo.

•Asmo carried Mc to his room and set them in his low hanging seat so he could tend to their burn.

•thankfully it wasnt bad enough to be cause for major concern,

•but it was bad enough that Asmo was worried about some scarring.

•he was able to clean the skin around the burn and then apply a few different treatments to lessen the scarring process.

•he promised to use all kinds of facials on Mc, once they were feeling up to it, so the scars would heal quickly.

•once Mc was taken care of, he couldn't even think of leaving their side,

•so he opted to lie down on his bed with them.

•Mc fell asleep rather quickly, the trauma making them exhausted.

•Asmo couldn't fall asleep for a while though as he spent time blaming himself for the injury.

•he would never, ever, forget this day...

Beel-

•he was out to eat with Mc as usual.

•there was an all you can eat buffet that had just opened up and Beel was all willing to pay for both of their meals if Mc went with him.

•of course they did.

•it is way too hard to say no to Beel.

•while he was on his fifth plate of food, Mc wandered of to the bathroom for a small break.

•they accidentally ran into a group of demons on the way there and got into a small altercation.

•they started badgering Mc and complaining about how the nicest demon brother was no longer able nor willing to hang out with them because he'd rather be with Mc.

•it was a small, petty, argument that unfortunately ended up in a small burn that ate through the first and second layer of skin on Mc's cheek.

•the demon that did it freaked out because they knew humans were weak by my god they're way too weak!

•the group ran away, out of the restaurant, leaving Mc staring wide eyed at the floor, the pain from their cheek slowly starting to register.

•they walked calmly back to the table to grab Beel.

•"B-Beel, Beel, we need to, to leave." They had stuttered out.

•the pain was making it hard to form sentences.

•"Mc, I can get a free meal if I finish this..."

•Beel's sentence had faded off as he finally looked up.

•Mc's eyes were glazed over from the pain and blood was dripping down from the pretty sizeable hole in their cheek.

•the big demon was up and out of the restaurant in no time, carrying Mc with him.

•he didnt really know what to do in the moment but he did know Mc needed help, fast.

•he went to Solomon first because his magic is the first thing Beel's panicked mind landed on.

•Solomon immediately went to work cleaning and bandaging the wound.

•because of his medicinal herbs, he had learned a fair amount of human medicine and knew how to care for a burn.

•Beel refused to leave their side, only doing so when Solomon convinced him to call Lucifer and inform him of what happened.

•After Solomon had taken care of the burn, he talked Beel into letting Mc stay at Purgatory Hall for a few days so that the rowdy demon brothers wouldn't interfere with their healing.

•Beel was over every day, almost every hour, to check up on them.

•once the burn had healed a fair amount, Solomon was able to use his magic to prevent any scarring.

•Beel 100% blamed himself for the injury, he felt he had once again failed to protect an important part of his family.

•it took a lot of convincing from Mc and Belphie for him to stop blaming himself so much.

•he was never focused on revenge against the demons that did this as his full focus was on Mc and their recovery,

•Lucky for him, Solomon and Lucifer weren't as focused on Mc..

Belphie-

•he never really left the house and he wasn't super overprotective of Mc like the other brothers were.

•he knew their strength but also knew that if they needed him they would call for him.

•so when the pact mark he had with Mc started to heat up and quickly started to burn, he knew that was them calling for him.

•they needed his help and he was more than willing to give it.

•he left the house in a hurry as the mark started to burn more and more.

•despite trusting Mc to pretty much take care of themself,

•he couldn't deny the worry and concern rapidly growing.

•the pact mark between a human and their demon is supposed to connect them and one is supposed to be able to find the other through this mark

•but Belphie was new to pacts with humans and he wasn't quite sure how to use it to find Mc.

•this did not help his concern as he realized they could literally be anywhere in the Devildom.

•he decided to just go to all their favorite places to see if he could find them.

•he eventually found them pacing right outside the planetarium.

•it was their place, the two of them, so he mentally slapped himself for not checking there sooner.

•"Mc, whats going on?"

•he walked over to them but they turned away from him.

•he froze as one of the worst smells ever finally reached his nose.

•it was awful.

•"Mc, what happened?" He tried to reach out and grab their shoulder but he stopped when he noticed them trembling.

•"Uh, um, its nothing, nothing bad."

•their voice was trembling just as much as their body and Belphie had finally reached his limit.

•he spun them around and was about to say something but he froze.

•Mc was crying while holding their jacket over one half of their face.

•Belphie grabbed the hand that was holding the jacket and gently pried it away from their face.

•Mc grimaced with every movement and Belphie swore under his breath, hating that he was hurting them.

•once the jacket was fully gone his sleepy eyes widened and any left over drowsiness from earlier was completely gone.

•there was a large burn over their eye and the skin around it was pulling away.

•he realized that's where the smell was coming from.

•"What happened?"

•he repeated his question from earlier but this time there was no way anyone could ignore his threateningly low voice.

•"N-nothing, seriously, Im taking care of it. And I, I called Solomon and he's on, on his way to help. I'm okay."

•Belphie felt his heart drop as Mc said this.

•either they didnt trust him enough to let him help or they didnt love him enough to tell him what happened.

•he really hated both of those options.

•"I'll stay here with you until he shows up then."

•he'd feel even more awful if he brought it up and made Mc feel guilty on top of their physical pain though.

•he sat with them silently for a few minutes until Solomon showed up.

•Solomon took them back to Purgatory Hall to clean and patch up the burn.

•Belphie went with and held their hand as Solomon had to get rough to fully clean it.

•he stayed with them the whole time, swearing to never leave their side again.

•once they finally fell asleep he took it on himself to go after whoever dared to touch, let alone harm his human.

•they would pay.

•he wasn't nearly as cruel, or strong, as some of his older brothers,

•but he sure knew how to hold a grudge.

•and that promise of never leaving their side could hold off a few more hours...

[margarethx]

The Sambucky fandom spends a lot of time and energy on calling out writers for using problematic, often straight up racist, tropes in their fics. And rightfully so, because some of said tropes are not only unplesant to read for many readers, but also harmful if they help to perpetuate some awful stereotypes. That being said... I feel like we need to show the other side of the spectrum more often and sometimes focus on people who don’t make these mistakes.

----- ------- -----

So here is my personal THANK YOU! to all the writers who have never used these offensive stereotypes in their Sambucky fanfiction and who:

1. Give as much attention to Sam’s side of the story as they give to Bucky’s and do not focus solely on Bucky’s emotions about their developing relationship when it’s a mixed POV.

2. Acknowledge Sam’s trauma and all the loss he experienced in the past (not only in the context where his pain is used to help him better connect with another person who’s hurting).

3. Show other characters (Bucky or not) helping Sam go through his more diffucult moments (bad days, nightmares, painful flashbacks).

4. Show Sam having these more difficult moments.

5. Don’t act like Bucky’s traumatic past is enough of an excuse for his unpleasant behaviour towards Sam. (E.g. they don’t write a story where Sam forgives Bucky every mean, ignorant comment without thinking, just because Bucky’s sad.)

6. Show Sam experiencing variety of emotions - not just frustration and adoration towards Bucky. Show him being sad, happy, disappointed, confused, hopeful, dejected, relieved, terrified, confident etc.

7. Show Sam being the more vulnerable one in the relationship (in general or just in cerain situations)

8. Write scenes where Sam is shy or a little awkward (about his relationship with Bucky or about something else). Also write him being insecure sometimes.

9. Write just as much about Sam’s appearance as they do about Bucky’s. (Both as a narrator and through a character’s compliments or thoughts.)

10. Mention how beautiful Sam’s eyes are... especially if there is more than one line about them. (Plus mention their colour like... at all.)

11. Describe Sam’s appearance focusing on something outside of his smile or muscles. (Not that these are not nice, but there are other things to compliment and they’re hardly ever pointed out.) (Very much including hair or skincolour.)

12. Write Sam making mistakes, but not in a way that insinuates that he’s stupid or incompetent, but in a way that shows he’s a normal person who can sometimes be wrong and own up to it. (Unless he’s the only person in the story who always messes up...)

13. Show Sam being very competent. And show Bucky appreciating Sam’s competence, skills, and knowledge in various fields. (Also write Sam being a badass.)

14. Write about Sam’s background in pararescue, his medical training, skills in combat, flexibility, speed, ability to fly, ability to fix his advanced equipment, strenght, the fact that he’s pretty stealthy etc...

15. Write about the importance of Sam’s relationship with Steve even when Steve’s past connection to Bucky is not relevant to the story at any point.

16. Write Bucky being openly grateful for all the things that Sam did for him and write Bucky helping Sam back even when Sam didn’t specifically ask, because they genuinely care about each other.

17. Write about Sam’s past as a therapist not in the context of him helping Bucky get better, but because it’s relevant to the story and it’s something he has a lot of experience with. Or simply because it’s a significant part of his previous life journey.

18. Show Sam being frustrated or angry without falling into bad stereotypes. And show why his anger was justified and he had the right to react like that, because he doesn’t have to be polite and dyplomatic about everything if other people (Bucky very much included) don’t act respectful towards him in the first place.

19. Acknowledge that Sam is AJ and Cass’s actual uncle. The kids might like Bucky, but they’ve known and loved Sam for way longer... and I rarely see that mentioned.

20. Write about Sam’s past romantic relationships without focusing only on Bucky being jealous about them.

21. Show Sam’s interactions with other characters - not just in a romantic context, but also in terms of friendships (MCU Natasha was closer to Sam than Bucky and fics rarely talk about that), professional cooperation, rivalry and so on.

22. Mention the social commentary brought up in tfatws without brushing it to the side or downplaying the importance of Sam’s race in the formation of his character and storyline.

23. Acknowledge that Sam is human and his body is not enhanced in any way... without making it sound like he’s too weak to do the job.

24. But also... write about Bucky using his super strenght to carry Sam around and to pick him up all the time (for whatever reason), because it’s cute. Sue me.

25. Point out that Sam is slightly shorter than Bucky without always making Sam weirdly insecure about it.

26. Write Sam as Bucky’s first choice... not a second option he picked for the lack of a better candidate for a boyfriend.

27. Understand that Sam has a life outside of Bucky even if their friendship and romantic relationship are obviously very important for him.

28. Write Bucky touching Sam in reassuring, delicate ways. (Holding his hands,  cupping his face, touching his hair, kissing the tip of his nose.)

29. Let Sam make harmless jokes, be charming, and be actually a nice person even when he’s not actively helping anyone. Just let him have a complex, but pleasant personality.

30. Let him be sarcastic without making him mean.

31. Add Figaro (Sam’s cat) to the stories about pets. Or show Sam’s emotional attachment to Redwing, even when it’s still a drone, not a bird.

32. Don’t forget that Riley died. And Sam’s parents died. And his close friends died. And other close friend left him without saying goodbye... etc. (Also don’t forget he himself died at one point...)

33. Mention and discuss Sam’s sexuality and romantic orientation (both in the tags to the story and in the actual text). ...I feel like it’s often unspecified for no reason while Bucky’s identity is clear from the start.

34. Give Sam little hobbys and interests that are unrelated to his work or his ability to make other people’s lives better.

35. Write about Sam’s fears and doubts while not forgetting he’s generally a very brave, mostly confident person.

36. Make the audience feel like Sam is a necessary part of the story. Not just a character added hastily at the end of writing just so the author can tag his name, because the ship he’s a part of is currently more popular than before and showind him at last minute will attract some readers to click.

and... 37. Do the things mentioned above in all of their Sambucky stories and use more than one of these ideas at a time.

----- ------- -----

To people who wrote stories with these tropes... You guys are doing a great job and I appreaciate your work a lot. It’s easy to focus on complaining, because the Sam/Bucky tag on Ao3 was always kind of a mess, but my day genuinely gets better every time I find one of your stories. So thank you again and keep it up :>

(Side note: if you have any recommendations for fics that use the ideas I wrote in this post feel free to link them in the comments. Because the bar is hanging pretty low at this point and some authors still wouldn’t be able to cross a single point from my list if they examined their - allegendly - “Sambucky” stories... so we should promote the content that is actually good.)

[rheawritessometimes]

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Childe gets an owie while sparing. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Violence, Swearing, Angry Reader, Injury, Physical Intimacy (Kissing).

{ Notes } Hurting Childe just a little because he refused to come home for me. Lost the 50/50. Reader is a sword user. Reader is suggested to be the Traveler. Self-indulgent again because all my writing is. This one is a real trainwreck but I didn't want to go too long without posting. Something better than nothing? Masterlist

{ Word Count } 2,404

Meeting Childe at the Golden House every week had been your routine for a while now. Right after you had defeated him the first time, he immediately begged you to train with him and you gave in, unable to bear those puppy-dog eyes. And the entire week he spent pestering you about it.

The whole fiasco with Osial had been put behind the both of you. It was probably true that you were too quick to forgive Childe, but he was just so charming. Not to mention he often paid for your meals, suggesting going out to eat after your sessions or if he saw you around the harbor. On a few occasions, you had been out eating with friends or on your own and found he had picked up your tab.

Since Liyue hadn't been destroyed and you got free food out of it, you really weren't all too upset about the situation. The Snezhnayan was actually pretty easy to get along with when Fatui matters weren't involved. He made you laugh too, so you supposed you could tolerate the once-weekly sparing sessions with him.

Childe called it sparing, but normal people didn't spar with actual weapons and fight like they were going to kill their partner. At first, you had tried to convince him it would be much better and safer for the both of you to use practice weapons instead of sharpened blades and arrows. He was quick to decline, saying something about both of you being competent enough not to get seriously hurt. You thought about refuting that on the basis that he had yet to beat you even once.

Even so, every week you found yourself pushing through the doors to the chamber Childe was always patiently waiting in. You'd never gotten there before him and wondered if he intentionally came early. You wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, he probably paced the room plotting his seemingly unobtainable victory.

The hydro vision paired with his combat experience and skill made him a difficult opponent, but he didn't seem terribly good at strategy. He might have been careless because it wasn't a real fight, but somehow you doubted that. He seemed the type to always give it his all. It could be that was his problem, since his loss usually came due to his exhaustion. Maybe if he didn't spend so much energy trying to show off he'd actually be a proper challenge.

"You're finally here," Childe proclaimed dramatically, voice echoing off the walls, "I thought you might have gotten lost on the way or something. Was starting to worry I'd need to go out and rescue you."

"I'm fifteen minutes early, Childe. How long have you been waiting?" you asked dryly, raising your eyebrow questioningly. You took a moment to shrug your adventuring pack off your shoulders and drop it near the door. You rolled your shoulders, relieved to be free of the weight.

"Ahah, anyways, we should get started. I have some business to attend to today," he responded, indiscreetly ignoring your question. It shouldn't have been very surprising that he didn't wait for your response before sending an arrow flying in your direction, but he'd always waited for you to signal you were ready before starting in the past.

Materializing your sword out of habit more than anything else, you raised it to block the arrow with the flat of the blade. The arrow bounced off the metal with a weak dink, clattering to the ground. If you'd reacted a moment later it would have pierced you.

You shot Childe a dirty look, irate from the cheap shot. He responded by grinning wider and taking aim again. You silently promised that he would face your wrath shortly.

Advancing towards him, you swatted the arrow flying your way with your sword. A bow would be less effective at close range, so you intended to close the distance. The redhead laughed, a hint of nervousness creeping into the sound at the pace of your advance. Or perhaps it was the building rage in your eyes.

The bow dematerialized, now Childe held dual hydro-blades in his hands in anticipation of close combat. Once in range, he immediately swiped at you with a blade. You stepped back out of the way, quickly bringing up your sword to parry the next slash coming from the opposite blade.

Childe seemed encouraged by you backing away, a smug look crossing his face. You furrowed your brows, he was so unthoughtful. He insists on using real weapons, shoots at you before you're ready, and now he has the audacity to get cocky.

You raise your blade to swing down at him and he catches your sword on crossed hydro-blades. He lets out a little huff of air, not expecting you to strike with such force, but his arms hold steady. You swiftly draw your blade back to slash at him again. Thorough training has you swiping at him with practiced ease while Childe is forced to switch to the defensive.

It gives you a sort of satisfaction to see his expression change to one of worry, it was your first time seeing such a look on him. You had no intention of actually hurting him, but it was nice to scare him a little. Maybe after this, he'd take the dangers of sparing with actual weapons a little more seriously. But probably not.

You're hardly thinking when his hydro-blades finally fail to parry your blows, the flat of your blade slamming into the side of his chest resulting in a soft crack barely loud enough to reach your ears. A look of surprise crosses your face when he lets out a pained grunt, what had happened finally being processed in your mind.

Immediately you drop your sword, ignoring it as it clatters to the ground before dematerializing. You were internally relieved to see his hydro-blades dissipate too, it would have been terribly unsportsmanly of him to stab you now. Stepping forward on instinct, you pause as you realize you're not exactly sure what to do.

Childe clutches his chest as he coughs a few times and a flood of panic washes over you. If you broke his ribs, his lungs could have been punctured. That would be bad.

"Fuck, that hurts," he huffed out before he attempted to gingerly sit down, right in the middle of the Golden House. Childe winced at the movement, but he managed to settle, leaning on his arms for support. His breathing was heavy from the strain of sparing and you felt extremely guilty, broken ribs had a tendency to hurt terribly and pain would flare up with every breath. At least he seemed to be breathing okay, so his lungs were probably intact.

"Let me get something to ease the pain," you said hastily, jogging towards the door to grab your bag. Your first thought was to numb him up before bringing him to Bubu Pharmacy to get some proper help.

"Aw, are you actually worried about me?" he cooed teasingly, maintaining that signature annoying grin despite the pain that followed him speaking. It was easy to ignore him as you rummaged through your bag for something useful.

It crossed your mind that it would be exceedingly difficult to get him all the way back to Liyue if you gave him anything strong. That limited your options rather greatly, adding that on to your lacking medical knowledge and limited variety of resources left you with fewer options than you would have liked. He probably could make it back without any anesthetic but it would be slow and you'd feel terrible for it.

Even with your lack of selection, you were thankful to have some knowledge and materials for this sort of thing, adventuring made you better at improvising and you learned a lot along the way. Taking everything into consideration, you decided it would be best to go with something topical. You could make a salve to numb up the area and then hopefully drag him to Bubu Pharmacy.

"I'm really sorry, Childe," you apologized, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh don't worry about it, this isn't the first time I've broken my ribs. Probably won't be the last, either," he replied with a laugh, which caused him to wince. You only frowned at him as you pulled out some plants to grind up. A rock would have worked, but you kept a mortar and pestle for this kind of thing after realizing you'd be doing it often.

You were soon mashing some leaves and a few petals into a paste, with some water Childe so graciously provided. Having a hydro user around was rather convenient when practicing field medicine.

"Whatcha makin'?" Childe asks after a short period of silence, leaning over to get a closer look. You wonder if he's actually curious or if he just can't tolerate the quiet. It seemed the two of you were always talking when you were together, save for when your sparing got too intense to spare the breath.

"A salve to numb you up so I can drag you to Bubu Pharmacy," you responded, still mostly focused on getting the paste to the right consistency.

"What? No, I can't go. I've got work to do," he argued, moving to stand up now.

You were quick to grab his wrist to prevent him from getting up, furrowing your brows. Childe paused, waiting for your explanation.

"You have at least one broken rib, whatever you need to do can wait," you told him sternly, maintaining eye contact. He turned his gaze away from you to hum in contemplation. He knew well enough that giving injuries time to heal was important, but so was his job.

"Fine, I guess what I was supposed to do today isn't that important," he relented, leaning back into a comfortable position once more. Childe had a feeling that if he had insisted on working you'd have found a way to stop him anyway.

"Can you take off your shirt?" you asked, trying to sound as casual and not awkward as possible once you were satisfied with the consistency of the paste. You would have offered to allow him to apply it himself but you figured it would be less painful this way, plus you'd need to bandage his chest afterward, so it didn't make much of a difference.

"Oh my, you're not usually this bold," he teased, reaching to begin undoing the clasps holding his jacket together. His remark made you decide against offering your assistance despite the awareness that even just wriggling out of the jacket probably hurt. It's okay to be a little petty sometimes. As a treat.

Once his torso was bare you shifted your position to be a bit closer and examined his side. There was already the beginning of bruising, but it would get much darker by tomorrow. You ignored the scars and other bruises that were present, very aware of the fact the redhead would tease you for staring if you looked any longer.

"I promise I'll be gentle," you assured, "But it'll probably hurt a little."

Childe just hummed, waving off your warning, so you gathered some of the salve on your fingers. You silently wished you'd had gloves that weren't absorbent with you so your hands wouldn't grow numb later.

It was a quick process of spreading the paste over his ribs, but his eyes remained on you the entire time. You couldn't be sure if he was just interested in what you were doing, but it surprised you that he remained entirely silent.

"It'll take a little while to numb up. I'm going to bandage your chest for support. This will hurt more," you informed him, dragging your pack towards you to dig out a roll of bandages.

"Don't worry, I'm a tough boy," he laughed in response, and you could only smile and shake your head at him. You had faith in his strength, but that didn't stop the guilt you felt over being responsible for his pain. It did make you feel better when he started reminiscing on past injuries he'd sustained in battle once you began bandaging him. How he could look back on them so fondly was a mystery to you.

At first, you were mindful to touch him as little as possible while you were wrapping the bandages. They needed to be a little tight to provide support but you tried to ensure they put as little pressure on his ribs as possible. Unfortunately, your fingers started to grow numb and you hadn't realized you'd been bandaging too tightly until Childe let out a soft grunt of pain.

"Fuck, sorry," you apologized, quickly unraveling the last section of bandaging to rewrap it more loosely.

"Don't worry about it," he said, thinking for a moment before adding, "But, if you want to make it up to me, a kiss would make me feel better."

Pausing in your ministrations, you looked up to see a cheeky grin on his face. You raised a brow, giving him an entirely unimpressed expression. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to flirt like this, trying to get a reaction out of you. But as you reached one hand up to gently grab his chin, it was his turn to become flustered.

Leaning up, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before moving away and releasing your hold on him. You patted his cheek twice, giving him an amused grin.

"You're welcome."

"Hey! That doesn't count!" Childe immediately whined, pouting at you. You could only laugh at his playful antics as you finally finished wrapping his chest.

"You're cruel, you know that?" the Snezhnayan grumbled, eyebrows still furrowed as he continued to pout. He really did seem like a spoiled kid at this moment and you laughed again, causing his frown to deepen.

You knew his demeanor was all theatrical, but as you stared at his expression you found yourself leaning towards him again. You gently pressed your lips to his, smiling into the kiss when his hands eagerly flew up to your face. You indulged in the kiss for a few moments, smirking when he followed you as you pulled away. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you halted his attempt to continue.

"You can have another kiss once you get checked out at Bubu Pharmacy."

-

If you read all that, I'm sorry lol. I wanted to spend more time on it but I don't want to take too long posting things. Anyways, if you have any better ideas for what I should write send them in. Please.

There's a part two now: Part 2

[extasiswings]

Hopping on this train of writing to cope with promo image-induced feelings.  No thoughts, just vibes.  Also on ao3. 

The air inside the warehouse is thick with smoke and blisteringly hot.  A snapping sound splits through the crackle of flame and Eddie is abruptly yanked off balance as Buck grabs his arm and pulls hard just as a beam from above comes crashing down. It doesn’t miss him completely—catches the side of his helmet and knocks it off, making his ears ring with the impact. 

He sees Buck’s mouth moving and shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” Buck repeats, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the fire. 

A light fixture groans above them before dropping down as well and it’s Eddie’s turn to push Buck out of the way, even if it means a bit of flying glass catches him in the face. 

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, and it quickly turns into a coughing fit as he chokes on smoke, his throat and lungs burning. 

Buck nods. “Go! I’m right behind!”

Eddie turns and manages to work out a path to the closest exit with a single-minded focus. His head is aching and he’s dizzy, can feel blood dripping down his cheek as well, and when he stumbles out into somewhat fresher air he nearly collapses into Bobby before he’s passed off to the paramedics. 

Hen had been one of the first ones in and out and has since stripped off her turnout coat and is helping the other medics. Eddie doesn’t argue when she checks his throat and pupil responses before pressing an oxygen mask into his hand. 

“Where’s Buck?” Hen asks as she swipes an alcohol pad over the cut on his cheek and secures it with two butterfly strips. 

Eddie lowers the mask and coughs. “He was right—“

Behind me. 

The words fade on his tongue as he scans the area only to come up empty. And then his eyes light on the door he’d come out of, nothing clear beyond the frame but black smoke and the red and orange glare of flickering flames. 

His world tips on its axis.  His vision swims.   And the feeling—

It reminds him a little of the tsunami, when he’d noticed Christopher’s glasses around Buck’s neck and had felt himself fracturing at such a rapid pace that even now he’s sure he wouldn’t have remained standing if he hadn’t caught sight of his son over Buck’s shoulder. He can feel the same sort of cracks spidering up the foundation of his walls—the ones that he throws up when he needs to be Eddie Diaz, firefighter, medic, soldier, competent professional, any version of himself that has to play at having his life together—and he scrambles internally to shut down the panic, to plaster over the cracks before they can spread too far, because if he lets himself think—

“I need to talk to Bobby,” he says, trying to push himself up to standing. Hen shoves him back down with hands firmly on his shoulders. 

“You need to sit and keep breathing into that mask,” she says, her voice sharp with authority before it gentles. “I’ll get him, but only if you stay here.”

Eddie’s jaw tics, but he lifts the mask back up to his face and takes a few pointed breaths while she watches. Finally, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. 

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades that desperately wants an outlet. Something to do, something to control so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s on the edge of a cliff. So that he can work on a solution instead of his mind unhelpfully focusing on Buck’s still in there.  He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s in no shape to go back in himself, but he needs something. 

“We were in the southwest quadrant,” Eddie reports when Hen returns with Bobby, keeping his words short and clipped.  “It wasn’t overrun but there were a lot of things falling from the upper levels. He said he was coming right after me, but he could have gotten stuck.”

This is easier. Staying mechanical. Sticking to facts. There’s no room for getting overly emotional, no allowance for breaking down.  He has a commanding officer in front of him who needs information, and that is something Eddie can handle. 

“We tried him on the radio but there was no answer,” Bobby says. 

“He may have dropped it.”  When he pulled me to safety. Eddie shuts that thought down. 

“There are windows on that side,” he adds. “If the exits are blocked—“

“We’ll look at all possible options,” Bobby replies.  His face is drawn and tired, face streaked with sweat and soot. 

For some reason it’s the flicker of doubt Eddie catches in his eyes that makes him say—

“He wasn’t being reckless. I know—we all know he can be sometimes, but he wasn’t. If he’s not out, it’s because he needs help, not because he’s trying to be a hero.”

Bobby looks at Eddie for a moment, something passing across his eyes like recognition before it fades and he’s left looking more tired than before. 

“We’ll look at all the options,” he repeats finally. He doesn’t make promises. Eddie’s not sure whether or not he appreciates that. 

It takes another several minutes for anything to happen, and Eddie’s shoulders get tighter, his mood blacker. His head aches and he snaps at another paramedic, some clearly new young kid, when he notices him dressing a burn improperly. 

It doesn’t make him feel better. 

Finally though, finally, after a heart-stopping moment when the warehouse windows blow out on the side where they’d last been, Eddie hears shouts. And a figure comes stumbling around from the back of the building, knees giving out just in time for someone to catch him. 

“What happened to I’m right behind?” Eddie asks roughly when Buck is helped over, looking worse for wear but alive. 

Buck coughs and closes his eyes. “Part of the catwalk came down,” he says. “Blocked me in. Couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see anything hardly through all the...everything.”

“I didn’t know.”

Buck shakes his head and dutifully brings his own oxygen mask to his face when one is pressed into his hand. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to stay even if you had,” he replies. “At least I had all my gear.” 

Eddie wants to keep talking, keep asking questions, keep reminding himself that Buck is sitting next to him and going to be fine, but that irrational impulse wars with the rational thought that Buck needs oxygen not an interrogation. So he drops it.  And they both withdraw into their own heads. 

Eddie watches though. As Buck flickers between present and vacant, numb. The haunted, hunted look that passes over his face every so often a clear indication that whatever ghosts are whispering in his mind, they’re saying nothing good. When the shift ends and they’re cleaned up, Buck still looks half-dead, so Eddie snatches his keys. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, tone booking no argument. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

Buck sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

The drive is silent, but there’s a tension in the air, the weight of things unspoken. Eddie’s not entirely sure what exactly would roll off his own tongue if he opened his mouth, his head a mess, but when he parks his truck in front of Buck’s apartment, Buck finally speaks. 

“You know what I was thinking while I stuck in that building? Besides that I was going to die.”  He swallows hard. “That if it had to be someone it was good it was me.”

Eddie’s heart stops, his stomach rebelling violently at sheer wrongness of the thought. 

“That’s not true.”

Buck nods and lets out a small, bitter laugh. 

“See, I do know that actually,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy. Except then my parents rolled into town and it was like none of that work mattered, I was right back to square one assuming I’m not wanted, that no one would miss me—and I hate, I hate that they have that kind of power, that they can make me feel so fucking worthless.”

“You’re not though.” Eddie reaches over before he can stop himself, his hand curling around the side of Buck’s neck, thumb settling over his pulse to feel that steady thrum of alive alive alive. “God, when I thought—you’re worth everything. You have to know—“

You have to know how much you mean to me. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know I can’t lose you.

You have to know. 

Buck makes a small sound of disbelief, his gaze turning searching as Eddie bites his tongue to keep from saying too much he can’t take back. He feels somehow even more precariously positioned on the edge of a cliff than he had in the field, but that cliff was positioned above an ocean of grief. He doesn’t know what’s at the bottom of this one should he fall. 

Somehow that’s almost more terrifying. 

Eddie sways forward unconsciously and Buck presses his forehead to his. Neither of them are breathing steadily. And they stay like that for a long moment until Buck shivers and pulls back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Eddie can’t quite help the frisson of want that sparks through him, the whisper of yes, please, do it then that threads through his mind. 

“But,” Buck continues, his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips as Eddie watches. “But it’s been a long and really fucking difficult day and I’m not—I don’t want to fuck this up before it even starts. If—if there’s anything to start at all, I don’t want to assume—“

“There is,” Eddie assures. I love you. I’m in love with you. 

That gets him the faintest smile as Buck reaches up to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“Of course. Anytime.”  

When Eddie gets home, he pauses long enough to check on Christopher before falling into bed. And only then does he think back over the day and finally, finally let himself shatter. 

[dilfbane]

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard 

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic. 

Word Count: 7.8k. 

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy! 

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.” 

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties. 

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town. 

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed. 

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air. 

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening. 

“You don’t see that problem with that?!” 

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor. 

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now. 

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.” 

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed. 

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “ 

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?” 

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you. 

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end. 

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.” 

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.” 

He smirks at you, then. He knows. 

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?” 

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks. 

Tonight? 

One bed? 

You are screwed. 

                                                             ***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers. 

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay. 

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy: 

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it. 

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful. 

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one. 

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you. 

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG? 

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all. 

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting. 

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse. 

Actually, though? Not really. 

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” 

“Sorry?” 

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.” 

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.” 

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but - 

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch. 

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.” 

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him. 

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.” 

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.” 

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things. 

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

 Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.” 

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.” 

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers. 

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.” 

“Why?” He asks you. 

“You - really?” 

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.” 

“Yeah,” You  tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.” 

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.” 

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.” 

In reality, it’s several someones. 

                                                             ***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?” 

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring. 

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment. 

“I’m working on it,” He says. 

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’” 

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.” 

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.” 

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts. 

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes. 

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.” 

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply. 

“Did Tony not -“ 

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.” 

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t. 

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says. 

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret - 

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time. 

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you. 

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and - 

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.” 

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet - 

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles - 

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said. 

That you will survive this. 

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue. 

“So what do we do?” You ask him. 

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin. 

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

 “Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze. 

And then the Pink Cobra walks in. 

                                                             ***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with - 

It might be easier not to - 

Fuck. 

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on. 

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by - 

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong. 

You’ll never trust him again. 

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell. 

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out. 

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger. 

He’d looked as scared as you feel. 

And you have no idea why. 

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce. 

You can’t do anything, much. 

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles. 

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.” 

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look. 

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear. 

Next, he addresses Loki. 

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?” 

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose. 

And you know that you can’t let him choose it. 

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?” 

“The thing could be managed.” 

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life. 

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?” 

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess. 

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down. 

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.” 

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?” 

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth. 

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says. 

And then your body knows pain. 

                                                             ***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head,  drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still. 

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm. 

You breathe, and your body knows pain. 

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain. 

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged. 

You blink, and your body feels pain. 

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.” 

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again. 

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this. 

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on. 

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.” 

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?! 

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“ 

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.” 

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch. 

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content. 

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin. 

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body. 

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.” 

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this. 

                                                             ***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him. 

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm. 

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly. 

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking. 

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.” 

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word. 

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.” 

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.” 

That’s… different. 

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.” 

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“ 

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.” 

You nod. 

“Best get it over with, then.” 

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says. 

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted. 

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back. 

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all. 

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“ 

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” 

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad. 

“Will I have to - “ 

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.” 

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate,  quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern. 

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.” 

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.” 

“And you wanted to -“ 

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

 “Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it. 

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t. 

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety. 

You’d failed him. 

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.” 

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware. 

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.” 

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you. 

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.” 

“Enlightening.” 

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.” 

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale. 

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.” 

“I don’t -“ 

He holds a hand up. You still. 

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.” 

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort. 

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing? 

He could not - he can’t - feel the same. 

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.” 

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.” 

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous. 

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip. 

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.” 

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice. 

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow. 

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that? 

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you. 

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart. 

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?” 

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr. 

“Go to sleep.”

[presumenothing]

first: do no harm

(AO3)

Dr. Mensah’s attention zeroed in on me like a well-tuned surgery bot arm. “You have medical training.”

I was going to deny the hell out of that. I really was.

And then I said: “Not recently,” instead of no or even more accurately I frankly don’t think the company’s education modules count as training by your standards. (As far as I was concerned, the only thing worse than those modules was the one on breaking bad news, but what did I know. Maybe humans actually felt comforted by those tactics they described.) (No, I didn’t think that was likely, either.)

Which reminded me of a necessary addition. “The company won’t cover liabilities related to any non-security tasks you assign me to, if that’s what you’re intending.”

Mensah made a sound that was both grim and viciously annoyed at once, which I immediately saved for further analysis and replication. “Then we’ll just have to not make any mistakes, won’t we?”

–

I hadn’t exactly been thrilled with getting assigned to this mission. Not that mining installations were much of a walk in the park, but this was just asking to turn up memories that were better off buried (preferably forever) in my organic parts.

I don’t usually pay attention to mission briefs, as you may have noticed, and I wouldn’t have this time either except that my half-assed scan turned up the fact that the team weren’t science-doctors on a survey like I’d initially assumed, but medical-doctors. On a medical mission.

Of course they were.

(I wanted to say that someone had allocated me to this on purpose, but realistically speaking the company didn’t give enough of a shit, and the universe disliked me enough that this could totally be pure chance.)

Considering all that, the mission so far had been… much less worse than it could’ve been. Though the bar for that was admittedly very, very low. Possibly somewhere in the negatives.

Anyway. Up until the whole thing with Bharadwaj and Volescu getting almost-but-not-eaten, the task of making sure no one died had mostly been the clients’ job for once, which was a nice change since they were actually competent at it.

I still didn’t care enough to read their background info, but it was pretty clear just from observing that these doctors had experience with working in less-than-great conditions, even if Ratthi did sometimes sigh wistfully about equipment they couldn’t have in field hospitals. It meant that my job had pretty much amounted to patrolling, lurking visibly around the supplies storage in case anyone got ideas about that, and helping to fetch various medical items when I happened to be there and it wasn’t Gurathin asking.

It wasn’t terrible. I’d even got some media-watching time in.

(There might have been the vague thought that things could’ve gone much better if I’d been deployed with a team like this instead of Corporation Rim fuckery that literally bled payment from patients, but part of the reason medical-use constructs had been developed in the first place was so that hospitals could draw up forty-hour shifts and other assorted fun without worrying about doctor and surgeon unions, which told you everything you needed to know about our existence.

Also, the thought was inherently depressing and I already had enough of that in my head, thank you very much.)

The contract was more than halfway through. All I had needed to do to avoid awkward questions was continue making sure no one noticed that I was weirdly well-versed in all this, which wasn’t difficult since they only seemed to have theoretical knowledge about SecUnits at best.

Then the fauna happened, and poof went my cover.

Now all of PresAux knew I was – whatever the hell you called a catastrophically failed MedUnit who got turned loose onto security, because at least if I screwed up here the press wouldn’t be as bad. And that wasn’t even getting into the hacked governor module.

Even constructs didn’t have a term for all that.

–

Of course, none of that stopped this from being a Very Bad Idea. Even if apparently no one except Gurathin (ugh) seemed to agree.

“I’m a SecUnit, Dr. Mensah. I scare people. Patients are harder to assess when they’re running away.” I thought basic logistics might work here.

“You had better bedside manner with Bharadwaj and Volescu than many doctors I’ve seen. Human ones, might I add, and not actively injured themselves at the time.” Mensah’s tone was brisk as her pace – which wasn’t difficult to keep up with either, given my vertical advantage, but impressive nonetheless. “And no one wants to be around Pin-Lee when she’s holding a scalpel. That’s what the sedation is for.”

It’s because SecUnit hasn’t seen her in court yet. Trust me, it’s much scarier, Ratthi chimed in over the feed, with the text signifier for “amusement” but not “joke”.

Pin-Lee just smiled.

It was terrifying. I wasn’t even looking directly at her.

“I don’t have a valid license.” That’d been a part of the legal fallout from the disaster on RaviHyral, though no one had actually bothered with adding malpractice charges or barring me from ever doing medicine again. (Just another side effect of being considered as equipment – I doubted the company would’ve even secured licenses for constructs if not for their paranoia about covering their asses on all fronts.)

But it was a last resort argument, and I knew it.

Mensah knew it, too. “There’s special dispensations for that, especially under the current circumstances, as long as a fully-licensed doctor is in the vicinity at all times. It’s not like any of us can actually get out of each other’s hair in this base anyway.”

Mensah had stopped in a less-chaotic corner and turned to me, not that she could see anything behind the faceplate. I fixed my gaze a generous distance to the left and let my drones do the looking.

“I’m not going to make you agree. You perform a valuable function as our security – far more than I had initially expected, to be honest, and we would all be grateful if you kept doing that. But with Bharadwaj down for the count and Volescu still recovering, we could do with the help.” Her expression was still steady as ever, even though she probably knew better than I did the risks of continuing to operate shorthanded like this. “It’s your decision, SecUnit.”

Right, just the very thing I didn’t need to hear.

I kept most of my sigh internal. “Triage and first-aid only, between patrols. No procedures, and I won’t be responsible if any patients freak out.”

Mensah nodded. “Of course. Gurathin’s on receiving duty today, how about you work out a roster with him?”

I knew it. This was a bad idea.

–––––

You’d be my guardian.

Yes. The education opportunities – most of us were trained on Preservation, if you’re interested in learning and getting your license properly this time. Or not. You can do anything you want.

–––––

ART barged its way into my feed. You’re exhibiting a mildly elevated temperature and respiration rate. Though it could of course merely be a sign of inferior processors rather than emotional distress.

Do you talk to your clients like that?

Do you? ART retorted right back, but obligingly brought up the documentation for its MedSystem before I finished the query for it.

I ignored ART’s attention (with some difficulty) as I flicked quickly through the top few files, taking in the glaring disparities from my existing data. The notable lack of suggesting costly procedures that no-one actually needed, for starters. I’m assuming some of these are your improvements on standard procedure?

I am the cutting edge of medical research, ART proclaimed. You couldn’t accuse it of humility if you tried.

I still wasn’t sure what I wanted, and I still didn’t want anyone to decide it for me. But moving towards the one thing I did want (at least in the short term) had ended up with me running into what was very possibly the most advanced and opinionated diagnosis-treatment AI currently in existence, because that was just the kind of luck I had.

I didn’t have a medium-duty surgical suite in my arms anymore, since that was the entire point of modular Unit construction, but neither did Mensah.

And I didn’t think I wanted to stop doing security, anyway, since it turned out I might not be completely terrible at it; having actual medical knowledge that was MedSystem-malfunction-proof couldn’t hurt.

Plus, overwriting those shitty education modules seemed like a pretty great fuck-you to the company. I was always interested in that.

I tagged some of the more emergency-related files, then added a bunch of the weirder injuries I’d seen on contracts, and prodded ART. Tell me about these?

[pyraffin-drgo]

All Heavy interactions in Poker Night at the Inventory.

For you to interpret however you wish.

Video Version

(They have [bootleg movies] in your country?) "I like movies, yes." (Yeah, like what? [Lists movies]?) "No. My favorite are The Dirty Dozen and the first twenty minutes of Rocky four."

(We can talk Tetris?) "Hmmph. Tetris is baby game." (Tetris Attack keeps it hood!) "Why does everybody think I love this Tetris? It is just stacking!"

"[To Strongbad] Tiny Heavy." (What is it?) "Do you get the nightmares?" (I get the jibblie nightmares. [Describes silly nightmare, shivers].) "I am talking about the visions of endless suffering. Dead doctors everywhere. Spy can not be found. (No, but that sounds like the Jibblies.) "I do not like these 'jibblies.'"

"Strong and bad. How is boxing career?" (These. Are. My. HANDS!) "I was boxer, once. In school. We have to either box or learn to herd goats." Silence, looking concerned. "I am not good with goats..." (Too much information, man.) "At first, I do not like punching other boys... But then I learn to love it." Punches his palm menacingly.

(Find any rare drops lately?) "I do not understand." (When you get a kill, you get a present?) "When I get kill, I get honor of team." Smile drops. "Sometimes... I also get nightmares. A man does not go home to his wife and children." (So, no loot?) "Oh! You mean hat! Yes, I love hats! Sometimes, I get these. They are the best."

(Hey, Heavy. You know any hot Russian spies?) "I hate spies." (But you gotta have the inside line on some deadly minxes.) "You want hot spy?" (Am I not wrestle man?) "I have friend who gets you a hot spy. (Get em on the two-way, man!) "His name is Pyro." (Tycho, to Strongbad: The spy is hot because it is on fire.) (Oh...)

"[To Tycho] What do you do with life?" (Me?) "Yes. What is possible with tiny, frail body?" (I occupy myself with simulations... of various kinds.) "What is these?" (Struggles to explain.) (Strongbad: He lives in his parent's basement.)

(So, is there a Mrs. Weapons Guy?) "No. Sasha is my only love." (Sasha kills people, I presume?) "No." (Oh?) "WE kill people."

"[To Strongbad] Maybe you and I box?" (I can't risk my beautiful face, it's the franchise.) "We spar. For fun." (I don't think so.)

"Strong and bad. You wrestle? With mask?" (No, I'm a wrestle man, not those hack wrestle-LERS.) "Not like Iron Sheik?" (No, Iron Stake is a LER.) Heavy nods. "Hmm. This is too bad."

(So how long you been with those Team Fortress fellas?) "I do not understand." (The game's been on Steam for like 3 years. I imagine there was some audition process?) "Ohhh! Yes, I understand! I kill many men VERY quickly." (Excuse me?) "I kill record number of soldiers, and I am commissioned to join RED team."

(Mr. Weapons. I am in the market for a new firearm. [Specifications].) "Hmm, for you I do not recommend minigun then. You know, there is this fast baby man that annoys me greatly with shotgun." (Oh! Oh! What are the available options? I'll spring for leather!) "Da, this is good for you. I suggest Force-A-Nature." (I'll tell them [shop owner] Heavy Weapons Guy sent me.) "It is no need. I know guy."

"I will make hat from you, little bunny." No reply from anyone. A reference for the player to the Max hat in TF2.

"You look familiar, bunny." (How closely do you follow the Manhattan Crime Blotter?) Also a reference to the hat, Tycho then takes over conversation.

(If I need someone snuffed out, what's your going rate?) "Five hundred thousand U.S. dollars." (Steep.) "Cash." (You can do it discreetly?) "Sasha... not so discreet." (That's fine.)

(How did you guys hear of the inventory?) "My engineering friend brought me one night."

(This reminds me of the time Artie Flopshark rigged an entire poker tournament to pay off his loan shark.) "I know of this. This is respectable profession in motherland." Conversation is stolen by Tycho.

(This reminds me of [story]!) "I am reminded of time Engineer kill my entire team." (Damn Heavy, that's... heavy. Sorry to hear that.) "I search entire base for him. He tries to kill me with turret and mini turret, but I crush his toys like they are made of paper." (Sounds like crappy toys.) "Then I find him. Hiding by teleporter. I take his gun away from him. He tries to hit me with wrench! Hahohoh! So I take wrench away from him. I take his wrench and shove it down his throat, all the way down to the handle." (Christ!) Heavy laughs. "Then I rip off all his fingers one by one!" He talks while laughing. "Lets see you build toys now!" He breaks out in laughter. "There's blood- everywhere! And- he's crying!" More laughter. "I think he cries out for mother, but- but-" Crumples over laughing. "The wrench is stuck in his throat! And it sounds like-" Makes choking motions and noises then laughs. "Is this not the funniest thing??" (Horrified looks) (Head shakes slowly.) (That's some bleeped up bleep, man!)

(How about you, Heavy weapons? I'm guessing you're a vodka guy?) "Peach Bellini. But bubbles can give me headache."

(Mr. Weapons, how do you like your line of work?) "It is good. There are many benefits." (Oh! Like a free pass to snuff out bad guys or a waffle bar?) "Both. And full dental."

(I wonder if this dump is haunted.) (I hope so! Roughing up who can't die is fun!) "...I do not like ghosts..." (It's okay, Mr. Weapons. I have [extensive experience]. I can handle a few ghosts.) "...You will take care of ghosts for me?" (You bet cha!) Heavy nods at him. "I like you, tiny rabbit."

[Story including a union] "I am union. RED local six fifteen." (You guys unionized?) "Eh. It was necessity for group medical."

"Tycho. This sweater, is special equipment?" (No, standard issue.) "You have no class specific head gear?" (Got a motorcycle helmet that protects from 100% of UV rays.) "This sounds beneficial."

(Why do you keep calling me 'Tiny Heavy'?) "You are Heavy. Tiny. No? You are RED team. You have killing gloves of boxing. You earn these for being great killer! You should try out for RED team." (Hmm. Guess I could join your team of ruthless killers and lame hat wearers and watch you get grenaded by 8 year olds.) "You will take many bullets before dying I think."

(Hey, Heavy. I just finished [Russian fantasy book]. Ever read it?) "No." (Oh. What's your favorite book?) "I prefer war." (Ah, War and Peace. Tasteful.) "No. Just war." (Art of War?) "Nyet." Silence. "I like 'Tsar Hunger' by Leonid Andreyev. You know this?" (...No.) "Is classic."

"You have hands like young girl." (I keep them shits moist.) "...So you are more of sneaky, stabbing type?" (In an extreme circumstance, I guess.) Heavy looks at him suspiciously. "I keep my eyes on you." (No, no no- I wasn't implying that-) Heavy looking at him angierly. (Shit.)

(Ever listen to music while you work?) "Yes! I just buy new walkman." (What gets you in the killing mood? Icelandic death metal?) "I just get Huey Lewis tape. Keeps spirits up on battle field."

"[To Tycho] You have woman?" (Not with me) "She is pretty?" (Yeah, cute, glasses, red hair.) "She has the red hair??" (No, Heavy! She is not on the other team! Don't have to kill her!) "No. But I love the red hair!" (Well, you can't have her, either.) Re-used image of Heavy looking at him angrily. (Well, maybe we can work something out.)

(Hey, Heavyman. You think you can 'take care' of the King of Town for me?) "I can assassinate king, yes. It is expensive, though." (By take care of I meant sneak in and shave off half his mustache.) "I am not best at sneaking." (Confront him in a dark alley then?) "This is better. That way blood wash away in rain."

(You have any interest in moonlighting?) "WHAT? I am not moonlighter!" (Just a little work on the side with Sam and me beating up goons!) "Oh. I can not do this." (C'mon it's fun and free!) "No, I am sure it is." (Then what's the problem?) "I have non compete." (Ah, yeah. Lawyers.)

(All these aces reminds me of [weird dream]. You have any weird dreams, Mr. Weapons?) "I sometimes dream that I am killed. There is blood everywhere. (Tycho gives him a weird look) But then I wake up and I realize this is ridiculous! Nobody can kill Heavy weapons guy! (Riiiight...)

"[To his chips] This is good Solider. This one is good Doktor. You are demolition man."

"Saaaandvich, sandvich, I love you sandvich!" (Would you like someone to order you some food?)

"Blue man." (Tycho.) "Tycho. What college do you go to? You are educated, no?" (Actually, no.) "No?" (I studied at Gygax Polyhedral if you catch my drift.) "I do not. This is good school?" (Uh. The best.) "I went to Soviet College of Mines, Farms, and Science. I have PhD in Russian literature." (Do you.. use that in your work?) "More than you think."

"Tiny Heavy, who is your favorite to kill in war?" (Those discount three-pack green helmets.) "To kill spy is glorious thing! How about you, Max? You are killing type." (My favorite enemy? Like asking me to choose between my children!) Heavy laughs. "You crack me up, little bunny!"

(Hey, Hefty Bag, you ever play video games?) "Just one." (Oh yeah?) "It is called-" (Tycho: WoW?) "Nyet. That is not popular. It is called 'Where's an Egg'." (Strongbad: I love Where's an Egg!) "Where's an Egg is as big as Tetris in homeland."

(Concerning your firearm, whay caliber we talking?) "Big." (What, we talking 300 Weatherby Mag here?) "Bigger." (50 cal, whereabouts?) "Bigger than 50 caliber. They are hand made custom tool cartridges with classified diameter." (Why's that?) "So enemy canmot use ammunition. But Sasha can chew through theirs." (Diabolical!) "I think so." Nods.

(Alright, big pretend killer man. Tell me the most awesome story you have with plenty of senseless violence!) Heavy thinks. "When I was boy, I was at camp, being trained in many ways of combat." (Assassination camp for kids! This is gonna be good!) "There was sparrow sitting on fence. Snow falls quietly around me. Without notice, another boy jumps from behind tree and kills sparrow with throwing knife. The boy runs away." (And then??) "I pick up sparrow, and hear his last breath before digging him tiny grave..." (Tycho crying) (Max silent) (That's not even a little bit funny, man.) Heavy shakes his head solemnly. "No..." Sits back. "It's not."

(So, what do you do for fun?) "Clean Sasha. Use Sasha... Clean Sasha again." (Proper maintience is crucial.) "I also collect old coins." (A fellow numismatist!) "Which I melt down to make custom bullets." (Of course.)

"I am hungry for sandvich." (Then order a sandvich, man.) "Oh, I can not have sandvich! I become unstoppable killing machine!" (Yeah, maybe order a water.) "Is best."

"You wear blue sweater." (All the time.) "What are you?" (Haven't we went over this?) "You are not Scout. Maybe very tricky blue Spy? Maybe... new class?" (I can use a keyboard to sabotage your entire team, steal your intelligence, and have your sister delivered to my doorstep in one afternoon. Yes, I'm a new class.) Heavy, shocked, "This is true??"

(Hey, Heavyman, what's your living situ-aysh?) "I live in RED barraks. Is nice. There is foos table." (How about taking a room in the house of Strong?) "There is vacancy?" (First you'll have to dump the current person in your room.) "This is enemy?" (He won't put up much of a fight.)

Hope you enjoyed, spent most of the day copying all these down. The non-Heavy lines are paraphrased for shortness. Heavy's are full, how they are in game.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Romanced Companions Caring For F!SoSu While They’re On Their Period

Cait:

Knows the pains of the certain time of the month and tries her best to help you out.

Offers you some strong liquor and maybe some med-x occasionally to help numb the pain.

She gets angrier during her time of the month so she understands if you do too and becomes more tolerant if you lash out at her.

Ummmmm...period cramps have a fun trick that helps soothe the pain. Ever heard of orgasm relief? Well she has and she has found that it makes all the difference so she is more than happy to help you out. After all, as a fighter she isn’t worried about getting a little bloody.

Curie:

She always knew about the menstruel cycle and what it entails but..she didn’t really comprehend how bad it was until she got one herself after being transferred into her synth body.

After that whole fiasco, she becomes extremely concerned with your well being as soon as you tell her what’s going on.

As silly as it sounds, she actually charts it out months in advance and tries to prepare for the both of you. Might be kind of gross but she thinks it’s sweet if you both sync up.

Thank goodness she actually has some medical background.

Danse:

He has little to no idea on what to do, but he wouldn’t dare leave himself ignorant for long. Sure, he’s had plenty of women under his charge but he didn’t know any of them intimately as he did you. Haylen would’ve been the closest but she kept all that “period” talk to herself and soldiered through.

He hates seeing you in pain, especially if it’s something he can’t do anything about. However he’ll badger Captain Cade for pain relievers until he finds something that makes you feel better.

It’ll probably be gross as hell but he’ll swipe you some of the field ration candy bars after he learns that chocolate usually makes cramps feel better.

More than anything, he’ll be there for you to cuddle for as long as you want. And yes..as strange as it is, he’ll make sure to put in for an official temporary leave of duty for the both of you so he can be there for you and you can rest up.

Deacon:

Asks Glory and Desdemona what they’d want their significant other to do for them during their time of the month...which resulted in him getting a glare and questioned.

He’ll do his level best to satisfy your cravings if you have them, knowing just the right spots in the ‘wealth to score some halfway decent grub.

Probably the worst idea he ever had but he often times ask Tinker Tom for help...instead of the actual doctor..poor Carington.

Gage:

If you happen to be the kind that gets pissy, he’ll know to back tf off. Come on, he’s been in close work with Nisha..and that’s not a woman that you want to piss off even on a good day.

Because of his experience with these kinds of things, he’s shockingly empathetic.

Makes comments about how “badass” you are for being able to bleed out so much and still hold your own in combat and lead the parks.

Once he discovers that orgasms can significantly reduce pain...expect to be “bedridden” for a while until you feel better.

Hancock:

Period pains? Say no more, Sunshine. He’s got you covered. Be it meds, foods, or sex- he’ll give his all to you.

Macready:

Given the fact that he was married before, he knows the ins and outs of period pains and how to help out.

Though he might moan and bitch about it later, he’ll happily do the mundane chores around your shared abode to keep you happy.

If your pain is really bad, he’ll physically stop you from trying to go out and about the wealth. Look, he loves you so much, but you aren’t about to go walking miles all while trying not to double over in pain.

Maxson:

Okay..he’s a 20 year old man who likely can recite and teach the most intricate of military tactics and know little to nothing about the female body and what goes on during “that time”

However, if you take out the time to let him know what’s going on and how it affects you- he’ll be receptive and considerate to what’s going on. Just tell him what to do and he’ll do it.

He can’t exactly take leave of his duties every day so instead, he’ll perhaps leave you his beautiful coat so you get the feel of cuddling with him even when he’s on duty and away. (The only time Maxson is seen without that coat on deck..)

Is lowkey kind of freaked out that you can bleed out like that without passing out.

Nick:

Really sweet...but then again, he usually is anyways so why would you expect any different?

Somehow manages to provide you with a heating pack to help the pain.

Is the type of boyfriend that is unashamed to buy you tampons and does so like a boss.

Old Longfellow:

He’s an old man, so he is a little rusty when it comes to romantic care in this respect.

Will some booze suffice? Helps him feel better when he gets shot so surely it should do something to help you out...right? He sure hopes so because that’s his go to, sweetheart.

Preston:

Those settlements can wait for now.

He takes your comfort and well being very seriously, especially in times like this where those two aspects can actually be altered. So you so much as say that your back is aching and he’ll tell you to sit your ass down and give you a sweet massage.

Might even be a little annoying with it, but he will baby you. Nothing too extreme, but he might offer to feed you or just other peculiar act of services in general.

Piper:

Also happens to own a uterus and experience the hell of a period, so she knows what’s up.

The house is stocked with power noodles just for this type of event.

Offers to just stay in for the duration for your cycle even if it is a little absurd. Shit, she usually does for her’s so she doesn’t get why youre laughing when she proposes it.

Come on, blue. Flat Nuka-Cola, some Power Noodles, and a typewriter never been so alluring. Give in.

Sturges:

He tries his best to stay on his toes, not wanting to piss you off in anyway shape or form. So, for once..he won’t walk into the house with his Grady gloves and dirty boots messing the place up.

Honestly wishes that he could just make it go away for you....well, at least in a way that wouldn’t result in you getting pregnant..............unless...

X6-88:

“Can’t you just remove your uterus? We have a plethora of surgeons back at the Institue that would be able to competently go through with the procedure and eliminate this pain.”

[honeyheartsandkisses]

Hate me Love me

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: None

One shot! Fluff!

Word Count: 1773

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As a year 5 Gryffindor student at Hogwarts, you’ve spent the past 5 years at loggerheads with Slytherins. This was especially so with the blonde-haired Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy. Your long lasting rivalry with him was well known throughout the school, especially since he always picked on your best friend, Harry. On a cold and windy autumn evening, you make your way to the quidditch field with your best friends, Hermione, Ron and Harry. Within your clique, only you and Harry were on the Gryffindor quidditch team, but  Hermione and Ron loved watching the training sessions from the stands. “Blimey its cold...” Ron groans, pulling his robe tighter around him. “Oliver’s crazy making you guys train today. It looks like its about to pour and the wind is insane.” Harry re-adjusts the firebolt in his hand. “Yeah well... you know how he is whenever we have a match. Besides, this time its against the Slytherins.” “We cant lose to the Slytherins. We’ll never hear the end of it from filthy malfoy.” You say, tying your hair up into a high ponytail. You always did this to prevent your hair from getting in the way of your vision when you everyones up in the air. As you and your friends step out onto the quidditch field, the tall towering hoops greet you along with the familiar smell of grass before a storm. Most of the Gryffindor team is already on the field, talking and laughing while Oliver Wood was off to the side pacing up and down. The boy was clearly deep in thought. Hermione nudges your arm, and nods towards the other end of the field where a smug group of students emerge in green quidditch robes. “What are the Slytherins doing here?” Hermione says, squinting to see them more clearly. Her voice was barely audible due to the violent autumn wind. There was no doubt a storm was coming. “They shouldn’t be. Oliver booked the field for training today.” Harry says, adjusting his round glasses. “Well... i guess we’ll see what this is about.” You sigh, before bidding goodbye to Ron and Hermione who make their way to the stands. As you and Harry walk towards the middle of the field where your team was, everyone was whispering furiously, pointing and eyeing the Slytherins as they drew near. “Whats this about?” Oliver snaps, glaring unfriendly at the Slytherin quidditch team captain. “We’re sharing the field today. Got permission from Professor Snape.” He replies, a smug smile on his face. Next to the Slytherin captain, you see your arch enemy, Draco Malfoy. You shoot daggers at him with your eyes but this only makes him laugh. The blonde boy walks over to you holding his broomstick behind his back. After giving you a once over, he leans forward so his face is inches from yours. “Upset y/l/n?” “Bug off Malfoy.” You say through gritted teeth, blood boiling with rage. “This is the last thing i need today.” “Come on y/n. Just walk away.” Harry says, grabbing your hand to lead you away. “Ah... The famous Harry Potter. Always coming to her rescue.” Draco sneers, eyes traveling down to glare at where Harry’s and your hand meet. Draco takes a step forward, prying Harry’s hand away from yours. “Walking away won’t help this time. Because we’re training together.” With the wind whipping your ponytail back and forth, sometimes hitting your cheek, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. Another word from Malfoy and you just might throw a punch. He pushes himself into the gap between you and Harry, peering playfully down at you. “Why so angry my love?” For some weird reason, your heart did a small jump. A feeling you never felt before. Something about him towering over you, smiling down at you made your heart skip a beat. Being caught off-guard by the odd feeling, you felt defensive. Him calling you ‘love’ certainly didn’t help either. You throw a quick punch, hoping to strike his jaw. Unfortunately, he dodges it swiftly, almost like he could predict your actions. Draco laughs, giving you a surprised yet impressed look. “Woah calm down fiesty... ill see you in the air.” He winks and strides off to join the rest of the Slytherin team. “You alright y/n?” Harry asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. You nod in response, still staring at the ground. Your brain still wrecking itself trying to process what you felt a moment ago with Draco. After a few minutes pass, Oliver Wood gets the team to huddle around, revealing that today’s training will be with the Slytherins. As a Chaser, your job was to get the Quaffle and shoot it into the hoops of the opposing team. You took a deep breath, heaving a sigh of relief. Maybe you’ll be able to avoid Draco for now. As a Seeker, Draco would be competing with Harry and it was unlikely for him to come near you. As everyone took take their places on the field, the clouds gave way and it started to pour. The cold and heavy rain left everyone soaked to the bone within minutes, and the wind made mounting their broomsticks especially difficult. But knowing Oliver Wood, training will still persist. You barely hear the whistle being blown and everyone shoots up into the air immediately. Hovering 30 feet in the air, you grip your broomstick tight, flying forward in search for the quaffle. A fall from this height would be deadly. Suddenly, you spot it. The Slytherin captain holding the quaffle in his hands. One of the bludgers knock him on the side of his head, causing the quaffle to slip out of his hands. Determined, you dive down to catch it. With one hand on your broomstick and another one stretched out, you catch it and spin around to speed towards the Slytherin goalpost. With the rain beating at your face, you squint to get a clearer view of the goal. Just when you were about to score, a Slytherin Chaser zooms in front of you. In an attempt to dodge her, you dive down sharply. But the violent wind throws you off balance and your hands slip from the broom. Before you know it, you're falling. You screamed but it was drowned out by the rain.  30 feet... 25 feet... 10 feet... you braced yourself for impact when suddenly you crash onto something else. You rolled forward several feet from the momentum, as pain shot through your ankle and elbow. You felt yourself laying on something warm and for some reason you felt safe... Feeling dizzy and lightheaded, you let yourself drift off away. You awoke to the smell of medicated oils and the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s shrill voice in the background. It didn’t take long for you to realize you were in the hospital wing. Forcing your eyes open, you see yourself lying in a bed with the curtains drawn around you for privacy. “Hi y/n.” A familiar voice said, making you jump to sit upright. Every muscle in your body protested this, but the pain eased up when your eyes fell on a blonde haired boy sitting in a chair next to your bed. “Sorry i didn’t mean to scare you... although that was pretty funny.” Draco says, stifling a laugh. You couldn’t help but giggle. “What are you doing here? And... wait did you fall too?” You ask, seeing that his arm was wrapped up in a cast and there were a few bloody band aids on his forehead and chin. “Clumsy oaf.” You say, pointing at his band aids. “Actually, you were the one who fell and i magnanimously threw my body under you to cushion the fall.” He says, sitting a little more upright with pride. You recall your final moments before blacking out. That warm feeling... that was Draco? “And uhh...” He continued to speak “You’re in pretty bad shape. Madam Pomfrey said you suffered a mild concussion and you’re been sleeping for...” he glances at the clock on the wall “Six hours now.” You quickly look out the window to see that it was pitch black outside. Taking a look at the clock you see that its a little past 12am. Wow... did Draco stay with you this whole time? You frowned, trying to process all this new information. “I’ll let Madam Pomfrey know you’re awake.” Draco says, standing up from his chair. Before he could take another step forward, you grab his hand. You saw a look in his eyes you never saw before. Did his heart just skip a beat too? “Draco... why’d you do it? You could’ve died.” You say, your voice barely a whisper. He hesitates for a moment before sitting back down, looking at your hand in his. Without saying a word, he interlocks his fingers with yours. Like magic, your hand fit perfectly with his. Though every inch of your body was aching, you couldnt help but feel a warm feeling spread throughout your body, coming from where his hand touched yours. Finally he looks up, straight into your eyes. “I don’t know...” he says. Your heart dropped. You wanted to hear that he had feelings for you. You think back to the moment he pushed Harry’s hand away from yours. When he threw himself on the ground to cushion your fall. Did all of that mean nothing? You felt silly and stupid. Of course it didn’t mean anything. He hates you… you guys havent gotten along for the past 5 years! How could he possibly have feelings for you? Just when you were about to pull your hand away from him, he says something that completely changes your mind. “All i know is…” he says, squeezing your hand lightly. “I hated it when Harry touched you. And when you were falling, i was so scared… i’ve never felt like this before but everytime you smile i just want to…” He trails off, leaving you confused. “What is it?” You say, urging him to finish his train of thought. He looks deep into your y/e/c eyes and says “Kiss you… It makes me want to kiss you.” You couldnt help but smile, your heart doing mini backflips in your chest. “So whats stopping you?” Hearing this, Draco blinks several times, completely taken by surprise. But evetually he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his palm, pulling your face closer to his. With his face only inches away from yours, he glaces down at your lips. “Wow you’re beautiful…” “I know” you say cheekily, finally kissing him softly on the lips.

[quietlyimplode]

Whumptober2020 - Day 5 - Rescue

Tony/ Pepper + Clint/Nat

Day 1 - waking up restrained // Day 2 - kidnapped // Day 3 - manhandled // Day 4 - caged

“What if she’s not ok Tony?” Pepper says quietly. Pepper knows Natasha’s history more than most; disclosed to her through conversation and work. Tony only knows because he’s hacked all her files. Shield, the KGB, anything really he could get his hands on. He may know more about her history than she does. Not that he’ll ever tell her that. Natasha knows that he’s memorised all of her and somehow he’s not dead. Maybe it’s like having a witness; someone to see all your bad and all your scars and still treat you as human. Isn’t that all anyone wants?

“She’s always ok, Pep.” He says reassuringly. “She’s always ok,” but this time more to himself. Ending the call, he focuses on flying.

——-

The call comes through on his phone which, he chooses to ignore; he’s almost got it, he just needs to - if the damn thing won’t stop ringing. Sighing softly, Tony covers his ears and turns up the music outside. It’s rare for Clint to call him but he really hates answering the phone and does not want to hear what’s happening - not on his own terms at least. Let him leave a voice mail if it’s so urgent.

Continuing to focus on his build; Tony is blissful; for once competing priorities are at a low and he knows that he can dedicate his time to this, it’s something for him, and no one is going to-

“Tony?”

He feels his eyes roll to the back of his head. If he could, he would groan; but it’s Pepper and he respects her too much to tell her to go away. But he wants to; he really really wants to.

“Tony, it’s Clint.”

Pepper puts the phone on his table and puts it on speaker. Clint wastes no time.

“Natasha’s been kidnapped. She was taken off the roof of our hotel adjacent building. There was a struggle. I need your help. This is a secure line.”

Each sentence is like a blow.

He wants to ask Clint why he’s calling him. Why not go through the proper channels; though instinctively he knows why. He’s faster. He has way more of a chance of finding Natasha than any one else does - he has the tech and the ability to analyze quicker than any of them; and Clint knows it.

He starts hacking into their last mission debrief;

“Where are you?”

There’s a beat and Tony assumes Clint’s looking at the coordinates on his phone. Converting them quickly into a 3D model rendering he’s suddenly in Rabat, Morocco.

“Rabat? You’re in Rabat?” What the actual fuck. He saw the pair yesterday. Actually; was it yesterday? Maybe it was the day before. He forgets he loses time.. Maybe he needs a clock that sporadically says the date and time or he could program The Robot to do it. He does some quick calculations.

“That’s a 12 hour flight commercial, maybe 6 by quinjet, maybe 2 by suit. I’ll re-task one with medical now.”

Putting Clint on mute he looks towards Pepper who hasn’t left the spot she was standing in. She looks scared and worried and hasn’t moved an inch.

“Pepper?” Moving over to her, he tucks some loose hair behind her ear, “you with me?”

She gives a nod, “yeah.”

“Yeah?” He sees her try to swallow this down. He takes her hand. “I need your help. Will you be ok in the quinjet? We’ll need to pick them up once they’re safe.”

Pepper stands straighten herself and nods, confidently.

“I can do that, I’ll pick up the medical team on the way.”

She’s coming back to herself now. All business.

“Can you send the co-ordinates when you know them? The quicker I go, the quicker I get there.”

He’s shaken her loose now, Pepper knows there’s time for grief and worry and fear when this is over. Battle stations.

This isn’t the first time, he’s sure it won’t be the last. Today Natasha, tomorrow him. Who knows.

He does wish it wasn’t Natasha though and he knows it’s now personal for Pepper as well.

Their friendship borne of being in male dominated fields - a powerful alliance of friendship and knowledge.

Pepper sets off, transferring the call to Tony so she can make calls to the relevant authorities to land their jet in the airspace.

Tony unmutes Clint and turns back to the task at hand.

“I’m looking at satellite footage, when was she taken?”

The silence that hangs makes it clear that Clint doesn’t know.

“We got back to the hotel, ate and then she left for the scout point. She was on first watch. I think she has her earpiece in. Can you track that?”

Tony doesn’t even touch on the fact that Natasha and Clint wear Starktec earpieces in missions; and not the generic ones. Natasha must have hooked them up to the correct frequencies so that no one would be the wiser.

He types quickly, looking for the relevant frequencies and pings any radio waves off that one. He bypasses the ones that are in Spain and Portugal - whilst feasible she may have been taken there it’s more likely they kept her in country. Narrowing it down he finds a likely mark - it’s a weak signal but feels like it adds up.

“She’s about 21 miles from you, the earpiece is pinging from an importer warehouse.”

He checks his suit and calculates how quickly he can get there, maybe two hours at full speed? Grabbing a quick drink of water and granola bar he starts to head out, filling Clint in as he goes.

“I can meet you there but it’s going to take me around two hours flying at full speed; even if we get her the jets going to be 4 hours behind me. Do you have a plan?”

He waits for Clint to say anything and when he doesn’t he realises that Clint’s running on fumes.

“I’m on my way. Head to the warehouse; I know you are anyway, and I’ll meet you there. The warehouse is guarded - I would advise not to engage tactically it’d be better to have a diversion and get her out when attention is elsewhere.”

Tony is the the launch pad, pushing off he thinks out loud “Who are these guys?”

He has the warehouse on his holo, the warehouse is swarming. He wants to be clear to Clint that going in solo is suicide, Natasha appears to be in the bowels of the warehouse and he only knows that because the signal she gives off is so weak. Underground is the only thing that makes sense.

“Clint; so you know; they’re everywhere. If you can; wait for my signal. Get yourself in position I’ll be there as soon as I can, I’m swapping to your comms line now. The jets already left, Pepper is on board, and a med team”

He checks Pepper’s whereabouts, she’s done well to get out so quick.

“They’ll be there in just under 6 hours. We will have to get her out and get to the airport.”

Tony thinks for a minute. If they can get her location maybe they can talk to her.

“ Let’s try and get her on coms.. If she’s conscious…” he leaves that thought hanging.

He concentrates on the directions he’s getting and the trajectory path of New York to Morocco.

“Anyway. I’m now on comms, I’ll catch you soon bird boy. Hang tight.”

Tony disconnects.

He can zone out whilst flying but doesn’t; he calls Pepper to check in.

“You ok?” He opens, sending the airport coordinates to the quinjet.

Pepper answers with a yes, let’s him know she’s received the info and lets Dr Cho say hello. That’s good, Natasha likes (which may be a too strong a word) the good doctor. At least they have more of a chance of getting her stable and to a hospital should it be necessary. They’ve also picked up medical supplies and the jets stocked with some food and water.

“What if she’s not ok Tony?” Pepper says quietly. Pepper knows Natasha’s history more than most; disclosed to her through conversation and work. Tony only knows because he’s hacked all her files. Shield, the KGB, anything really he could get his hands on. He may know more about her history than she does. Not that he’ll ever tell her that. Natasha knows that he’s memorised all of her and somehow he’s not dead. Maybe it’s like having a witness; someone to see all your bad and all your scars and still treat you as human. Isn’t that all anyone wants?

“She’s always ok, Pep.” He says reassuringly. “She’s always ok,” but this time more to himself. Ending the call, he focuses on flying.

-

Clint contacts him to let him know he’s arrived. Checking the screen he lets Clint know he’s about 45 minutes out. He marks out Clint - knowing now where he is from the feedback of his earpiece and watches as he move around the warehouse. Less than ten minutes pass before he’s back to where he started. There’s static in his earbud and they’re just in time to hear Natasha yelling Clint’s name.

Tony double checks - Clint must have cleared up the frequencies. Clint's saying her name reverently but Tony needs to know what she knows; apparently though, Natasha knows less. She doesn’t sound good though. Her breath is hitching and there’s definitely something she’s not telling them.

“We’re coming for you,” he says; more to himself than to Natasha

He boosts his thrusters and tries to turn 30 minutes into 5. He’s twenty minutes away when it starts.

Screaming.

Natasha screaming. It is confronting and hurts him to his soul. His nightmares will have nightmares about this.

He sees Clint scrambling.

Fuck.

“Clint! Wait! Don’t go in!”

He gets it, he does, but there’s too many of them. He sets off two smaller missiles, targeted for the front of the building. He hopes the building has some sort of structural integrity that it doesn’t collapse on his team mates. He sends off another on to firework and draw fire. Natasha is still screaming and coughing and moaning. Sounds that no-one should be making. It’s going on too long. How many rounds of this were there for her?

And then there’s silence.

They’ve either injected her with something or killed her.

He pushes his body and his suit to get there faster, and upon arrival it’s a clean up mission. They don’t feel professional or well organised - but he draws more fire on arrival and takes a perverse pleasure in counting them out. He sees Clint arrive at Natasha; and almost feels that he shouldn’t be a part of this intimacy; this rawness.

Clint's trying to rouse her, he’s saying her name with tenderness, there’s nothing until…

Tony feels a bit like crying at whimper and moans that are coming from Natasha. It’s at odds with the woman who gives the best poker face; even when she’s stubbed her toe on the corner of a table or rocks up to debrief with a broken arm and a black eye like it’s nothing.

He lands close to the black car that Clint’s obviously stole, and waits for him to come out. Clint’s bundled Natasha in a blanket. Eyeballing her, she’s semi-conscious but not all there, he’s not even sure she’s aware that he’s there.

“I’ll meet you at the airport,” Clint acknowledges that he’s spoken and puts Natasha in the passenger seat.

Tony links in with Pepper who lets him know they’ll be there in less than an hour, thank god. He lets her know they’ve got Natasha but she’s in rough shape.

He’s waiting at the airport and greets the jet when it lands.

“They’ll be here soon.” He says by way of greeting.

Pepper nods. He acknowledges Dr Cho, and thanks her for coming.

Cho knows Natasha is a horrible patient, preferring to suffer in silence.

Tony could go a lifetime without Natasha being hurt and hearing those sounds ever again. He’s switched off the comms hearing Clint talk everything and nothing to keep Natasha awake.

They wait in relative silence. Tony watches them arrive and Pepper follows him out to greet them.

Clint is holding her and there’s blood everywhere. Pepper gasps audibly and heads back into the quinjet to find Dr Cho, they get her into the jet, and Tony helps straps Clint in - he goes to wrap it around Natasha as well but is stopped by the shake of a head.

“She needs to go to the hospital,” Tony says to no one in particular.

Cho is eyeballing Natasha from the side.

“Do you think she’ll let me look at her?”

They watch Natasha move and bury herself into Clint’s arms. They all hear her rattling breath.

“Clint,” Tony tries again, “medical are the only ones who can deal with all of this.”

He watches Natasha tremble in Clint’s arms and then as he brushes her hair away from her ear. He pretends not to hear Clint ask Natasha whether she wants to be sedated. The shake of her head cements her position in stone.

Tony looks to Cho, “anything you can do from here?”

Clint looks scandalous.

“Fuck off Tony, she said no.”

“She’s losing blood, Clint! She’s clearly got broken ribs, I can hear her breathing. Not to mention a concussion - and I can see the taser burns.”

Clint looks uncomfortable.

“She said no, Tony. I’m not going make her.”

Tony drops it. Sarcastically apologises to Cho for coming.

They’re about 3 hours in when Natasha starts to seize.

——-

Hopefully chuck this under a cut tomorrow. Tomorrow we continue from this one leaves off.

[painted-crow]

Secondary Toast Revolving Door, Part 2

On what it’s like when I burn Bird secondary

Usually, when I burn either Bird secondary or Badger secondary model, they’re down for weeks or months at a time. I know they’ll come back, which isn’t always true of burned Houses in general but that’s just how mine work. Right now Bird is having a minor upset and it’s been out for a few weeks; it was about to come back when life stress happened and smacked it down again. This time I can predict that it’ll be back in maybe two weeks when everything’s settled down, but usually it’s not that tidy—I don’t always know why it’s having problems or what to do to get it to recover. Usually I just wait it out.

The burned state looks different for Bird vs Badger, of course. I’m probably going to struggle with writing the Badger side, either because I’ve forgotten the details of what it looks/feels like or because it’s actually simpler. I lean towards the “I’ve forgotten” angle. My memory is very bad during depressive periods. (You’d think this would leave my brain goblins fewer cringey memories with which to taunt me at 4am, but no.)

But that doesn’t matter right now because today we’re talking about Bird.

Tipoffs I’ve burned Bird

Sometimes it’s hard to tell when you’ve burned one of your Houses. It doesn’t always have a clear start or end, and you might not notice the gradual slipping into exhaustion and lack of confidence in your House. Here are some things I catch myself doing or thinking when my Bird peaces out on me.

I start thinking I’m not good at things I’ve spent years studying.

I get a panicky feeling of resistance when I think about working on projects that wouldn’t normally give me problems.

I struggle with self-doubt about my ability to learn new skills.

This one’s complicated: the society I live in holds Bird up as the way it thinks intelligence should look. So, in burned-Bird!Paint’s mind, that makes it arrogant to assume that you're better at using Bird than others, because it suggests you think you're smarter (and thus better, because society says that too) than them. Therefore, if I’ve learned how to do something, my impulse is to assume that anyone could. Anything I’ve already learned is obviously easy, because I learned it, and so it isn’t rare or valuable.

Weird analysis paralysis cocktail: I feel perpetually unprepared to do stuff and too afraid to move forward, but I’ve also internalized the “you’re never going to feel ready so just start now” advice—which is supposed to spur you into action and probably works if you’re a Lion, but it just gives me something else to beat myself up about.

Sometimes Bird secondary starts feeling more like a toy than a tool that can actually be effective. If that's happening, using it feels kind of self-indulgent and not terribly useful--it seems good for entertainment, but not for anything else.

That last one is really fricking weird and it took me months to figure out what it was and put it into words. It’s obviously flawed—it’s circular logic sitting on top of societal prejudice—but when you’re depressed, the kind of clarity you need to verbalize and pick apart something that complicated is often nowhere to be found, especially when your perception in general is skewed due self-hatred.

I can’t do that “just start now” thing Lions do—it terrifies me. But that’s fine. Other people don’t casually pick up new skills or binge-read nonfiction or hoard resources like I do—maybe that’s intimidating to them—and that’s fine. Both approaches are useful and powerful, objectively, and philosophically I “should” be okay with owning my abilities. That’s harder than it looks on paper, though.

There’s one more.

The value of skills is subjective, circumstantial, and easy to underestimate.

I’m a jack-of-all-trades style Bird. Lots of things interest me. But every time you decide to invest in a new skill rather than continuing with an old one, you sort of start over. Not completely; some skills transfer and there’s a lot of value in having a range of knowledge, especially in terms of creativity.

Still, though: you enter each new field as a total noob, you stay long enough to become a kinda competent noob, and then when you’ve learned what you want and maybe built the thing you wanted to build, you leave. Rinse and repeat. Usually you don’t stay long enough to become super-skilled, and people in your community don’t specifically ask you for help.

…Until they need something other than the thing they specialize in, and you happen to know it. Suddenly you’re the expert in the room. You know how to get the project started. You know where to research, who to ask about advanced topics, what all the search keywords are, and where to find the supplies. Suddenly you're valuable, and maybe you're not used to feeling valuable. It can be kind of a jarring experience.

It's especially jarring when someone you know needs something and you're like, "oh I can take care of that, I spent six months studying how to do it and I have the resources already" and the other person gives you a look of deep skepticism and you try to convince them that no, really, it's not a big deal, you can have that done in a weekend or two if they give you the right information and... they don't believe you can do it, you guess. It's easy to misinterpret a "this sounds too good to be true" reaction for "I don't believe YOU can do it.”

My old draft had a note about how I should build myself a portfolio site to demonstrate stuff like this (except that my tastes develop faster than my actual skills in most fields, so I tend to dislike my own work and don't want to display it). But actually I’m wondering now if Badger secondary isn’t part of the problem. Sometimes I just volunteer to do stuff for people I only kinda know, without naming a motive or a price tag, and seen through that lens it’s hard to blame them for feeling awkward or skeptical about accepting. It’s not a big deal to you, but it is to them—too big to be just a favor. And then the people who do accept freely given help tend to take advantage of you… I guess I need to cultivate more Courtier Badger if I want to give my Bookkeeper Badger model stuff to do.

(Bonus bullet point: “I don’t know if I can really say my House is burned... it’s just not totally there right now? The stuff I’m dealing with isn’t THAT bad” is another tell that you’re burned. I’ve had to stop myself from writing that sort of thing several times over the course of this post. I’ll let myself bring it up for the opposite reason, though: if you’re thinking this, you may be underestimating the damage because you’ve forgotten what you’re like healthy. This goes for mental illness in general too. Don’t undermine your own experience.)

What I do instead

I’ve learned to be flexible and work around times when my Bird isn’t at 100%.

For example, this is why I have three novel projects running at once, with varying levels of complexity. The least complex of the three is new—I started it back in February, and working on that one instead of the others has let me stay productive and continue using Bird without pushing it past its limits. Plus it lets me keep making art, which as I’ve mentioned, is important to my general wellbeing.

If I’m able to section off my work like this and focus on the things I can do, and selectively procrastinate the ones I can’t (that aren’t super urgent), I’m usually fine—as long as I stay on top of my mental health enough for things to swing back around so I can catch up. It’s very, very difficult to recover if your needs aren’t being met.

I can be kind of a productive powerhouse when I can get my brain to actually process dopamine correctly (thanks, medication!) so if I can manage to work on something useful, I don’t always have to be too picky about what it is. That also means that if I can’t work on the things I’d normally use Bird to do (whether it’s burned or I’m just worn out), it’s a good excuse to catch up on more menial things like paperwork and laundry and whatnot. If I’ve let those pile up, dealing with them will improve my environment and my mental health and get Bird to recover faster.

What I shouldn’t do is continue to press on with my normal work, if I can avoid it. There have been times when people needed me to deliver the creative or technological thing I was using Bird to work on before it burned, and I had to push through and get it to them anyway, and it’s not a good situation for me.

*cue flashbacks to the three or four times that’s happened for months on end, dissociates for 10 minutes*

ugh okay brain can you not do that right now? trying to write a post here

Where was I? Oh, right. I was making a point.

Take the pressure off your burned House if you can.

I think when you burn one of your Houses, it's injured and you're actually worse at using it than people who just don't have it as one of their Houses. Say you're a bowling champion but your dominant wrist is broken. You can choose not to play at all until you recover, or you can try to play with your other hand but you're probably going to be worse at it than a lot of casual players, and that feels really bad because being good at this matters to you.

^ copied from the old draft of this post. I was going to write a smooth transition into that point, but it didn’t work and I’m not going to try to rewrite it and get “ERROR 500 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR” from my brain again.

In any case, this post has been sitting around for a week already and I should probably just publish it now. ^^;

[drariellevalentine]

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 4- Radical Revelations

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Sienna Trinh, Bryce Lahela, Landry Olsen, Elijah Greene, Jackie Varma, Rafael Aveiro, Ethan Ramsey, Harper Emery

Pairing:- Arielle Valentine x Ethan Ramsey

Warnings:- None

Arielle’s PoV:-

Completely exhausted from the day’s events, you head into the locker room and take a nice but quick hot shower. Drying off, you quickly change into a cute pearl silk tied top with a comfy pair of ripped jeans. Taking out the bun in your hair, you decide to let your hair down, parting deep to the left, caressing your revealed shoulders.

You enter Donahue’s to find it completely packed. You try to squeeze inside apologising every now and then and look around to spot your friends.

You finally find them sitting in a table at the furthest corner of the bar.

"Long day?" Si asks as soon as I slump into the seat next to her.

“You have no idea, according an 18 year old, I look younger than him, so apparently I not eligible to be a doctor cause I look too cute!," I sigh dramatically and she giggles.

"Careful please," Bryce says before placing a tray of shots in our table.

Jackie scoffs, " Why are you even buying us drinks, meathead?"

"He's being nice, Jackie.”, Sienna smiles.

"Yeah, and also you think you could afford to buy that tonight?" I add.

"Sure," she rolls her eyes, "Thank youu," she says sarcastically.

Bryce laughs. "Think of it as a good luck drink guys. You are going to need a lot of luck to get into the diagnostics team."

"Wrong meathead. What we need is brains and hard work. Duh!"

"And luck," Bryce adds smirking, ‘lots of luck’. He emphasizes on the word "luck".

After minutes of bickering in between Bryce and Jackie, Bryce leaves to join his fellow surgeons. But my friends are still talking over the fellowship.

"I can't still believe they'll be taking an intern in the team!" I hear Landry say, his voice filled with excitement. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think that they'll even consider giving an intern a spot in the team let alone train them."

"Cheers on that," Jackie says forwarding a glass.

"Let's have a toast guys," Elijah forwards his glass. "To having a marvelous fellowship."

As we all toast to it I say, "Honestly guys, good luck. I won't be joining the fellowship but I wish the best of luck to you all." I smile. Everyone stares at me like I just refused a million dollars.

"You won't be joining the competition?!" Jackie asks shocked. "But why?"

"Not everyone wants to join the diagnostics team, Jackie," Landry states.

"Maybe not everyone, but Arielle does. The diagnostics team is the very thing that made Arielle apply here, in Edenbrook. That's one of the many things she said to me the day we met." Jackie turns to me then giving me a look that says "I want an answer".

"I know. The diagnostics team is what made me apply here on the first place, but I changed my mind. I got through my first week because of you guys. I don't think I could have done it if you guys were not there to support me," Sienna places a hand on my shoulder, giving me an understanding look.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship by competing with you guys. I need you guys by my side not against me."

"Idiotic choice but your call," Jackie rolls her eyes. And I smile as Sienna hugs me. A while later, you all head home for the day.

General PoV:-

Harsh sunlight streams through the open curtains of Arielle’s magazine cover worthy bedroom. Arielle turns around in her bed to grab her phone from her nightstand. The alarm clock catches her eye ‘9:15 a.m.’ She bolts right up in bed, rushing to her closet while ranting a ton of expletives. Hearing the commotion, Elijah and Sienna rush inside to see Arielle on the floor half-naked tangled in a bunch of clothes. Sienna stares at her in confusion while Elijah understands what’s going on and bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”, Arielle asks.

“You forgot today’s our day off, didn’t you?”, Elijah asks knowingly.

“It is? Oh shit! I completely forgot!”

They help Arielle out of the tangle of clothes. “Anyways, we were thinking of going to a baseball game so...I bought everyone matching t-shirts but they only come in two sizes you’ll have to adjust yours. Only then Arielle notices their shirts. Sienna hands her an red oversized t-shirt. “We’re leaving in an hour, get ready!”

Arielle’s PoV:-

You shower and slip on a robe after drying yourself off. “There’s no way in hell I’m wearing this!”, you exclaim holding up the red,baggy, oversized shirt. If there’s one thing you care about, it’s your style. You grab a pair of fabric shears and crop the oversized shirt folding the hem to create a neat finish using fabric glue, then cinch the extra fabric on the slides and secure it in place with a few stitches. You hold up the newly altered shirt and look to your mirror. “Much better!” Pairing it with a pair of studded white jeggings, white heel sandals and a couple of accessories, you sit down on your vanity’s stool. You take out your braid from last night, leaving thick curls in its place. You carefully clip your hair out of place and decide to brush on a little extra makeup. After finishing with your usual moisturiser, concealer and primer, you accentuate your almond eyes with a jet black eyeliner and brush out your brows. Knowing that you won’t need any help in the blush department, you move on to your lips. You decide on your favourite red transfer-proof lipstick ‘Bold Beauty’. You grab a crossbody purse and place your wallet, keys, phone and other essentials and head to the living room.

“What do you think? Is it too much?”, you ask uncertainly.

“Hot damn!”, says Jackie.

“You look gorgeous.”, Sienna says.

“Woah! You look good!”, says Landry.

“Someone call the fire department cause it’s getting hot in here!”, exclaims Elijah.

You blush furiously. “Thanks guys, I’ll drive us there.

You pile in the car as Elijah rides shotgun and gives you directions. You reach there at 10:30. “Ok, 10 minutes till game starts. Everyone split up and stand in a different line and get one of everything. I’ll get the drinks.” Sienna tells everyone where the seats are and everyone splits up. You get a drink tray full of sodas, beers and a lemonade for you, everything packed with ice, and head down to the first row where you find everyone holding snacks.

“Great seats Elijah!”, says Sienna.

“Have to be close to fully appreciate the bloodbath, these teams loathe each other.”

Landry and Elijah start geeking out as you, Jackie and Sienna are talking.

“So...I may or may have not seen you get into Dr. Ramsey’s car yesterday.”, Sienna slyly says.

“Crap!”, you think.

“Tell us everything!”, says Sienna.

“Seriously?”, Jackie asks.

You slowly confide in them about yesterday’s events and what you confessed about your personal life.

“Oh my god, Ari! I’m so sorry!” Sienna pulls you into a hug.

“It’s okay, I’m fine now.”

“Now I feel really bad for judging you, also very surprised and impressed that you managed to get away with sleeping on Dr. Terminator’s shoulder.”, says Jackie.

“It isn’t that big of a deal!”, you counter. Both of them give you a look. “Ok, fine, it is. He was actually really sweet, he even tried to console me.”, you confess. Sienna smiles wide at the mention of this.

“Anyways, you both have to promise not to say a word about this.”, you give them a pleading pout. Jackie’s about to ask about something else when you realise some kind of commotion is going on.

"Oh no, did he faint?" Si says and I look forward to see Jake Sandburg, one of the players lying on the floor. 

The other players rush to his side trying to wake him up.

"Uh, coach, he's in real bad shape," another player says leaning down beside him.

Their team manager hurries out," Damn our team physician quit on us just before the game."

"Is there any doctor here?" The manager asks and on instinct all of our hands goes up.

The manager looks clearly shocked to see five doctors in a front row but doesn't express it as we move towards the field asking the other players to help us move Jake inside.

We follow the other Nighthawker players into their locker as they carry Jake on a stretcher.

"Have you called 911?" I ask their manager.

"Yeah, the paramedics are on their way," the manager sighs, " Poor kid."

"Lay him here," I hear Jackie instruct them as they follow.

"He's got a pulse, but his breathing is shallow," Sienna says in a low and shaky voice. This sudden situation is clearly affecting her.

Landry pulls a stethoscope from his bag and places it against his chest.

"Sounds like fluid build up. We have to solve it fast or else he could be in trouble," Landry announces.

As the others take his vitals, Elijah and I  go to ask his teammates some questions, which we think might help us to crack the case.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" One of the player asks as we approach them.

"You can help us by answering some questions. Has this ever happened before?"

"Not as far as we know," he looks at his other teammates. " Also he had to pass a physical test just recently."

"He was called up from the minor league just a few weeks ago," the manager adds.

"Did he complain about any pain recently?"  Elijah asks.

"No, he was pretty quite, kept to himself. I think he was worried," the player says. "About what?"

The player shares a look with his manager as soon as I ask that. 

"Look, he's been struggling in the majors. I was in discussions with ownership to send him back down to the minors," the manager answers, a pained expression plastered across his face.

"Did he know about it?" Elijah asks in between.

" You know, the guys talk. Rumors."

"He was kinda freaking out about it, he kept sweating, hyperventilating," the manager adds and I make a mental note of it.

"Hyperventilating... How often?"

"I only saw it a couple of times," the managers states.

"Well, it could've been panic attacks," I conclude thoughtfully.

"He always seemed tired too. Yawing in the meetings, like he didn't get any sleep at all," the player from before says.

"Have you seen any changes in his behavior recently?" Elijah asks.

"Uh, I guess he's been hitting the ice bath a lot recently. Probably because of feeling sore," the guys answers. "But he'd do it even in the days when he wasn't playing," the guys adds after a moment.

"Thanks you for the help. Was he on any medications?" I ask before moving towards the table

"No. The team doctor left all the prescriptions and Sandburg wasn't prescribed anything," the manager says going through the charts.

"Thank you that'll be it," I say and look forward to find a player from the opposite team sneaking in. 

"Hey! You aren’t allowed here," I motion the others towards him as the player who was helping us moves towards him. But then to my surprise he hugs him and the other one whispers words of encouragement in his ears.

"Wait, weren't you two fighting in the field?" I ask shocked.

" Yeah, but that's only on the field. Ray and I grew up playing together in the streets of Miami. We are basically family," The Nighthawker player concludes.

“It’s that easy?”, you ask.

“When we’re in a game, our minds are focused on the game. But the minute it’s over, we’re brothers again. Iron sharpening iron, you know.”, he says but your mind is somewhere else.

“Iron sharpening iron. Competing makes them stronger...” You run back towards the patient.

I think it's a drug interaction. His medicines are amplifying each other out," I announce reaching them. "Two medications perfectly fine on their own, cauting each other to have an outsized affect."

"Oh, that could be it!" Sienna says, a sudden excitement hinting in her voice.

" But the team manager said that their previous doctor didn't prescribe him anything," Elijah says confused.

"Sandburg was already worried about being cut. If the team knew he had a medical condition, they'd be oven less likely to keep him around," I reply.

"So you think he kept him situation quiet to keep his job? Wouldn't be the first time someone's done that," Jackie shrugs .

"What do you think he was taking?" Landry asks.

"Well, maybe something for his panic attacks. Let's say fluoxetine," I reply to him

" That could be it. Getting a prescription for that isn't really hard..."

"Okay, maybe you are right. But what was reacting with it. What else was he taking?" Jackie cuts in between.

"Something for his soreness. His team members said he'd be sore even the days he was not pitching," I answer remembering what the player said.

"It could have been arthritic inflammation," Sienna states.

"Right? He's male in his twenties..." I try to think what it could be.

"Ankylosing Spondylitis!" Landry says.

"He could've been taking N.S.A.I.D for it, like - celecoxib," I say while checking his locker, " Here they are." I say taking out the medicines proving what we said is right.

" It could be doing irreparable damage to his kidneys! We gotta take him to the hospital as soon as possible," Elijah says.

The sound of helicopter blades cut through the commotion in the locker.

" The paramedics are here!" Sienna exclaims happily.

Soon the paramedics enter and you see Rafael running towards you. We explain him about the situation.

"Would you like to have a ride on the choper? My shift will end in five minutes. So after dropping Jake to the hospital we could maybe roam around the city," Raf says nervously once we are out of the locker. The other paramedics get Jake in the chopper.

"I would love that," I give him an assuring smile which he returns.

"Great!" He says making his way towards the chopper after asking me to follow him.

"Any certain place you have in mind where you'd like to go?" He asks smiling broadly getting back to the choper after we've successfully admitted Jake.

"Not really," I give him a silly smile.

"We'll have a tour over the whole city then, more fun," he winks and I giggle.

I am really enjoying the birds eye view. The city looks more beautiful from up here. Capturing the breathtaking city from above, I put it on my Instagram story.

The next picture I take is ours, I smile towards the front and Raf's is a candid, he's looking forward flying the chopper but smiling.

I post it on my Instagram feed, tagging Raf and captioning it "Soaring high with @raveirotheemt.”

You notice you have over 250 likes already. Perks of being famous.

"What do you see?" Raf asks and I look down.

"Edenbrook!" I squeak happily. " The first day in there, the hospital looked so enormous but now it looks so tiny!"

"Everything comes into perspective up here. It's one of the reasons I like it so much."

" How'd you learn to fly?"

"My uncle was a pilot in the Marines. He started teaching me to fly when I was still in high school."

"That was so young!"

"I just saw it as a fun thing to do on the weekends, you know. It was a great way to spend time with a great man," he smiles recalling the memories.

"Are you guys still close?" I ask

"He... He died two years ago."

"I'm so sorry Raf."

"He was really active in our community. When he wasn't flying, he'd organize food drives and buses for anyone struggling," he smiles sadly remembering those days," He's the one who inspired me to be an paramedic. I wanted to help people the way he did."

I nod at him understanding.

"Buckle up. We're ready to land," he tries to say it as normally as possible, smiling. But I know it is just an effort to not let people show his broken side.

“Hey, Jake and many other lives have had a chance to live because of you.”, I assure him.

He relaxes. “You too, Arielle.”

“You both land on Edenbrook’s helicopter pad as staff takes Jake away. You inform them of his condition.

“So... are you ready for the tour?

At first I thought that Beacon Hills were the most beautiful thing I saw today. But when we were taking a turn over Cape Cod Bay, my opinion changed. Nothing can be more beautiful than this. The breathtaking view of the glimmering ways merging with the bright golden sun creating a golden hue in the clear ocean water. The scenery is just breathtaking.

"It is beautiful," I say softly, still looking at the ocean.

"It's the best thing you can see in the city," Raf smiles.

"Can't disagree with that."

"And as much as I would hate for this to end," he smiles sadly, "But I need to return the chopper to the hospital now."

"It's cool Raf, we've been out here on it for a while," I smile.

Within minutes, he manages to fly back to the stadium and drops me off.

You return to your friends and show them the wonderful pics and views that you took.

“Of course!” After some time, you and Si head to the food court for a refill on food and drinks.

Ethan’s PoV:-

You’re stuck closing off an important deal with Banner Health alone, as Harper was called in for an emergency. You’re walking towards the bar in need of a stiff drink when a familiar waft of vanilla and cinnamon hits you. There she is, her beautiful jet black curled tresses falling below her waist, standing near you ordering something. She doesn’t seem to notice you. You turn your head the other way and ask for a club sandwich. A few minutes later, you receive a tray full of cheeseburgers. Somebody calls you.

“Excuse me sir, but it seems our orders got mixed up.” You turn around to find none other than Arielle. Her violet eyes widen in realisation.

“Dr. Ramsey! Hi, guess the world really is small!”, she responds enthusiastically.

“Some would say too small.” A petite intern who often you see beside her comes and doesn’t notice me.

“Hey Ari! I’ll take these down. You coming? In a minute, Sienna.” The intern leaves.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a baseball type of guy.”

“And you pegged me just right. I’m here to close a deal with Banner reps. They have me in the box suite, trying to butter me up with lobster and wine.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad...”

“I know it might surprise you, but I’m not one for schmoozing.”

“Nooooo... I don’t believe it. The great Ethan Ramsey doesn’t like it when someone butters him up!”, she feigns shock.

“Would you like to join me?, the words slip out before you can react.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You’re surprised. You’d never thought that your medical hero would need your help. He notices your expression and starts explaining, more like rambling.

“You know I’m not much good at speaking to other people, much less idiots but this is a very important deal for Edenbrook. Harper was taking the reins but she was called in for an emergency. One of your traits is that you’re quite persuasive, I was hoping that would help.”, he says.

“Of course.” You follow him to the private entrance which is blocked by a guard.

“Ah, Dr. Ramsey. The Banner Health execs are waiting.” He gestures for you to follow. The guard stops you.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to see some ID, Miss. Alcoholic beverages are being served.” Dr. Ramsey gets irritated.

“I can assure you she’s older than 21.”, he says. The guard insists. Sighing, you pull out your ID. His eyes flash with recognisation.

“I’m extremely sorry miss, but I have to follow protocol.”

“It’s quite alright.” Dr. Ramsey leads you into the private box, where you see a crowd of ‘business’ dressed people lounging on the posh sofas. He picks up two glasses of Malbec and hands one to you.

“Thank you. To deals, negotiations and whatnot!” He rolls his eyes. “To negotiations.”, he toasts.

“This is quite nice.”

“It is, don’t get used to it. I knew many great doctors, all who swore never to make it about the money but did. Don’t let it become about the money.”

“Ha! If only he knew I had millions of dollars in my name and still live like this.”, you think.

“You’re right. It never should become about the money.”, you say truthfully. Two reps saunter up and start sucking up to him. You roll your eyes internally.

“I’m sure there are many opportunities. By the way, let me introduce you to Dr. Arielle Valentine, one of Edenbrook’s newest interns, and one who shows much promise.”, he says.

Your lawyer/advocate instincts kick into action, which includes an amazing first impression.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Valentine but no formalities between us. I have already been impressed upon the very invaluable and precious bond of Banner Health and Edenbrook and hope today will also add on to that. I’m looking forward to the other ways that you have suggested for this partnership, all to help our patients.”, you say.

“Oh my, if this is who Edenbrook is recruiting these days, our partnership is very sure to exceed high expectations.”, they say. Dr. Ramsey nods in approval. They all start negotiating deals, which end in their favour and not-so-good for Edenbrook. Dr. Ramsey looks to you for help.

“Okay, time to pull out all the stops!”, you mentally prepare yourself. You launch into a very persuasive but subtle argument slowly shifting the deal in Edenbrook’s favour. By the time you’re done, the execs have given their consent and you just got them to add a lot of benefits starting from loans to better rates on different services including neurological and cardiac.

“Thank you, Ethan and Arielle for the pleasure. Perhaps we could meet for a round of golf next week to hammer out the fine points.

“Oh hell no!”, you think.

“Oh! Dr. Ramsey is busy next week but how about later tonight?”, you say. They’re about to agree when you drop the bombshell. “Dr. Ramsey and I have an appointment later this week at the shooting range and self-defence center downtown. Don’t worry, I have quite a few guns to be spared, but be warned, I’m quite experienced.”, you say trying not to burst out laughing seeing their shocked faces. You catch Dr. Ramsey which a not-so-well hidden smirk on his face.

“That’s quite alright, we both have made many commitments later this week.”, say frantically say.

“That’s alright, another time then.” A few minutes later, they both leave claiming they had to go. As soon as they leave, you burst out laughing.

“That was quite an act you put on there.”

“Who said it was an act?” He gives you an incredulous look.

“Anyways, it was quite impressive how you shifted the deal in favour to Edenbrook.”, he says questioningly.

You sigh. “Pretty much everyone in my family are lawyers, different areas though. I picked up a lot of skills when watching their hearings.”

“You’re quite good at it. May I ask why you didn’t follow their path.”

“...My godfather was also a doctor. He would tell me stories of how he was able to save lives, make a difference, experience all the love, pain, loss, heartbreak. And I fell in love with it over time. My father wasn’t supportive of it though. I don’t know what went wrong. When I was a child, we had an unbreakable bond. Over time, he buried himself in his cases, that bond slowly evaporating. My brother always knew that I would work in the medical field and was very supportive. When I announced that I had gotten into Johns Hopkins for med school, my father was angry and didn’t support me. He claimed that I had led his hopes up and shattered them, when all along I always was hinting about my dream to become a doctor. We both said hurtful things that a father nor daughter should ever say, that night. After that, I cut off all contact with him.”, you carefully say making sure not to give any clues that Dr. Banerji is your godfather.

Ethan’s PoV:-

You’re shocked. Utterly shocked. You’d never guess that this bright, cheerful, kind intern had such a rough childhood. Especially when your’s made you turn out like this.

“I believe you made the right choice.”, you assure her.

“That means a lot to me.(more than you could ever know)”, she says and whispers.

You both relax and lounge on the comfy sofa, watching the game.

You notice the sun setting as the game ends. “It’s quite late, how will you get home?”

“My friends and I came here by my car, but I told them to take my car when they said they were leaving early. I spent all my money on food so I’ll take a train or something.”

“I’ll drive you home, it’s the least I can do.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s alright. Let’s go.” You lead Arielle to your car, at the same time kicking yourself. “Dear god Ramsey, what the hell is wrong with you? Offering a ride!” You convince yourself that it’s just a thank you but you know it’s because you want to make sure that she gets home safe.

Both of you are exiting the stadium and stop when you see Harper.

“Ethan! Thank god you’re still here. I just received the terms of agreement of our deal with Banner. What did you do?” She notices Arielle.

“Dr. Valentine, what are you doing here?”

“She was here with her friends when I saw and asked for help with negotiating. She was the one who turned the deal into our favour.”, I quickly reply.

“Very impressive Dr. Valentine, but do know that this doesn’t make a difference in the fellowship rankings.”, Harper says.

“I know Chief Emery, anyways I haven’t entered the competition. But thank you though.”, she replies. You’re surprised. You thought she had entered, but you never checked the list of participants. You tell her to wait at the car.

“You’re dropping her off?”, she asks.

“She literally just scored us a very big deal. I’m just thanking her.

“Hmm... Well I’ll see you later. Goodbye, Ethan.” You nod and get in your car. Turning on the engine, you drive.

“Where do you live?”, you ask.

She pulls up a location 20 minutes from here on her phone.

“Why didn’t you enter the fellowship?”

“Did you want me to?”, she asks. You don’t answer.

“My first week was hard enough, with a competition that would jeopardise our friendship, I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Especially when they were the ones who got me through the first week.”

“I understand. A lot of friendships of mine were severed during my residency due to the competitiveness.” You both talk about leisure topics until you reach a tall apartment complex.

“This is me. Thanks for the ride, Dr. Ramsey.”, with that, she swiftly exits out of the car. You reverse the car and drive to your apartment.

Arielle’s PoV:-

You walk up to the entrance of your building, taking the elevator to your floor. You pull out your keys when Jackie opens the door and lets you in.

“I was wondering when you’d be back.” You smile, taking off your shoes and head into the living room.”

“Hey Ari! Join us for a drink!”, says Elijah.

“Nah, I don’t want a drink. But yes for the company.”

“You all better kiss that fellowship goodbye, cause I just solved that case in record time.”, Landry says.

“You do realise that Arielle was the one who did most of it and we all helped.”, Jackie says.

“Exactly, I looked at the clues and diagnosed the problem!”

You laugh with your friends as they playfully egg each other on. You’re going over today’s events, thinking about all the crazy events, when you realise that you haven’t been true to yourself. “Competing makes them stronger.”, you remember saying. You’ve given advice to other people but you aren’t following your own. You bolt up from the sofa, grabbing your purse and keys and head towards the door.

“What are you doing, Ari?”, Sienna asks.

“You smile replying, “Something I should have done way before.” Your roommates give you a knowing smile as you head towards Edenbrook.

You park your car, rushing through the atrium and up the stairs towards Dr. Ramsey’s office. You a minute to compose yourself and knock.

“Come in.”, his professional but baritone voice replies.

You enter his office to see a minimally decorated desk, covered with papers and patient files. He files them away neatly as you enter. “Rookie. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want in.”

“I made it clear that the cutoff was midnight.” Your eyes follow his gaze to the wall clock. ‘12:02’

“What makes you think that you’re an exception?”

You steady yourself. “I know I can be a good doctor. I know that I can make a difference in people’s lives, like you do. It just took me a little longer to realise it.” You gulp, wondering if you’ve blown your chance.

He smirks and pull out a long list of names, adding yours at the bottom. “You had me worried there. What changed your mind?”

“I always advised other people to follow their dreams, never give up, to take a leap of faith. I realised I needed to take my own advice.” He nods with approval.

“Good Night, Dr. Valentine.”

“Good Morning, Dr. Ramsey.”, you say, pointing at the same clock ‘12:08’. He shakes his head with amusement.

You head out to your car, the cool autumn breeze in your hair, and drive into the night.

“Bring it on.”

[avengerscompound]

Bartoned - Chapter 15

Bartoned - A Hawkeye Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Square: None

Rating:  E

Warnings:  pregnancy stuff, sex talk, injuries

Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count:  1874

Summary:  Clint’s name has become synonymous with fucking things up.  When you have a one night stand with him, your whole life gets Bartoned.

Chapter 15

You had ended up waking at four thanks to the pressure on your bladder, and you decided it would be best if you went back to your room. You did sleep, but not as well as when you had Clint there to rest your leg on. You considered that maybe a body pillow would solve that issue as you drifted off into a restless sleep.

You woke the following day to Clint giving you a small shake. You gasped and looked around. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I kinda wanted to let you sleep. But work. I gotta go. And so do you. I need to get coffee and I know how the smell is getting to you. But… I guess we need to talk too. Tonight?”

You nodded and stretched. “Yeah. That’s a good idea. Thanks, Clint.”

He nodded and headed back out of your room, giving you a wave. “It’s okay. I’ll see you at lunch.”

You didn’t though. He, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Kari had been sent out to deal with something that popped up in Arizona. You had no information aside from that. That was all normal though. Avengers business was ‘need to know’. You didn’t need to know so you just carried on as normal.

It was four days later when you did see Clint again and he was being stretchered into the med bay with Kari holding something against his side that was already drenched in blood. He moaned as the surgeons and nurses all rushed in taking over from Kari. It sounded weak rather than in pain and you weren’t sure if that was better or worse.

You went to follow them, unsure exactly what you were planning. You were a field medic, not a surgeon. You could do an emergency stitch-up. Under extreme conditions, you might be able to do more complicated surgery. But that would only happen if there was no other choice and actual surgeons would have to fix your work. There was a team of people seeing to him that were all more competent than you in this situation.

Kari grabbed your arm, leaving a bloody handprint on your scrubs. “Let them do their job,” she said.

You turned back to her. “What happened?”

“He Bartoned hard is what happened,” Natasha said, coming through the door, covered with almost as much blood as Kari was.

“He what?” you asked.

“Bartoned,” Natasha said. “You know? When you do something really stupid and end up hurting yourself? You haven’t heard us use that yet?”

You’d laugh if you weren’t so worried about Clint. He did tend to do things like that. He was somehow both the clumsiest and agilest person you’d ever met. “How exactly did he Barton?”

We were just handing the people we’d arrested over to the feds and he turned around, tripped over the side of a garden bed, and landed on one of their swords.

You barked a laugh and covered your mouth. It was awful but you pictured it perfectly.

“Of course, Kari said don’t pull the blade out but he was already doing it,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “You’d think he’d have learned by now.”

“Don’t let Nat’s cool exterior trick you. She was freaking out on the ride back,” Kari said.

“Well, we used four bags of blood. I was worried we weren’t going to make it,” Natasha argued. “But we’re here now and we have the cradle. He’ll be fine and Bartoning it up in no time.”

You kept forgetting about the cradle. When you were in the field you needed to do whatever you could to keep someone alive, so it was easy to forget that here in the tower there was a piece of tech that could simply regrow people’s damaged tissue inside their bodies with no need for transplants. You just passed the people off to the surgeons. After that, it was their job.

“We should go clean this blood off us,” Kari said.

“Right. He’ll probably be ready to see people when we’re done,” Natasha agreed. “You go change scrubs. He’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded and went to the changing rooms. Natasha and Kari went straight to the showers while you just tossed your dirty scrub top into the laundry and pulled a new one on.

Clint was in the cradle looking very out of it when you arrived at the observation room. As far as you knew, they hadn’t used the cradle since you’d started here. It was meant for more serious injuries and mostly you’d just seen bone setting and stitches, which you could do just fine. Clint lay on his side, the wound open while the machine slowly moved down along it stemming the bleeding and repairing the damage. A nurse was changing the bag of blood again, and the IV bag had recently been changed.

Two surgeons were pressing some buttons on a screen. As the machine moved down Clint’s torso and then up again you could see the improvements in his vital signs. The color was returning to his cheeks and he looked more alert. Natasha appeared beside you holding an apple Capri Sun.

“Look at the concerned girlfriend waiting anxiously on word of her boyfriend’s condition,” Natasha teased.

You rolled your eyes. “I thought we were past the girlfriend shit.”

“Yeah, but you slept with him again so it’s back on,” Natasha said seriously.

“Did he say something about …” You made a hand gesture that meant nothing at all but you wanted to mean ‘Clint thinking that the sleeping together meant you were a couple.’

“Clint said your pregnancy hormones are going nuts and he helped you out with it,” she said.

“Yeah well, that’s what happened,” you agreed.

“So what would you call two people who live together, love each other, are having a baby together, and are sleeping together?” she asked, her eyebrow arching up as she spoke.

“We aren’t sleeping together. We slept together one time. So that’s for a start,” you said. “Secondly, not everyone falls into the standard societal expectations of what makes a family,”

“Oh, I know that,” Natasha said. “Do you?”

You shook your head and looked in at Clint then back at Natasha. “What’s the Capri Sun for?”

She chuckled. “Oh, you haven’t seen Clint really hurt yet, have you?” she teased. “He’s a complete baby.”

Kelly, one of the nurses came out and smiled at you both. “He can see you both if you like. Just try and keep him calm.”

“Thanks, Kel,” you said and you and Natasha headed into the room.

Clint smiled up at you both and made grabby hands for Natasha who took the straw and stabbed it into the pouch before handing it to Clint.

“You scared me, dummy,” she said.

“Yeah, that was bad even for me,” he agreed, sipping the apple juice.

You looked at the way the cradle was currently patching Clint up. You figured it was probably one-third of the way done. The wound was still open, but it looked clean and each time the cradle’s arm moved over it, it built more of Clint's flesh.

“This is the fifth time I’ve had to be in this thing,” Clint said, looking up at you. “I’m gonna be totally plastic by the time I retire.”

“Maybe you should step over garden beds instead of tripping over them,” you teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“Alright, so you’re not dying?” Natasha asked.

“No. I guess not,” he said. “This time.”

“I better go debrief then. I’ll come back and check on you later,” Natasha said.

“Thanks, Nat. Bring more juice,” Clint said.

“I know, I know,” she said, waving him off as she left the room.

Clint took a sip from his apple juice and you sat down beside him. “So, how’d everything go?”

“Aside from stabbing myself after the whole thing was done, pretty good,” Clint said. “How have you been holding up?”

“Fine. Not sleeping great, but I got a body pillow. That’s helped a bit,” you answered.

Clint reached for you and took your hand. “My little girl keeping you up?”

“More like the room she’s inhabiting is,” you said. “Can’t get comfortable.”

“You wanna talk while I’m trapped?” he asked.

You gave a small nod and played with his fingers. “How come you haven’t been sleeping with anyone else?”

He shook his head. “It’s not… it’s not a pining thing,” he said. “I really liked what we had, and … sex with you was so good. Then I fucked up and kinda didn’t want to be with anyone. Then you got pregnant. And let me tell you, nothing kills the urge for casual sex than accidentally knocking up your fuck buddy.”

You snorted. “Okay. I guess that makes sense.”

“I mean… I obviously did … do… still want to go back to what we had. But I wasn’t saving myself, is all,” he explained.

“No, I get you. I haven’t been with anyone either. For me, I just felt like giving up. The thing with you was me trying something where I wouldn’t get hurt. That failed and I wasn’t sure what else I could try, especially not after -” you gestured to your stomach.

“Have I said I’m sorry about that yet?” Clint joked. “Because I am, really sorry.”

“Yeah, I think you’ve said a couple of times,” you said.

Clint let out a breath and took a long drink from his Capri sun. He seemed to go to say something and change his mind and instead started to inflate the pouch like a balloon.

“I want to go back to what we had,” he said eventually.

You huffed. “I want that too, but… I think it would be different. There’s pressure now because of the baby.”

He nodded. “I still want it. We could call it something else. Or nothing. I could just be us.”

“Would it be open?” you asked.

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. Yes?”

“Okay. Well, we’d have to have rules then. Like… using condoms, even with each other if one of us is sleeping with someone else and getting tested regularly,” you said.

“That sounds fair. We could wait too if you want. Until after the baby is born. Because then it will be safer,” he suggested.

“Okay. It’s not like anyone would want to sleep with me like this,” you said.

“What are you talking about?” Clint teased. “You’re sexy as hell.”

You chuckled. “Flatterer.”

The two of you sat quietly for a moment, just the buzzing sounds of the cradle doing its work and the beep of the monitors. “Hey, Clint?” you said after a little while.

He looked up at you with his head tilted. “Yeah?”

“Will we keep our own rooms?” you asked.

He seemed to think about it for a second. “Umm… I don’t know.”

“What if we start with our own space and just see what happens?” you suggested.

Clint nodded. “Take it slow,” he agreed and took your hand, and kissed the back of it. “I’m happy we’re giving it a go.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said.

You were happy about it. A little scared maybe, but it felt right to be at the place with Clint. That’s what you and Clint were. You did love him and if you could get this to work with anyone, Clint Barton was your someone.

// NEXT