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aiweirdness · 5 years

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First there was SkyKnit. Now there's HAT3000

[Chunky Hat”, crocheted by Joannastar]

A while ago, I tried to train a neural network to generate knitting patterns by showing it a few thousand existing patterns so it could use trial and error to generate new patterns. I called the project SkyKnit, and its new patterns were… well, they were patterns. But they were nothing like the patterns it had been trained on. The test knitters of Ravelry’s adults-only, often-indecorous LSG forum had to do a lot of debugging to turn them into reality and, even debugged, SkyKnit’s patterns were strangely organic, prone to weird branching ribbing and organic-looking holes, turning into irregular shapes or even tentacles.

[Make Caows and Shapcho, knitted by MeganAnn, and Lacy 2047, knitted by michaela112358]

Ever since the SkyKnit project, I’ve wanted to do a version for crochet. Like knitting, crochet has strong ties to mathematics and programming, and in many ways it’s more flexible. A crochet algorithm could potentially create even more exotic shapes than SkyKnit did.

For this project, to be dubbed HAT3000, I decided to make some improvements. I would train it on just crochet hats, which ought to be simple enough and similar enough that a neural net might be able to figure out the general pattern and produce functional designs. The LSG forum crocheters helped me assemble training data of 500 vintage out-of-copyright patterns, plus these kind designers contributed their own patterns to the effort: krisitis-patterns, irishlacenet, SierraPelona, fairyhedgehogg, watrpriestess, RachyNewin, agnosticnun, UnplannedCauli, membril, Moogly, and SuviCrochets.

I used Max Woolf’s gpt-2-simple collab notebook to finetune OpenAI’s GPT-2-355M neural net model. It’s pretrained with a bunch of non-crochet knowledge from the internet (fanfiction, recipes, conspiracy theories), but it does have a much longer memory than SkyKnit does, so will have a better chance of being able to figure out how the rows relate to one another. HAT3000 was set up for success.

My first indication that something was going wrong was when the hats kept exploding into hyperbolic super-surfaces.

A pattern would start modestly enough with what could plausibly be the crown of a hat, but somewhere there would be an instruction that made the next row MUCH bigger than the previous row, and then the next row MUCH bigger than that. The later rows would turn floppy to fit all that length in while still attached to a much smaller row, and then the next rows would have to curl even more. Ruffles would turn to tight ruffles, and then to corals, and then to brains.

Here’s one rather innocently titled “Brim Hat Pattern #1708” which Ravelry user Persipan heroically crocheted all the way through the final row (or at least, halfway through that final row; we haven’t heard from them since, they’re probably okay). By Row 9, there are over 1700 stitches. Row 10 has 3500 stitches, took 9.75 hours to complete, and even that is nothing compared to the edging.

Almost all of HAT3000’s patterns did this, eating yarn, eating sanity, becoming more and more hyperbolic, threatening to collapse into black holes… why, since none of the example hats did this?

A few people explained it to me thus: It looks like it’s really hard for HAT3000 to NOT fill the planet with ruffly brains. Basically, since most hats are built from the center out, HAT3000 only knows how to make each circle bigger than the previous one, adding 1 new stitch for every 2 in the previous row, or, for the faster increases usually used at the center of a hat, as many as 5 or 8 stitches for every 1 in the previous row. That would still be okay if HAT3000 knew how to control its increases. Unfortunately, if it accidentally increases too much in 1 row, that excess increase gets multiplied by the next layer, which in turn gets multiplied again. The tiniest instability turns exponentially into yarn-eating disaster. Meanwhile, HAT3000 thinks it’s doing great because the pattern text itself is still very close match to what a human would do. It has no idea that its hat has exploded.

The worst offender is a pattern called simply “The End…” which by my calculations requires enough yarn to wrap the known universe in a ball of yarn about a billion light years thick.

Some of HAT3000’s patterns did actually produce hats, though they tended to all be tiny (probably because they had fewer rows and therefore fewer opportunities to begin suddenly expanding).

Other patterns produced not hats but strange artifacts, purpose unknown. Here’s the full pattern for one, called “Hang in Wind”:

Hang in Wind: Toss the pieces together. This is the windmill: Windmill in Wind: With a 1 cc ball of yarn, ch 14, join. Do not join, twist yarn to form a knot, or cut yarn.

Other patterns were equally inscrutable.

“New theory: HAT3000 didn’t want us to make hats for ourselves. We’re making hats for neural networks. Which are weird and amorphous and have dimensions and connections that humans cannot comprehend and also don’t really have heads.” - ScarlettTanager

One of the most entertaining aspects of the finetuned HAT3000 was how much of its original broad training it retained. Prompt it with the beginning of a story, and it could still add to the story in more or less the same style as the prompt. Hilariously, its strategy was now to gradually work the topic back toward crochet hats. In the paragraphs below, the prompt I gave HAT3000 is in bold. The AI did the rest.

Harry whirled to face Snape, heart beating hard. “Wh--What will you do?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly and he lowered his wand, then stepped aside. As he approached behind Harry, he knelt down to kiss the front rim of Harry’s green-gloved hat as he pulled her closer. Snape slipped on the silk and reached in carefully, then unbuttoned Harry’s green-gloved hat. He looked Harry in the eyes and stroked her crown lightly before pushing on the seam of the hat to attach it. He finished on the front of Harry’s hat with a snap. With a light flourish he tied an extra strand of fabric, then another twist of silk, then another twist of silk.

HAT3000’s terrible crochet-themed erotica was even sometimes crochetable.

HAT3000 would sometimes turn its story prompts into things that were not crochet patterns exactly, but something strangely akin. Confrontations would turn into tightly choreographed fight scenes, the combatants weaving around and around each other. Villagers would build earthworks, walls, and moats in concentric circles. Recipes would turn into round cakes with dozens of stacked layers. Spaceships and adventuring heroes would follow complex and highly detailed routes. The trained model must have been able to draw some sort of connection between these various domains.

What have I learned from HAT3000? Like SkyKnit, it shows what unexpectedness happens when a neural net trainer, armed with approximately zero knowledge of a particular problem, nevertheless plows ahead and throws a neural net at it anyways. And like its knitting counterpart, HAT3000 owes its entire success to the creativity of human artists who took its often nonsensical patterns, fixed the bugs, and turned them into physical artifacts. I’d like to extend a huge thanks to the knitters and crocheters who sacrificed time, sanity, and yarn to satisfy the whims of these very weird AIs.

You can join the conversation, and crochet along, at the HAT3000 LSG thread (if you register first and don’t mind the swearing). There’s also a twitter thread that collects most of the patterns and many of the crocheted examples. There’s a big generated set of patterns here.

Subscribers get bonus content: I generated far more HAT3000 responses to story prompts than would fit in this post, but I picked some of my favorites to highlight as bonus material. I think they’re fascinating. If you have ever dreamt of a crossover between Star Wars/Harry Potter fan fiction and crochet, well YOU ARE IN LUCK.

You can order my book You Look Like a Thing and I Love You! It’s out November 5 2019.

Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

#neural networks #crochet #skyknit #hat3000 #fiber arts #crochet patterns #fanfic #harry potter

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anthropologicalhands · 4 years

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r/n - i've been working on my backwards walk / there's nowhere else for me to go / except back to you just one last time / say yes before i change my mind

As Rebecca tries to be sanguine about nearing forty, seeing it as a peak rather than a slide into decay (a Naomi-fostered distortion that has proven remarkably difficult to shake), one thing that has comforted Rebecca over the last decade is that with experience, she’s learned how to handle all matter of situations with grace, simply because she’s seen them before.

Revisiting this particular situation, however, is not what she expected.

It starts with an invitation delivered to Rebecca’s house to Hebby’s fifth grade graduation. There wouldn’t be anything strange about such a thing, even after she gets over the orange-and-turquoise astronaut theme (Hebby was going through a bit of a NASA phase), were it not for the fact the invitation was also addressed to Nathaniel.

Rebecca and Nathaniel, specifically.

Still frowning and trying to ignore the weird ringing that just went through her head at the jolt of seeing hers and Nathaniel’s names juxtaposed across a piece of lurid cardstock—like they’re a unit, or something—Rebecca credits herself with just pulling her phone out and calling Darryl directly instead of diving headfirst into a panic spiral.

“Rebecca!” Darryl’s voice booms from the other end of the line, and Rebecca can’t help the reflexive grin—Darryl’s unflagging enthusiasm while raising four daughters remains nothing short than a scientific marvel. “What a surprise. How is my favorite pretzel singer?”

“Hey, Darryl. Quick question for you. I got your card—”

“Isn’t it great? Hebby picked out the colors specially.”

“I’ll bet she did. But that’s not why I was calling, actually. I was wondering if, perchance, you might have had a shortage of such eye-popping invitations?”

“What do you mean?”

“My invitation was addressed to me and Nathaniel, which, I can definitely send him the deets, no problem, but wouldn’t an email be easier?”

“Oh?” She can hear Darryl’s mustache frown from the other end of the phone. “You mean you and Nathaniel aren’t…”

“Well, he doesn’t live here,” snaps Rebecca, a little flustered. “Why would you think that? Why did you think—did he—”

“Hang on,” says Darryl, and she can hear him calling for April, leaving her stuttered rejection hanging.

Are her and Nathaniel—

How is that even a question anymore?

It’s been a decade, and everyone involved with that event has definitively moved forward with their lives. Her and Josh were a definitive ‘no’ from that fateful Valentine’s Day onwards, remaining dear friends instead, and she was very much the ‘cool aunt’ among his own children. Her and Greg had wavered briefly for a bit afterwards, ran into some seriously uncomfortable friction, and it took them the better part of two years to find a good balance. It probably helped that she accidentally connected him to the woman who would become his wife, but that was a story for another day.

And it was a similar story with Nathaniel. He went to Guatemala for two years, came back and split his time between helping at MountainTop and working with some volunteer legal capacity with the local zoos and her and him—

Ah. Well.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite as clearly defined with Nathaniel, beyond the general fact that she wanted him to be happy, and he wanted her to be happy, and generally their relationship since his return had been checking in on each other, making fun of their weird hobbies and still showing up to events that were important to each other. It was all very adult and friendly and open. Their friendship had appropriate limits and boundaries and they supported each other in the respective relationships they had tried over the years, and it was very platonic…

Well. Except when it wasn’t. There hadn’t been a repeat of the Mona incident ever, and Rebecca could honestly say that she really liked a couple of the long-term girlfriends he’d introduced to them since then, and was genuinely regretful when those relationships ended. Especially for Sylvia, the LA Zoo curator who had to move for her career. Not that the regret wasn’t complicated by other factors, like when Nathaniel had admitted privately to Rebecca later that as much as he liked Sylvia, he just couldn’t see himself leaving California again.

She didn’t get butterflies at that, exactly, because but there had been a comfort in knowing that Nathaniel was content to remain in her orbit.

Again, not entirely uncomplicated. But it was nothing beyond the usual messy spectrum of human emotion internally, and never acted on externally.

She’s dated on and off as suited her libido and her schedule and her desire to find a life partner. She’s had relationships that got serious enough to talk about the future on and off, but they’ve all ended too for reasons inherent to those dynamics themselves. Nathaniel had been a good friend while they were going on, and a shoulder to cry on after, and well, okay, they might have fallen back into bed together a few times over the years, but they never pretended that it was either more than it was or that it was some forbidden thing that wouldn’t happen again. It was what it was.

Well. And they hung out, sometimes. And occasionally were each other’s plus-ones to public events. And friends’ weddings. And quite possibly—

Hm.

It really, really doesn’t help her case that she’s going to see him tonight, either.

“Rebecca?” Darryl tears her out of her thoughts. “Sorry about that! I think there was just a mistake at the stationary shop and they put your cards in together. What are the odds? I might need to call the other parents on the list, just to make sure that they got theirs all right. Could you take that one to Nathaniel? I don’t know if it’s out of your way—”

“Not at all!” says Rebecca, smiling with all of her teeth even though Darryl can’t see her, her cheeks aching. “Not even remotely.”

“Good,” says Darryl, and she can hear him beaming from the other side of the line.

“So, a funny thing happened on the way to your apartment…”

“That’s ominous,” comments Nathaniel, taking the bag of groceries she shoves at him without complaint as he closes the door behind her. Rebecca kicks off her shoes and toes them out of the walkway, abiding by Nathaniel’s still oft-repeated entreaties to not leave her personal belongings strewn entirely across his apartment.

“It’s not ominous so much as luminous,” says Rebecca, reaching into her purse and withdrawing Hebby’s invitation with a little flourish of the wrist. “Well, fluorescent.”

“Oh my god.”

Nathaniel accepts the card and flicks it open, scanning through the cheerful, only slightly grammatically incorrect message, and cannot quite suppress an amused huff of laughter. Rebecca hides her own smile as she turns away to set her purse on the very useful hook Nathaniel installed for her own use. Like herself, Nathaniel has a soft spot for Hebby, despite his continued awkwardness around children.

“Right? She gets that from Darryl for sure.”

“I don’t know, I remember someone showing up in some pink and purple eyesore into a law firm the very first day I met her.”

“You just didn’t know fun when you saw it,” says Rebecca instead, perching on the edge of the couch. “But it was funny. I was worried for a second that he thought that we were a couple or something. How weird is that?”

She is completely, totally casual in her delivery of that line, she knows. A decade in community theater and singing gigs have certainly finetuned her ability to turn a phrase, if nothing else. But something must be slightly offkey, because Nathaniel snaps up from marveling at the card to eye her suspiciously.

“Very weird,” he says, after a slightly-too-long pause. “Do we seem like a couple? Why would we seem like a couple when we aren’t a couple?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” She punches him companionably on the arm; apparently too hard, if the way he winces and rubs at his bicep is any consideration.

(She’s been taking workout classes with Valencia—she deserves something for all that pain.)

“But it’s probably nothing,” she adds, determined to address this weird little misstep directly, because they are both too old to be having any kinds of weird misunderstandings anymore. “We’re close. We have our own rhythm, our own special two step. No wonder Darryl got confused.”

“He’s getting old,” says Nathaniel.

“Dude, c’mon.”

“What? It’s true.”

“What about you, Mister Gray?” Rebecca challenges. Nathaniel pulls a face in response, clearly fighting the urge to brush his hand through the aforementioned silvering at his temples.

(He wasn’t quite vain enough to dye his hair yet, though Rebecca credits his restraint to the fact that she would never let him hear the end of it.)

“It’s just a couple of hairs,” he says inconsequentially, as though it hasn’t been long established that between the two of them, he’s the one with the greater fear of aging, and therefore in far more danger of aging gracelessly.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Rebecca hops off the couch and grabs him by the elbow. “Now c’mon, let’s make sure make these sweet potatoes are not oh-sweet-pies-don’t!”

Heading over to Nathaniel’s place had left Rebecca feeling on edge, not quite sure how to process the idea of someone, anyone, considering her and Nathaniel as a potential couple this late in the game.

Nothing is more grounding, however, than seeing Nathaniel being clearly so off kilter, missing steps in what should be a well-worn dance of theirs by now. Dancing has always been their thing—where they once threw each other off at every possible moment, shaking up their convictions about life and happiness and how that concept could exist within their previously compartmentalized existences. Now, they were familiar with each other. Comfortable. Predictable.

They knew each other’s moves now, which means that she could see Nathaniel’s as clear as water.

He’s unfocused during dinner, a little erratic in his answers, jittery, as if he’s had too much coffee. It’s putting her off her rhythm, and while she knows that not everything in life needs to be a big song and dance production, there does need to be some kind of continuity.

This evening was supposed to be easygoing and relaxing. And, yes, probably beneficial in that very particular friends-with-benefits way. But since that clearly wasn’t going to happen, they needed to execute a sharp left turn and get this all settled.

“Nathaniel?” she repeats, for the third time.

“Hm?”

“Are you getting hard of hearing in your old age?” He scowls deeply at her in response. “Yeah, yeah, I had to ask. So, what’s bugging you?”

He’s silent for a long minute. “Just something ridiculous.”

“Yeah?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t need to go through it again. It’s just spinning in circles around the same old subject.”

“Try a jazz square then.”

That startles a laugh out of him, much to Rebecca’s satisfaction. Good to know that she still has some capacity for surprise with him. She continues, “You know that move, right? Don’t tell me you forgot about Connie.”

“Are you kidding? I still have nightmares about her scarf strangling me to death.”

“Dark.”

“She was terrifying.”

“Yeah.” They sit in companionable silence. Then Nathaniel sighs.

“Sorry I’m being weird. I just…hearing that from you, I always thought it would just be a good laugh. You know, ridiculous to even think about romance again. But it made me feel weird instead, so now I’m acting slightly weird.”

“I wouldn’t say slightly,” teases Rebecca, unable to resist. Nathaniel doesn’t return her smile.

“Rebecca, I like where we are. I like that our relationship isn’t a big production anymore.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I love drama on the stage, but that’s definitely where it should stay.” She drums her fingers on her thigh, subconsciously tapping out a tune that’s been giving her trouble these last few weeks. “We can learn new steps, you know. Old dogs, new tricks? That doesn’t only apply to the bedroom.”

Nathaniel (again, predictably) groans.

“Aren’t you getting too old to have such a dirty mind?” But he’s smiling, now.

“Nah. I fully intend to be a filthy old woman. But seriously,” she adds, moving to sit besides him on the couch. “If just the thought of other people thinking that we’re a couple again is enough to send us both off balance, we need to center ourselves. Maybe it’s something worth talking about. What do you say?”

She reaches out and grabs his hand, and starts to tap a rhythm against his large palm—one of the first she ever composed, the first one her friends ever danced to. After a moment, he taps back, completing it.

“Yes.”

#writing meme reply #rebecca x nathaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #ellie writes fic #I'm not sure how happy i am with the denouement of this one #and it spun away a bit from the prompt #but i like enough of it #it's been forever since i've written fic #notbang

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havoc-warband · 2 years

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Vikaros exited the ship's belly, one hand already on his bow, into moderately clear air. The difference from what he'd been expecting - corruption, rot, air thick with death, like it'd been around the scout in the dark bowels of Lion's Arch - made him stumble in his tracks. Tybalt, barely a step behind him, stumbled into him. Vikaros was struck with yet another pang - he missed his warband, the efficiency of everyone working together like oiled cogs finetuned to one another. Hopefully tribune Brimstone would allow him to return soon.

"What the- wait, huh?" his mentor said, recovering clumsily. "Not sure," Vikaros replied. "It’s not like in the sewers."

"Well, that kind of makes sense," Tybalt said, carefully stepping down the gangplank. Vikaros followed closely behind, looking around warily. "It was only a scout, there, so the attack's probably not coming for a while yet."

Vikaros wanted to add something, but some commotion up ahead, beyond the gate of the fort, had drawn his attention. A charr in Lionguard armor was arguing with a sylvari in traditional leaves - why not just wear armor, Vikaros would never understand. The argument looked heated.

"That the Watch Commander?" Vikaros asked, gesturing at the pair. "Looks like it," Tybalt replied, "let's go talk- by the Legions, that's Trahearne!"

"Who?" Vikaros asked, and was ignored as Tybalt hurried ahead, leaving his mentee no choice but to follow. The sylvari - Trahearne, apparently - was valiantly trying to get a word into the charr's skull, but it didn't seem like he was listening.

"-going to launch a massive attack, right here, Watch Commander-"

"-even if there was such an attack," the commander said, a hint of condescension in his voice, "it would never breach the walls. Our defenses are legendary!"

Trahearne raked a hand through his leafy hair, heaving a frustrated sigh. "Zhaitan knows exactly how impenetrable these defenses are, and it wouldn't be mounting an attack if it confident it could break through!"

"Trahearne!" Tybalt exclaimed, clearly sensing the mounting tension and effectively breaking it up when the sylvari noticed his friend approaching, his own face breaking out into a relieved smile.

If anything, Vikaros admired the way his mentor could diffuse almost any situation, and project the exact image he wanted people to have of him. Sure, he absolutely was a very nice charr at his core and wasn't faking anything, but he had a fantastic knack for weaponizing it in social situations.

"Tybalt, my friend, it's been too long!" he said.

"It has, it really has, but I'm afraid this is not a very pleasant situation," Tybalt replied. "I think we're here for the same purpose-"

"Orr." Trahearne stated, serious again.

"Orr," the Whispers agent agreed. "We found a Risen scout in the sewers of Lion's Arch."

"That's impossible," the watch commander blustered. "It couldn't-"

"Now you've got two sources telling you about an attack," Trahearne interrupted. "Shouldn't you at least ready your troops?"

The commander growled at him. "Fine, a training exercise never hurts. Go and inspect the defenses, that should reassure you, and I'll tell the commanders to run the soldiers through some drills later today." And dismissed the party with a wave as he turned around, presumably to find his commanders.

Tybalt grinned at the sylvari. "Mind if we join?"

"Not at all," Trahearne replied. "Who's your friend?"

"Vikaros Havocforge," he said tersely, more than ready to finally get a word in. "Blood Legion centurion and Whispers field agent, partner of Tybalt for this mission."

"Whew, that's a mouthful," Trahearne laughed. Vikaros set his jaw; he wasn't about to be disrespected for the efforts he put in that granted him his current titles. The sylvari saw and quickly added: "You won't find a better partner than Tybalt, I'm sure; he's motivated to a fault."

Vikaros let out a breath. There wasn't time for bluster or politics. "Sky's turning bad," he said, grimacing as a whiff of rot reached his nose. "Better get going and inspect those defenses the watch commander seems to be so proud of."

"Talon's hubris will get him and his people seriously hurt someday," Trahearne said, seemingly happy to accept the change of topic.

"Let's go check out those trebuchets first," Tybalt said. "If a ship shows up, they're gonna be sorely needed."

The asura at the trebuchets seemed almost as overly confident as Talon had. Even though his legion wasn't Iron, Vikaros prided himself on some mechanical knowledge, and he couldn't find a fault with the machinery, so they moved on to inspect the beach.

On the beach, they were barely done talking with Deputy Mira when a wave of undead crawled out of the ocean. The stench assaulted Vikaros' nose before the sight did, so he drew his bow with a snarl - finally, another proper fight. Trahearne proved to be better at combat than the civilian Vikaros had initially taken him for - he’d have to ask Tybalt about him, later. The battle was over unsatisfyingly fast, but the sky was only getting darker.

"That was only a feint," Trahearne said, "it's coming closer."

"We need to go talk to Talon again," Tybalt agreed.

They didn't have to go far - the watch commander was standing on the walls overlooking the beach as they turned around, drawn by the commotion. "Was that everything?" he laughed. "I told you - nothing the Dragon can throw at us will get past Claw Island!"

Just then, a sound not unlike thunder rumbled through the sky.

"You just had to say that, didn't you," Vikaros mumbled under his breath, as he turned around and caught an undead ship rising from the waves, water cascading down the rotted wooden beams. Next to him, Tybalt swore.

"What's our escape plan?" the ranger asked.

"We need to evacuate the island," Trahearne said, "I think there were enough ships at the docks for the amount of soldiers I've seen-"

The Orrian ship launched something big and lumpy at the fort. It landed in the courtyard. The screams from the soldiers were short-lived as they hopefully regained their discipline quickly and fought whatever that was.

"Hold the fort!" Talon shouted. "We will show that overgrown lizard who's boss! Lionguard, keep the undead out!"

And then, so much happened at once. The big lumps of what could only be more Orrian soldiers were still flying in overhead, while they were coming out of the ocean in droves. Vikaros cursed himself for wanting a fight earlier - this was too many close calls, too quick after one another, dodging a rotting fist here and shooting an arrow into a decomposing skull with a disgusting squelch a bit further away. His lynx mauled the one who'd tried to punch him earlier - and he winced, that couldn't taste good - and before it had even hit the ground, it ran on to do the same to another corpse that was about to hit Trahearne with a piece of driftwood. The combat on the beach melted into one frantic blur - and then, sirens were sounding.

"Retreat from the beach!" he could hear Talon yell. "To the walls! Defend the courtyard!"

Someone yelled something back - something about signal fires.

"What, and let Lion's Arch think we can't hold off some Risen? No way in hell, soldier, get back into position!"

"This is a fool's errand," Tybalt growled, as they ran through the gate, the Risen still on their heels. The thick wood slammed shut behind them. Splintering sounds arose from the other side, as the horrible creatures immediately started trying to get through.

"This is a nightmare," Trahearne agreed.

"This is about to become our fucking grave," Vikaros snarled. "We're completely overrun, there's no way we can hold out."

He looked up, and saw Talon filling his lungs for another round of shouted encouragements, no doubt. Then, he was catapulted backwards, into the courtyard. He was gasping for air, and something long and rotten-looking protruded from his chest.

"Fuck," Tybalt said.

"That doesn't look like something he could come back from," Trahearne said, voice frantic.

Deputy Mira, having fought her way over to their little party, took one look at her fallen commander, and froze. "There's no way-" Trahearne started, but he didn't have to.

"Light the beacons!" Mira shouted, tears forming in her eyes. "Prepare for evacuation! Everyone, protect each other, and retreat!"

Her cry was picked up and passed along by the soldiers. The Risen were crawling over the walls, and it seemed there were more of them every second. The stench of rot permeated everything, overwhelming even the stink of panic from the soldiers.

"Mira," Tybalt began, "there's no way-" he managed before he had to devote his concentration to fending off Risen again.

A buzzing hum filled the sky. The beacons were lit. But there were still so, so many Risen. He wasn’t sure of the protocol - wasn’t sure if backup would be on the way at all, let alone arrive in time.

Vikaros, Tybalt, Trahearne, Mira and a handful of other soldiers were fighting them off, backs to the wall. One Risen flung something at their party, and it hit Mira in the face. She started screaming in pain. Vikaros was close to panic.

He was going to die without his warband by his side.

Tybalt suddenly jumped forward, momentarily pushing back the throng of Risen. "Get to the docks!" he yelled. "I'll distract them so you can escape!"

"But- Tybalt!" Trahearne yelled. Vikaros was frozen, unable to react.

"Go! C'mon, don't waste my time here!" Tybalt yelled, somehow managing a grin. It looked a little manic.

It jolted him out of his shock.

"Trahearne, Mira, soldiers, to the docks!" he yelled. Hordes of Risen was not something he understood, not on this scale. Nor being stuck on an island with them. Sacrifice, he did understand. You don't let someone sacrifice themselves in vain.

He picked up Mira, who was still screaming something about her eyes, and Trahearne followed. A throng of soldiers, protecting their commander, cut a path in front of them. Tybalt's - distraction - seemed effective: the crowds of undead thinned closer to the exit. They reached the gate without any other casualties. Vikaros stopped, about to-

"Don't turn around," Trahearne said, from behind him, sounding pained. "Don't get distracted."

Vikaros clenched his jaw, and then roared out his frustration. The soldiers picked that up too, misinterpreting it as a war cry.

They closed the gate behind them. Made a run for the docks. Manned the ship, fended off undead hands trying to hold on to the planks, sailed back to Lion's Arch.

He was commended for it. Tribune- Rytlock thought he'd done a good job.

Fuck him.

Still in a daze, Vikaros went back to the Black Citadel. He snarled at the tribune, at any other superiors he came across, at anyone who made the mistake of getting in his way, and retrieved his warband. His fighters, his friends, his family.

Never alone again. Chain of command be fucking damned.

#havoc warband #havoc writing #vikaros havocforge #guild wars 2 #trahearne #tybalt leftpaw #claw island tw #this draft was made in notepad and was titled 'clawr island'

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banashee · 4 years

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Worth the trouble

Please mind the tags and warnings!

It’s one of those weeks again - Steve is sick. He is shaking from the cold and sweating at the same time, feverish and freezing all at once. As much as he is used to it, he’s miserable and much more clingy than usual.

The others are there for him to bring food, tea and medicine, but most of all, to keep him company. They happily stay to provide distractions, cuddles and new mugs of tea. The downside of all of this is that sooner or later, someone catches whatever cold or stomach bug Steve managed to get at the time.

Which leads to the issue at hand, being that Clint Barton ignores any signs of sickness in himself that isn’t a body part about to fall off. It starts out with a scratchy throat, which is easy enough to ignore and easy to hide. Then, he starts coughing and his voice sounds like he swallowed sandpaper - great. Clint keeps ignoring all the signs and keeps going on like usual - get out of bed, help the younger kids, help with making breakfast and then he disappears to the shooting range to finetune a few of his archery tricks - it’s a routine he likes, especially since no one here yells at him or inflicts pain when he messes up a shot.

But Clint notices that his shots get messier and messier, and he is more than a little annoyed at himself. Failure is unacceptable, after all.

He only works himself harder and harder, and by the time he is done for the day, he is shaking and sweating, but he blames it on the hours of shooting and nothing else.

Clint isn’t very hungry that day, and says as much when he is asked for his vote on lunch - they always get options, and to make things easier for everyone, it’s a vote every single day.

“You’ve been training all morning. Are you sure?” Phil asks, with a concerned frown creeping onto his face. He is well aware of Clint’s tendencies to skip meals sometimes, both now and as an adult, and it is almost always a sign that something isn’t right.

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling it right now.” He shrugs, and just to be safe and not draw any suspicions onto himself, he adds,

“Maybe just a soup or something. You guys do your thing.”

The others vote on pasta, and the smell is almost enough to make Clint want to leave the room. Too much at once - a wave of nausea creeps up at him and he slams the microwave shut. Clint waits for it to warm up some of that chicken noodle soup they always have in the freezer. It’s always good for days like this, and he figures it’ll keep the worry of Phil and Thor off of his back for now.

At least for that day, he gets away with it.

He goes to bed early that night, earlier than usual. Clint can feel Lucky nuzzling into him, licking the skin on his wrist until he gets the pets that he wanted. It feels good, having the dog close. His presence always relaxes Clint, especially when he isn’t feeling well. There is no way that dog cuddles don’t have magical healing powers - he is convinced of it, and with that thought in his mind and Lucky next to him, he drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, Clint wakes up with a head full of cotton and a throat filled with what feels like glass shards, but he still forces himself to get up and start out the day as usual.

Lucky for him, Steve is already feeling better and joining the others, which means that a lot of attention goes to him. The fact that Natasha is talking his ear off about something she read in a story book recently also helps - he can focus entirely on her and act like he simply forgot to eat while engaging in her excited ramble. Besides, it’s good so see how much she has flourished in the last few weeks - Clint is genuinely happy to see her like that.

He manages to go shooting arrows without anyone catching on - or so he thinks.

By the time he is coughing more and his hands are starting to shake, JARVIS asks him to please stop and go to bed, but he doesn’t listen.

Phil is in a conversation with Director Fury and doesn’t catch any of it, and Thor is on an important skype call with Eric Selvig, so he catches on late as well.

But JARVIS knows how to be effective - of course he does. Tony built him, after all, and so the AI calls for him to drag Clint upstairs.

Tony may be a tiny pre-teen right now, but he sure knows how to get people to do things. Mostly by being annoying - all he needs to hear is that a friend is unwell and none of the adults can be reached, if he could please go down there and help.

He does so without a question.

“Jarvis said you’re sick and you need to go to bed.” he informs the archer as he walks onto the range, and Clint turns to him, sneezes and let’s the arrow fly on accident - it pierces into the wall next to his target and he scowls at it.

“I’m fine.” he says with a sniffle, and gets back into position. His head is throbbing, but he ignores it to the best of his ability.

Going to bed would be the smart thing to do - but years of being told to stop being fucking lazy and get off of his ass when all he wanted to do was crawl back to bed and sleep off a flu, keep him rooted to the spot now.

The swordsman and Trickshot sure had gotten into his brain, and the thought of their anger, especially once drunk, is enough to force himself to keep going. It is a long standing habit by now.

But Tony isn’t having any of it - he, too, can be fiercely protective of the other kids. He is trying to pry Clint away from the gym and upstairs to the bedroom.

“Come on! I know you caught whatever Steve had earlier - you were near him the whole time and all you wanted yesterday was soup.” Damn it if he didn’t pay attention to what happens around him.

“I’m not done here. Leave me alone.” it comes out a lot more grumpy than intended, but Clint is almost running on auto-pilot by now, lining up his arrows and trying desperately to hit the center.

When he is about to grab another one, Tony scoffs and tries to pull him away by grabbing his arm - Clint doesn’t budge. He might not be taller or older by a lot, but damn if the years of archery haven’t paid off already. He might not look it, but he is damn strong for his size and age.

Tony seems to come to the same conclusion, because he sighs dramatically and then says,

“You may be stronger, but I’m much more annoying. Try me, bitch.”

And with that, Tony hops on the older boy’s back, clinging like a monkey and repeatedly poking his cheek with one finger. While he does that, he keeps chanting his name over and over again.

“Clint. Clint. Clint. Come on, go upstairs, I can do this all day long. Clint. Clint.”

The archer sighs, heavily. Stopping his training doesn’t suit him at all, but to be fair, he really doesn’t feel great. There is an annoying scratch in his throat that gets stronger and stronger and his head feels like it is about to explode.

But shooting is what he always does. Taking a break isn’t like him - until now, he’s never been allowed to.

Finally defeated, Clint goes to collect his arrows. He takes a little longer than usual to pack his quiver, but once that is done, he makes his way to the elevator. Tony doesn’t give up and just stays where he is, like a stuck record. He keeps poking Clint and intends to do so until he is in a bed to sleep off the sickness.

This is how the two of them arrive upstairs - Clint shuffling and visibly pale, with a scowl on his face, bow in one hand and his quiver in the other and Tony still hanging onto him.

In the kitchen, Phil is having a quick coffee with Director Fury. He spent quite some time telling him how everyone is doing, how the age regression affects the Avengers. They have been discussing how possible cures might be attainable - all of those things.

Of course it is in this exact moment that Clint is walking past the doorway, tired and annoyed at this point and with Tony still clinging onto him while poking him in the cheek with one finger.

“Clint. Clint. Clint…” the two of them disappear around a corner.

“Clint… Clint… Ew! Stop biting me!”

“Then stop poking my face!”

Something soft hits the floor - probably an annoying 12-year old Tony. After that, the bickering fades away, too quietly to make out from the kitchen.

Fury turns, eyebrows raised and staring at Phil with one unimpressed eye.

“I can’t see how these two are any different than usual. Nothing. Nada.”

Phil’s expression doesn’t change - he has been used to this for a long time.

When Fury has left the tower again just a few minutes later, he does get up to make his way to the shared guest suite. He wants to check up on the boys, because Clint has been acting weird in the past few days - more so than he usually does.

“Sir, I should inform you that Clint is unwell. He was training and refused to stop despite getting worse. Neither you or Thor were available at the time, so I’m afraid I had to call the nearest person to get him to move…”

Oh. Now this makes a lot more sense. Phil curses silently, then adds,

“Thank you, Jarvis.” and leaves the kitchen.

He is surprised to find the suite in silence - Steve went for a nap after breakfast and a movie, and as far as he knows, Bruce is painting with Nat. A few moments later though, Tony steps out of one of the rooms.

“Uhh, Phil?”

“Hey. Jarvis told me. How is he?”

“Annoyed because I dragged him up here. But I don’t think he’s okay, he’s warm and fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed… I was gonna go tell you.” Tony explains, and a shadow of worry creepy across his face. He doesn’t like it when the people around him aren’t themselves, and this is certainly one of those cases.

“Thank you, Tony. I appreciate your help.” He shoots him a smile and accepts the half-hug from Tony, gently ruffling his hair in the process. He is beyond happy that he seems to trust and know he can safely seek out affection - god knows, he needs it. All of those kids need it.

“How are you doing? If Clint is getting sick, some of you might, too. You were all close to each other in the last few days.”

“I’m okay. Not feeling sick or anything.”

“Alright, that’s good. Let us know if that changes, okay?”

“Okay.” and with that, Tony let’s go of him and walks off to find Bruce and Nat.

When Phil enters Clint’s room, he is careful not to spook the boy, but as it turns out, he is fast asleep. He looks pale and sweaty, and he is still wearing his workout clothes. His bow and arrow stand in a close corner, as if he’d only managed to drop them there before he made it into bed. It looks like he fell asleep pretty much instantly. Even when Phil steps around him, to get to the bathroom for medicine and a glass of water, he doesn’t stir. This is unusual - normally, Clint registers when someone comes near him, even when - or rather, especially when - he is asleep.

It doesn’t help Phil’s worry about him at all. He places both the glass of water and the pills on the nightstand, then he leaves the room.

“Jarvis, please let me know when he wakes up or if anything else is needed.” Phil requests quietly upon leaving and the AI reassures him that he will.

By the time Clint wakes up again, he feels like he got run over by a train. He is absolutely miserable and wouldn’t be able to get out of bed even if he wanted to. All he wants to do is burrow back into the pillows, but then a panicked thought jolts through him like an electric shock.

‘You’ll get in trouble - Trickshot is gonna be pissed!’ his sickness clouded brain keeps telling him, and it takes Clint longer than it should to realize that Trickshot isn’t here - neither he, or Swordsman or Barney or Carson or anyone else is here, he is safe and he is allowed to sleep. He is allowed to be sick and rest. He doesn’t have to work through it.

Clint’s heart is still hammering in his chest, and part of him is terrified. What if it changed? Who knows how long he slept for, maybe the rule has been changed in the meantime?

Oh god, what if they’re mad at him?

The thoughts keep going and going, and his breathing is shallow, but at the same time, way too fast. It hurts. His head feels a lot worse than before, too. Clint is faintly aware that he is starting to slip into a full blown panic. He presses both of his hands, shaking and slick with cold sweat, over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet.

Don’t alert anyone. Don’t let them see, don’t let them hear - just hide and hope they’ll leave him alone.

He wouldn’t be able to defend himself right now if he had to.

Only when it is way too late to do anything - not that he could - Clint realizes that the door to his room has opened. His breathing speeds up even more, making his lungs hurt and the pressure in his head increases.

Everything hurts, he is too weak and too panicked to do anything, and all of this terrifies him even more.

It takes him a while to notice that someone is talking to him. Phil, he realizes and somehow, he connects that with “calm” and “safe”, contrary to what the other, messy part of his brain is trying to make him believe.

Phil doesn’t touch him, which is good, but he keeps talking to him, trying to get him to even out his breathing. It takes a while, but it works out eventually.

Clint still doesn’t look at him - he is shivering with cold while the back of his shirt sticks to him uncomfortably and his head feels like it’s about to explode. The headache has only gotten worse while he was freaking out and now he is attempting to hold back tears. It’s too much, but the calm and even voice next to him helps.

“You’re safe, everything is okay. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe…”

Finally, the words register with him, but what comes out of his mouth is,

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time.”

A beat of silence follows - just for a few seconds, just long enough for Phil to push away the urge to go back in time to murder a few people. He only talks when he is sure that there is no trace of anger in his voice - however little it might be, he knows that the boy in front of him will pick up on it. Doesn’t matter that it isn’t directed at him - he will take it that way and slide into another panic. It’s the last thing he needs right now.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” He ignores the fact that Clint was hiding how sick he is and pushing through like always. Overcoming this is something that took years of support and therapy even as an adult - there is no reason to expect this from a traumatized teenager. Phil knows his story, after all - it only helps him approach the situation now.

He isn’t sure if his words stick, but Clint nods. His breathing calms down a bit, but he doesn’t move, keeping his eyes cast downwards on the sheets.

“There is water and medicine on the table, you should take it.” Phil tells him, and is glad that he does. Small favors.

“Can I do anything else for you?” he asks then, and Clint just shakes his he had before burrowing back into the blankets. All he wants is to be left alone.

Over the course of the next few days, Clint is getting worse. He doesn’t let anyone near him, let alone touch him, not even the other kids. This, of all things, probably worries them the most.

The fact that he spent the first days ignoring his state only made things worse now. Maybe it wouldn’t have turned this bad if Clint had rested instead of pushing through training and everyday tasks as always, but as it is now, his flu turns out to be a bad boost of pneumonia.

Breathing is hard and painful, and the only times that Clint is awake, he spends in the bathroom or vomiting. He barely manages a shower on his own - by all means, he is shaky enough on his legs that he should have needed help to keep standing, but due to various personal issues, it is not an option for him.

As a compromise, he leaves the door half open, so that someone could come in quickly in case of an accident. Even that seems to be a lot more than he is willing to do, but he agrees nonetheless - it’s easier than arguing.

The first few times he manages on his own, stumbling out of the bathroom and back to bed as soon as he is done. But one day, he gets dizzy while getting dressed. He moved too quickly, trying to get his clothes back on as quickly as possible to get back to bed, but then he suddenly blacks out with the long sleeve shirt halfway over his head.

Thor is pacing the bedroom while he waits for Clint to be done. He is about to call out, asking if everything is okay, but right when he opens his mouth to ask, the sound of a body hitting the floor comes from the other room. It makes him curse out loud and sprint over to help, but Clint is unconscious and sprawled on the tiles.

Carefully, Thor steps closer - he knows that Jarvis is calling for medical help and for Phil, but he barely registers it.

It looks like Clint hit his head when he passed out, and he starts checking all the vitals and then makes sure to bring him into the recovery position.

Thor is always careful and gentle with other people, especially kids. Now, he takes even greater care, knowing that Clint doesn’t want to be touched, but there is no way to help him otherwise.

Things get hectic after that - Phil comes running only moments after the call for help, and soon after that, they have Clint down in medical.

The other kids are still upstairs, worried because they don’t know what is going on, only that their friend is hurt and needs help.

Natasha especially takes it hard. She usually spends a lot of time around Clint, and suddenly everything changed again. All she knows is that he is unwell and won’t let anyone near him, and now there is some kind of emergency.

The little girl is sniffling silently in a corner, eyes locked onto the door as if it held any answers. It takes several attempts to talk to her, and when Bruce sits down next to her, offering his hand to hold, she accepts it and scoots closer in an attempt to find comfort.

It doesn’t take long for Tony and Steve to join them, and together they wait on any answers. Unlike usual, they don’t talk very much at all.

Phil comes back to them after a while, apologizing for leaving them alone so suddenly. He looks tense and worried, despite his best attempts to hide it. The kids know - they feel the same.

It saddens him to see them this upset, and he does his best to explain the situation so they know enough but not too much. They deserve to know what is going on, but he doesn’t want to scare them any further. It is a slippery slope, but he is used to delivering information in this kind of way.

Meanwhile, a few storeys down in medical, the doctors get Clint’s temperature and symptoms under control as well as they can, but they are concerned. Along with the pneumonia and head injury from his fall, which luckily, isn’t as bad as it could have been, they have discovered something else.

They have found that Clint has a number of both fresh and healing cuts on all arms and legs, easily hidden by clothing. Since there were no accidents or incidents that they know of, and due to the easily hidden locations, they are pretty certain that they are caused by self-harm. The even length and depth is another indicator.

They tell this to Thor, who is very much concerned. He knows about those issues from when he read his teammates file, back when the team first got together - the doctors know about it as well, but neither of them knew it had started this early.

“This is an issue we need to address once Clint is awake. He will not react well if any action was to be taken now. He needs to know, and he needs a choice. Otherwise, he will lose what little trust he has in us.” Thor is very certain of this, and he keeps repeating his point to every single person until the point has come across.

Clint is out cold in the hospital bed, and Thor settles into one of the cheap plastic chairs that look comically small under him. There is nothing funny about it now.

After a little while, Clint seems to wake up. He is groggy and confused, especially when his eyes dart around the unfamiliar room in a panic. But then his eyes settle on Thor sitting next to the bed and tries to ask what is going on, but all he can manage is a coughing fit.

“Easy, my friend, you are safe. Here, this might help.” Thor hands him a cup of water, and it helps him enough to not hack up a lung.

“Thanks. What happened?” His voice is barely there, but the question seems to be obvious enough.

“You fell in the bathroom and hit your head. We had to bring you down to see the healers, and they say you will need to stay and recover here for a bit. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” It’s a lot more than that, but it’s true nonetheless. Without thinking about it, Clint scratches with one hand under the bandage of his right arm.

“Why is my arm bandaged?” he asks then, clearly suspicious.

Choosing his next words carefully, Thor asks,

“They’re not… New injuries. Do you want to talk about this?”

This is like a cold shower, no matter how gentle the approach - shit. Clint pales visibly and shakes his head no. He never intended for anyone to find out. Especially not like this.

“Can you stay?” he asks instead, hating how desperate he sounds.

“Of course. I will keep watch and when you wake up, either myself or Phil will be with you.”

That sounds good enough to him. At least, with either of those two around, Clint knows nothing will happen to him here. And going to sleep sounds a lot better than dealing with all of those emotions, anyway.

That same night, Phil trades places with Thor and spends the next hours in the same, uncomfortable chair next to the bed. He has been filled in on all the updates from both Thor and the doctors, and he is just as concerned.

Phil knows about the unhealthy ways that Clint tends to cope in sometimes - some more than others. But he’d never told anyone, which coping method had started when. Phil had never asked, out of respect for his privacy and the right to disclose those things in his own time, should he ever wish to do so.

All he knows is that his friend needs help, and he isn’t sure if or when he will accept it in this situation.

A few storeys further up, the living room couch has been extended into a large bed where currently, all four of the other kids are curled up with each other. No one is asleep, and Thor is currently in the kitchen to prepare another thermos of tea for them. Being alone in the room, it gives him time to pace a bit without having to worry it’ll unsettle the kids.

All they know is that Clint is sick, hit his head in the bathroom and is now in the hospital to recover from those things. They have no idea about the self-harm issue, and by the gods, he wants to keep it that way. Phil and he have agreed that it would scare and worry the children endlessly, as well as crossing Clint’s boundaries. They don’t want to do either of those things.

Staring at the smoking kettle, watching the small lights blink until the water has reached the right temperature, his thoughts drift off for a little while. Only when the kettle suddenly plays an annyong, catchy melody (because that’s just Tony’s sense of humor, rigging the water kettle so it plays “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” whenever it is done) Thor blinks a few times and comes back to reality. Tea. Kids. Right.

He wipes one sleeve over his face, hoping the living room will be dark enough to hide the worry and sadness in his face.

Back in the other room, Natasha clings to Tony like a small monkey, arms and legs wrapped around him and holding on as tightly as she can. She’s been incredibly silent in the last few days, and it’s heartbreaking to see her retreat back into her shell when she only just really came out of it.

Tony is absentmindedly combing through her hair with one hand and returning Bruce’s grip around his other hand. The younger boy is curled up behind him, face pressed into his back and holding on just as tightly. Steve is gripping the fabric of Tony’s sleeve from where he is curled up behind Nat.

Neither of them wants to be alone right now, and luckily, despite all odds, none of them is feeling sick as of yet. Small favors.

Thor enters the room silently, placing the thermos next to the couch on the floor. Then he sits down, waiting for Bruce to settle into him and then puts another blanket over him and his own legs.

The kids drift off to sleep, eventually, but Thor stays awake, watching over them. He keeps his phone close - just in case anything changes down in medical.

Phil is on his 12th cup of gross vending machine coffee when Clint stirs awake in the hospital bed. Once again, he is confused and disoriented, but he seems to be catching on this time.

“Hey. How are you?” Phil asks him silently, and Clint takes a while to answer. He feels like his head is filled with cotton and his lungs definitely don’t feel great, but at least he isn’t nauseous right now.

“Don’t know. Tired.” he replies truthfully.

“Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you? Bring a book or a movie or something?” Phil asks while filling the water cup. He is desperate to do something, no matter what it is.

“Can’t really focus. Bright lights aren’t great, too…” Truth be told, Clint would love some entertainment. But only being able to read half a page or watch 3 minutes on the TV until it gets too much, would only frustrate him more.

“How about a book, then? I could read it to you, so you can just listen.”

Admittedly, this takes Clint completely off-guard. He can’t think back on a time anyone would have ever read something to him - not even his parents, although Mom might have done it a few times. He can’t remember.

After the car crash, no one would bother - he’d been too old to be read to at that point, he’d figured, and never asked. Being 14 now, even less so. Just the thought of the roaring laughter that would get him from most people is enough to make him squirm inwardly.

But now, he is too tired and in too much pain to read himself, and Phil is offering to help out. If that offer came from anyone else, besides Thor, he’d have thought this to be a trap.

Clint knows better now, but he can’t help but ask,

“You would?” He hates how small he sounds, but as it is, it is hard enough to keep it together. Ironically, after everything he’s survived so far - his father, the orphanage, several foster families, Trickshot and Swordsman - it is kindness that really gets to him.

He can go through hell and keep his walls up for a long time when no one gives a shit. But a tiny flicker of care, just a bit of kindness - he doesn’t know what to do with it, and it makes everything else harder, because what if life isn’t supposed to go like that, after all?

“Yes, of course. Is there anything specific you would like?” Phil asks him, and it’s all he can do to shake his head in an attempt not to cry.

Luckily, he falls asleep soon after that.

Phil trades places with Thor quite a few times, both of them taking turns in sitting with Clint and taking care of the younger kids, but the next time Phil returns to medical, he does so with “Men at arms” by Terry Prtachett in his hand. Not only is it an amazing book that Phil himself has read many, many times, he also happens to know that it is one of adult-Clint’s favourites. Chances are, he’ll enjoy it now. If nothing else, the book is funny, and that might be enough to make this time a little bit better.

He is right. Every now and then, the story makes Clint smile as he listens with his eyes half closed or slowly dozing off. Some parts, especially when he is more awake, make him laugh out loud. One part in particular, it results in a coughing fit for Clint, who keeps laughing even as he is hacking up a lung and while Phil is apologizing profusely while offering him water. There is a slight sparkle in the boy’s eyes though, and it tells Phil very clearly that he did something right.

That same night though, a particularly nasty nightmare sends Clint into a full blown panic. He wakes up tangled in his sheets and screaming,

“Barney, no! Help me! NO!”

Phil is at his side in an instant. He still doesn’t touch - he wasn’t asked or given permission to - but he remains close, offering any kind of support that Clint wants or needs. For now, it’s mostly words.

“Clint! You’re safe, no one will hurt you. Please keep breathing - you are safe…”

It takes a while for him to calm down, but eventually, he remains still in bed, safe for the constant tremors running through his entire body. Phil keeps talking to him the entire time, trying to reassure him that he really is safe. At some point, Clint starts scratching under the edge of his gauze wrapped wrist and he keeps doing so more and more violently.

“Clint. Hey, please stop, you’re hurting yourself.” He keeps going until droplets of blood start staining his left hand.

“Clint. Stop. Please” Something in his voice must be getting through to him, because Clint actually stops and looks up at him. His eyes are huge, terrified and filled with tears.

“It’s the only way to make them stop. I feel them all the time.”

This is the first time he’s ever told someone this - not that anyone would have asked. But Phil is here and Phil is safe , and this is why he opens up in the first place.

“It’s the only way to take back control - I can’t -” breathing gets harder now, but he manages - barely. Phil is still by his side.

“You’re safe… I promise, you are safe. I’m here for you. Whatever it is you need - I’m here for you.”

The seconds are ticking away while nothing happens, until suddenly, Phil finds himself with an armful of sobbing teenager. Instinctively, he holds him close and waits for the storm to pass. This has been long, long overdue, but the fact that Clint feels safe enough to finally reach out, even in an extreme emotional situation like that, is a good sign.

They don’t talk very much in the following hours or days, but Phil spends just as much time with him, finishing the book and bringing a new one after that - “Lords and Ladies.”.

It makes Clint smile a few times, and he allows himself to lean a little bit into Phil while he reads - now that the ice is broken, he seeks out casual touch whenever possible. It’s something he’s been craving for years, but never really had. When Phil tells him that there are resources available to help him with his self harm issues and to deal with his trauma, he simply nods and says,

“I’ll think about it.” because it is the truth and he isn’t sure what else to say - it’s too much to put into words just now, but he hugs Phil again and thinks, with such a support system, tackling this might actually be doable.

A few days later, Clint can finally leave medical and get back home. It literally makes him stop in his tracks for a moment, when he realizes that he thinks that word in the first place - home.

That is exactly what the tower and most of all the people in it mean to him though. As strange as that feeling may be, he thinks he could get used to it.

When he arrives home, everyone else is already waiting with breakfast on the table.

Naturally, Natasha is the first to run towards and hug him. She barely reaches up to the middle of his torso, but she hugs his waist and buries her face in the fabric of his soft shirt.

“Hey there - oof!” The impact isn’t very soft, but it makes him chuckle - god, he’s missed this. Natasha clings to him and he holds onto her for a little while longer. It feels good to be back. Lucky is jumping up on him in excitement - clearly, the dog missed him just as much, and Clint does his best to greet everyone at once appropriately.

One by one, the other kids join in on the hug or wait for a free space to greet him back and it’s incredibly sweet. Clint doesn’t know what to say or do, especially since they don’t know about the details that came to light in the past few days and he would like to keep it that way.

Besides, he’s doing okay at the moment and everyone else seems to be happy, too. No need to ruin the mood.

After the first wave of greetings has died down a little, Clint surprises himself and everyone else as well. For the first time since the age-regression, he doesn’t hesitate in getting closer to anyone.

Sure, he’s been okay with being close to the other kids, and he’d hugged Phil that one time when he’d freaked out in the hospital and even after that, once he truly knew he could. But now he leaps at Thor and slings both arms tightly around his waist.

“Thank you.” he mumbles into the soft fabric of his shirt, knowing he’ll hear it.

Thor hugs him back, gentle as always, but it’s warm and reassuring and just what Clint needs after, well, everything.

“Anytime.” comes the quiet reply, and Clint squeezes just a little bit harder. He knows now, just how much the people around him care, kids and adults alike.

He knows now, just how much both Thor and Phil worry about them all the time. How much they’re willing to do and give to know them happy and safe and it means the world to him.

Clint never knew what that was like until recently, and as much as he appreciates, and yes - loves them for it - he doesn’t know how to put all of it into words.

But he hopes that “Thank you” is enough, so he tries to put the rest of it into the hug. When he pulls away after a while, he is surprised to see that the Thunder God seems to have teared up, but he is smiling.

It tugs at something in him, and he can’t help but smile back.

“I am glad to see you well and back here. Come on, both of you, let us feast!”

The table is so full of food and drinks, Clint is pretty sure they had to play tetris to fit everything.

Once everyone is in their seats, it is just like any other morning. And yet, it is better - lighter. Safe and secure without a question.

If a family like this is the price, opening up might be worth the trouble.

*+~

51 - Help me

#banashee writes #marvel fanfiction #Of chosen families and utter chaos #hurt/comfort #angst #tw self harm #tw mental health issues #65 Random Prompts

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viralhottopics · 8 years

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FA Cup fourth round: 10 things to look out for this weekend

Will Daniel Sturridge get a chance to regain his verve? Will Ranieri fine-tune for a relegation battle? Will Ravel Morrison return to Old Trafford?

1) Revitalised Lincoln face biggest challenge yet

A clutch of (fool)hardy Lincoln City fans queued through Wednesday night in sub-zero temperatures in order to get their gloved hands on the last tickets for their clubs biggest and indeed only fourth-round FA Cup tie since 1976. Those fans were evidently not discouraged by the fact that the National League leaders had suffered their heaviest defeat of the season the previous night, when they were beaten 3-0 by Barrow, whose rugged approach on a treacherous pitch fairly knocked Danny Cowleys men out of their impish stride. The Championship leaders, Brighton, will probably not resort to such robust tactics but are still likely to provide the toughest test yet for a Lincoln side who have already beaten two opponents from leagues above them. The Cup run has generated around 500,000 for the club and given special memories for a generation of supporters who are dreaming of even better days ahead, starting, just maybe, on Saturday. PD

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2) Will Sturridge get the chance to regain his verve?

Jrgen Klopp was frustrated by Liverpools poor finishing against Southampton on Wednesday. This weekend his team could have an ideal chance to finetune it, as suspension has deprived the lower league visitors, Wolverhampton Wanderers, of their first-choice goalkeeper, Carl Ikeme. But with Chelsea to come three days later Klopp seems likely to field a side featuring many reserves, as against Plymouth in the last round. It will be interesting to see whether Daniel Sturridge starts and, if he does, whether his performance perks up. It will also be interesting to see how the Anfield crowd reacts if Wolves begin well and threaten to add to Liverpools woeful start to 2017. The last time Wolves won at Anfield, in 2010-11, the home fans gave a memorable example of terrace wit when they began advocating a hilarious stunt. Hodgson for England! they bawled, possibly not expecting the FA to take the suggestion seriously and employ their then manager. Roy Hodgson complained afterwards that ever since Ive been here the famous Anfield support hasnt been there. Klopp, by contrast, has been hailed as a potential saviour ever since his arrival. Belief in him remains strong among Liverpool fans but some of his recent decisions are testing their faith. PD

Andy Hunter: Klopp needs urgent response after Liverpool slump

Wolves shock Stoke inspired by Hlder Costa

Daniel Sturridge squirts water over his face ahead of the EFL Cup semi final second leg match between Liverpool and Southampton. Photograph: Greenwood/BPI/REX/Shutterstock

3) Ranieri has a chance to fine-tune for relegation battle

Wilfred Ndidi made a brilliant first impression on his Leicester City debut, against Everton in the previous round, but Claudio Ranieri is still searching for his ideal midfield make-up and shape. He may, then, welcome this match as an opportunity to develop a solution before resuming the fight against relegation from the Premier League. On the other hand, another match could be construed as too much of a burden for Robert Huth and Wes Morgan, the main victims of the clubs uneven recruitment last summer. Maybe, then, Claudio Ranieri will use this match to release Yohan Benalouane from suspended animation? The centre-back has been curiously absent from the managers plans for most of the season but was a surprising inclusion on the bench for the last match, a 3-0 defeat at Southampton. A return to action would be intriguing and perhaps even solve a major Leicester problem, especially if they do not sign another centre-back before the and of this month. On a similar note, and returning to the midfield shuffle, Bartosz Kapustka got six whole minutes against Everton it would be good to get another glimpse of the gifted young Pole some time soon. PD

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4) Rochdale have another Yorkshire scalp in sight

With Huddersfield having sold all 3,500 tickets allocated to them, Spotland is likely to have its biggest crowd of the season for this Lancashire-Yorkshire clash, with home supporters hopeful of witnessing something similar to their impressive toppling of Leeds United in 2014. That could create exactly the right mood to uplift Keith Hills side, whose promotion challenge in League One has been dented recently by injuries and loss of form. David Wagner, meanwhile, is likely to make several changes to his usual Huddersfield lineup and that could mean a return to action for Harry Bunn, who has not played since excelling in the win over Port Vale in the last round. PD

Wagner pledges future to Huddersfield amid Bundesliga interest

FA Cup fourth-round draw

5) Joyce may bring Morrison along to Old Trafford reunion

For about 20 minutes, it looked like the run might finally be over. With Bolton leading at Crystal Palace, their fourth round tie with Manchester City was set to bump neighbours Manchester United off the TV schedule, ending Uniteds run of 55 consecutive televised Cup ties. Instead, Christian Benteke steered Palace through, and United will make it 56 against Wigan Athletic. A home tie against a team 21st in the Championship would appear to serve little purpose beyond bolstering the ratings, but Sundays opposition do offer an intriguing subplot. Wigan manager Warren Joyce took over in November after eight years at Old Trafford in charge of the reserve side, where he was responsible for the development of Paul Pogba, Marcus Rashford and Jesse Lingard, among many others who didnt make the grade. Perhaps the most notorious name on that list is Ravel Morrison, currently training with Wigan after being frozen out at Lazio. Its still a long shot, with no loan move confirmed at time of writing and Morrison obviously lacking match fitness, but the prospect of Morrison returning to Old Trafford may be worth tuning in for. NMc

Could Ravel Morrison return to Old Trafford? Photograph: Peter Byrne/PA

Niasse earns Hull second-leg win but Manchester United reach EFL Cup final

Morrison in training with Wigan after leaving Lazio

6) City to experiment with Palace focusing on the league?

Selhurst Park will inevitably be noisy, but the visit of Manchester City may suffer from a lack of on-field intensity. Crystal Palaces run to the final last season placated fans as league form stagnated, but the situation is very different this time around, with Palace in the bottom three. Sam Allardyce has traditionally made his excuses early in the FA Cup the win over Bolton was just his third in the competition since 2009. Not for the first time, Pep Guardiola may view things differently to Allardyce; the City manager sent out a strong team against West Ham, and was so impressed he stuck with all ten outfield players against Everton, with widely publicised results. Another trip to the London Stadium awaits in the league on Wednesday, so Guardiola may employ a couple of returning players here. Vincent Kompany has completed just one match all season (the EFL Cup win over Swansea) while Fabian Delph has also suffered with persistent injury problems. Kompany, last seen at Selhurst Park in November, would be a very welcome addition to central defence, while Delph has previously hinted at a change to his previous midfield position, potentially trying out a full-back. This may be the right fixture to experiment, but Guardiola should not assume the same tricks will work on Wednesday. NMc

United may be top dogs in north-west but title looks London-bound

Palace take Samba on trial with view to free transfer

7) Millwall can celebrate against off-colour Watford

No-one likes them, they dont care; but enough about offshore property developers. Millwalls home tie with Watford will be a celebratory day in the sun for the hosts, broadcast live on the BBC and coming just four days after the threat of eviction was finally removed. As the club have stated, Lewisham council are yet to formally abandon a compulsory purchase order on land around the Den, but the news that mayor Sir Steve Bullock believes the CPO should not proceed has been greeted with widespread relief from supporters, and residents close to the clubs South London home. The murky regeneration plan for New Bermondsey has been on the table since 2014, when Millwall were in the same division as Sundays opponents. Watfords third-round win over Burton was their only success since mid-November, and it would almost be a surprise if the League One side, who dominated a depleted Bournemouth in the last round, did not celebrate their off-field victory with a place in the fifth round draw. NMc

Fans protesting the compulsory purchase order during the The FA Cup 3rd round match between Millwall and Bournemouth. Photograph: ProSports/REX/Shutterstock

Watford sign Milans Niang on loan with 13.5m option to buy

Millwalls fight for The Den: Its been a victory for the small man

8) Free-scoring Oxford and Newcastle face off

Expect goals at the Kassam Stadium as Oxford United, with 11 in their three FA Cup victories so far, take on Newcastle United, comfortably the Championships top scorers. Both sides won their last league fixture 4-0, while the visitors have the top four tiers leading scorer in Dwight Gayle. Whether Gayle will be called upon is another matter. Newcastles only concern this season is securing a Premier League return, and Rafa Benitez rotated his team accordingly to get past Birmingham with the help of a replay. Michael Appleton is also facing a selection dilemma, with a rearranged EFL Trophy quarter-final against Bradford on Tuesday offering a much more realistic route to Wembley. Having outclassed Rotherham in the third round and upset Swansea in last seasons competition, the Oxford manager might still find reason to believe that victory, and a first fifth-round appearance since 1994, is a more realistic prospect than it looks on paper. NMc

Shelvey inspires Newcastle to FA Cup replay victory over Birmingham

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9) Will Leeds be flummoxed by Suttons pitch?

Artificial pitches are something of a rarity in top-level football, not seen in England since QPR and Lutons ill-starred experiments with astroturf, the last seen when Preston reverted to good old-fashioned grass in 1994. Leeds United will have to deal with one this weekend though, when they visit Sutton United. And Sutton manager Paul Doswell seems fairly confident that it will flummox the Championship promotion contenders. Without being over-emotional about it, we have got a good chance against Leeds on our pitch, said Doswell. No one likes playing on it apart from us it seems. We are very good on it. Indeed they are, having won nine of their 15 National League games on the 3G surface, and also holding League One Wimbledon to a draw there before knocking them out in the previous round. Still, even though Garry Monk will probably rest some first-teamers, as he did in the third round against Cambridge, Leeds may well reason that if Solihull Moors, Braintree Town and Dover Athletic can win at Gander Green Lane, they should stand a chance too. NM

Doukaras volley brings back memories of Yeboah as Leeds beat Forest

Football Weekly Extra: all the fourth round ties previewed

10) Wycombe and Kashket deserve big moment

Given Tottenhams generally sparkling recent form they might be expected to brush aside League Two Wycombe with little fuss and plenty of team changes. Yet their opponents are on a roll too. Gareth Ainsworths team are unbeaten in all competitions over 16 matches and havent failed to score in a game since 22 October. Expect considerable focus on Wycombes little and large striking talents. Adebayo the beast Akinfenwa is well enough known for his formidable strength, durability and opportunistic WhatsApp-based contract appeals, but the diminutive Scott Kashket could be the player to keep more of an eye on at White Hart Lane. Demoralised and discarded at Leyton Orient last season, the 20-year-old forward has been an inspired addition to Ainsworths side and has rewarded the clubs faith in him with 14 goals in all competitions, including a hat-trick in the second-round win at League One Chesterfield. They gave me the chance to prove myself when nobody else would, and I want to pay them back by carrying on scoring goals for Wycombe, said Kashket, who signed a new deal with the club last month. When I came here I only signed a short term deal and needed to prove myself to get it extended. I did my bit and hoped they did theirs, which they did, so Im glad they had faith in me. Though Spurs are likely prevail on Saturday, Kashket and Wycombe deserve their day on the big stage. TD

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Luke ONien: Juggling a tennis ball makes your touch really sensitive

Akinfenwa: People said Im too big to play football, but I keep playing

Pochettino makes hospital visit to see stricken Mason