#rely on other people. that other people were unpredictable; dangerous.

[muckablucka]

how it feels to find song lyrics that fit your OC perfectly:

[bellaveux]

Hello! I really loved your medic!Reader x Natasha writing! May I request some angst/comfort involving that trope where instead of Natasha usually getting injured/bruised, it’s reader? Love your writings! ❤️

easier said than done | n. romanoff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: she didn’t want you on this mission—her only thought was keeping you safe. but despite her efforts, even she couldn’t protect you from getting hurt.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, medic!reader, protective!natasha, injured!reader, injuries, blood (idk what else i’m missing tbh)

word count: 7.4k

Natasha sat at her desk, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a dossier Fury had handed her earlier that day. The mission briefing was all there in black and white—an overseas operation, something high-stakes and unpredictable. Fury had been clear about the potential dangers, but he had also given her an option: take one other agent, someone to fill in for the things Natasha didn’t specialize in… someone to feed her information in her ear, while also being there for support of any kind. A medic or a recon specialist, someone who could handle the things that might slip through the cracks.

She’d nodded at the time, but in her mind, she already knew she preferred to work alone.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t rely on others, but this mission was dangerous, even for someone with her experience. Too many variables, too much at stake. The idea of taking someone else into that kind of danger made her skin crawl. She’d seen too many good people go down because of decisions like that.

When you walked into the living room, stretching from your long day, your eyes immediately landed on the file in her hands. You didn’t ask, but the curiosity was there, written in the way you tilted your head, waiting for Natasha to explain.

She glanced up, her expression softening when she saw you, “Fury’s given me a new assignment. Overseas.”

You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe, “Sounds serious.”

“It is,” Natasha admitted, her voice low. “He recommended I take someone with me.”

You straightened at that, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, “Oh yeah? Who’d he have in mind?”

“Recon specialist, maybe a medic,” Natasha said, almost offhandedly, her eyes flickering back to the folder in her hands. “Someone who can handle the things from afar. Support. Backup.”

You could feel the tension in her voice, the way her shoulders were stiff even as she tried to keep things casual. And before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I’ll go.”

Natasha’s head shot up immediately, her green eyes locking with yours, a flicker of surprise crossing her features, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” You pushed off the wall and took a few steps closer, your voice steady. “You said you need someone with a different skill set. I’m a medic, Nat. I can help.”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her jaw clenching slightly. “I don’t need your help with this.”

“That’s not what Fury thinks,” you said, your tone light, but the determination was unmistakable. “He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t think you’d need backup.”

Natasha shook her head, standing up and tossing the file onto the desk with a sigh, “It’s too dangerous. You’re not coming.”

You could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she tried to keep her voice firm, but there was something deeper there—something protective, maybe even fearful. It wasn’t often that she let herself care about someone this deeply, but you’d been around long enough to know when she was trying to push you away to keep you safe.

“Natasha,” you said, your voice softening as you moved closer, closing the distance between you. “I’ve been through dangerous before. I know how to handle myself.”

“This is different,” she snapped, her frustration spilling over as she turned to face you fully. “I’m not putting you in that kind of danger.”

“I’m already in danger every day,” you reminded her gently. “This is my job too.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed with something raw and vulnerable for just a moment before she blinked it away. “You’re not going, and that’s final.”

She turned away from you, her fingers running through her hair, trying to shake off the image of you in harm’s way. The thought of you getting hurt—of losing you because she let you come on this mission—it was unbearable.

For a long moment, the room was quiet, the tension hanging thick in the air. You stood there, watching her, feeling the weight of her refusal. But you weren’t about to let it go.

“I want to go,” you said again, your voice firmer this time. “Not because I think you need me, but because I don’t want you to do this alone. And I know how stubborn you are about working alone.”

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned against the desk. She was silent for a moment, her eyes avoiding yours. Finally, she looked up, her expression softening, but her resolve still unshaken.

“I can’t,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t let you come with me.”

You could feel the frustration bubbling up inside you, but you knew where it was coming from. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust you. She just cared too much. You hated that she was pushing you away to protect you, but you also understood it.

It was only a couple nights later, a few days before Natasha leaves for the mission. She still hasn’t found anyone to bring yet, even though you’ve been insisting from time to time.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t do it.

The moment Natasha left the apartment today, her quiet warning still fresh in your mind, you promised you’d leave the files alone. But as soon as the door clicked shut behind her, the silence that followed only seemed to amplify the curiosity burning inside you. The mission folder sat on the desk like a weight, drawing your eyes back to it over and over. Natasha had left it out, maybe even on purpose, part of you thought. Surely she knew you couldn’t resist. You tried to ignore it, busying yourself with the mundane—cleaning up the kitchen, scrolling through your phone—but each time you passed by that desk, it was like the file was calling your name, daring you to take a look.

After what felt like hours but was only minutes, you finally gave in, your resolve crumbling as you stepped closer. Your fingers hesitated at the corner of the folder, heart pounding with the knowledge that this was something Natasha wouldn’t want you to see. But the temptation was too strong. You opened the file slowly, the pages revealing details you weren’t supposed to know—dangerous places, unfamiliar faces, and risks that Natasha had shielded you from. Yet the more you read, the more it felt like you needed to.

It was late, the dim light from the desk lamp casting a soft glow over the apartment as you sat there, quietly flipping through the pages of the mission file. You weren’t snooping, not really—you’d seen enough missions come and go that this one didn’t feel all that different. But as you read through the details, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you could help, even if Natasha couldn’t see it yet.

The front door creaked open, and you heard her footsteps before you saw her—Natasha moving with that quiet, graceful presence she always had. You didn’t look up right away, not until she walked over, her boots light on the hardwood floor, stopping just behind you.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and a moment later, her hand reached out, gently closing the file in front of you.

“You really shouldn’t be reading that,” Natasha murmured, her voice laced with both affection and exasperation.

You glanced up, meeting her eyes, unfazed by the gentle reprimand, “I know, but… I can do it, Natasha.”

She shook her head slightly, her eyes softening, but you could still see the resistance there. She hadn’t budged on her decision from the last time you asked.

“I don’t want you anywhere near this one,” she said quietly, pulling the file closer to herself as if to protect you from the mere sight of it. “It’s too dangerous.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions rising in your chest, “It’s nothing I haven’t done before, Nat. I’ve handled things like this.”

Her lips pressed together, and she moved to sit beside you on the couch, the file now forgotten. You turned to face her, determination shining in your eyes.

“I’m not asking to be on the ground,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “I’ll be your mission control. You won’t even have to worry about me being anywhere near the danger. I’ll keep an eye on you from afar, talk to you through the earpiece—just like you’ve done a million times with other agents. I can do that for you. And in case you get hurt, I’ll be there to fix you up. I’m was a field medic, Nat, I’m not new to this.”

Natasha looked at you, her gaze intense as she processed your words. You could see the hesitation in her eyes, the way she wanted to say no again but couldn’t bring herself to dismiss you entirely. There was a weight in the air, the acknowledgment that you knew what you were doing, that you could handle this. But for Natasha, it was never about doubting your capabilities—it was about her unwillingness to risk losing you.

Her hand found yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t want you in this mess,” she whispered, her voice low. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” you said, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ll be in the safest place possible. You won’t even see me.”

Natasha let out a long, tired breath, her eyes searching yours, torn between her instinct to protect you and the knowledge that you were just as stubborn as she was. You could see it in her face, the way her shoulders slumped slightly, how much she hated the thought of dragging you into something that could go so wrong. But you could also see her trust in you—the faith she had that you could do this, that you were strong enough.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded, just slightly. “Okay,” she murmured. “But you stay back. And you listen to everything I say, no arguments.”

You smiled softly, relief washing over you as you nodded in agreement, “Deal.”

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, her fingers still intertwined with yours, “I mean it. No heroics.”

“No heroics,” you echoed, leaning into her touch.

Natasha knew, without a shadow of doubt, that you were more than qualified for the job. You were smart—one of the sharpest minds she had ever encountered when it came to recon, able to analyze a situation and strategize with precision that even impressed top agents. And when it came to field medicine, you were nothing short of remarkable. She’d seen you in action, watched the way your hands worked with a steady calm under pressure, saving lives in the most chaotic of circumstances. You weren’t just capable—you were essential.

But even with all that knowledge, Natasha couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that gripped her whenever she thought about you in the field. It was irrational, she knew, to let her mind wander to worst-case scenarios. But the idea of you getting hurt—of you lying on the ground, injured, or worse—tore through her like nothing else could. She had seen too many good people taken out by the dangers she faced every day, and the thought of you being one of them made her chest tighten painfully. Natasha could handle her own pain, her own injuries, but the idea of you being in harm’s way, of her losing you to the unpredictability of a mission, was something she could barely stomach.

She thought about how she’d be relentless in making sure you were nowhere near the line of fire when the mission starts. She’d double-check everything—triple-check, even. Your position would be far from the danger zones. She’d make certain that your vantage point would offer a clear view of the mission, but also a clear escape. She knew the layouts, knew the tactics, and she’d make sure there was no chance you’d be in the crosshairs.

She could handle the risks that came with her line of work, but when it came to you, she couldn’t take any chances.

There’d be times she’d want to look back, to hear your voice in her earpiece just to know you were still safe, still there, far away from the chaos. The mission might require her focus, but nothing could pull her attention more than the thought of your safety, knowing she would do anything—absolutely anything—to protect you.

The mission had been going as smoothly as it started—almost too smoothly.

Natasha really double-checked everything. Every point of entry, every route in and out, every possible variable that could go wrong. She had gone over it again and again in her mind, ensuring that you were far enough away, safely tucked in the quinjet, monitoring everything from your secure position. You had been perfect, calm and focused as you talked in her ear, feeding her intel and updates, watching the scene unfold from the distant safety of the control panels. She had felt reassured hearing your steady voice, knowing you were safe.

But then, something shifted. It was subtle at first, a disturbance she hadn’t noticed right away. Until she heard your voice, clipped with tension in her ear. “Nat… something’s wrong.”

Natasha froze, her heart skipping a beat. She immediately checked her surroundings, her hand instinctively tightening around her weapon as she scanned the perimeter.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice tight, trying to stay calm, but she could hear the urgency in her own tone.

There was static for a second, and then your voice again, strained. “I think… I think there’s movement here. I don’t know how—”

Her blood ran cold. Someone had slipped past. Despite all her precautions, someone had found you.

Natasha’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of your voice cutting out. Panic clawed at her chest as she frantically shoved the data she’d been extracting into her pocket. Without wasting a second, she took off in a dead sprint, her breath coming hard and fast as she darted through the corridors. Her mind was overflowing, thoughts racing at an uncontrollable speed. All her meticulous planning, her assurances to herself that you’d be safe—none of it mattered now.

The only thing that mattered was getting to you.

She could still hear faint shuffling in her earpiece, the sound of you moving, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t close enough, and it wasn’t fast enough. Her gut twisted, every second feeling like a lifetime as she pushed herself harder, faster. Her boots hit the ground in a steady, desperate rhythm, but all she could focus on was the silence that followed. Suddenly, the shuffling stopped. Everything went quiet.

Too quiet.

Her heart pounded louder, panic rising to her throat, threatening to choke her. She felt the dread crawling up her spine as she ran faster than she thought possible. The quinjet was just ahead. She had to get to you—had to make sure you were okay.

Because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

Natasha reached the quinjet only just a minute later, her muscles burning from the sprint, but she barely noticed the pain. One guard stood just outside the entrance, his stance stiff as he surveyed the area. She huffed, and without wasting a second, she grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the side of the jet, knocking him out cold. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and she barely spared him a glance, her focus entirely on you.

The door to the jet creaked open, and Natasha entered, her senses on high alert. The air was thick, and every step felt heavy as she cautiously made her way through the dim space. Her heart hammered in her chest, her grip tight around her gun. There were two guards already down on the floor, their bodies lifeless. Her instincts kicked in—something had gone wrong, but you’d clearly fought back. Her eyes scanned the interior, her breath catching in her throat. Where were you? She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread settling deep in her stomach, her gaze darting from shadow to shadow, searching, praying to find you.

“Y/N?” she called out, her voice low but urgent, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her ears. No response. She swallowed hard, her body tense as she moved further into the quinjet.

Then, in the far corner, she saw you—crumpled on the floor, unmoving and her world stopped.

Natasha rushed over, dropping to her knees beside you, hands shaking as they hovered over your body. Bruises lined your skin, and a cut on your temple trickled with blood. She cursed under her breath, her mind reeling. She gently lifted your head, cradling you in her arms, her fingers brushing your cheek.

“Hey, I’m here… I’m here.”But her voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

Your vision was hazy, the world coming back into focus in slow, fractured pieces. The first thing you saw was Natasha, her face hovering above yours, panic and relief etched into her face. Her demeanor cracked, and you could see the raw emotion she was holding back. Everything around you felt heavier than it should, the throbbing ache in your body making it hard to move, let alone breathe properly. Despite it all, you found yourself offering her a faint smile, though it hurt to even do that.

“You… should see the other guy,” you mumbled, your voice barely more than a whisper, but still carrying that familiar spark of humor.

Natasha’s reaction was immediate—her breath hitched, and her expression tightened, the tiniest hint of a smile flickering on her lips, though it didn’t last long. She let out a slow, controlled exhale as if grounding herself, before reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face. Her touch was gentle, but there was a kind of desperation in the way her fingers lingered against your skin, as if she needed the reassurance that you were still there, still breathing.

“Shut up,” she muttered, her voice low and trembling, though she tried to hide it. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her eyes told the rest of the story—wide, frightened, filled with emotions you rarely saw on her face. She was always the composed one, the one who could handle anything. But seeing you like this, bruised and bloodied on the floor, had torn through that facade. Even in your hazy state, you could see how much it pained her.

You tried to reach for her hand, but your muscles protested, and the exhaustion weighed you down. The smile you gave her wasn’t much, but it was all you had, an attempt to reassure her even when your body was screaming. You didn’t need to say it, though—she could read you like a book. Her hand stayed on your cheek, thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and you could feel the way her tension eased, just a little, as she realized you were still here, still with her.

Natasha hooked her arms under yours, her movements careful but swift as she pulled you to your feet. You gritted your teeth, biting back the groan that wanted to escape as your muscles screamed in protest. Even though the pain clouded your mind, you couldn’t help but notice how gentle she was being—her touch sure, but far softer than it ever was in the field. She practically carried you over to the nearest seat, easing you down with a tenderness that didn’t quite match the sharp intensity still flickering in her eyes.

“I’ll be back,” she murmured, her voice low, calming. She took a moment to make sure you were comfortable before stepping away.

The sound of the bodies being dragged echoed faintly through the jet, but you could barely register it, your eyes growing heavier by the second. Through the haze of exhaustion, you heard the door open, then close with a sharp hiss as Natasha disposed of the enemies who had nearly cost you everything. The quiet hum of the jet followed, and the subtle shift of it lifting into the air was oddly soothing. When she returned, she already had the autopilot engaged, her every move precise and calculated, even in her rush.

But she was barely focused on the instrument panel when she heard it—a soft whisper, fragile as glass, cutting through the hum of the engines. “Natasha?”

Her heart skipped, and without a moment’s hesitation, she turned, making her way back to you quickly. You were trying to hold yourself together, but she could see the strain in your eyes. Your face was pale, and the resolve that usually radiated from you seemed to flicker like a candle about to go out.

“What is it, detka?” Natasha asked, kneeling beside you, her tone urgent but laced with a tenderness that broke through the tension.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you summoned the courage to reveal what you had hidden beneath your shirt. Slowly, you moved your arm from your abdomen, exposing the wound—a seemingly deep, angry cut that glistened with fresh blood, the fabric of your suit stained around it. The sight sent a cold wave of dread crashing over Natasha, and she cursed under her breath.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded, her voice sharp, but it was laced frustration. “You should have told me!”

You offered a small, calm smile, even as your breath hitched slightly from the pain. “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle it. It’s not… it’s not deep.”

Your words were steady, yet Natasha could hear the tremor that betrayed your nerves, the way your eyes betrayed the battle you were fighting within.

But the adrenaline was fading, and she could see the weariness creeping in. Natasha instinctively leaned closer, her hand moving to assess the wound more closely. “You’ve got to tell me everything, alright? How bad is it?”

You nodded slowly, wincing a little as she touched around the edges of the wound. “It hurts, but I’ll be fine once we get home. Just… promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Too late for that, I think,” she replied, her voice strained. “You’re the one who’s supposed to take care of me, not the other way around.”

Natasha shook her head as she looked down at your wound. All she wanted was to keep you safe, and now, as she looked at you, vulnerability reflected back in your gaze, she was reminded of just how fragile life could be.

She moved silently, her frustration simmering beneath the surface as she carefully guided you toward the stretcher bed in the back of the quinjet. She didn’t say a word, but you could see it—the tense set of her shoulders, the firm grip of her hands as they steadied you, the subtle clench of her jaw as she helped you lie down. It wasn’t anger directed at you, it never could be; it was the helplessness that gnawed at her, the fact that she couldn’t prevent this. She’d done everything to keep you safe, double-checking every detail of the mission, ensuring you were far from the fray, yet somehow danger had still reached you. Her eyes flicked briefly to the blood-stained makeshift bandage on your abdomen. She exhaled quietly through her nose, pushing down the frustration, the fear that lingered just beneath it, and focused on making sure you were comfortable, making sure you were okay.

You needed to assess the damage. With a grimace, you shifted your position, which sent a jolt of pain coursing through you, but you forced yourself to look down at the wound. The fabric of your shirt was torn, and you could see the ugly gash seeping blood, crimson staining your skin.

“It hurts,” you admitted, your brow furrowing as you took stock of what you could see. “But it’s not as bad as it looks. I don’t think it hit anything vital.” You swallowed hard, fighting the dizziness creeping in.

Natasha looked over you, watching as you pressed on it to keep the pressure. “Are you sure?” she asked, her tone laced with concern, her green eyes darkening as they studied your face for any sign of distress.

“Yeah,” you continued, the rush of your training and instincts taking over. You looked into her eyes, your voice steady despite the pain radiating through you, “There’s a lot of blood, but I can handle it. Just get me the first aid kit from the storage compartment. I need a sterile dressing. And keep applying pressure on the wound.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice now focused and clear as she sprang into action.

She moved fast, opening the storage compartment with deft fingers, her movements sharp and precise, as if she was preparing for a mission rather than tending to you.

You pressed your palm against the wound, feeling the warmth of your blood seeping through your fingers, a steady reminder of how close you had come to something much worse. She moved quickly, her hands steady as she helped you apply the sterile dressing, her focus narrowing to the wound and the task at hand. Every motion was deliberate, practiced, as if she could will the injury to heal faster by sheer concentration alone. You could see the intensity in her eyes as she pressed the bandage into place, holding it with just the right amount of pressure.

“If the bleeding doesn’t stop, we might have to close it here,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, but calm.

Natasha’s gaze flickered up at you for a brief second, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t like that idea, you could tell, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she nodded, her hands never leaving the dressing, fingers still firm but gentle.

“It’ll stop,” she said quietly, more to herself than to you.

There was no room for anything else in her mind right now. The idea of stitching you up herself with nothing but a first aid kit—it made her stomach turn. But if it came to that, she would do it. No hesitation. You mattered more than anything else.

But after what felt like an eternity, the bleeding still hadn’t slowed enough. Natasha could see the red seeping through the dressing, staining her hands as she pressed down, her jaw clenched. You shifted slightly, wincing, and she knew it was time.

“Nat,” you said softly, your voice strained but steady. “We have to stitch it… Headquarters is too far… and I haven’t stopped bleeding yet.”

Her heart dropped at your words, though she didn’t let it show. She looked at you, her eyes meeting yours for a long moment, searching for any sign that you were exaggerating, but of course, you weren’t. You were right. She knew you were right, and it frustrated her, the fact that you were in this situation in the first place. She hated seeing you like this—hurt, bleeding, vulnerable. And yet, you were the calm one, the one keeping it together, while she was unraveling inside.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice rougher than usual. “I’ll do it. Just—just hold on.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond before reaching for the first aid kit again. Natasha had stitched up wounds countless times before, but as looked at you, needle and thread in hand, her fingers trembled. The thought of piercing your skin, of causing you more pain—even if it was necessary—made her stomach twist. She’d done this under fire, in the middle of chaos, but doing it to you? That was different. The stakes felt impossibly high.

You noticed, of course. You always did. Your hand moved to brush against hers, your voice soft but steady despite the pain you were clearly in.

“Nat… it’s okay,” you murmured, your eyes catching hers. “I trust you.”

She paused, swallowing hard as she glanced up at you. The calm in your voice did something to her—grounded her in a way nothing else could. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and gave a small nod, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer.

“Okay,” Natasha said, her voice quiet but firmer now. “I’ll make it quick.”

And with that, she focused, her hands moving with care, the weight of your trust making her steady. She might have been nervous, but you didn’t waver. You stayed calm, and in that calm, she found her own strength.

As she’s started the first stitch, she could see the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched for just a second before you steadied it. You were doing everything in your power to hide the pain, to keep your face as calm as possible, but Natasha knew. She could see the flicker of discomfort in your eyes, the tight grip you had on the edge of the stretcher. Every wince, no matter how small, sent a pang of guilt through her.

“Sorry, detka,” she muttered softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes never leaving the wound as she worked. The thread pulled through your skin again, and you flinched, just a little.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, but she felt it. She always did. Each time her hands moved, she muttered another quiet apology as though she could somehow will the pain away with her words. She hated this—hated that you were hurt, hated that she was the one causing you more pain, even if it was to help. But you didn’t falter, not once. Even through the pain, you stayed steady, biting back the grimaces that Natasha could still see in the tension of your jaw. But no matter how much you tried to hide it, she knew. She always knew.

Natasha finished the last stitch with steady hands, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She was careful, every move precise, making sure not to hurt you more than necessary. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her focus unwavering even though you could feel the slight tremble in her touch. She didn’t speak much, only the occasional soft apology whenever she noticed you wince.

When she finally tied off the last stitch, she sighed, the tension in her body visibly easing as she put down the needle. Her fingers lingered briefly on your skin, as if to reassure herself that the worst was over. You had been watching her the entire time, admiring how focused she was, how even in a moment like this, she was careful, deliberate. When she sighed, you let your gaze fall down to the stitched wound, and after a moment, you gave a small nod of approval.

“It looks good,” you said softly, your voice a little hoarse but steady. You traced the line of stitches gently, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “Very neat stitching.”

Natasha glanced up at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though the worry in her eyes hadn’t fully faded.

“Yeah?” she murmured, as if seeking your approval mattered more to her than anything else. You could see the relief start to ease its way into her expression, but there was still that underlying fear, the worry that she hadn’t done enough

She carefully bandaged the area, her hands gentle, wrapping the wound with methodical movements. She moved almost automatically, but her mind was racing, simmering with frustration. She checked everything, gone over the plan a hundred times in her head, ensuring you would be far from any danger, out of harm’s way. But still, somehow, here you were, injured under her watch.

As she finished securing the bandage, Natasha finally looked at you, her eyes searching your face, and that tight knot of anger coiled inside her chest. She hated that you had gotten hurt, hated herself even more for letting it happen, for not protecting you the way she promised she would. The frustration sat heavy on her shoulders, but she swallowed it down.

“Did you get it?” your voice breaks through the silence, soft but curious

Natasha, still focused on the bandage she’s securing, doesn’t quite register your words at first. Her eyes flick up, briefly distracted

“What?” she murmurs, blinking as if she’s coming back to the moment.

“The data. For the mission,” you repeat gently, watching her.

For a second, her expression falters, the steely resolve she’s worn for the past hour cracking just slightly. She realizes where her mind had gone—far away from the mission and its objective, and entirely on you. You, lying there, hurt and vulnerable, a sight she never wanted to see. Her throat tightens as the weight of everything presses down on her, but she pushes it aside, slipping back into the role she knows best.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice low and steady. “I got it.”

But there’s something else in her eyes, something she doesn’t say. But after a moment of silence, feeling the weight of her frustration, Natasha finally mutters under her breath—a sentence she didn’t mean to slip out so easily in front of you.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Her voice is low, tinged with an edge she can’t quite hide, and the moment it slips out, she almost regrets it. But the frustration is real, bubbling under her skin—anger at the situation, at herself for letting this happen, at the fact that no matter how much she tries to protect you, she can’t shield you from everything.

You shift slightly, eyes flicking away from her as if the words hit harder than you’d expected. There’s a beat of silence before you respond, quieter now, a trace of something resigned in your tone.

“I felt like you were going to say that.”

It stings, that simple acknowledgment, because you’re not wrong. Natasha knows you wanted to help, that you’re just as capable as anyone on the field, if not more. But seeing you here now, hurt, is enough to make her want to pull you away from all of it. The mission, the danger—all of it. She clenches her jaw, fighting the instinct to apologize, but the words sit heavy between you.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you to go.”

Her voice is firm now, but there’s a tension behind it, like she’s holding back more than she’s letting on. She keeps her eyes on you, though you’re still looking away, refusing to meet her gaze.

The fear that this would happen had been gnawing at her the entire time. Every time she heard your voice crackle through the earpiece, every second she knew you were out there, not as far from danger as she’d hoped—it all led up to this. She warned you, she didn’t want you there, not because she doubted your abilities but because of this.

And now, with the bandages wrapped around your abdomen, the sting of her words feels as sharp as the wound itself. There’s a tremor in the silence that follows, the heaviness of what she’s not saying. The real reason—the fear that seeing you hurt like this brings something out in her that she’s not sure she can control.

“It was going fine, Natasha,” you told her firmly.

“Yeah, until it didn’t,” Natasha snaps, her voice taut with barely-contained frustration. She’s pacing now, her fists clenched at her sides, the image of you lying there, bleeding, still too fresh in her mind. “It could’ve been worse, (Y/n). You could’ve been…”

She stops herself, the words catching in her throat, her chest tightening painfully at the thought.

The rest of her sentence hangs in the air, unfinished but heavy with the meaning she can’t bring herself to say out loud. Dead. She can’t even imagine it. The very thought of you being taken from her like that is unbearable, and she feels it—this overwhelming surge of something she can’t control. Her hands tremble just slightly as she forces herself to stop pacing, to breathe.

She turns back to you, her eyes softening despite the anger and fear still swirling beneath her skin. But the image of you, bruised and bleeding, is burned into her mind now. It’s not something she can easily shake.

A sigh leaves her lips once more, quieter this time, the tension in her body slowly ebbing away as she moves closer to you. Her hand reaches out almost instinctively, wrapping gently around yours. For a moment, she just stares at your intertwined fingers, tracing the familiar curve of your palm, as if memorizing the way your hand fits so perfectly with hers.

“I can’t…” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with something raw, “I can’t see you like that… I don’t…”

Her breath catches, and she struggles to find the right words, the vulnerability pressing against her ribs, making her feel exposed in a way she’s not used to.

“I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened to you.”

She says it shyly, almost as if she’s embarrassed by how much she cares, how deeply this fear has lodged itself inside of her. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching your face as if she’s trying to speak with her eyes the full weight of her feelings without having to say any more. Because Natasha isn’t used to feeling like this—this scared, this helpless—and it unnerves her. The thought of losing you, of not being able to protect you, is something she doesn’t know how to handle.

“Natasha, look at me,” you say softly, your voice gentle but firm.

She doesn’t, at first. Her gaze is still fixed on your hands, her thumb brushing over your skin in slow, distracted circles, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of your skin.

“Baby,” you whisper again, a little more insistent, “look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes lift. There’s a hint of chaos behind them—worry, fear, and something so deeply rooted it makes your heart ache just to see it. She’s silent, but her eyes are pleading, as if asking you to make sense of the turmoil she’s been carrying since the moment things went wrong on the mission.

“I’m right here,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words land heavily between you. “I’m okay.”

You lift your free hand to her cheek, brushing your thumb along her jawline, trying to soothe away the tension that’s crept into every inch of her.

“I’m safe.”

She exhales shakily, leaning into your touch, her eyes still clouded with uncertainty. But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her grip on your hand tightens, as if she’s afraid that letting go might somehow make you disappear.

“I can’t lose you,” Natasha whispers, her voice so quiet, it almost disappears into the air between you. Her eyes, usually so strong and composed, glisten, and for a moment, you think she might actually cry. It’s rare to see her like this—so vulnerable, so afraid.

Without hesitation, you squeeze her hand, pulling her closer. “You didn’t,” you say quickly, your voice gentle but firm, trying to anchor her back to reality. “You didn’t lose me.”

She doesn’t respond at first, her gaze flicking between your face and the wound she’s just tended to, as if she’s still grappling with the thought of how close it all came. Her breath is uneven, a quiet tremor of emotion she’s struggling to keep inside.

You reach up and cradle her face in both hands, forcing her to meet your eyes. “Look at me,” you say, your voice soft but commanding. “I’m right here.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares at you, her eyes searching yours like she’s still trying to convince herself you’re really there, alive and breathing. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she nods. Her eyes flutter shut, as if closing them will somehow block out all the fear and frustration inside her. She takes your hand, gently lifting it to her lips, and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. Her breath is warm, lingering over your skin, and she doesn’t stop with just one kiss. Another follows, and then another, her lips brushing tenderly across the back of your hand as if the contact itself is a way of reassuring herself that you’re still with her.

Each kiss was slow, filled with the kind of affection that makes your heart ache. You feel the tension in her shoulders start to ease, her breathing evening out. When she finally pulls back, her fingers trace over the spot she’s just kissed, her touch light but lingering. She looks at you again, her expression softer now, as if she’s starting to believe that you’re really okay.

“I’m guessing this means that I can’t go on any more missions with you,” you say with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

A small, breathy laugh escapes her mouth, though it’s more of a huff, and the corner of her lips quirk up just a little.

“You think?” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to it. The tension from earlier hasn’t fully faded, but the way you joke, the way you try to make light of the situation—she can’t help but let a bit of the weight lift off her chest.

She shakes her head slightly, her thumb absently brushing over the back of your hand, still holding onto you like she can’t quite bring herself to let go yet.

“I should ban you from every mission,” she says, her voice softer now, almost playful, but with that familiar protective edge. “But knowing you…”

She trails off, giving you a knowing look that makes it clear how stubborn she thinks you are. You grin, despite the soreness and the lingering ache in your body.

“You know I’d find a way to convince you,” you say, tilting your head a little.

Natasha’s smile softens into something more tender as she looks at you, her green eyes holding yours.

“Yeah,” she whispers, and there’s a quiet, tired fondness in her voice now. “Yeah, you probably would… But, no more of this.”

You close your eyes for a second, feeling the warmth of her skin, “I’ll try,” you say, voice soft. It’s not quite a promise, but it’s enough for now.

“I can’t take you away from your work. It’s your job… It’s both of ours.” Her voice cuts through the air, firm and unyielding, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m just not letting you out of my sight again.”

There’s a finality in her words that makes you pause, a quiet intensity that speaks to something deeper than her usual protectiveness. Her eyes, still lingering on yours, are resolute, as if she’s already made up her mind. You can see it in the set of her jaw, the tightness in her shoulders—she’s serious. This isn’t just about the mission, or even the injury. It’s about something bigger, something she’s been holding onto for too long.

You know Natasha. You know the layers of her. How she’s always the one in control, always calculated, prepared for anything. But right now, there’s a vulnerability in her that’s hard to ignore. She’s not just saying this to keep you safe; she’s saying it because the thought of losing you is something she can’t bear, something she can’t even let herself entertain for too long without feeling like the ground is slipping out from under her.

You open your mouth to respond, to maybe crack another joke or reassure her that you’re okay, but the words catch in your throat when you see the look on her face. She’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and it makes your heart ache a little, knowing how hard it is for her to let that kind of emotion show.

“I’m serious,” she adds, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. Her hand tightens around yours, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m not losing you.”

There’s a moment of silence, heavy and filled with everything neither of you are saying. You want to protest, to tell her she doesn’t need to worry so much, but you can’t. Because you know—deep down, you know that she’s right. And maybe part of you doesn’t mind the idea of her always being there, watching over you, making sure you’re safe.

But for now, you just squeeze her hand in return, letting the weight of her words settle over you both. It’s not a conversation you need to finish right now. You’re alive, and for Natasha, that’s all that matters.

navigation | n.r masterlist

[girl-next-door-writes]

A Little Parlor Trick

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: A first encounter with the King of Hell stirs a curiosity that you aren’t sure you will be able to shake.

Word Count: 1413 words

Prompt: “And I’ve got friends on the other side.”

A/N: This is for the lovely @caplanbuckybarnes Caplan’s Disney Celebration. It’s been a hot minute since I wrote my favourite demon, but he is always worth the wait.

The dull hum of the Impala’s engine faded as Dean turned the key, cutting off the familiar purr that had become background noise during the long drive to New Orleans. The air here felt different—heavier, older, like it was thick with secrets. It clung to your skin, the humidity wrapping around you like a second layer of clothing as you stepped out onto the cracked pavement.

You glanced at the dilapidated house before you. It looked abandoned, but you knew better. A set-up like this was rarely what it seemed, and when dealing with demons, that was the one constant you could rely on.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. You’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a few months now—long enough to be able to interpret some of their silent language, even if you didn’t quite speak it fluently. This was your first real test, your first hunt involving the King of Hell himself, Crowley. You’d heard of him, of course—every hunter worth their salt had. But hearing about him and meeting him were two different things.

"Stay close," Dean murmured, shooting you a quick glance. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you; it was just that Crowley was unpredictable. Dangerous. And it was never wise to underestimate a demon—especially this one.

You nodded, falling into step behind them as they approached the door. It creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior. It felt cooler inside, almost cold, and there was an unmistakable smell of incense and something darker, like old magic.

And then you saw him.

Crowley stood in the center of the room, wearing his trademark suit with a deep red silk pocket square tucked neatly in place. He looked like he belonged more in a posh London penthouse than in this rundown Louisiana shack. His dark eyes glinted as he watched the three of you enter, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, his gaze flickering to you with interest. “And who might you be? New pet, boys?”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m not a pet.”

Crowley’s smirk widened as he let out a low chuckle, the sound rolling out smooth and lazy. “Oh, I like you already. A little fire in the belly. Just what I need.”

Dean cut in sharply, his tone gruff. “Enough games, Crowley. You said we’d find what we need here. We need information.”

“Ah, yes. Straight to business as usual, Dean.” Crowley’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But why rush when we can savor the moment?”

You held your ground, not wanting to show weakness in front of the demon. “You’re wasting our time. Are you going to help us or not?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, amused. “Feisty.” He waved a hand casually, and the room seemed to shift, shadows growing longer, darker. “Alright, kitten. If you want a little parlor trick, I’ll oblige. After all, I do love putting on a show.”

With a snap of his fingers, the lights dimmed even further, and an array of candles flickered to life around the room, casting an eerie glow. You could feel a pulse of magic, something thick and tangible in the air, and it made your skin tingle.

Crowley took a step toward you, his gaze steady and unyielding. “You see, I’ve got friends on the other side,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “and they’ve got quite the talent for giving people what they want.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in the way he spoke, a kind of hypnotic cadence that made you lean in just a little closer, despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t be intrigued, that you shouldn’t feel that pull—but it was there, undeniable and growing stronger with every syllable that fell from his lips.

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam warned, his voice cutting through the haze that seemed to have settled over your thoughts.

You blinked, shaking off the strange allure that Crowley’s voice had carried. He noticed, of course, the shift in your stance, the way your expression hardened again. But instead of being annoyed, he looked even more entertained.

“Oh, come now,” he said with a dismissive wave at Sam, “I’m just having a little fun. It’s not often I get such... charming company.” He directed his smile back to you, a hint of darkness behind his otherwise friendly facade. “You know, it’s a pity you’re tangled up with these two. You’ve got potential.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression skeptical. “And what exactly does ‘potential’ mean coming from the King of Hell?”

Crowley tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “It means you’re not like the others. Hunters—self-righteous, dull. You’re different. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Let me guess,” you retorted. “You’ve got some grand offer that I’d be a fool to refuse?”

“Why, yes,” he replied smoothly, “as a matter of fact, I do.” He extended a hand toward you, palm up. “You’re a hunter. That much is clear. But you don’t know what it’s like to have real power. To command it, shape it, twist it to your will. I could show you.”

Dean stepped forward, placing himself between you and Crowley. “Enough of your crap, Crowley,” he growled. “You’re not turning anyone here into one of your lackeys.”

Crowley’s expression barely faltered, but his eyes grew colder, a sharp glint replacing the warmth. “There’s no need to be so possessive, squirrel.” He looked past him, locking eyes with you again. “The choice is always yours, darling. But you’d be wise to consider all your options.”

For a moment, you felt that pull again, stronger this time. His words stirred something in you, something deep and unspoken. You weren’t tempted by the promise of power exactly, but there was a dark curiosity there, a part of you that wanted to know what he was truly offering, if only to understand why it resonated in the first place.

You took a step forward, brushing past Dean despite his murmured protest. “I’m not interested in becoming a demon’s plaything,” you said, your voice steady and firm. “But if you’re offering information, I’m listening.”

Crowley’s smirk returned, softer this time, almost genuine. “Well, that’s a start.” He snapped his fingers again, and the darkness in the room seemed to recoil, lifting like fog under sunlight. “Very well, then. I’ll give you what you need. But a fair warning—things in this world often come with strings attached.”

“Spare us the theatrics,” Dean snapped, though his voice betrayed a hint of relief. “Just tell us where to find the damned witch and the knife to kill her.”

Crowley’s attention shifted reluctantly back to the elder Winchester. “She’s not far from here. Runs a little apothecary down on Royal Street. You’ll know it when you see it.” He glanced at you one last time, that glimmer of interest still evident in his gaze. “Do be careful, kitten. It would be a shame if I didn’t get to see you again.”

You turned on your heel and headed for the door with Sam and Dean in tow, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been. You’d expected Crowley to be dangerous, charming even, but you hadn’t expected the encounter to linger like this.

As the three of you stepped back outside, Dean shot you a look, his brow furrowing. “You alright?”

You nodded, not quite trusting your voice yet. “Yeah,” you replied after a moment. “I’m fine.”

But as you walked back to the Impala, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d left something behind in that room with Crowley—a piece of yourself, a curiosity awakened. And as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen something in you that even you didn’t fully understand.

Inside the Impala, you replayed his words in your mind—You’ve got potential. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning, but it echoed there in the back of your thoughts, lingering like the smoke and shadows you’d left behind.

Crowley had planted a seed of doubt in you—a small, insidious thing. And as the engine rumbled back to life, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he knew exactly what he was doing all along.

[adventuringblind]

I See Your Smile

(Part two of I see your beauty)

Charles Leclerc x blind!Verstappen!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, FLUFF

Request: no but they are open!!

Summary: after the events with Jos, Charles makes it a point to make sure he helps you see everything Jos didn’t let you

Warnings: mentions of verbal and physical abuse, car accidents, drinking and driving, zero proofreading

Notes: written in third person

Masterlist

It had been a miracle when Jos started leaving her alone. She finally got some reprieve. She was able to build up her confidence due to the lack of constant insults.

This was thanks to Charles. He’d practically forced her to move in with him. Immediately after the events in the Redbull garage, Charles and Max were quick to move her out of there and make some security adjustments.

The lovely bruise on her forehead was still healing. The force Jos had used to throw the phone and given her some lovely damage. As if the emotional damage wasn’t enough.

Jos wasn’t allowed back into the paddock. Security had been made aware of what happened and that he was now prohibited from entering. For both hers and Max’s safety.

Victoria had flown down to see them both that same day. The youngest having called her to explain what happened. She filled her siblings to Monaco to help them move Y/N into Charles’ apartment.

She’d been here before. Often going back and forth between Charles and Max over the breaks. Max was just glad he was close by and could still be the overprotective big brother.

One she frequently got annoyed with.

Charles spent time trying to help her be in a better place. She spent time letting him rant about his teams poor strategy and lack of listening skills.

The blindness was obviously where she struggled. Always feeling dependent on others. Her dad had made her feel like she couldn't be blind and that it's something to despise about herself.

He'd told her it was her fault. That she was cursed. Maybe even diseased. A failure.

He pushed her to do more even though it was dangerous.

The instilled recklessness was probably the scariest thing for Charles. She was prone to doing things on her own that she had even said were dangerous.

She went walking without her cane one night to grab something from the store last minute. Charles had been in a meeting all day and passed out as soon as he got home. His attempt at dragging her to bed with him was futile.

She didn't think anything about the walk. She knew her way to the convenience store. She'd pratically memorized every step.

Night was more difficult because even with the vision she had left, she couldn't rely on it. But still she tried. Her determination to be independent and not wake-up Charles was willing her down the sidewalk.

Nightlife, however, can be a scary thing. Cars and drivers are unpredictable. People still haven't learned their lesson about drinking and driving

She came to the crosswalk. A four-way stop that was often busy during the day. She listened for any cars, only hearing one speeding in the distance. She started to cross after deeming it safe.

The car had sounded so far away. Sure, it was speeding, but how could it have gotten to her so fast? She was so close to the other side. So, the safety of the sidewalk.

She was standing, and then she was on the ground. Ears ringing and head aching.

A man got out of the car and started trying to see if she was okay. His words slurred, and the potent smell of alcohol dripped from his breath.

She was trying to figure out her surroundings. The bringt headlights and dark spots now render her entirely without vision.

Onlookers saw and called the authorities. It didn't take long for someone to arrive and help her back to safety. Her anxiety was settling now that she was no longer feeling her way around the street.

She didn't want to go to the hospital. She'd hated it ever since her dad basically left her their alone. Her brain struggling to seperate the two events.

She needed Charles.

They were doing the usual tests, trying to find any damage that had been done. Her tears silent as they worked.

The doctors were nice and gentle with her. They could tell she was uncomfortable and probably in pain.

Her phone had been shattered again. Charles had just purchased her a new one not that long ago.

The nurse was trying to call Charles or Max. Whichever one picked up first.

Seeing as Max is a night person, it ended up being him. He rushed out of the house, explaining to Kelly on the way out what happened.

Charles was awoken by the sound of banging at the front door. He shot out of bed dazed. He hadn't realized how long he slept for.

He checked his phone. It was now was 10 p.m. and he had several missed calls and a text.

A text from her saying that she had gone to get something from the store. His stomach dropped. He hated when she walked alone in the dark. But maybe she was at the door and needed him to let her in.

He rushed to the front of the apartment and swung the door open. It wasn't who he was expecting, though. Max was standing their out of breath. His clothes disheveled.

"Y/N is at the hospital."

~

Max drove them both. They were doing their best not to panic, but it was obvious.

Max had explained what had happened. She was thankfully not hurt too bad. But the nurse said she kept crying and saying she was fine. Even trying to leave before they were done.

Max knew why. She'd hated hospitals after the incident. He hated watching her cry every time they went for a doctors appointment.

When they arrived, the nurse brought them straight back to her. Charles almost broke at the sight of her curled up in the bed.

Max was getting the rundown of what happened. A lovely broken rib. A sprained wrist. A concussion from hitting her head on the concrete. He told Charles to be gentle with her, then left to sign some papers and get the pain meds they were sending her home with.

Charles sat on the edge of her bed. Gently stroking her leg. The gesture a small comfort to her.

"I'm sorry. I promise it's fine. I know it's my fault." She sniffles.

Charles was going to throw hands with Jos if he ever saw him again. "Mon Chère, don't apologize for this. The driver was to blame."

She moved to fave more towards him. Moving her hand into his. Letting her read him through his gestures.

"It was dangerous, though. I would have driven you."

She frowned. He was so concerned for her. It felt strange in comparison to how she was raised. "I didn't want to bother you... or look dependent and incapable."

"You will never have to worry about that with me."

He lifted her knuckles to his mouth and gave them a gentle kiss. The gesture causing her to smile ever so slightly.

"I love when you smile."

~

Safety became less of a problem after that. Charles had made it a priority. It became second nature after a while.

Next on the list was her confidence. It was absolutely ridiculous what what Jos had made her believe.

The older man was still doing it now. After she blocks his number, he'd get a new one. The man is crazy in Charles' eyes.

She was trying to cook one night. She'd become decent at it despite the limitations. Often using Charles to cut vegetables and not letting him do anything else.

This particular night, she'd received a call from her father. He'd heard about the accident from the news.

He shouted words at her through the phone. Asked if the times he made her walk across the track wasn't enough to teach her.

She spent the day crying after that.

Charles knew something happened when he returned to the apartment. She was trying to hide it, but the look in her eyes and determination to cook on her own told him everything he needed to know.

She was struggling. Her toes find every corner. Pans slip onto the floor. Is was catastrophic.

Eventually, she gave up. Finding the floor and letting the tears of hurt and frustration roll.

Charles sat down next to her and pulled her body into his. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked softly.

"He called again today. Said that I should have gotten hit by a car when he made me walk back and fourth on the track when Max was driving. I didn't tell Max because otherwise he would've stopped practice."

Charles ran his hand in circles around her back.

"Why am I so weak? Max and Victoria are so much more than I will ever be."

"No, hush. Don't say such things." He caressed her face with her hands. "You are the strongest person I know."

Charles peppers her face with kisses, making her giggle.

"What do you say we clean this up and go get pizza?"

~

Doctors appointments were always a struggle. Charles basically had to drag her by her teeth. Sometimes it took him and Max.

This was one of those times.

She was crying in the passenger seat of the car. Clutching the same stuffed animal she brought to every visit. It was something she learned to do after the accident. Jos had a habit of leaving her at the office and not picking her up until late at night. Her only comfort to soft toy.

When he would come pick her up, he would rant about how frustrating she is. Tell her all the cruel things he needed in order to make himself feel better.

Now that fear was evident. She didn’t want to be left at the place she hated most for hours. She didn’t want to be berated for something that wasn’t her fault.

Charles can see her eyes, glassed over and distant. He places a comforting hand on her knee as he drives.

She’d been like this since Max managed to coax her into the car. Charles was thankful he was still on call since he didn’t know how it was going to be while they were there.

It was a simple follow up after she was hit. It seemed easy enough. But he could understand her reaction. He adds it to the list of reasons he’s going wring Jos’ neck the next time he sees him.

They pulled into the parking lot and immediately her breath becomes uneven. “Please don’t leave me.” She pleads with him.

It hurts. His heart hurts for her. “I would never.”

They take it slowly. A nice leisurely stroll to the entrance. Charles is so focused on her that he doesn’t notice the familiar figure just outside the door.

Charles nearly chokes on his spit. Halting in his spot and confusing the girl on his arm. “Charles? Are you okay.”

It’s funny to him how she’s the one on the verge of a breakdown and yet she’s asking if he’s okay.

“Mon Amour, would your dad know your here by any chance?”

She thinks for a moment. “He used to get all the appointment reminders for me since he was usually driving. Maybe he got something like that? Why do you ask?”

He thought about not telling her. But he knew this was unavoidable. “Jos is standing in our path.” He stays calm for her. He can already feel her shaking.

He gets them back to the car and dials Max’s number. Begging that he picks up the phone.

“Please tell me everything is going okay.” Max knows though; he knows something is wrong.

“Jos is here.”

Max lets out an angry string of Dutch words. “I’ll be there in a few. See if they have a back door.”

They do. Charles takes the long way around to it and meets a nurse outside. “I’m so sorry about this.” He quickly apologizes.

Max spots them and jogs over. “Is there any chance we can stay out of the waiting room.” He asks the nurse.

She smiles sympathetically, Charles had explained everything to her but there was no other option.

So the three headed inside. Max finds the farthest spot away from the window and sits down followed by his sister and Charles. All of them waiting with their breaths held.

Her name is called a few minutes later. The same nurse from earlier coming to help her to the room.

She looks frantically at Charles and Max. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, mon amour.” Charles reassures. Then she walks away.

“I feel like an idiot.” Max sighs. His leg bouncing in anxiety.

“Why’s that.”

“I thought I changed everything over.”

“Don’t feel bad, it was an honest mistake and now we know and can fix it.” Charles tries to comfort the Dutch.

Somehow, they managed to sneak out the back way again. Effectively avoiding Jos. This time, I thought Charles dosent hesitate to drive by him. When the Dutch makes eye contact with him, Charles shoots him a smug look and a middle finger.

His laugh dosen't go unnoticed.

"I know I can't see much, but I saw the look on his face. It was the most hysterical look he's ever had." She can't stop laughing for majority of the way home.

"I'm glad you find it amusing. Seeing you smile about it is just so beautiful."

[yannaryartside]

THE LIE THAT CLAIRE BELIVES

THE CARETAKER WOUND

So, I keep coming back and forth with my opinions on Claire. Yeah, she did many things that will be a no-go for me as a person, sometimes cringe or childless, and could be taken as manipulative as well. I have been rethinking about it after reading this amazing post:

But there was something constantly ominous about how she was presented, not only as a manic pixie dream girl coded woman but also as a helper, described as an "incredibly good person" who sometimes managed to become an enabler. I will use some books about childhood wounds I have been re-reading, trying to do for her what I did for Carmen in this post. A deep character analysis speculating on the character's childhood wounds based on behaviors they display.

Let's go brick by brick. Long post underneath.

PART 1: THE HELPER OF DRUNK, SAD PEOPLE

Quoting from @brokenwinebox post: In the party.

Claire: “In college, people would come back to my house after parties. and I think I got really good at managing sad drunk people.” Carmy: “Yeah, I know that feeling.” Claire: “I know you do.”

That made me pause, because she made it seem like a common occurrence. She doesn't say these people were their friends, and maybe they were. But it becomes weirder when you think they were at that party (with Carmy) with the excuse of helping her broken-hearted friend. Claire said, "She needs me"

Girl, what? I get wanting to be there with your friend, but you are talking to your (you said later) childhood crush, dont you wanna spent time alone with him? The other girl doesn't seem like your best friend or anything, so doesn't she have other friends she could rely on during this hard time? She was throwing a party, so she was surrounded by people who could have cheered her up. Why was your presence so needed in particular?

Even if you say they were really close, when Claire said that other people would come to her house drunk after parties, my question is

Why? why was your house the place to do that? Did they insist? Some people can be dangerous while drunk, even if she described them as "sad."

Why did you feel these people were your responsibility? To be a good friend? Didn't you have to study? I had a heavy reading career in college, and I will read while eating or even in the gym, but it didn't come close to being a medical student. I assume these parties were in college, and I understand partying is a college thing, but having to stay awake and comfort a drunk person for as long as they need is another thing. It demonstrates a disregard for your time and needs; weren't you tired, busy, and probably also drunk? You are accepting people who come to you at their most vulnerable but also their most unpredictable. We all have people in need we want to care for even when they are messed up, but she didn't say "my friends" or even "my girlfriends". She said people (it could be a wording thing, but this dialog is very intentional)

She seems proud of it, giving her limited time to confort people she may not be closed with.

Here is my point about the lie I think she believes. I was reading again How to Do the Work: Recognize Your Patterns, Heal from Your Past, and Create Your Self–by Dr. Nicole LePera, and there was this passage that sounded very familiar:

In the book, Dr. LePera explains "The 7 Inner Child Arquetypes" as behavior tendencies and internal beliefs that one may develop depending on the environment one grows up in. We don't know much about her childhood (I have a theory about it, which I will discuss in another post), but I think this description can apply to her behavior.

The issue here is not to "feel good to take care of people." There are many reasons one may do that, and many of them are altruistic in nature or just love for the person. the key element is the "disregarding of one's own needs." Look at me in the face and tell me that doesn't sound like Claire. She seems proud of how much people would go for her for comfort when she was a student in a very time-demanding career. It was likely very taxing, but she doesn't want to say it was. Not to mention that comforting somebody is emotional labor on its own.

The lie that Claire believes is that she needs to sacrifice (time/energy/emotional labor) to be loved, that only that is her worth as a person, particularly in the role of a caretaker of people in need.

And it also shows in her relationship with Carmy.

PART 2: LOOKING FOR THE LOVE

A scene that always stayed with me was this:

This "I know" seemed childish on my first watch, kinda saying "I know ligfe is not as complicated as you think."

But then I realized she was happy to say the right thing for him to love her. This "I know" is she saying, "I know I am perfect for you, I am catering especially to your needs" after saying, "Nobody is keeping track of shoes," which was kind of nonsensical, to begin with, but it also sounds like something from a Hallmark movie when they try to be profound and prophetic.

I want to bring the Caretaker Archetype to her relationship with Carmy because she also completely disregards her own needs with him. To begin with, when you have a profession with little time outside work, you probably will like it to be a good, stable one. Why are you chasing a guy who gave you a fake number and that you had to "push' for them to be with you? You even joke about the Faks beating him up for giving her a fake number, like wtf. In her interview, Molly Gordon talked about how Claire was pushed in a previous relationship, which gave her the idea pushing was okay, which is an entirely different conversation, but ok.

Regardless of that context, she went for a guy with also a time-demanding job, that you have seen in ages, and that you know it has social issues and comes from a family of addicts, and that family as a very tragic story.

Here is my biggest question:

DOES CLAIRE SEE CARMY AS ANOTHER "DRUNK, SAD PERSON"?

gif from @mporium

He may not be an addict, but he is aware of the substance; they made us watch her purposely giving him the soft drink; he didn't ask for one. Like she is saying, "I know you have this issue; look how good I am at anticipating your needs." Their first date was at a party, the place where she was to rescue a "sad drunk person," as she had done so many times.

Coming back to disregarding her own needs, she didn't establish boundaries or expectations throughout the whole relationship; she said, "I love you," after 2 months of fucking, no dates, and a homemade pasta dinner.

She squished herself into whatever hole Carmy needed her in. I have read in other posts that her profession does not give you much free time. Doesn't she sometimes need time of her own to keep studying, just relaxing?

I am aware they could have just not shown any of it, but when you are writing a romance, it is important to show how each person can satisfy the needs of the other; it is not supposed to be one-sided.

She doesn't discuss her stressful work or mean patients. She does not discuss her dreams; we don't even know her last name.

I think this is why she felt so empty to me: even in her conversations, she seemed to be mirroring him the whole time, looking to say the right thing. She only seemed to address her needs by asking him about the fake number because she felt rejected, and Carmy's pathetic response seemed to be what she needed to hear. For many people, that answer would have been a warning of someone not ready to be in a relationship. But for her, it was okay.

She has to be able to at least suspect his depression and other mental issues. She doesn't know about his fire incidents yet; why does a person look for a partner she has constantly to care for while he can't take care of her besides one dinner (or at least, she doesn't ask)? Because she finds her worth in caring for others while receiving very little in comparison. That is why their dynamic is that Claire is always giving and Carmy is always taking.

That is my theory. That's why many of her actions look both good-intentioned and manipulative because she is doing both. She wants to be loved in a very specific way after providing care and sacrificing a good deal herself. She wants to be loved because she does these things; that's how she earns it.

PART 3: ALWAYS SMILING

Gif de thoughtfulchaos773

She always makes this picture of perfect faces and soft smiles; a part of me wonders if she wants to display exactly that. She is inviting, always a calm and happy person, which is also on brand for someone who may have grown up finding worth in being pleasant to others. It is not like I hate pleasant female characters; I love a cinnamon roll any day, but this could be very performative, especially the way society pressures women to present themselves this way in order to be lovable. For Claire, this is the cherry on top of her masking to be a good caretaker, always available and welcoming.

This may also have a dark side. Why doesn't she recommend that Carmy seek professional help? Nobody wants to be confronted or hear that they are broken. She knows he may react negatively to her suggestion, so she doesn't do it; love is what she is after.

PART 4: CODEPENDENCY

This topic is huge, and I am gonna brush over it.

A person who only feels worth taking care of others will try to make the other person rely on them as much as possible. The party scene becomes dark-toned in this subtext. She brought him to a place where he felt like an outsider, she supported him in using a fake persona (ew), she knew there was gonna be alcohol there, didn't she feel bad that people may pressure him to drink, or she wanted to be his aid on the scenario (giving her the soft drink), she tried to make him fit in, even told him what to say in certain scenarios, especially when she was doing the thing she says she is so good at: taking care of the drunk friend. She kept bringing up in the phone conversation how much the Faks would be angry with him for rejecting her. She kept saying things like, "You could not have done this without me." Idk. Now that I keep thinking of the caregiver archetype, I can't unsee it.

Why did she leave that voicemail? Who says I love you for the first time in a voice message? On the opening day of the fucking restaurant? A very high-stress, demanding job, that day with so many things can go wrong?

Was it because she wanted her voice to comfort him during the most stressful times? The only comfort? Was she so sure that after all she had done for her, how could he not love her back?

PART 5: THE DOCTOR CONTRADICTION

This is to lomg, but to analyze Claire, I cannot ignore this part. I said this before in this post, but when Claire said:

I had to pause. That didn't sound like something a doctor would say. There is a reblog from @ciaonicole85 that I would like to quote:

I'm a healthcare provider, and I don't know anyone in my field who would say that setting a fire is cool. We're typically very respectful when talking about someone's dead family member, especially when suicide is a factor and mental health generally.

Then there is also the mention of discussing her classmate getting a broken arm in kindergarten. Quoting, again, from @brokenwinebox amazing post:

Claire: "When we were like six, she fell off a fence and broke her arm, and it scared the shit out of everybody. Except me, i just like sat there and stared at her arm." Carmy: "Cause you wanted to fix it?" Claire: "I wanted to understand it."

First of all, why is one thing exclusive to the other?  She said she wanted to understand it, almost as a priority to fix it. That is weird as fuck. She tried to make that distinction, that point. As @brokenwinebox mentioned, is this supposed to be a clue that she wants to understand more than fix? I think it is.

A little side note here, this line gave me a "I am not like other girls (or people for that matter)" vibe, because she made a point to say that everyone else freaked out but her, as if that made her extra brave or something, destined for what she does now, an emergency doctor, but no, a kid freaking out would be the most normal thing. The brave thing would have been asking for help, like wtf. But coming back to the point.

I am not saying Claire doesn't care about his patients or that she doesn't want to fix them. However, her dialogue displayed carelessness and ominous comments about other people getting hurt/sensible topics.

I don't think it's because she doesn't care but because she is attracted to risk. She mentioned she used to shoplift as a teen (I am not judging, but wtf). That surely will give her an adrenaline rush. She mentioned she likes driving because of the risk of it.

This also makes me think: Does she like Carmy because she thinks dating him can also be risky? Not in a dangerous context or anything, but because of how emotionally unreliable he is. There is a thing as always looking for emotionally unavailable people, and there is a psychological explanation for it, too.  

So yeah, those are my thoughts. Maybe s3 will prove me wrong.

Thank you so much for reading.

[bajibitch]

How Bonten treats their housekeepers.

Takeomi, Rindou, Ran, Mochizuki, Manjiro, and Haruchiyo

⚅ Takeomi

He’s always telling you about his plans, so you can know what activities a rich person partakes in. He’ll show you the nice things he brought and say he’ll get you one. You learned to keep your hopes low since he never kept his word. He loves having company over but he doesn’t let them be disrespectful. They can’t order you around just because they hear him giving demands and they can’t talk down to you. He may be obtuse, but he’s not a complete dick.

⚄ Rindou

He enjoys having conversations with you, it doesn’t have to be anything surrounding him either. He wants to know more about the people in his home. There’s never a time where he’s lashing out because he understands that there’ll be mistakes and miscommunications. He relies on you when it comes to planning his parties and brunches ever since you did well the first few times. The only time he doesn’t ask for your help is when he’s planning an event just for you and the others.

⚃ Ran

So annoying! Sweet talking with that look in his eyes whenever he feels lonely, it's obvious he favors you. He often pulls you from your work to make out in the gardens, or ride with him into the city. He says it’s because you’re a hard worker, but everyone knows he’s in love. Why else would he keep having you bring him water past ten o’clock? Or give you much more than you earned? There are times when you think he’s gonna come to his senses, but he never does.

⚂ Mochizuki

Kanji shows that he's appreciative in more ways than one. If he's having a luxurious meal, then you’re more than welcome to have some too if you haven’t eaten yet. You’re room isn’t some cramped area that gets mistaken for a supply closet, it’s comfortable space since he thinks it’s fair. You’re always working hard and deserve to be treated well, if not better. He understands that you’re doing a job, but likes seeing you as a found family member.

⚁ Manjiro

For him to be the ruler of the largest crime syndicate, he's a bit clingy. You don't blame him though. He brought a big house, shutting everyone out, leaving you and a few other workers. He doesn’t speak much, but he’s always there, laying in the background. He’s voice is near a whisper when he’s asking for things and you often miss it, but he doesn’t get upset. He just sits there and goes without it. You have to get into the habit of asking him if he needs anything.

⚀ Haruchiyo

He cares about your well-being and reminds you to not overwork yourself. He’d feel bad if anything were to happen. I lied, he isn’t the nicest to be around. With his dangerous addiction he’s unpredictable. It’s a nightmare never knowing what he’ll be like when he walks through the door. One minute he’s draped over you and saying you’re doing great, the next he’s throwing bottles near you because he thought he asked for food. At some point he went as far as cutting your cheek and you have the scar to prove it. You may think, then I’ll just quit, but he doesn’t give you that option.

[jjkamochoso]

The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Chapter 7 linked here

Chapter 9 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, blood, description of sewing up skin

The weather took an unpredictable turn, sheets of rain cascading down on the castle where the sun shone hours earlier. If this was any other afternoon you would’ve welcomed it with open arms but the Scouts were out on their expedition, deep in Wall Maria. Everyone knows it’s too dangerous to evade titans, much less fight them, in conditions like this. You tried to quell your worried heart by throwing yourself into your newest project. You were using Levi’s leftover winter pant fabric to create arm warmers for yourself. When you were done cutting the pattern and got your pieces ready to sew, you felt a dull ache in your chest as you realized this quite possibly could be the last bit of Levi you’d ever have. You did your best to quiet your thoughts as they helped nothing, focusing on your hands as they pushed fabric under the sewing machine. With that part over, you decided to embellish your new accessories with embroidery. You opted for the Scout Regiment symbol on the back of the arms so hopefully you could wear them as part of your uniform. The fronts look bare without anything so you added a small bunch of bell flowers. You noticed they were growing everywhere this time of year and to you they represented beauty and hope in times of despair. There was a slight chill that came with the storm so you put your newly finished work to use, relishing the warmth they brought you. As you went to the dining hall for dinner, you overheard a messenger that came riding in from the expedition, but you could only capture a few words here and there from your position as an eavesdropper.

“We… rain and thunder… sitting ducks out there… waiting for the weather to let up… too dangerous… not coming back yet.”

You let out a gasp. They were supposed to be back tonight but it sounded like they were having to wait out the rain. After hearing that, you weren’t hungry anymore. You spent the rest of the night in your room with a stomachache.

When Levi felt the first drops of rain land on him, he couldn’t believe the bad luck. The weather was supposed to be clear for the rest of the week, why was it fucking them over now?

“Erwin. What are you thinking?”

The commander kept an unreadable face while his horse galloped forward. “We gather the troops under the trees for shelter. We need to bring these supplies back into the wall, there’s no leaving the carts behind. It’s a gamble we must take.”

Levi wordlessly fell back, sending out a messenger and shooting off his smoke signal to show the change in formation. When all of the squads reconvened in the cover of the forest, Levi started feeling a headache coming on. Not only had they already lost some soldiers to titans taking advantage of the confusion of the regrouping, the rain was even worse and visibility was limited. They had to wait for a break in the weather and haul ass back to the walls before it stormed again. The black haired man’s thoughts roamed to you. He figured you were probably enjoying the stormy weather, watching the rain pelt your window as you sipped on a warm drink.

Actually, he scoffed to himself, she’s probably worried sick about us. Her and that big heart of hers.

Not that he was complaining—his own heart was guilty of caring too much as well. For his comrades, the people who relied on him to keep him safe, you. You had wormed your way into his heart with your kind smile, witty humor, and strong work ethic. Levi had an innate desire to protect people, especially those he cared about, but as his crush on you developed into stronger feelings over the months, he was sure that if a titan even dared to look at you with its disgusting eyes that he would chop it up and make it suffer, the same way he annihilated the one that killed Isabelle and Furlan. Levi shivered as the memory of their mangled bodies came to the forefront of his mind. Their deaths continued to haunt him, a constant reminder of his failure to keep them safe. He swore to himself he’d never get close to people again but he failed miserably at that. He was too empathetic and terribly compassionate. Erwin, Hange, his squad members, and now you, were all people he had let infiltrate his ironclad heart and he just hoped none of them were stupid enough to get themselves killed.

The thunder and rain had finally let up as nighttime washed over the Survey Corps. The horses and carts were prepared once more and everyone was ready to get out of there as soon as possible. Even Levi was getting creeped out by the lack of titan activity in the forest. Was it because it was so dark earlier? He didn’t know and didn’t care to stick around and find out. As the brigade left the confines of the forest, multiples of fast, pounding footsteps were quickly coming in from behind them, deeper in the trees.

“Carts! Head to the wall now!” Erwin directed most of the squads to follow and give them cover in case of other titan attacks. Meanwhile, Levi and his squad, along with Hange and a few others, stayed behind to take care of the abnormal titan that showed up with other titans trailing behind it. The smaller titans were easy enough to deal with but the abnormal seemingly kept calling for more reinforcements. Every time someone tried to take down the abnormal, a swarm of smaller titans protected it. Soon, the squads were at risk of being overwhelmed. Exhaustion had creeped into their bones from flying around and slamming into trees with their ODM gear. Levi heard the screams of his fallen comrades which only fueled him to move faster, slice stronger. He was flying from tree to tree, cutting napes like crazy, when he finally saw an opening to take down the abnormal. He quickly gained momentum, throwing himself from the branches and spinning mid air, cutting a hole in the back of the abnormal’s neck and it sank down. As he zipped through the air, taking down the rest of the titans, another unseen abnormal had taken refuge in the trees, waiting to strike. It saw Levi with his sights set on a smaller titan and took the opportunity to jump on him. Levi saw movement out of the corner of his eye and yanked himself into some tree branches in hopes of avoiding a collision with a type of titan he’d never seen before. This one was able to climb trees and had sharp, almost claw-like nails. He stared in horror as he heard Hange squeal in delight at their new discovery.

“Ahh! That’s so cool!” they yelled, gleefully slicing into a nape of a 8 meter while trying to catch a glimpse of the enigma that had joined the battle. Levi couldn’t care less about the titan, he just knew he couldn’t let it escape. It was surprisingly fast and agile, much like him. Its long arms reached out and swiped at him. He was able to evade most of the attack but he felt the skin of his arm open up as blood gushed from his newly acquired wound.

“Tch. You ruined my fucking shirt,” he grumbled, thinking about how he’d have to bring you his clothes to get fixed. This damn titan needed to get taken out now because it could climb the walls and wreak havoc, hurting people inside. It could easily kill the Scouts surrounding him if it was able to injure him (a rare occurrence). It could easily kill you.

He couldn’t lose you.

Levi went into berserk mode, spinning up the titan’s arm and slicing it to shreds. To anyone witnessing the sight, it looked like a tornado of blades had descended upon the forest. The head of the titan landed on the ground with a thud and Levi wiped the blood from his blade.

“Ugly piece of shit.”

The other titans were taken out and the soldiers all rode back to the wall on their horses, having to leave behind the slain bodies from the battle in the trees, but Levi kept the collected Scout crests from their uniforms to give to their families. When the rest of the units were all safely inside the walls, no casualties among the squads that protected the carts, Levi let out a sigh of relief. They made haste to the castle, ready to make up for lost time spent in titan territory. Levi searched for your face among the crowd that had gathered to meet the returning group back at the base but you were nowhere to be found. He frowned, even more so when he felt his wound seeping blood again. He needed stitches but he hated going to the infirmary. The smells and sounds of agony were too much for him. He would normally do it himself but this didn’t seem like a one man job. If only he knew someone that was good with a needle…

You awoke with a start at the sound of voices. You looked out your window and saw the Scouts had returned, gathering in the courtyard while butterflies were gathering in your stomach. You saw a few carts filled with supplies, which meant their expedition was a success, but then you spotted a cart filled with bodies. It was extremely difficult knowing people had died, but you knew they didn’t give their hearts in vain. You didn’t mean to be inconsiderate at a time like this, but you truly hoped no one you knew well was lying there, covered in a white sheet. You slumped against your table, head in your hands, when you heard a small knock at your door.

“It’s me.”

Your head shot up as Levi opened the door slowly. Your smile faded immediately when you saw he was dripping blood and looked pale.

“Levi! Go to the medic!” you said, but he shook his head and threw you a first aid kit.

“I’m not going to the shitty infirmary. It’s disgusting in there. I need you to sew me up.”

Your hands were shaking as you grasped the kit in your hands. You were a seamstress, not a doctor. You’ve never sewed skin before, you didn’t know how. Actually, that wasn’t all true. You had perused Hange’s books and read how to do it, but it certainly wasn’t the same. You opened your mouth to protest but his eyes held such an intense pleading gaze that you couldn’t turn him away.

“Here, sit on the bed. I’ll try it. If I fuck it up you have to promise me you’ll let me take you to a real doctor.”

He grunted and you took that as his word. He had thankfully taken off the ODM gear but his harness and everything else was still attached. You handed him a towel to press on the wound while you went to work on getting the straps undone so you could properly assess the wound under his sleeve.

“Is it okay if I undo everything?” you asked beforehand, not wanting to make Levi uncomfortable. He was quiet but nodded in agreement so you got started. The last time you were this close to him, nimble fingers working your way around his body, was when you tailored his pants. You would’ve appreciated this closeness any other time if he wasn’t risking bleeding out in front of you. Levi, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying himself. He hated to think he was being a burden on you but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t loving the little touches you laid on him while disassembling the top of his uniform. He usually hated physical touch but you were so gentle with him that his body couldn’t possibly deem you a threat. When his jacket and top harness were off and stored neatly on the floor, you took off his cravat and laid it on the bed so he could breathe a little better.

“Now for the fun part,” you said under your breath, doing your best to pull up his sleeve to see the gash but it was too tight to pull up to his shoulder.

“Shirt’s gotta come off, Captain,” you said nonchalantly. You realized what you said and immediately felt embarrassed.

“Buy me dinner first, brat,” teased Levi, a strained huff of laughter exiting his throat at the same time as a groan of pain. You hurriedly took over the task of peeling off his shirt, averting your gaze from his chest the best you could. You offered him another towel for modesty but he refused, not wanting to dirty any more of your belongings. You busied yourself with threading the needle, making sure to not blatantly look at the insanely sculpted body that was staring you in the face out of respect for him. You had more important things to do than ogle your crush’s muscles while he was injured.

“Are those new?” Levi gestured to your arm warmers.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I repurposed the leftovers from your winter pants to make them. And, of course, added my own design touch.”

Levi’s heart skipped a beat.

You took a seat next to him on the bed again, ready needle in hand, as he removed the towel. The blood had stopped running down his arm but it left the area slick.

Okay, I can do this. He’s just a big shirt with a hole you need to mend. You’ve done this plenty of times, y/n.

Your hand was shaking as you brought it up to the wound. Levi watched you intently with slow blinks, like a cat.

“I’m going to start now. Tell me if I’m hurting you too much and I’ll stop.”

One last deep breath and your needle punctured his skin. He barely reacted as you began sewing him up, stitching broken skin back together like he was a giant doll. You did your best to keep the lines nice and straight since he’d have these scars for a long time. You thought maybe he would look away but he never took his eyes off you. In fact, Levi thought you looked more beautiful now than you ever have before. You were so concentrated, deep in thought, with your brows slightly furrowed, all while helping him not bleed out—it was the perfect recipe for him to fall in love. He wouldn’t go so far to call this love yet, but the way your breath fanned over his skin to make him develop goosebumps had him guessing it was pretty damn close. Or maybe it was the way you were literally wearing his clothes. Sure, they were repurposed, but the fact of the matter was you two had been connected by threads in so many different ways now. You mended his cape, used his clothes scraps for your own personal items, stitched up his skin. He didn’t believe in fate or any of that nonsense but there was definitely some sort of symbolism happening with the two of you.

“All done. Did I do okay?”

Levi inspected your work. Neat, clean, and precise, just as expected. “You did well. I’m proud of you, you didn’t even cry once.”

“Aren’t I supposed to say that to you? You were the one with their arm barely attached to their shoulder,” you joked. Levi rolled his eyes and went to get up but let out a small hiss, sinking back into the plush mattress.

“Can I help or do you want me to leave you alone?” you asked, not wanting him to get frustrated with you fussing over him.

“It’s fine, I got it.” He tried to get up again but was still in pain. His lungs hurt and he felt nauseous. You rushed to his side, clearing the bed of the mess so he could sit up against the headboard.

“I’ll get a doctor. You wait here.” You rushed out of your room before he could protest. That damn abnormal titan’s hand collided with his chest when it sliced him and he must’ve been running on adrenaline until now so he hadn’t felt its effects. A few minutes later you entered with a doctor. She examined him and determined he’d broken a few ribs, prescribing him with pain killers and a healthy dose of bed rest. Levi wasn’t thrilled with the news.

“I’m not resting. I have too much to do,” he said angrily, trying to stand up once again. The doctor quickly left the room, not wanting to be swept up in Levi’s tantrum.

You pushed him back on the bed by the shoulder. “No you don’t, mister. You’re resting, doctor’s orders. I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore. If you want to get back to work, you have to recover fully and I’ll make sure you do just that. Now wait here. I’m getting you a damn shirt.”

Chapter 9

A/N: just wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who’s read not just this series, but all my work!! I truly appreciate any likes, reblogs, and comments you guys leave me, it makes me smile to know people are enjoying my writing! Series writing is something I’ve never dabbled in before but the chapters seem to flow well and I feel like I’m doing alright (if not please let me know lmao). Also my requests are open if you ever want a one shot, drabble, headcannons, etc. Thanks again, I love you all so so much!! <3

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Cale is so ready to take on everything.

I’m rereading the heart scene and, just- his life as Kim Rok Soo had such an impact on how he handles pressure, it’s actually sad. When he was KRS, people relied on him. Heavily. As the team leader, people saw him as a life line.

He never took breaks, he put himself in danger and sacrificed his well-being by using his abilities (for example, Instant), and as we hear later on- he had a 0% mortality rate. When people around him were weak, he became strong in order to overcome it. Nobody died when he became the Team Leader.

And in the world they lived in- yes! I’m not surprised at all that people latched onto him. No matter how much they care about him, they couldn’t help but allow him to save them. Over and over again.

So Cale had this expectation for himself too! When others give up -> he does not. In front of impossible tasks, he rises up, because that’s how it should be. How could someone who had so little as a child- no parents, no friends, no stability or safety or reliability- how could he possibly give up what he’s managed to attain? How could he let his friends get hurt when he knows that he could be hurting instead?

And then he becomes Cale, and he relaxes. His new companions are strong, and he’s not going to be with them for very long anyway. He will slack off, chill out, and take his hands off the wheel.

But he can’t- he just can’t stop helping them. Like an addiction, he helps Choi Han get a connection to Ron and Beacrox. Then he saves Raon. He helps Lock, Amiru, Mary, Alberu, Queen Litana. It’s so impulsive. It’s for his own benefit but he tangles himself into the story because tampering with Fate is a side hobby for him.

Then he develops relationships and friends- and when he sees danger approaching he stands up against it like a solid wall. Over and over again.

And, what? He naturally expects the people behind him to stay behind that wall. To listen to him and help, but to stay safe in the long run. He expects them to back off when something looks impossible. Because- well, he’s right here isn’t he? Overcoming the impossible is second nature for him!

But the people around him… aren’t standing by passively, like they did when he was KRS. When he was KRS they let him protect them for 15 years. Then he’s Cale Henituse and they don’t. They learn from him. They learn to stand up against the unpredictable and the indomitable. They see him and learn.

They aren’t happy about his sacrifices, but he tells them to be full and content and to eat well… so they listen. For a while. They understand wisdom and they take his words and learn their limitations.

Right until he stabs himself in the heart. What the fuck?! Biggest hypocrite in history right??! Can’t trust this guy to not bleed and sacrifice himself for shit!!!

So they angrily push aside his worry and their limits and they decide that it’s THEIR turn to protect him. Even against a GOD, Cale has shown them that nothing is impossible so they’re going to turn the tables and THEY’RE going to be the ones to cough blood!!

This scene is so heart wrenching, but it’s Cales disbelief that hurts the most. He’s stunned. He’s someone who can’t even imagine the lengths that a person would go for him. He’s a person who protects without ever expecting to receive that same effort.

Sure, he knows he’ll be protected. He’s not naive. But he puts 200% and expects 50-100%. He goes above and beyond, but prepares for average. Prepares for lackluster.

So when everyone tries to push him aside to protect him? He- he doesn’t even notice their efforts! It’s like looking for a leaf in a forest, but he’s supposed to be looking at the entire forest. Why would he think that they would give him a forest’s worth of leaves? He’s oblivious. So he looks for a single leaf.

Then they really do push him back and protect him- they defend against the orb that’s exploding and it’s like they’re screaming “It’s the forest! It’s always been the forest!”

And he’s lost. Absolutely, utterly lost. It’s heartbreaking, how distressed he is that his friends are hurting and they won’t let him handle it for them. He’s not even hurt, after all! He hasn’t fainted, he’s still useful! He’s ready! What he’s done so far hasn’t even been too difficult! Why won’t they let go and give it to him?

Everyone is so angry at him, or busy pitying him, that he’s left alone with this. While reading this scene I’m filled with a strong disconnect. He is surrounded by his friends but everyone is far away from him. Their goals have never been farther apart than this moment.

He’s always been one step ahead.

He’s always been ready. He’s always waiting.

And then he stabbed himself in the heart, and everyone but him felt the shift in the stars.

And then the next scenes are his friends trying to wrestle the responsibility out of his white-knuckled hands. They fight for it! Yet all the way until the orb’s time to explode, he holds onto it with an iron grip. I don’t even think he realized they were trying to take it out of his hands.

He kills the White Star, he Embraces the Ancient Powers, and he even manages to Embrace the Sealed God into the book and take over the temple in one move. We get to see everyone’s reactions to his stubbornness too.

So they become twice as stubborn. They cough up blood, they faint, they do 200% of what they’re naturally capable of. Why?

Because they saw Cale do it first. Because they refuse to let him do it again.

And Cale?

He can’t say anything.

[deramin2]

Bell's Hells are so stupidly reckless and refuse to communicate even though they're breaking down from the stress and have all decided their lives aren't worth living so they'll fatally gamble for the cause. But also they love each other very much from the trauma bonding of the last 81 days and if any of them died the others worried destroy the world in their grief. They are walking disasters who should not be relied on to make cookies for a pot luck but have just been tasked with one of the riskiest and most critical scouting missions in history that could be the only thing that stops or mitigates a second Calamity. They might end up fighting each other to the death.

I love them so much. They are each my blorbos that I endlessly rotate around my brain. I'm having fun with seeing where this goes precisely because it feels unpredictable. Or like Uncut Gems where the whole appeal is that the main character is digging himself into a deeper and more dangerous hole with every decision and you're just curious how far he's going to get. And because it feels so real.

Love my representation for people that are mentally ill in very realistic ways where you really do just continually sabotage yourself and suffer through it but that always feels like what you deserve in the moment. The desperate need to prove your worth while feeling like you've lied to anyone who deems you worthy and they're going to figure it out any second now and everything's going to come crashing down. It NEEDS to come crashing down. But like, it doesn't and all that does is dump all your baggage all over the floor and some of it breaks and is sticky.

Exandria Unlimited: Calamity was fun because three explicit premise was the heroes were going to fail and the world would be destroyed because of it.

Campaign 3 is between Calamity and Vox Machina. Vox Machina were chaotic but it was a deeply heroic fantasy story where good is supposed to triumph over evil. There was always the risk they could fail, but that wasn't the favored option. Calamity they were doomed to failure and couldn't win.

But Bell's Hells feels like there is 50/50 odds on whether they win. It's far more challenging and urgent to stop Ludinus. And crucially the CHARACTERS are meant to be more challenging to have win. They are getting in their own way as real people do. They're all teetering on three edge of a corruption arc.

Corruption is what doomed The Ring of Brass. Covering up experiments. Trusting the wrong god because of incredible hubris. Manipulating the truth. Enabling others to do the same. They were so focused on their own ambition that they ignored or minimized the risks in their calculations.

Bell's Hells' greatest weakness is they're all self-sacrificing and willing to embrace dangerous powers to make themselves stronger at whatever cost to themselves or each other. They don't think they're good enough but they desperately need to be because there is no one else. Chetney voiced what they all believe: that their biggest asset right now is they're expendable.

And that's not really something you talk about with your friends because it sucks when you verbalize it like that. Your friends (of they are friends) are going to try to talk you out of that line of thinking even if they're deeply empathetic about why you're feeling that way. Just voicing their fears was a lot. Imogen feeling disappointed with Fearne because she didn't take the shard was really that Fearne was more afraid of sacrificing herself (and giving into corruption) than everyone else.

What if the heroes weren't heroic? What if they were in touch with their feelings on the surface but struggled to ever talk about it or change? (This is a theme in a lot of queer media.) What if they aren't good enough? What if they could be but there's no guarantee. Everyone agrees in advance that failure is just as interesting and pleasurable and fun here as succeeding. Just to watch the world change as a result of your actions. It's a very different tone.

Three Mighty Nein were nobodies who largely stayed nobodies even though they had a profound impact on the world. Bell's Hells are nobodies getting a crash course in becoming somebodies caught up in a nightmarish struggle, and they're crumbling under the weight of it. That's the story that rarely gets told even though it's far truer than heroism.

This is in line with the kinds of stories being told in Candela Obscura where mortality and heroism are more troubled in the face of unending nightmares. D&D's Epic fantasy is just a rarer setting to tell that story than horror. Personally I find that more mature and nuanced storytelling. Equally enjoyable but here there's more room to say something less often said and progressively more exploded than power fantasies.

This is like an evil campaign where every one of them is a mostly good person that has the capability to do great harm that others will curse their name for. They're desperately trying to pull out of that nose dive while the winds of change push down on them.

Tybee point isn't to make optimal decisions, it's to make interesting decisions. Press the big red button just to see what happens. Be brave enough to fail and see what happens when your character falls down. As Travis said her plays by following intrusive thoughts.

I'm having a lot of fun with this one because I get to follow why the characters made a decision and by what twisted logic that felt like a good idea even though it's very likely to blow up in their face. It's juicy. It's dramatic. It reflects a mindset I struggle with. It's different.

[absolutely-normal-about-x]

CARBON LORE: Islands and Continents

Terra is mostly flooded, leaving only islands, archipelagos, and smaller continents. This means that most of the settlements are largely located on islands. Each island has a unique culture, resources, and environment; some islands are further apart than others. However, because there are only a few continents, most people believe that is where the majority of carbon is located, but this is not the case. There are numerous differences between these locations, and that is not even taking into account the ruins. Not all islands are populated, as there are hazards that prevent carbons from residing there, depending on the environment and weather conditions.

However, there is a distinction between dangerous islands and forbidden islands. A subset of islands is considered too dangerous for even diggers to visit without a proper expedition team. These islands are extremely dangerous due to the numerous threats that exist there, such as unpredictable storms, powerful reaverbots, unstable environments, and so on. Despite the many dangers, they also contain valuable treasure, refractors, and other items. There are even rumors that it is believed that the mother load may be located on one of the forbidden islands, but it remains undetermined.

In terms of the continent, it is interesting because these last areas of land are not as large as they once were, but they are still big enough to be considered continents. It is mostly where larger settlements are located; however, half of the continent is not completely populated because it contains larger ruins and dangers that islands cannot deal with. Most of the time, it is located in safer areas, such as the mountains or the coast, where others can visit their settlement. It houses a much larger population of diggers who travel on expeditions or gather resources for their settlement. It is primarily where the S rank exams are held because the ruins are much larger and more extensive than those on the islands.

Because of the society in which Carbons lived, trade was common within the settlements. Inter-island trade occurs when most islands trade specific resources for each other, particularly across continents. However, when it comes to communications,it varies since the internet doesn't exactly exist. Carbons have to rely on cable networks and reception in order to have communications however there are islands that have limited reception so they have to rely on local news or by passing travelers to receive it. So not all news spread through Terra.

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 12 Ch 1-4

This volume is extra long so figuring out how to divide this up is tricky. Hopefully, this post isn't too long because I have many, many thoughts about the showdown between Knives and Vash.

Ch 1

Chronica and Domina and honestly the entire Earth fleet present some really fascinating questions about Plants and how things work on Earth. I mean, the implications of something like this having happened before, and being so destructive and unpredictable that Chronica tells Domina not to rely on the data from previous encounters.

Also, the language they use around the data. “We already share all our data.” It’s a very sciencey way of referring to what is basically telepathy, I think. We haven’t had language for how any of this works before and that’s part of where the terror and uncertainty comes from. When Vash accidentally went all rogue angel and anyone touching him got a front row seat to his memories, that was probably “sharing data.” But that kind of clinical description sure as hell wasn’t what it felt like for anyone involved. Then, it felt more akin to the supernatural, to cosmic horror, because it was so unknown and out there. But for these Independents, it’s just sharing data, it’s just what they are and how they work. There’s a split between the level of mysticism that Plants have acquired on No Man’s Land (due to the lack of resources and how heavily they rely on them) and the more (seemingly) scientifically oriented Earth fleet. 

This entire sequence where Vash looks back at his past, everyone he’s helped and fought for, all the enemies he’s faced, is so gorgeous and hard-hitting. He’s steeling himself for the final battle and reminding himself what matters, what he’s fighting for. It’s so telling that the last images are of Rem and Wolfwood. But it’s also telling that we don’t see Wolfwood’s face. Is it because the grief is too fresh? Is it because Vash feels guilty? I’m not sure. But the juxtaposition of a solitary cross among a sea of faces is hard to beat. It’s a punch in the gut. 

And another thing! Razlo and Livio are included when he considers the Gung Ho Guns even though he never fought them directly. But Vash doesn’t place Wolfwood there though he also was very much so one of them. He doesn’t see him as one, Wolfwood has become so much more to him and he’s refusing to acknowledge some of Wolfwood’s last words, that all he is is a monster. 

There’s something about this page that reads to me like a prayer. Vash’s pose, his lowered head, his hand and gun centered, it’s his own form of prayer. To who or what, I can’t say. He’s not asking for anything except strength to reach the end, to protect those tough and tender days he loved so much. 

It hurts me that he doesn’t expect to make it to the end. Tellingly, his hair is almost entirely black here. He’s used up most of his life force. In some ways, I imagine he’s performing some kind of final ritual for himself. He’s reminding himself what he’s fighting for because the person that gave him hope again when he thought all was lost is gone. 

Is the Earth fleet planning on dropping a nuclear bomb on Knives to stop him? Because that’s really what it sounds like. I get that he’s dangerous, but wasn’t the whole point of coming here to help the people on this planet, not kill them? Seems like the Earth fleet aren’t quite the good guys we were hoping they would be. 

But then Knives just disappears! That’s not terrifying at all or anything.

Ch 2

Knives just teleported, a power apparently completely unknown for even fused Independents to have. That’s wild. But also not. He’s probably fused to more Plants than other Independent has before, to the point that his own body is losing shape and he seems to be becoming one of them. It’s weird to say that he’s becoming less human, since he’s always been so focused on not being human, but at least in form he was. Not anymore, and it’s signaling a dangerous change in his power levels. 

Domina experiences a Knives jumpscare, which doesn’t bode well for her. It’s never a good thing when Knives suddenly appears in your mind. 

Panic and fear for your life can make people do insane things, but truly shooting guns into the air at a massive airship that is far above the city is such an incredibly useless and stupid thing to do. 

Knives did say he had enough power to reach past the boundaries of the planet. But man, that’s horrifying. He took complete control of another Independent. He fused with her like he was originally thinking of doing with Vash. He spoke in her voice and everything, even convinced Chronica that it was Domina for a moment. That’s…really scary. Can you imagine if he had done that to Vash? 

Knives straight up doesn’t have anything resembling a body anymore. He’s getting into biblically accurate territory here. The body horror is real. 

Also, I’m not surprised that he calls Chronica and Domina slaves of humans. He’s always looked down at Vash for helping them and living among them. Of course he’d say even worse things for the ones actively working with humans in their military. Though I’m still curious how much actual choice Chronica or Domina had in taking this assignment and becoming part of this crew.  

Ch 3

Sometimes I forget Trigun is actually scifi. But now we have a spaceship battle! Though I’d actually argue Trigun is sci-fantasy but that’s another discussion entirely. 

I’m still not over the fact that Knives fused with another Independent and is using her like a puppet. Like, that’s a terrifying capability for Independent Plants to have. Imagine what else he could do like that. Imagine if he had Vash’s power behind him. Imagine if Vash had decided to do something like that. Truly, I can’t put into words how horrifying that is. I’m not surprised anymore that humans would find a way to alter Independents so they can’t do that. 

Shooting straight into the air when there’s nothing to hit up there really isn’t a smart move. But people are scared and aren’t known for thinking straight in those circumstances. 

I have to agree with Luida here. I don’t like how quiet the military is considering how adamant they were about fighting back earlier. That doesn’t bode well at all. 

Vash fired his angel bullets at Knives! They kinda look like a black hole in the form of a bullet.

His power and accuracy remain unmatched. He’s way too far away from Knives for his gun on its own to have the power to reach him. That means he’s using his Plant powers to gain more speed and distance. 

It also looks like he severed the threads connecting Knives to Domina. Or disrupted them? It’s hard to tell, but either way, he’s showing his hand and letting Knives know he’s here, and he’s not going to let him get away with his plan.

Ch 4

It strikes me that we’ve never seen Vash openly use his powers like this before. He might move inhumanly fast and dodge attacks that would kill most people but he hasn’t actively created gates and used them against people. His powers don’t work with his version of pacifism. Add to that his fear of them and what they’re capable of, and it’s no wonder he never used them.

Things have changed now. He’s throwing that aside now. He’s not on the defensive anymore. He’s not scared of himself either. He’s got nothing left to lose and he’s going to throw everything he has at Knives because he has to protect humanity (and everything Wolfwood fought to protect). 

But also, his face here. It’s empty, slightly unhinged. He chooses this moment to put his glasses on. Is he hiding? Putting up a shield? Or is he actively turning himself into diablo, the angry avenger he keeps inside himself? Either way, there’s just something cold and entirely unlike the Vash we know in these panels. Including the very antagonistic way he’s talking to Knives, which is also quite a change. He’s done trying to reason with him. He’s finally realized there’s nothing he can say that will stop him. All they can do is fight until there’s only one man left standing. 

Knives has also decided he’s done with Vash. If he’s so willing to attack him, Knives is done trying to protect him. But even as he says that, Knives covers his face. Like he can’t stand to see his brother’s death. He knows he has to do this for his mission to succeed, but deep down, he hates it. Now I’m wondering if that’s why Vash put his glasses on too. To give himself that barrier between himself and the death of his brother. Because I maintain that no matter how much Vash said he was out to kill him for revenge, until this moment, his actions said that he didn’t truly mean it. 

“I’m disappointed. I don’t even want to see your corpse.” Knives, that’s—that’s a lot. He wants to destroy Vash so utterly, there’s nothing left of him. But he’s lying to himself again, because I don’t think it’s about how Vash still fights like a human, so he’s disgusting and beneath Knives and deserves a destructive death. It’s about not wanting to see the dead body of the brother he would’ve done literally anything to protect. 

Vash’s hair is getting blacker and blacker by the page and it’s hurting me deeply. He doesn’t care about surviving at all. There’s just Knives and him. 

Interestingly, when Knives realizes that Vash has fashioned his powers into bullets, he becomes complimentary again. He’s basically thinking, “Well, at least you finally put your powers to good use.”

But Vash says no. He’s accepted who and what he is, he’s accepted his power, but at the end of the day, he’s still just a gunman. He’s a simple man fighting to protect what he loves. He is not “other” like Knives. He’s part of this world and he’s fighting to protect it. Vash reaffirms his beliefs and who he is before Knives and that’s really, really powerful.

[sevenish-spheres]

Infusers of the Seven Spheres

Image Source

Overview

Magic is found in all things to varying extents, and many throughout the ages have tried to harness this ambient energy for power. The earliest of these were the infusers. Infusing oneself with magic works exactly as you’d expect, as it draws power from other sources into the body and rapidly expels it. Due to its volatility, many infusers are typecast as insane, and whilst this is unfair, the significant amounts of magical substances they ingest or inject into themselves tends to leave scars both physical and mental. There are broadly two types of Infusers commonly found in the cosmos, although other varieties do exist. Compounding this confusion is the fact that infusers will often combine disciplines, with witches occasionally utilising astromancy and many druids being powerful parasite mages. Unlike Astromancers, Infusers are less limited by their location in the Planes, as as long as they have a supply of premade infusions or items, they can still cast without the complicated recalibration process Astromancers endure.

Features of Infusion

As it is a much broader discipline than Astromancy, Infusers tend to have less distinctive features than their star-mage kin. However, they do sport several common traits, such as discoloration or mutation in the body parts they most frequently transmit magic through, such as long, blackened nails or mismatched eyes. Furthermore, some infusers sport similar lightning-scar runes to those found on Astromancers who attempt electrokinetic spells but fail to maintain concentration. Infusion spells tend to be exceptionally variable in form, but commonly manifest as more organic shapes such as thorns or phantasmal limbs, although clouds of gas and similar simple shapes are equally prevalent.

Limitations

Far moreso than Astromancers, Infusers are directly limited by their concentration whilst casting, as if they loose focus whilst channeling their power the backlash can easily maim or kill them. Furthermore, as Infusers tend to rely on more esoteric sources of power, exhausting their reserves of components can rob them of much of their danger. Finally, Infusers tend to maintain far less control over their spells after they're cast than Astromancers, meaning duels between multiple Infusers often turn into games of arcane tennis as each seizes control of the same spell.

Infusers come in many forms, but the two most common are listed below.

Witches

Found across many worlds, and often the type of caster most people are familiar with, Witches are likely some of the oldest forms of spellcasters to exist. Their magic works simply by grinding down or otherwise destroying various magical plants, animals and minerals in order to extract and control the power contained within. Whilst witches are often called uncouth and uncivilised by astromancers, in truth their power easily equals that of the former. Witches’ spells tend to take the form of elaborate rituals which often imbue a given reactant’s power into an item or the caster itself, making witches a dangerously unpredictable threat. Alongside this, witches display a knack for more organic forms of magic, allowing them to effortlessly grow or wither plants, and even warp flesh with powerful hexes that can either horrendously disfigure an enemy, or greatly enhance a witch’s own strength. Witches transfer their knowledge generally only through their apprentices, as little to no major centres of education exist for witches. For this reason, witches are often far more isolated than other casters, only collaborating when they join covens, or if two witches happen to dwell in the same region. In certain places, witches may join into larger covens or orders, perhaps worshipping the same deity or spirit, and in these cases may instead be called druids. There is little actual difference between the two, as both gather power from the same source, with perhaps the exception that druids tend to be more religious and social than their witch brethren.

Parasite Mages

Where witches keep some level of separation between themselves and the magic they use, Parasite mages ignore this unnecessary step and instead draw magic directly into themselves. Parasite Mages are a broad class, with some adopting astromancy-like scars that interface with chunks of magically-active gemstone to power their spells, whilst others grow various magical beings within their bodies. The latter is more common among druids, which range from the fierce Brood Mages to the bark-skinned druids who pursue immortality through the cultivation of trees and thorns within their own flesh. Parasite mages are among the least affected of mortal mages when it comes to switching planes, as their source is permanently tied to them. Of course, cultivating another being with yourself is rarely without its costs, and among orders such as the Crawling Court and the Order of the Chained Worm, it is often questioned how much of the mage is mortal, and how much of it is subsumed by what it draws power from.

Common Items

As infusers are a much broader class of mage than Astromancers, their equipment varies to an equal degree. Despite this, several common items are associated with them, and are listed below.

Skin Belts- Whilst flesh magic is a difficult art for even skilled witches, it is made significantly easier through enchanting an object to carry the spell instead of the witch themself. Skin belts are one example of this, and appear as simple belts with copper or gold buckles, made entirely from the skin of the animal the witch wishes to transform into. They can technically be made from any creature, but tend to be those of similar weight to the wearer, as magic can only create so much extra flesh. Skin belts are infamous in mortal folklore, with many tales of werewolves being witches or murderers who’ve obtained such belts. Whilst skin belts aren’t uncommon, they pale in comparison to a true lycanthrope, as a witch cannot cast spells in animal form, and the animal itself is not any more protected from sword or axe blows as a normal member of its species. However, terrible rumours abound of powerful witches who craft belts from the skins of humanoids to steal their forms, and worse of those who steal the skins of mages to take control of their spells.

Sickles- Whilst in their simplest form sickles are simply useful tools for harvesting plants, many witches heavily enchant their tools, and as such many are quite elaborate and powerful. Many witches wield two sickles, one of silver and one of gold or copper, as whilst silver is resistant to enchantment and tough enough (especially if mixed with iron and bone dust to form so-called ‘witch’s steel’) to pierce many protective spells, gold and copper are both extremely conductive of magic, and as such are often enchanted with powerful abilities that allow a witch even more unpredictable magics.

Cauldrons- Another practical item regularly enchanted by witches, cauldrons are commonly constructed of vulcanite, iron or other magic-resistant materials. However, many witches coat their cauldrons in magically reactive materials to allow their cauldrons to float or waddle alongside them, or to expel dangerous magical brews on enemies.

Copper Ports- A common sight among Infusers who prefer to inject or stab chunks of magical crystal into their skin, copper ports help ensure the maximum amount of magic enters the user. They are regularly surrounded by scar-runes similar to those used by Astromancers, and indeed many suggest their origin lies with those who combined the two disciplines to truly devastating effect.

Sanguinia Eti’dral- Simply known as Etaidra Blood by many, Sanguinia Eti’dral is a powerful source of energy when growing magical flora, and is commonly used as a fertiliser by mages of all stripes. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to procure, as alongside this use it is a potent source of healing magic. Despite this, certain infusers have found easier ways to produce it from magical plants, and it is especially popular for Parasite Mages wishing to rapidly advance their power.

[choco-pudding]

Space Channel 5 Part 2: Sugoku Sugoi  Guide Book p. 110-117 (Translation by @lavoszero and myself. Edits and typesetting by myself)

First part of Report 5

Also known as the part that everyone involved dreaded and hated the most. I was fighting for Fuse’s life during this.

Imgur link to all of the  Sugoku Sugoi Guide Book translations we’ve done thus far.

Plain text below.

p. 110 Report 5: The Spies Get Revenge!

01 Person to Rescue, 06 Secret Inputs Location: Mystery Zone.

I requested help from Ulala and the others after I got intel on Purge's secret base. They always meddled in our investigations, but I felt that an unpredictable enemy like Purge needed an unpredictable force as opposition. That's right. I was just being thorough with my job.

-

Level 00 105

Up Down Up Down Chu Chu Chu

p. 111 Travel Guide

Mystery Zone · Robotic Silhouettes Room Mystery Zone · Robots from All Directions Room Mystery Zone · Back Room

-

Level 00 106

Up Down Up Down Chu Chu Chu

[Translator’s note: In Japanese “Robots from All Directions Room” is literally ‘Robots from Up, Right, Left, (and) Down Room.”]

p. 112 Mystery Zone · Robotic Silhouettes Room

Dancing

Ulala’s Stars: 7 After sneaking into the secret base, we were forced into a series of rooms where robot silhouettes were projected one after another. They made no sound so we could only use our eyes to taken in their movements and dance accordingly. It was beyond confusing and so different from what we were used to.

1.

001 ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ x 002 ⬅ ⬅ ⮕ ⮕ x 003 ⬆ ⬇ ⬅ ⮕ x

-

Level 00 107

Up Down Up Down Chu Chu Chu

p. 113

2.

004 ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ x 005 ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬇ ⬆ x 006 ⬆ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬆ ⬆ x

3.

007 ⮕ ⮕ ⮕ ⬅ ⬅ ⬅ ⬅ ⮕ ⮕ ⮕ x 008 ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ ⬇ ⬆ x 009 ⬆ ⬆ ⬆ ⮕ ⬇ ⬇ ⬇ ⬅ ⬅ ⮕ x 010 ⬆ ⮕ ⬅ ⬇ ⬆ ⮕ ⬅ ⬇ ⬇ ⬆

“Aaah!”

- Lv. 10 Groove 108

Right Left Chu Chu Chu

p. 114 Mystery Zone · Robots from All Directions Room

Shooting

Ulala’s Stars: 9 We fell down a hole into a pitch-black room, countless shining robot eyes surrounding us. I could hardly hear their voices but I couldn't rely on my sight either; I could barely distinguish between the lefts and downs. I had a rough time… I need to study those commands. I do remember that the "Stay Tuned" was a secret input spot.

“Loads and loads and loads of robots!”

4.

011 ⮕ x x x ⬆ x x 012 ⬅ x x x ⬇ x x

- Lv. 10 Groove 109

Up Down Up Down Chu Chu Chu

p. 115

5.

013 ⮕ ⮕ ⬆ ⬆ ⬅ ⬇ x 014 ⬆ ⬆ ⬅ ⬅ ⬇ ⮕ x 015 ⬅ ⬅ ⬇ ⬇ ⮕ ⬆ x 016 ⬇ ⬇ ⮕ ⮕ ⬆ ⬅ x 017 ⮕ x x x 018 ⬆ x x x x 019 ⬅ x x x x x 020 ⬇ x

“Staaaay Tuned!” [1]

- Lv. 10 Groove 110

Up Right Left Down Chu Chu Chu

p. 116 Reference Material Fuse's Fanservice Supercut of Women (Reporters): A Collection of Videos Created by the Director of Channel 5

While investigating the Space Arena, we found footage that appears to be edited by Fuse, the director of Channel 5's Special Report Team. Although the video seems voyeuristic, technically the clips are taken directly from the news broadcasts, as opposed to anything original, so there's no evidence of any foul play. But, since it's possible that there could have been other intentions in mind, aside from using the footage for reports, we interviewed the person in question. Fuse admitted the video was made as a side-hobby but vowed that there was no intention for the video, nor the woman's poses, to be anything beyond that.

Location: Space Park On the left is Ulala innocently flashing her panties while rescuing Recorder Primary Schooler and his pals in the rerun. In the center are the rest of the space primary schoolers (naturally, they're not the video's focus; while one should always watch out for dangerous people, Fuse is just offbeat and on the fruity side). On the right is a panty shot from Padding, a talented comedian who still going strong at 48 years old.

On the left is a shot of the Space Bird Mistress, or maybe it's the Space Dog Mistress, not sure. On the right's Ulala in the Greenhouse. Clips of her struggling against the vines were also included. It's an outrageous claim but we can't shake the suspicion that Fuse may have a penchant for SM.

- Lv. 10 Groove 111

Right Left Chu- Chu- Chu

[Translator’s note: This part sucks. Anyway, the actual title is is called “Fuse’s voyeuristic video,” which is why the first body of text make reference to that. I have no idea if Fuse named it that or if the Space Police did. Unfortunately, the thing about the Space Primary Schoolers was originally worded much, much worse as well. Also they call Fuse “moho-like” there, which was (at the time) a work-safe way of saying homo.]

p. 117

Location: Space Symphony On the left is a Bartender Girl from the first rerun report. There were also clips of the rarely seen Spaceship Lounge Girl and the Woman in Yellow. Next is a modest panty shot of the Chorus Lady. Finally, on the right is a still of Ulala from a sweeping shot executed by the camera's autopilot.

Location: The Playgirl On the left is Texas (not Pine), followed an image of her comrades, Sexy 1 and 2. They seem to be a point of interest in the reruns. On the right is Ulala flying towards Channel 5's HQ. This is exemplary of how even long skirts are not free from wardrobe mishaps at certain angles.

Location: Channel 5 HQ First is a close-up of a Space Cheerleader's leg. If anything can be seen, the camera is too close to tell. Next is flash from Evila, but her scary face is far more imposing. Last is a low angle shot that occurs after Ulala rescues Michael. Ulala herself has a mature attractiveness here.

- Lv. 10 Groove 112

Down Up Down Chu- Chu- Chu

[nightingale2004]

Things I would change in the world of Harry potter.

(I have a whole list, so buckle up)

First off, I would give more information about the wizarding world itself. We barely see the fashion, traditions, customs, and such (other than the malfoys being fashion icons) I want to see more of it. Know more about it

I feel like the ministry of magic will think they are in charge, but the real ones behind it would be whoever the original pureblood families either appoint or whoever steps up to the title of running things with the ministry. Like whoever the head(s) of whatever pureblood house that was put in charge says goes, and the ministry has to obey.

Definitely try to fit some information on the pureblood families, including the original pureblood families (I know there's only so much information to fit on the books, but the fans can't come up with everything J.k Rowling. WE CAN ONLY CREATE SO MUCH!!!!)

A magical wizard mailman/woman. If the Wizarding world is so worried about their world getting discovered by muggles, then maybe, just maybe....DON'T SEND A BUNCH OF FREAKING OWLS TO MUGGLE OR HALF BLOOD KIDS HOUSES WHERE EVERYONE WHO ISNT A WIZARD CAN SEE THEM!!

Having this mailman/woman explain what's happening to those who have no idea WHAT THE FRICK IS HAPPENING. AND WHY THERE CHILD IS LIKE THIS.

Glamour being created or some kind of mist similar to Percy jackson so that way whenever magic is being used in public. Normal muggles would see something different instead of magic being used or blasted out in the open

More history on magic and wizards and how they made their world.

More magical sports. We can't have just quidditch canwe?

Wands as just a way to control untrained children magic because, according to sources. Wizard and witch Magic as children is unpredictable and dangerous, so I'm thinking that wands would just be a way for children to focus and train their magic until they are ready to use wandless magic.

More information on the countless wizard schools around the world (why couldn't j.k Rowling pull a Rick Riordan and have people from different countries and states write their Wizarding schools so that way no one would be offended and they would be represented correctly)

Wizarding schools teaching children wandless magic. This class would be a must because as soon as these wizards lose their wand. It's games over if they don't get it back quickly, so yeah, this class IS a MUST!!!

Magic defense classes. And I'm not talking about defense against dark arts and spells and such. No, I'm talking about actual fighting hand to hand magic classes. Kind of like Dr. Strange. Cause these kids can not rely on their wands and a bunch of non magic punches in the face to save them. Teach them some basic hand to hand combat with and without magic, especially if their thinking about taking on an adventurous line of work with dangers on the way.

A fair Wizarding government that selects fair headmasters (Dumbledore should've never been headmaster given his track record, let's be honest)

A minor wizarding jail for small crimes like jaywalking and such and Azkaban being a last resort for the absolute worst crimes that anyone can commit.

Dementors are a bit on the extreme side, and they betrayed the wizarding world and killed (I think) a bunch of people who were ACTUALLY INNOCENT AND WENT TO THE DARK SIDE.

Different types of magic. And no, I'm not talking about potions, herbology, and defense against the dark arts. No, I'm talking about during the course of your education at whatever Wizarding school you go to, you find out what magic you have. Like mystic arts, rune magic, weapon magic, dark magic, chain magic, elemental magic, etc. That type of magic, and when you find out what magic you have, then you get to unlock a multitude of classes to help you master this type of magic and sharpen and strengthen your skills. (I'm feeling this, along with wandless classes, are a 3rd or 4th year thing)

Wizard money. Make it make sense.

Dark forbidden magic consequences. (Allow me to elaborate). So we saw what happened to Voldemort when one goes to the extreme for power and resorts to dark forbidden magic. But what about his followers? I think there should be a mark for those who start using forbidden magic that even glamor can't hide

I would legit want to see how people with disabilities would take on this world like blind or deaf, etc.

Technology. Get with the Times wizard world. Get with the times.

The Wizarding world needs to know more about the no-maj world. They are accepting half-bloods and muggles into their world. They have to know what's going on instead of hiding from them 24/7

More career paths that are similar to what we muggles have in the real world

Secret ministry of magic combat groups. The normal government has them. Why can't they? (they take care of dark forces outside the laws of the minstry)

Should witch hunters be a thing? Idk, just a thought

Wizarding schools actually being PREPARED FOR WEREWOLF CHILDREN TO ENTER THEIR SCHOOLS!!!!

The tr-wizard tournament not being so extreme. These are children in school, not adults people.

I want to know if there's a school that only accepted muggles and half-bloods. It's a must and I know there's one out there.

The Wizarding world using muggle things to make their life easier instead of using magic all the time.

Magic aura and energy acting as a shield.

More sources of transportation around the wizarding society.

Vampires. I want to know how they would be depicted (my best guess is that they would be aristocrats, but their magic is less powerful than wizards and witches)

I think that's everything. I will make a pt.2 if I have more.

Hope you enjoy

[im-probably-playing-genshin]

OLLIE!

Tell me, do you like CIA spies and assassins and enemies to lovers having to work to together to figure out who wants to destroy their lives? And do you like Valgrace? If so, I have an AU idea for you and little snippet of what I wrote for it. Enjoy ^^

—

Jason sat across from his chief in the dimly lit room, the flickering fluorescent light casting a cold, sterile glow over the metal table between them. His handler, a grizzled man named Donovan, slid a thick file toward him. It was heavier than usual, the name “Leo Valdez” stamped on the front in bold, black letters. Usually with criminals, they’re slim files, barely even weighable. What was so special about this one? Was he a corrupt senator? Cartel member? Serial killer? Terrorist? No, even they don’t have as many papers and documents as this one.

“Valdez,” Donovan said, his tone serious. “This one’s different, Jason. He’s not like the others.”

Jason kept his eyes on the file, scanning through the details. “Different how?”

Donovan exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “Leo Valdez is more than just a target. The kid’s a damn ghost. He’s been on our radar for years, but no one’s been able to pin him down. He’s dangerous, unpredictable. One of the best.”

Jason glanced up, intrigued but maintaining his stoic demeanor. One of the best can only mean one thing in this line of work. “How many?”

Donovan’s eyes narrowed. “Confirmed? Twenty-three. But we suspect it’s closer to forty. And those are just the ones we know about.”

Jason’s jaw tightened slightly. Forty kills. And that’s just an estimate. Leo didn’t look the type—too wiry, too unassuming. But Jason knew better than to underestimate someone based on appearances. The file detailed everything: Leo’s rapid ascent in the underworld, his knack for getting close to his targets, how he used his unassuming stature and quick reflexes to his advantage. Based autopsy and surveillance, his signature style involved close-quarters combat, using acrobatics and agility to outmaneuver larger opponents. Leo didn’t rely on brute strength. He relied on precision—and the element of surprise. “So he’s a trained killer — he’s doesn’t want to be found.”

“Correct. You see that smile?” Donovan pointed to the surveillance photo, where Leo had an almost playful grin. One you would expect at a party, or flirting with a waitress. “That’s the last thing most of his victims saw.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and his stomach churned.“He enjoys it?”

“Maybe,” Donovan said with a shrug. “Or maybe he’s just so good at it that it’s second nature. They say he’s got a sick sense of humor, uses it to lure his targets in. Makes them feel comfortable before he kills them. There’s no one alive that can say how he does it exactly, because no one survives. But from what we’ve pieced together… Leo’s more of a psychopath than anything else. Calculated. Cold-blooded.”

Jason’s fingers ran over the list of known aliases and the details of Leo’s movements. He used his size to slip in and out of places unnoticed, often getting close to his targets before they even realized they were in danger. 5’5, weighed about a good 140 pounds.

“He’s small,” Jason said, flipping through the pages. “Probably uses it to his advantage.”

“Exactly,” Donovan replied. “He’s like a snake, a spark — gets in close when you’re least expecting it. You won’t even see him coming. And if you do, it’s too late.”

Jason studied the file in silence, reading through Leo’s patterns and methods. He was precise, methodical. Most of his kills were made to look like accidents or suicides. The autopsies would reveal the truth later, but by then, Leo was long gone.

Donovan cleared his throat, leaning forward again. “There’s more. People who have gone after him? They end up dead. Quickly. No one’s made it out alive after facing him. Leo doesn’t just disappear—he eliminates his threats before they even become real problems.”

Jason closed the file slowly, his face impassive. “What else do I need to know?”

Donovan’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Leo Valdez is like a ghost. He could be a thousand miles away right now, or he could be right behind you. That’s the kind of killer he is. You don’t track him. He tracks you.”

The weight of the words hung in the air, a chill running down Jason’s spine. He wasn’t one to get rattled easily. He was a goddamn CIA agent, nothing phased him anymore. But something about the way Donovan spoke told him that Leo Valdez was a whole different kind of criminal, public threat. One that wouldn’t just fight back—but one who would enjoy it.

Donovan slid another photo across the table. “Look at this,” he said.

Jason picked up the photo. It was the aftermath of one of Leo’s hits—an empty, bloodied room. No body in sight. The mess was minimal, almost too neat for a scene that involved death. The police report on the next page confirmed it—Leo didn’t leave bodies behind. Just the evidence of what had been done. Every hit had been clean, almost surgical in its execution.

“No mess. No witnesses,” Donovan added, his voice grim. “He’s efficient. Fast. And he likes to leave a calling card—always something mechanical, something he tinkered with. A clock, a small gadget, something to let you know he was there.”

Jason’s grip on the photo tightened slightly. “An M.O.” He corrects, setting the photo down. Leo wasn’t just a killer—he was a showman, someone who enjoyed the chase, who reveled in the thrill of the kill. And now Jason was being sent after him.

Donovan stood up, pacing slowly around the table. “Look, Jason. I don’t say this often, but watch your back with this one. Leo’s different from anyone you’ve taken down before. He’ll be expecting you. Hell, he’s probably already got you on his radar. Don’t underestimate him. He won’t hesitate to kill you if he gets the chance.”

Jason leaned back, closing the file. “He won’t get the chance.”

Donovan gave a small nod but didn’t look convinced. Jason could understand why, he wasn’t sent on many missions, and this Leo guy probably knew all their tricks and they knew none of his. “Just remember what I said. Leo Valdez isn’t someone you corner easily. He’s been playing this game longer than most of us. If you want to survive this, you’ll have to be smarter. Faster. And you’ll need to strike before he does.”

Jason stood, tucking the file under his arm. “Then I better get moving.”

As he walked toward the door, Donovan called after him. “Jason, one more thing—don’t get cocky. Valdez is out there, and if you slip up… you won’t see him coming.”

Jason didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He knew what he was up against—a ghost, a shadow. A killer just like him. Well, at least Jason doesn’t kill people because he’s hired. He kills them if he has no choice in the matter.

But Leo Valdez had just become his target. And Jason wasn’t planning on missing his mark.

—

Thoughts? Comments?

Heyy ermmm ik i leg this sit in my adk box for a while but it is awesome sauce and ermmm youre a wonderful writer and ermm yeah here you go

[sonoftheshield]

As someone created by Project Legacy, Colton would likely face a variety of psychological, emotional, and physical challenges now that he's an Avenger. His past and the nature of his creation would affect him deeply, even as he tries to move forward as a hero. Here are some struggles he might face:

1. Identity and Legacy Issues

Conflicted Identity: Being created by Project Legacy, an organization responsible for so much evil, would likely make Colt question who he is and where he belongs. Even though Steve Rogers is his father, he may struggle to reconcile his existence with the fact that Project Legacy engineered him as a potential weapon.

Living in Steve’s Shadow: While Colt admires his father, the constant comparisons to Captain America would weigh on him. He may feel pressure to live up to Steve’s legacy, especially knowing his origins are tied to an enemy. This could lead to feelings of inadequacy or imposter syndrome.

2. Trust and Paranoia

Trust Issues: Growing up under Project Legacy’s control, Colt might have difficulty trusting others, even within the Avengers. He may wonder if others see him as a potential threat or Project Legacy sleeper agent, especially given his origins.

Fear of Betrayal: Colt could harbor a deep fear of being manipulated or controlled again. He might be extra cautious around people, technology, or situations that remind him of Project Legacy’s methods, leading to moments of paranoia.

3. Mental Trauma and Conditioning

Project Legacy Conditioning: If Project Legacy trained him in any way before his escape, Colt might struggle with leftover conditioning, whether it’s latent programming, PTSD, or moments of triggered aggression or confusion. He could fear losing control, especially in high-stress situations, where he might think old Project Legacy programming could resurface.

Nightmares and Flashbacks: He may experience frequent nightmares or flashbacks to his time in captivity, facing the trauma of being raised in such a cold, experimental environment. This would make him wary of being alone or in situations where he feels helpless.

4. Physical Side Effects

Unstable Powers or Abilities: Project Legacy experimented on him, there could be unforeseen consequences to his physical or mental health. His super-soldier enhancements might not be as stable as Steve’s, leading to unpredictable side effects like intense pain, blackouts, or temporary loss of abilities.

Health Concerns: He might be constantly monitoring himself for signs of physical deterioration, either from genetic manipulation or from the stress his body is under due to his enhanced physiology.

5. Mistrust from Others

Suspicion from Teammates: Some Avengers or other allies might be hesitant to fully trust Colt, especially given Project Legacy’s history of infiltrating teams or planting sleeper agents. This suspicion could lead to moments of isolation, where he feels like an outsider despite his best efforts.

Public Perception: If the public were to find out that he was created by Project Legacy, there could be significant backlash. Even with Captain America as his father, people may be reluctant to accept him as a hero, seeing him more as a potential danger.

6. Emotional Detachment or Hyper-Independence

Difficulty Accepting Help: Given his origins, Colt may have a hard time relying on others or accepting help, feeling that he needs to prove himself constantly. He might push himself to his limits in order to show that he’s not a product of Project Legacy’s influence and is capable of standing on his own.

Fear of Vulnerability: Emotional connections may be hard for him, not just out of fear of betrayal, but because he might not fully believe he deserves them. Being seen as "just another Project Legacy experiment" in his mind could make it hard for him to open up and form real, trusting relationships.

7. Moral Dilemmas

Questioning His Humanity: Given his engineered birth, Colt might wrestle with the concept of what it means to be human. Is he a person, or just a living weapon Project Legacy created? These existential questions could haunt him, making him feel detached from the people around him, even if they see him as one of their own.

Struggles with Violence: Although he's an Avenger now, Colt might find himself torn between his father’s strong moral compass and the brutal training Project Legacy may have forced on him. His methods might occasionally lean toward a darker side, and he could struggle with balancing those instincts with the heroism expected of him.

8. Loneliness and Isolation

Outsider Among Heroes: Despite being accepted into the Avengers, Colt might often feel like an outsider, not just because of his Project Legacy origins but also because of the weight of being created rather than born naturally. His path to becoming a hero is far different from those around him, which could leave him feeling isolated.

Seeking Connection: On the flip side, he might crave connections and friendships even more intensely, trying to fill the void that his complicated past created. This need for acceptance could sometimes make him overcompensate, perhaps through over-flirtation, excessive heroics, or pushing himself beyond his limits.

9. Constant Vigilance

Fear of Project Legacy's Return: Project Legacy has a way of resurfacing, and Colt would always have a lingering fear that someone from Project Legacy might come after him—either to retrieve him, activate hidden programming, or simply to take him out. This could keep him in a constant state of readiness, always looking over his shoulder.

Protectiveness of Others: His history with Project Legacy might make Colt fiercely protective of those around him, particularly his father and the Avengers. He may feel like he has to protect them from Project Legacy’s influence, even if it means putting himself at greater risk.

10. Navigating His Legacy

Defining Himself: Perhaps one of the biggest challenges for Colt is carving out his own identity separate from both Project Legacy and Captain America. While he has inherited Steve’s legacy and shares some of his values, Colt must figure out what kind of hero he wants to be, and what his place is in the grander scheme of things.

In Summary: Colt’s journey as an Avenger would involve navigating the trauma of his Project Legacy origins, struggling with his identity, and proving his worth to himself and others. He would constantly be balancing the darkness of his creation with the light of the hero he strives to be, all while dealing with the pressures of being Steve Rogers’ son.

Absolutely—PTSD would be a significant part of Colton's experience, given his origins with Project Legacy. The trauma from being raised or conditioned in a Project Legacy environment would likely affect him deeply, and it would manifest in various ways, both mentally and emotionally. Here's how PTSD could shape his day-to-day life as an Avenger:

1. Nightmares and Flashbacks

Vivid Nightmares: Colton would likely experience recurring nightmares related to his time with Project Legacy—visions of experiments, conditioning, or moments where he felt powerless. These nightmares might center around themes of being controlled, used as a weapon, or reliving the torment Project Legacy put him through.

Flashbacks: Certain triggers, like the sight of Project Legacy agents or specific sounds (e.g., alarms, beeping machinery), could throw him into flashbacks. During these moments, his mind might transport him back to his time in Project Legacy's grasp, causing disorientation, fear, or even aggressive reactions as he tries to defend himself.

2. Hypervigilance

Always on Edge: Colton would likely have heightened awareness of his surroundings, constantly scanning for potential threats. Having been trained by Project Legacy and possibly subjected to mental conditioning, he would struggle to turn off that survival instinct. This could make him jumpy or paranoid, especially in unfamiliar environments.

Difficulty Relaxing: Even in moments of safety or downtime, Colt might find it hard to fully let his guard down. He might have trouble sleeping, always expecting danger, or be on edge during casual conversations, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

3. Emotional Detachment and Numbness

Difficulty Connecting with Others: PTSD can cause people to feel emotionally distant or detached, and Colton might struggle with forming close relationships. Even though he’s polite and flirty on the surface, there could be moments where he pulls back or shuts down emotionally, afraid to let anyone too close.

Numbing Emotions: In response to past trauma, Colt might unconsciously suppress his emotions to avoid feeling vulnerable or overwhelmed. This emotional numbing could make him seem cold or unfeeling at times, even though deep down he craves connection and acceptance.

4. Avoidance Behaviors

Avoiding Project Legacy-Related Topics: Colton might go out of his way to avoid discussing anything related to Project Legacy. Even casual conversations about his past or anything that reminds him of his origins might be shut down quickly, as he avoids confronting that pain.

Skipping Certain Missions: If an Avengers mission involves dealing with Project Legacy or similar organizations, Colt could feel conflicted. He might initially want to avoid these missions to protect himself from further trauma, or he might throw himself into them, trying to prove something to himself—though both choices come with emotional consequences.

5. Self-Destructive Tendencies

Pushing Himself Too Hard: As a way of coping, Colton might push himself beyond his physical and mental limits. Whether through overtraining, taking on dangerous missions solo, or acting recklessly in battle, he might seek ways to test his limits or prove to himself that he’s in control, even at the risk of self-harm.

Difficulty Asking for Help: A big part of PTSD involves feeling like you're a burden or that others won't understand. Colt, despite being part of the Avengers, might avoid asking for help when he’s struggling—whether it’s with emotional issues, physical wounds, or even just needing a break.

6. Survivor’s Guilt

Guilt Over His Creation: Knowing he was born from Project Legacy’s twisted project could cause a lot of guilt for Colton. He might feel responsible for the fact that he even exists and for any harm that Project Legacy may have caused in creating him. This guilt could manifest as self-blame, constantly questioning whether he deserves to be an Avenger or a hero at all.

Feeling He Owes His Father: Even though Steve Rogers didn't know about his existence until later, Colton might feel intense pressure to live up to the Captain America name. This pressure could stem from guilt over his origins, and the feeling that he has to “make up for” the circumstances of his birth.

7. Anger and Aggression

Pent-Up Anger: Colton might carry a lot of suppressed anger toward Project Legacy, toward those who manipulated him, and perhaps even toward himself for being a part of their plans. This anger could bubble up in high-stress situations, causing him to react aggressively when threatened or pushed too far.

Frustration in Battle: His PTSD might lead to moments where he becomes overly aggressive during combat, losing control in the heat of battle as past trauma and current danger mix. He could push himself harder than necessary, putting himself or others at risk in an effort to overcome that inner turmoil.

8. Fear of Losing Control

Fear of Being Used Again: PTSD could cause Colton to fear being manipulated or controlled, especially given Project Legacy’s tendency to turn people into weapons. He might have moments of doubt, wondering if there’s still some hidden programming or conditioning deep within him that could be activated by the wrong trigger.

Fear of Hurting Others: He might worry about losing control of his emotions or abilities and accidentally hurting someone he cares about. This fear could cause him to distance himself from teammates or friends, avoiding situations where he might “snap” or act unpredictably.

9. Difficulty with Authority

Rebellious Streak: While Colton respects his father and the Avengers, his history with Project Legacy’s authoritarian control might make him resistant to orders or commands. He could bristle under authority figures, even if they have good intentions, because it reminds him too much of being controlled by Project Legacy.

Need for Independence: He might feel a strong desire to make his own decisions and rely on himself, as a way of proving that he’s not a puppet. This could sometimes lead him into conflicts with leadership, especially when he feels like he’s being micromanaged or questioned.

10. Moments of Isolation

Withdrawal: When the PTSD becomes too overwhelming, Colton might isolate himself from the rest of the team, avoiding interactions or social gatherings. He may retreat to his father’s old room, using the space as a sanctuary where he can process his emotions without anyone watching.

Fear of Burdening Others: He might believe that opening up about his trauma would be burdensome to those around him, especially to Steve. The last thing he would want is for his father to feel guilty or responsible for what Project Legacy did to him, so he keeps his struggles bottled up, leading to moments of intense loneliness.

In Summary: Colton’s PTSD would deeply impact his interactions with the Avengers and how he perceives himself. The trauma from his time with Project Legacy would affect his ability to trust others, his emotional connections, and his sense of control. Though he strives to be a hero like his father, the weight of his past—and the constant battle to overcome it—would shape his journey as an Avenger, both in moments of strength and vulnerability.