#along with them being compounded by how much loss he’s had in his life. and how much suffering

[6footeel]

haven’t made any decisions about his colors yet so i kind of just had fun with it lol

[gay-dorito-dust]

I can’t want what I don’t have.

⚠️ MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS SPOILERS SO IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED THE MOVIE PLZ LOOK AWAY FOR YOUR SAKE. ⚠️

A/n: This is very, very rushed cuz I loved this movie very much and had to get something out asap.

“C’mon Wanda darling, just look at our children you can’t say no to those faces now can you?” You said as you crouched down besides young Billy and Tommy who had asked for your aid in persuading their mother, your wife, into allowing them to sneak an early taste of her cooking batter but your wife was being quite persistent in preventing you three from doing so. As though on cue from an unknown director the children brought out their puppy dog eyes up at Wanda who was trying her best not to break under the sweet domestic moment she was having with her beloved family by concealing it with a typical parental stare she’s trained her face to contort into whenever you or the children we’re up to no good; If Wanda initially thought Pietro was a bad influence she was obviously looking past the true negative influence her significant other. The love of her life.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to get annoyed at you nor the kids. A family was something she’s always wanted, even as a little kid watching those old black and white low budget sitcoms with her family all those nights ago where she was once a naive child to the horrors that laid beyond the doorway that would put the monster in her closest to shame. Ever since she met you at the avengers compound where you became close after the events of the civil war that broke your team apart for some time. That dream only amplified when she saw how you acted towards children of the less fortunate by performing magic to ease their nerves and help them embrace their laughter instead, taking their minds off of the horrors that laid beyond; protecting them from the things Wanda wished she could protect her younger self from. She remembered the times where you’d visit her in her room during her worst days with her favourite sitcoms and food along with some plushie friends that she kept on your shared bed much to your chagrin. You meant so much to her that the mere thought of you being taken away from her was a furlong dream she never wished to experience as the pain would be enough to push her over the edge she was already teetering on with the loss of Vision. Wanda considered herself lucky enough to have you by her side during those dark times that sooner or later she realised that she was forming feeling for you and naturally she was scared; for being loved by her and loving her was a death sentence. Everyone who Wanda had ever loved or has ever loved her only ended up dead but when you showed persistence during your fights and stubbornness when she tried to push you away for your own safety the words you told her that day still rang true when she looked into your eyes.

“Wanda I love you, I love you in every possible reality imaginable because loving you is the most beautiful I could ever experience. I could care less if I died right here right now as it meant I lived a full life being loved by you and loving you to the fullest of my being. Your not getting rid of me that easily Wanda darling,” you brought your hands against hers as both of your (f/c) magic and her scarlet magic became acquainted with one another, “we’re meant to be, Wanda maximoff and Y/n Maximoff. Together forever.” Wanda only chuckled as you three stared at her impatiently. “Please mom we promise to be really, really good afterwards.” Tommy begged as he clung to your side. “Yeah, we’ll staring cleaning our room more and going to sleep on time.” Billy chimed in with a wide innocent smile as his brother only looked at him in betrayal, “you done ratting us out yet Billy?” Billy only looked to his brother with a apologetic smile, “sorry Tommy but you should know better then to make me keep secretes, I’m a terrible secrete keeper especially to our parents!” You and Wanda laughed as they squabbled their way into the living room as brothers do as you decided to hug her from behind as she continued to cook.

You head resting into the crook of her neck, lips barely brushing her skin making her insides practically burst into flames upon contact. “Now that trouble makers one and two are gone how about you let me get a taste of that sweetness.” You said cheekily as you wiggles your fingers, using your magic to pull the cooking batter out of her range and into your hands when Wanda swatted your hand away laughing at your silliness, moving in your arms to raise her own hand to flick your forehead lightly as punishment. “You should know better by now then to ask for things that aren’t yours to ask for.” Wanda teased as you rubbed your forehead before a smile creeped up on your lips as you brought your face close to hers as though your words were too sacred for your children to hear in on, “that wasn’t the sweetness I wasn’t asking a taste of my gorgeous wife.” With Wanda taken off guard it gave you the opportunity to give her a innocent kiss on the lips while your other hands did their literal magic and lifted the bowl containing the batter into the air and across the room to the living room where Tommy and Billy had settled their dispute in favour of watching cartoons and laid before them on the coffee table causing them to gasp; Billy, ever the mommy’s boy, noticed straight away that this was your doing and turned on the couch so he was facing you and Wanda, “Mommy, y/n used their magic!” while his brother delved fingers first into the sweet cooking batter with zero regard, looking at him with disappointment as he continued to smear more chocolate across his lips, muttering under his breath of how much his brother was a goody two shoes suck up.

Wanda, pulling away from your soft lips to look at you with a raised brow as you raised your hands, not realising that one of them was coated in (f/c) magic until it was too late. “What do you have to say for yourself?” Wanda asked as she crossed her arms as Billy waddled over to her side to copy her pose as he looked at you with an attempted scowl but his baby face made it look as though he was pouting for reading someone’s mind the sixth time that week. “Alright, alright I’m guilty of the most heinous of crimes, what is my punishment oh powerful and mighty Wanda,” Billy coughed into his hand, “oh and the amazing Billy Maximoff.” You added making him smile. Wanda’s heart warmed at the interaction before kneeling down to her son, “what should we do?” She asked as he made a questioning face before whispering sometime in her ear as she smiled back at him agreeably, bringing herself back up to her feet as she stared you down. “Your punishment, made by the ever so wise Billy, is death by cuddles.” Before you could utter a word in response, Wanda, Billy and Tommy all jumped at you at once as they squeezed you tightly in their arms as hard as they could as laughter filled the home. Laughters of love, laughter of fun and most of all the laughter of a beloved family.

Wanda awoke from her dream with a gasp, listing herself up from her bed as she instinctively looked over at the other side which would’ve belonged to you as though you were still alive and well as you were in her dreams. Her heart broke when it laid as vacant as the day you left on a suicide mission, never to return as a familiar bitterness filled her chest as she cradled the shirt that was placed over the pillow she rested her head upon that night; the shirt that once belonged to you but yet as like everything in life did, your scent began to fade away with time and soon enough your shirt would soon become another random shirt that will join your other belongs at the bottom of her wardrobe when finally looses your scent. Reminding her of the worst day of her life over and over and over again. Your laughter from her dreams haunt her as tears bite her eyes when she recollected the events leading up to her reclusion within her own magic to keep your memory alive as though she was scared that you’d one day be forgotten.

A fate of which Wanda refused to allow as loosing all memory of you would be like loosing all memory of what made you love her and what made her love you. Yes she wanted to marry you, yes she wanted to raise kids with you, adopted or not because either way they would be yours to protect and love until you couldn’t. Fate had taken you away from her and now she couldn’t help but be envious of every variant of herself that got to live a life where she kept you, Billy and Tommy; It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t! How come they got to live the life that SHE wanted and not her! Her heart broke whenever you kissed her variants lips over and over and over again, wishing that it was her lips you were kissing. Her heart broke when she had to watch through her variants eyes as you played with your children in the backyard or taking them on their first day of school or when Billy, roughly age 18 in context of the dream, coming home from his first date with his boyfriend. Wanda wanted all that and more yet she drew the short straw and was doomed to watch others being happy and forcing herself to be happy for them when she wanted to be the one with the happy ending. She wanted you. She never got the chance to tell you that she loved you before you left and ever since she’s regretted it every day that she was allowed to live.

Now that her powers had awakened to their full potential she won’t stop until she had you, Billy and Tommy in her arms once more like she did in Westview, she didn’t care for the repercussions of her actions as they weren’t hers to deal with because she was justified in her anger, Stephen said it so, which is why the multiverse would pay for hanging you in front of her living a life with those who aren’t her yet share her likeness and name. After all you belong to her did you not?

[kylejsugarman]

I was watching the commentary of One Minute earlier and it got me thinking of the recurrent orbital injuries Jesse sustains over the series. Between the smashing his face into a rock in the pilot and Hank assaulting him, his left eye socket alone has been at the very least fractured twice. Not to mention the right side getting injured when [REDACTED] in Ozymandias. I’m genuinely surprised he didn’t have to have it surgically repaired. Goodness that’s not to mention the head trauma and multiple concussions he sustained.

Do you think his vision will be effected long term? Would he even have had time to notice a change in his vision with how crazy his life was until he got to safety? I can imagine migraines and seizures being issue. I just wish someone would whisk this fella away to a neurologist (And a good one! I’ve seen my share of bad ones🙃) ASAP.

Again I’m sorry for opening Pandora’s box trunk, but this is fresh on my mind and it is just rattling around in my brain and I had to consult someone else or my mind would explode.

(officer who is in retirement being called back in for one more big case voice) goddamn. im getting too old for this shit.

specifically regarding the orbital injuries, ur absolutely right that after getting his left socket likely fractured twice, he might need surgical repair. most repairs of orbital fractures are relatively simple, especially if they're rim fractures like i suspect his are in these cases (he probably could've gotten it done quickly in the hospital after the hank beating), but even with surgery and after that injury to the right socket as well, there's a high chance of him developing double vision. orbital fractures aren't necessarily correlated with vision problems (unless of course we're talking about a fracture that involves direct injury to the eyeball as well), but in tandem with the head injuries, the chance of double/blurred vision is pretty high and problems with eye-tracking and peripheral vision are likely. also i suffered an orbital fracture back in august after falling during a seizure and they hurty :(

knowing jesse, he probably wouldn't even notice a change in his vision (jesse strikes me as the kind of person who would go thru life like "damn. crazy how everything's blurry all the time huh" as an adult and everyone around him would be like. oh god have u ever had an eye exam??) and if he did, it'd be at the bottom of the list of Issues (diplopia can be transient too and its not exactly easy to treat when its the result of this much trauma). but u all absolutely KNOW how i feel about getting jesse to the nearest quality neurologist as soon as he sets foot in alaska. even divorced from my au, seizures are going to be a HUGE possibility from all that head trauma/concussion injury + yo-yoing blood sugar. add exposure to chemicals and starvation to the head injuries, and symptoms like migraines, limb weakness/tingling, and memory loss are basically guaranteed.

when u compound severe physical and neurological distress with the psychological distress of surviving Literal Hell On Earth and Losing Everyone u Love, it's actually. really, really hard to picture his early time in alaska as anything but scary and painful and miserable :( like yeah he has this freedom and he's "Safe", but being alone and living in a body and mind that have been legitimately torn to shreds and are almost beyond his own recognition is somehow worse than captivity. i mean, jesse's young and isn't exactly up to snuff on like biology and physiology, he doesn't KNOW all the things that are "wrong" with him (a lot of which can be fixed or alleviated!!) and so its scary to have all this pain and these symptoms along with the debilitating psychological scars. thats why its SO important that he see a neurologist ASAP after getting to safety: he Needs someone, someone who is caring and wise and has no reason to distrust or hurt him, to look objectively at his problems and put names to them and tell him how they can be treated. like jesse is absolutely going to live with chronic pain and certain symptoms for the rest of his life, but to have Names for these things and Ways to cope with them.....to See them from a more objective standpoint, not as curses and suffering he deserves to continue serving out his "sentence" but as pieces of baggage that are not inherently good or evil.....like that's going to at least open the door for him to start seeking other forms of treatment and accepting help instead of suffering alone with his pain as some kind of self-laceration or some desperate, misguided attempt to isolate his pain to avoid it Contaminating anyone else

[extr4normal]

isa info dump pt. 1.

there will be mentions of drunk driving/car accident, death, electroshock therapy/surgeries, hospitals, etc. you've been warned!

◘ in 2021 misfortune knocked abruptly against the velasco family's front door. isadora velasco, commonly referred to as isa, unfortunately lost her life only a few hours into her 18th year on this earth. a celebration with friends lead to drinking which then lead to one of them mindlessly getting in front of the wheel. later that same day police informed local media of a drunk driving accident where only one out of five had been pronounced dead.

◘ luis velasco, isadora's father, is overtaken by grief. incapable of accepting the loss of his only child. after her memorial and after the casket is dropped and covered with the grounds of the earth, he returns to the cemetery. dig. dig. dig. he shovels up her corpse and takes her back home.

◘ now, it's important to know that luis is a cardiothoracic surgeon. one of the best to grace new york city. during one of his sudden surges of grief he has the twisted thought of bringing his daughter back to life. and if he's been able to repair and keep hearts pumping on the living for years... couldn't he do the same for the dead? so, he starts researching and planning. his daughter's lifeless body lays mummified in his outbuilding that he makes sure to keep locked.

◘ luis finds himself captivated by his work. so much so that his wife jennifer begins to worry. he spends hours, days, sometimes even weeks locked away. trying different methods and each of them failing. weeks turn to months and eventually jennifer slides the divorce papers over to him during dinner. she believes that this will open his eyes. that he will finally come to his senses. but without any hesitation -- he signs.

◘ he's losing his mind. he's tried everything from electroshock therapy on her brain, using defibrillators to jumpstart his daughters heart, but nothing. flatline every single time. he decides to end it all. to let his daughter finally rest. he goes back to living a somewhat normal life. for a few weeks, at least. one day at work, one more idea pops into his mangled mind. compound v. it was his last and only hope.

◘ unbeknownst to the public compound v is stored, hidden, and used in hospitals all across the united states. including the hospital luis works at. he steals a dozen vials and takes them home. he injects 6 into the girl's bloodstream. using electroshock therapy on her brain, the defibrillator to restart her, along with the special serum -- luis finally succeeds. he is met with his daughters chocolate brown eyes once again.

◘ the being that sits across from him at the dining room table resembles his daughter, yes, but that's about it. she came back but now she's different. she has no recollection of her life before her passing. in fact, she doesn't have any thoughts. she's an empty vessel. for the next two years, luis reteaches his daughter how to live. how to exist. teaching her how to walk and talk all over again. he teaches her all of the school subjects. how to cook, clean and take care of herself. he also took some time to teach her about the world around them. how if she took one foot outside of their home, she would be met with harm. he lost her once. he wasn't going to lose her again.

◘ the two of them learned quickly that the compound v blessed isadora with some special abilities. accidentally setting her hand on fire trying to cook -- breaking her leg after tripping on one of the stair steps -- she was invulnerable to feeling any of it. the burns on her hand never even ached and the twisted leg corrected itself in seconds. she was practically immortal.

◘ vought and the hospital luis worked at discover the footage of him stealing 12 vials of compound v and authorities show up at the velasco's house to arrest him. they are shocked to discover that his dead daughter is walking amongst the living once again. they were going to put an end to her life again, but vought steps in before that can happen. they see the girl as an opportunity. a story that would shock millions and potentially bring in lots of publicity. and so, they butter her up. make her feel special and cared for. then they her into godolkin university with individuals like herself. after a few weeks, they move on from her and go on to the next big thing.

[jdgo51]

Translating Your Suffering into a Durable Hope

Today's inspiration comes from:

The Deepest Place

by Curt Thompson, MD

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." — Romans 5:1–5

"'Max’s interminable ruminations, always worrying about never getting it right, never being good enough in his career, had the effect of both sweeping him into the fast track of advancement — because of how hard he worked in response to his worry — and leading him to accumulate a life of misery along the way.

Carmina was married to a man who, committed as he was to the tenets of their faith, had no commitment whatsoever to being curious about his inner life or his outer harshness that he frequently directed at her in public, leaving her to a life of longing and languishing, trapped in a dry well of sadness and despair.

Edwin’s autoimmune arthritic condition had, over twenty years, slowly done everything but kill him. He didn’t want to die. But he had a hard time wanting to live.

Karen lost her husband in Afghanistan and her son to a drug overdose. Now she most feared losing her very soul to the subsequent continual pain of loss that she perceived as nearly too much to bear.

Westin’s serial infidelities had corrupted everyone and everything around him. The very thought of an intimate relationship, despite his desperate longing for one, only compounded his shame and his fear of that very thing he most longed for. Shame and fear that consumed most of his waking hours.

Paulina had done hard, effective spiritual and emotional work for several years, developing resilience and joy on so many fronts. Why, then, did the old, familiar family story continue to haunt her, blindsiding her at the most inopportune times, leaving her emotionally distraught for days on end?

Time in prison was one thing. Living with the shame of it after being released was worse. What was Garrett to do with the incessant battering his mind had to withstand simply to get from the morning to the night as he tried to forget his past?

To be human is to suffer.

Indeed, suffering was at the center of the experiences of each of the people whose stories you just read. It was ultimately, in fact, what prompted and escorted them into my office. Moreover, hope felt desperately out of reach, often perceived as a mirage that evaporated anytime any of them was engulfed with the images and sensations of their affliction.

But although it was perceived to be beyond them, hope was not completely out of their visual field, or they would not have been speaking with me in the first place. However, it only flitted through their peripheral vision; suffering — and the attendant story that they were telling about it — most often occupied their direct sight line.

Certainly, each person’s suffering is unique to the individual; with a nod to Tolstoy, each of us is unhappy — we suffer — in our own particular way. At the same time, the suffering of those who have joined me in my office shared common characteristics. However, beyond our awareness that all suffering shares common attributes, most important is the reality that we all suffer, even if we are often quite extraordinarily unaware of it.

Suffering — while not God’s ideal intention — is a necessary element in our becoming our truest, most beautiful, most Heaven-ready selves.

The question is not if we each suffer. It is, rather, To what degree are we aware of it? and How are we in relationship with and responding to it? These questions reveal not only the story we believe we are living in, but the role that suffering plays in that narrative.

You have chosen to read this article for any number of reasons. You may be one who suffers, and you know it. Or perhaps you know someone else who suffers, and you want to help them. Or you may be curious about suffering but don’t think you encounter it that often or that deeply and have questions about why that is. Perhaps you wonder if the pain you hold qualifies as suffering and want to know if you are permitted to name it as such. In the face of your suffering or that of others, you long to discover and maintain hope, all the while attempting to make sense of the suffering in the process.

But I will tell you why I would likely want to read a book, any book, about suffering. At some level,

I am hoping that I will discover how I will be able to suffer less. Less painfully. Less often. I want to know more about suffering so that I can have less of it in my life. Of course, it’s okay if I learn some things about it along the way — but again, only if what I learn helps me mitigate it.

If I am going to read a book about suffering and hope, I would anticipate that the first step would be either to understand suffering or, even better, to discover solutions for it, so that at the end of the day in some way I actually won’t have to suffer as much as I might otherwise. And therein would lie the hope. Why would I want to read something that would merely validate and reinforce the message, “Yes, you’re right. Suffering is hard. End of story.” Where is there any hope in that message?

I want to be hopeful. Hopeful that I have agency to diminish my suffering. Because, I admit, I don’t easily comprehend how hope and suffering coexist in my mind and life. But one of the things you will learn over the course of my book The Deepest Place is that, from the standpoint of the biblical narrative and in light of what we are discovering about neuroscience,

suffering — while not God’s ideal intention — is a necessary element in our becoming our truest, most beautiful, most Heaven-ready selves.

It is an unavoidable reality of life. One that God plainly does not fully deliver us from in the time frame we would like, if ever.

Moreover, it is a reality that he seems just as plainly committed to using suffering — for reasons that are a great mystery to me — to transform us into who He wants us to become. However, it remains something that I most often choose to avoid if possible instead of accepting it as having anything to do with becoming who I actually long to be.

All of this is both very hard and very good news. It’s easy to imagine why it is hard. But to approach understanding how in any universe it could be good will require what may be a severe overhaul of our imaginations. The Deepest Place intends to address what is required for us to form deeply embedded, durable hope, not only in the presence of our pain but as a direct result of it.

I make no promise that we will suffer less. But I am confident that we will suffer differently and will become even more durably hopeful as a result. Primarily, I expect us to come to see that hope is actually a word that, in the world of interpersonal neurobiology, serves as a proxy for an ever-deepening attachment love with Jesus and the commensurate awareness of God’s relational presence of lovingkindness."'

Adapted from The Deepest Place: Suffering and the Formation of Hope by Curt Thompson, MD.

[babblydrabbly]

Trust Me Pt. 1 - (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship))

Pairing(s): (Rick Flag x Reader); (Harley Quinn x Reader (Friendship)

Characters: Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, Digger Harkness, mentions of Amanda Waller

Rating: General

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warning(s): Language, blood/violence, car accident. 

Summary: Imagine you’re occasionally sent on Task Force X missions to back up Flag, but he knows Waller really just sends you to report back any dirt you can find on Rick. You’re a rat (No offense to Sebastian). He keeps you at arms length most of the time, and resents any attempts to be a part of the ‘team’, despite his big speech about treating each other like brothers and sisters. Still, you bond over all the literally suicidal missions, and really do watch each others’ back during the chaos. Rick Flag is torn between you being one of Waller’s spies and how much he cares about you. Part 1/?

---

You were uncomfortable with the assignment to begin with. You’d heard about what happened at Midway before you even transferred to Belle Reve, so when Waller said you’d be assigned to the next few Task Force X missions, you immediately knew why. Amanda Waller did not trust Rick Flag.

Without needing to say it, you were going to report back any and all chatter you considered insubordination between the members of the ‘suicide squad’. You were a rat. And Flag knew it right away. You were adequate in the field, but nothing spectacular; Your real job was working in the comms room during their missions. When the plane touched down on your first tag-a-long, Flag did little to hide the resentment he felt for you. 

That was fine. You didn't need to be friends. He kept you at arms length, only speaking to you directly with orders or updates. You rarely spoke at all while out with the team. 

That was, until Harley Quinn was reinstated a few missions into your assignment. During the take down of a moving convoy and extraction of an important meta-human asset, Flag looked happy to tell you you’d be driving a hundred miles out into the desert beside the bubbly criminal. He didn’t even give you the dignity of being in charge of driving. 

You sat in the passenger seat of the hummer, as Harley blasted the radio and sang without any shame at all. You had a feeling Flag could see your silhouettes  from his own vehicle one car back where he was driving with Harkness. You had literal hours to go before your four vehicle team (plus helicopter) even reached the convoy, and Harley’s energy was relentless. 

“So, where ya from, hun?” “You got a cute outfit- I’m more prone to a pop of color myself.” “Hey, you ever try peanut butter on a cheeseburger? Hear me out-”

“—Teams report.” Flag’s voice came in through your earpiece after an hour or so. Were you imagining it, or did he seem amused? The members ahead of you check in before you grit your teeth and give a curt, “Fine. Over.”

You gasped as Harley let go of the wheel to stick her body out of the open window, her blonde pigtails whipping around. She waved enthusiastically back at Flag, and you could see in the rearview as he casually waved back from his sunroof behind you. You cursed and snatched the wheel as the hummer swerved, shouting for Harley to get her ass back in the damn car! 

You heard a few chuckles and quips over the comms that made your cheeks burn, and you made a note to definitely mark this moment down in your stupid report. Fucking Flag. It wasn’t like you volunteered to be Waller’s little snitch. But you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. He was getting bolder. It had been less than a year, and what was once just cold shoulders and dismissals between the two of you was slowly turning into harmless jabs like this one. You even found yourself leaving things out of your reports on occasion. What use was mentioning it if it wasn’t relevant to the task force? Lying by omission for a bunch of murderers and losers— Who were you turning into.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sudden absence of noise— Harley had stopped singing along, instead choosing to bob in her seat to the beat. She glanced at you with a wide grin. Then again. And again.

“Eyes on the road, Quinn.” You practically begged at this point. You pressed your body into your seat anxiously. The dust cloud from the incoming convoy was beginning to blow past your window. Flag’s voice crackled through the comms again to get ready.

“You’re one uptight broad, y’know that?” She said cheerfully. You didn’t know if you were meant to take offense or not. Then, “I like it! Got a real Restin’ Bitch Face.”

“Thank...you?” 

“Don’t get me wrong— When a gal’s got on a good RBF, it’s in the name. You’re a bitch. But when a broody guy like Flag’s got one he’s a ‘serious leader’ and a ‘professional’ and a ‘dreamy hunk’.” Harley went on, taking her hands off the wheel to demonstrate her air quotes literally. You gripped your seatbelt in fear as the hummer began swerving again. 

“Quinn...”

“Everyone’s always calling me a psycho bitch when I get in the zone, y’know. But then I’m just a crazy bitch when I’m tryin’a keep it fun—!”

“HARLEY!”

Your heart leapt in your throat. As Harley let the vehicle veer back and forth, your attention was suddenly taken by the flash of fire and an explosion just yards ahead of you. The hummer with two other squad members leading the line had been hit with a rocket launcher, sending their vehicle into the air in a burst of flame— and because Harley was driving like a maniac, the explosion had missed your own hummer. Harley and Flag broke the line in a single moment, dodging the car that was now overturned and engulfed in fire. 

Hell broke loose then, as it always did.

You remember Harley shouting at you to take the wheel before climbing up to the mounted gun on the roof. Chatter erupted on the comms as Waller’s team directed the helicopter above and the rest of you still converged on the target. The plan was to never stop, to keep driving and extract the asset while all teams kept up with the convoy. You remember seeing a car pull up beside Flag in your side mirror, a rifle pointing right at him through all the dust and cross fire. 

But the beauty of Task Force X was how laughably terrible these guys were at not following the plan. You catch a flash of red and blue as Harley leapt onto the enemy’s truck, abandoning her post on the hummer to go get the asset herself. Waller’s orders were meaningless in moments like this, and she knew it. They would either accomplish the mission their way, or they were dead. 

That’s what the suicide squad did— was that really you? You looked in your rearview again in time to catch Harkness collapse onto the hood of Flag’s vehicle, a splotch of red visible on his chest even from where you were. You heard Waller’s voice in your head already dismissing Boomer’s loss by the end of all this. 

But you also heard Rick, his voice concerned but steady in your ear as he ordered Harkness to hang on while he attempted to lose the car still beside them. 

You sucked in a breath, and with a sudden jerk of the wheel, you lined yourself up with the enemy car behind you— And slammed on the breaks.

---

You had to come back to Belle Reve on a separate jet with Harkness, who also needed medical care before being sent back. Harley, despite her protests to see that you were both okay, was returned to her cell without so much as a ‘good job’ from Waller. Flag locked the caged door behind her with a murmur that he’d send word about Boomer soon. 

You landed in Louisiana with a fractured arm and ten stitches along your right temple. They had to reset your shoulder too. The bruising on the right side of your face made you look worse than you felt, but you still had to keep your face still from pulling the stitches. As you shuffled down the exit stairs, dragging your duffle behind you, you were startled when you looked up to see Rick Flag on the tarmac approaching you quickly. 

His brow furrowed, he immediately greeted you with a gruff, “Hey.”

“Hey—” You said back, feeling your bag being taken from you. He peels it from your fingers, your wrists brushing. No ‘[L/N]’, no curt nod. You watched as Flag slung the duffle over his broad shoulder and gestured back to the SUV he’d driven over to receive you from the Belle Reve air field without a word. When you approach your door, you stare as Flag uncharacteristically holds it open for you, then promptly shuts it, your bag placed down in the back seat.

The drive back to the main compound was usually brief, but today it felt like an eternity. You glanced over as Flag glared at the road ahead, and you remembered what Harley said about his... What did she call it? RBF? Dreamy bitch face?

Silence.

“Am I fired?” You finally said, your voice piercing the dead quiet of the car.

Flag blinked, looking between you and the road as if pulled from his own thoughts. “No, what?”

“Am I fired?” You repeated. Then grumbled, “Feels like you’re rushing me to an exit interview.”

“You're not fired.” He replied in his drawl, still distracted. “And I’m tryin’a hustle you to your debrief with Waller so you can get home and rest.” 

He put the car in park, the silence falling over you again deafening now that the engine was off. You sneak another glance over at him to see him staring ahead, his large hands still gripping the wheel tightly. 

“Are... You okay, Flag?”

“Are you okay?” He suddenly snapped. He released the wheel, turning his chest to face you in his seat. You reeled a little, confused at the sudden anger that seemed to release like a burst dam. 

“Stitches, a broken arm. You got lucky, [L/N]. What the hell were you thinking?” He continued, voice raising. And it was like muscle memory, the way your uncertainty vanished, your body turning in your own seat to square up to Rick Flag, Colonel pain in the ass. He was chastising you now? After you just saved his fucking life?

You said as much, your face shutting down, on the defense. Typical Rick Flag. The thought was written on your face, your contempt like a flashing billboard.

Flag’s lips parted, a sharp intake of breath telling you he was about to fire back— because that’s what the two of you did— but instead  he surprised you by promptly clamping the sharp line of his jaw shut. That silence fell like a wall between the two of you once more, and Rick turned to face forward, his gaze leaving you and taking all the fire with it. You watch his Adam’s apple bob minutely, something unreadable washing over his features before he mutters,

“Waller’s waiting for you in comms. Better hustle.”

[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS PT. 2

The first part did really really so I decided to make a second part of sambucky fic recs. Just as the last one: the fics are split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. CHECK OUT PART ONE HERE All fics are completed and all are on AO3. 

BASED ON TFATWS

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs | Mature | 6,742 words

5 times Bucky wears Sam's things +1 time Sam wears something of Bucky's

anything you can do, i’ll do you better | Explicit | 5,526 words

Steve is going to kill them if they don't learn to get along, but did they have to take it so far?

making amends | Explicit | 8,645 words

“Not Cap yet,” Sam said. He looked a little ruefully at his hands, which were covered in nicks and cuts. He could already feel his palms bruising from that last shield catch, but at least nothing was broken this time.

“I respect that,” Bucky said slowly. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Bucky flexed and unflexed the vibranium fingers of his left hand, a nervous habit that Sam had clocked ages ago. “And you’re right.”

“Thanks, I know.” Sam waited a beat. “About what?”

Muscle Memory | 3 parts | Explicit | 13,156 words part 1: Muscle Memory | Teen | 1,766 words

Barnes sighs, and it’s a deep, soul-weary thing. “Maybe no one ever told you this, but I’m telling you right now. You don’t have any obligation to care about me because Steve did. You don’t have to pretend.”

Sam blinks, taken aback. He has to think, really think, about what he says next, because it’s - it’s either going to build or break something.

You’re My World | Explicit | 6,585 words

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name | Teen | 6,928 words

“You got a list of the nicknames available to us lesser mortals?” Sam continued, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “The ‘you’re not Steve Rogers, so don’t even think about it’ collection?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a list,” Bucky replied, pausing long enough to draw a pointed look from Sam. “Bucky,” he finished, gesturing broadly with his arm to convey the obviousness of the answer.

5 times Sam and Bucky used pet names as a joke + 1 time they used them in earnest

That’s not very gunkle of you | 2 parts | 4,325 words part 1: Bestie Vibes Only | Teen | 1,822 words

“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” Says Bucky, sitting down next to Sam on the docks.

That’s the moment that Sam realizes he needs to change tactics, no more subtly looking up definitions for his weird old person slang, it’s time to fight fire with fire.

“Not much bro, this view is highkey just hitting different TBH” he says, casually looking out at the water.

There’s a beat of silence and then,

“That’s swell doll, I just ate some four-o cackle jelly with side arms, and I’m looking for some kicks, you dig?

Oh, this means war.

misunderstandings | Not Rated | 3,167 words

Sam thinks Sarah and Bucky had a date, and he's Not Okay

you walked into my life to offer me a better view | Teen | 2,534 words

He was standing twenty feet away at the edge of the docks, chatting with Sarah, and Sam couldn't take his eyes away. Bucky's smile was warm, wide, and when he tipped his head back and laughed, his nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners, Sam could feel it vibrate straight to his heart.

falling, falling, flying | Teen | 2,778 words

Bucky had kissed him.

And Sam had pulled away, because that beautiful golden sunset made Bucky’s hair gleam with the faintest touch of blond, that rare summer breeze hissed like a dying missile past Sam’s ears, the kiss was so familiar, too familiar, and Sam was falling, falling—

(“Let yourself be happy, Sam. Please.”)

lonely boy, you are my world (and i could be anything you need) | Teen | 5,747 words

It all starts with Sam, a shelter, and this sweet kitten that reminded him far too much of a certain century-old, grouchy super soldier.

too dangerous to fall | Explicit | 3,466 words

Bucky Barnes is a one-armed menace. He has murder eyes and no care for basic safety protocols. His jokes are terrible and his bad moods are worse. He’s a godawful roommate who leaves his wet towels on the floor and his combat knives in the linen cabinet. Sam can’t stand the sight of him.

What happens in Louisiana | General | 3,478 words

But just then, in the engine room of the Wilson family boat, away from prying eyes, it felt like something they both needed. The closeness. The warmth.

Steve would laugh at them. Two grown men not being able to get it together. He would roll his eyes at Buck, nudge him with his elbow and tell him “you’re sweet on Sam Wilson so make a move already, punk.”

keep the ashes from my heart (and walk away) | Explicit | 4,412 words

“Jamie asked me out on a date,” Sam says. Bucky swallows. “Took him long enough,” he says, keeping his tone light. He bumps their shoulders together for good measure. “You should go for it.” “You really think so?” Sam asks, looking at him. “Yeah, man,” Bucky says. He fixes his gaze on Torres, high up in the sky, sunlight glinting off his wings. It hurts Bucky’s eyes. He blinks, rapidly. “You should be with somebody who can make you happy.”

(In which Sam starts dating someone who is not Bucky, and Bucky pines, gets seriously injured, and proves himself wrong.)

Hey Samuel | Teen | 3,223 words

"Bucky."

"Yeah?" He looked up eyes wide. Did he say something out loud?

"We're walking the wrong way."

"Oh." Right. Um. "Let's get ice cream."

"I don't know about you, man, but if I eat ice cream in this weather I will get sick."

Bucky was at a loss for words. What now?

OR Ride along Bucky's journey of figuring out when exactly did he fall for Sam Wilson.

Anyday, everyday | General | 6,735 words

He moved his head and locked eyes with Sam. "D'you- can you.. help me cut my hair?" He asked. He forced himself to look away, feeling embarrassed for asking him to come all this way just to give him a haircut.

His stomach dropped when he felt Sam let go of his hand to stand up. Of course he was about to leave. Who wouldn't want to leave Bucky?

"C'mon, Buck. Let me cut your hair." Bucky's eyes snapped up to Sam's. He had a small smile on his face and his hand was reaching out, waiting for Bucky to take it.

Or; the five times Bucky fell more and more in love with Sam, and the one time he finally got the guts to tell him.

If You’ll Have Me | Teen | 4,779 words

Sam casually shrugged, although there was an intent look in his eyes, "Yeah, well it's getting late and I didn't feel like flying anymore so I was wondering if your old man self is okay with-"

"You can stay here." Bucky quickly finished for him.

I like Bucky, Sam I am | Not Rated | 2,653 words

"I would kiss you on the boat. Or in Wakanda by your goats."

Static in the Dark | Teen | 4,989 words

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

CANON DIVERGENCE

A Different Kind of Problem | Explicit | 7,616 words

“Do you know what it feels like to be insatiable?”

Two months ago, an interrogation gone wrong left Sam with Bucky’s explicit words seared into his brain and body.

Now, Bucky is living in the Avengers Compound, making pancakes and wearing Steve’s huge sweatshirts, fluffy haired and a little shy, seemingly completely content to be on house arrest — and Sam has never been more confused. Whatever Steve thinks, Sam doesn’t have a problem with Bucky. This domesticity is just so at odds with the feral sexuality Bucky had used to rattle Sam during his interrogation. Where did that side of Bucky go? And why can’t Sam stop thinking about finding it? Maybe Sam does have a problem with Bucky… it’s just not the problem Steve thinks it is.

Bucky’s Choice | Not Rated | 4,753 words

When Bucky enters Westview to try to help Wanda Maximoff, he is confronted with something he never expected- Steve Rogers, back from the dead and ready to start a life with Bucky in Westview. It's everything that Bucky ever wanted, everything that Steve abandoned when he went back in time to live his life with Peggy Carter. But Bucky and Sam have been involved for months, and Sam is waiting for Bucky outside of the Hex. Bucky has to make a choice- the life he always wanted with Steve, or a new start with Sam?

tonight i’ll need you to stay | General | 2,227 words

For once, Bucky wants to stop leaving when things are finally looking up. And he wants people to stay with him, too.

(or, 3 times bucky needed an excuse to stay with sam, and the one time he didn't)

How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Days | Explicit | 14,901 words

When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in.

Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do?

at the end of the war (what’s mine is yours) | Mature | 4,290 words

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

warm blood (feels good, i can’t control it anymore) | Explicit | 4,492 words

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious. "Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

Caught With Their Pants Down | Explicit | 3,539 words

“Sam, this guy is not coming, the intel was false,” Bucky replied. “I get this whole ticking boxes and what not, but Rogers got it wrong, and for the love of God I need a fucking toilet.”

“You need to learn to plan your water intake better, is what you need. You’re a damn fool and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me,” Bucky replied, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice.

“In your damn dreams, Barnes.”

They’d been fucking for about six months, but Sam didn’t want Bucky to go getting a big head about it.

AU

sharp teeth, soft heart | 3 parts | 17,866 words part 1: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) | Explicit | 12,444 words 

It’s inevitable, the way it goes. He’s my friend, Steve says, and he is, he is, he must be. Sam’s best friend is Steve, and Steve’s best friend is a werewolf, that’s just how Sam’s life works now.

But once he realizes he’s attracted to Bucky and Bucky can tell, everything becomes, like, a thousand percent more difficult to negotiate. Sam’s just trying to live his life, that’s all, and he keeps getting confronted by Bucky Barnes in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair all soft and shiny. Bucky glances over at him and smirks, and this is really very embarrassing, how Sam can’t hide his attraction even if he keeps a totally straight face.

I’m so into you I can barely breathe | Explicit | 6,515 words

Sam Wilson had a long day dealing with morons, so he decided to finally go to the famous club in town. There he meets someone who just might get him back in a good mood. And then some.

twelve ounce steak (boxers in briefs) | Explicit | 3,753 words

Sam has pretty lips. Bucky seems to think so, too.

caught it bad (i’ll be on the way) | Mature | 4,830 words

Sam constantly gets roped into doing dumb things with Steve, but this time, it works out perfectly for him.

meet me in the a.m. | Teen | 3,147 words

Steve accidently starts a fire and Bucky's tired. When unbelievably hot firefighter Sam saves the day, though, he can't really be that mad.

i wanna savour, save it for later | Not Rated | 6,419 words

"It's his damn ratings, man," Sam says. "It's weird 'cause when you read the reviews, he seems to like our food and all. Nothing but praise for days. And then you get to the rating, and it's always the same. Three goddamn stars."

Bucky tips his beer bottle from side to side, lips pursing slightly. "I see. And that's… a bad thing?"

"We are not a three-star joint," Sam says flatly.

Or, the one where food truck owner Sam gets caught up in his quest to unmask an anonymous food blogger. Falling for one of his regulars was never on the menu.

we were a fire with no smoke | Explicit | 15,295 words

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

my house of stone, your ivy grows | Teen | 9,042 words

When Sam Wilson inherits the manor of the old man he once took care of, it feels like his luck is finally looking up. It's an opportunity for a fresh start, something he's in desperate need of. When he arrives, however, it becomes clear that an easy transition into estate living is not exactly a possibility. The house is run-down, nothing like Sam remembers it, and the groundskeeper — who Sam apparently has to share the house with, wants nothing to do with him.

You Smiled Because You Knew | Teen | 3,754 words

"You've got the wrong address," the man who'd answered growled. He had long, scraggly hair that had mostly escaped his attempts to pull it away from his face. He had nice eyes, and wouldn't have been unattractive, especially with a shave, except for the scowl. "Nobody here wants or needs your . . . services."

It was apparent by the tone the man did not appreciate Sam's hard work.

Well, that was tough shit.

[bigskydreaming]

Hi, I was reading your post about Jason punching Dick in the face when Dick revealed he fake his death was bullshit ( which it was) and it reminded me of an issue/question that has bothered me for sometime.

Why did people believe Dick was actually dead?

I’m not the most avid comic reader so maybe I missed something but it was always weird to me that everyone just accepted this especially given how Bruce was acting or should I say wasn’t acting.

This is a man when his child died another child had to come along and told him sir you are being too violent and emotional you need supervision. When his other child died he went all over the universe to bring him back to life because he knew it was possible ( which was happening at the same time), so why didn’t anyone think it was weird he wasn’t doing that for Dick. Can you imagine Dick really dying that soon after Damian it would be injustice Batman Version. You are telling me that Tim, Jason or Barbara didn’t think it was weird that Bruce didn’t also bring Dick’s corpse to the bring Damian back to life mission or mention it to themselves. Like what more likely Dick dead and Bruce is handling it well or that he fake his death to do something stupid and Dangerous after his partner/brother/ little bit my son the feelings are complicated died after he was knocked out and woke up to his corpse.

Oh man, this is like, the entire nature of my beef?

(Slight derail just to emphasize the fact real quick that Dick DID actually die, he was just revived quickly, but like, the trauma of his death was very real and its not like anyone was clued into Luthor having a resurrection backdoor built into his literal murder of Dick in the actual moment of it happening. So Dick’s death wasn’t fake, and additionally, he didn’t have anything to do with like, telling people about it, because he was literally comatose in the cave and recovering while Bruce was telling people....by the time Dick woke up in the cave, we already know that Alfred at least had already been convinced by Bruce that Dick was dead, so I have a kneejerk need to pushback against the Dick faked his death narrative by reminding people wherever possible that Dick had no agency in the spreading of that narrative. 

It happened without him being involved, and the only actual contribution he ever made to it was just not revealing he was alive before Grayson #12, after Bruce like.....emotionally, mentally and physically badgered him into accepting that doing so would be directly harmful to his family and he didn’t want to be the reason more people died when like, people had just died because he ‘let’ himself be captured and interrogated by Power Woman’s Lasso of Submission, did he?

SORRY TO BE PEDANTIC, just wanted to start this off on a clarification, even though I know the aim of your ask was very much in tune with the rest of my response. A lot of people don’t read the actual comics, so like, I’m never gonna skip over an opportunity to emphasize that the shorthand people use to refer to Dick’s death and the year he was with Spyral, is like, literally just shorthand for describing it. Its not actually an accurate description of how all that went down and who had the most hand in it).

BUT ANYWAY. BACK TO THE MEAT OF THE BEEF.

Okay so like, not only was the entire family and Bruce himself giving Dick shit for his death and Spyral, like, PAINFULLY egregious because it was literal victim blaming in every possible sense of the word....

None of it made a LICK of sense with ANY of their characterizations, and they ONLY all accepted it on face value because the Plot Demanded It, and when you're like, no, as a reader I say The Plot Demanded It is not a good enough reason for me to be like well sure, that makes sense......looking at the characters ACTUAL actions at face value pretty much just makes them all look like assholes?

Like, Tim has never gracefully accepted anyone's death. Ever. This is core characterization for him. He will go to the ends of the earth for his loved ones and to bring them back, prove they're not dead, refuse to let death be the final verdict for them. He was tempted to use the Lazarus Pit to bring his parents back to life. He refused to accept Bruce was dead long before he had any proof whatsoever of that theory. He tried to clone his BFF/future-husband Kon in his fucking basement like, dude was two whole inches away from going Full Dark Side in his quest to bring back a lost loved one no matter WHAT the cost.....and then you've got Dick unmasked onscreen, killed offscreen, and Bruce then reporting to the rest of them with zero inflection 'oh Dick's dead now. Its very sad' and Tim's just like, sure. Sounds legit.

I mean?!?!

And you're SO RIGHT ABOUT THE DAMIAN THING! Bruce LITERALLY LITERALLY LITERALLY went BEYOND the ends of the Earth, like, he full on chartered a fucking space ship to fly his whole family out to APOKOLIPS to bring Damian back from the dead by going to EXTREME lengths.....WHILE everyone else thought Dick was dead....

And not a single person looked at Bruce and was like, okay, not that we're not down to do this for Damian because we miss Stabby Smurf something fierce ourselves, but.....what the fuck is UP with you dude? Why aren't you displaying ANY hint of this same kind of energy in regards to your eldest son that you said you watched die right in front of you?

Like....I don't know that we were actually ever told that Dick's coffin was empty or had a fake in it, but like....this family of detectives who refuse to accept death, defy death, COME BACK FROM THE DEAD....not a single one of them said like, okay, if I'm gonna like, ACCEPT accept that Dick is dead and gone for good, I need to at least just see him one last time? That's literally all it would have taken for someone to realize hey something's a little wonky here. Where's the dead body, Pops?

Since when has Jason ever missed an opportunity to prove Bruce is a) full of shit, b) acting like an emotionless robot and all his kids deserve better especially when they've just like....died, c) just factually incorrect and wrong and jumped to a conclusion before it was conclusively proved, d) lying like a liar or e) all of the above?

Nobody even ASKED if Dick's body could be put in a Lazarus Pit? Yeah, Jason wouldn't necessarily recommend it himself, given what it put him through, but actually fuck that, I take that back, because I'm NOT actually of the opinion that Jason full on hates his life and actively spends every second of every day wishing he hadn't been resurrected, even if it had come with a huge buffet of additional trauma and pain.

And that's kinda what's implied when people just take it for granted that he would never be on board with any scenario involving using a Lazarus Pit to bring Dick back, because it suggests that based even just on his own experiences and feelings, he honestly believes Dick would prefer being dead and not have ANY further opportunities to be with his loved ones, his friends, help save the damn world again at some future point.....that Jason, projecting based just off himself, legit feels Dick would rather be dead than have another shot at life even WITH the downsides of Lazarus Pit usage? Nope. Sorry, I don't buy it.

Speaking of not buying it.....you know what was missing from all those soliloquies the others monologued at Dick about how they felt and were hurt and just devastated by his death, to such a point they can't seem to muster a single shred of happiness that he's NOT dead still -

(seriously, Damian was the ONLY person in ALL THE LANDS OF EMOTION-HAVING who expressed ANY kind of positive reaction to having Dick back. We were so fucking cheated of like.....ANY opportunity to have the characters show just how much they valued him by just being fucking HAPPY he was alive, no matter what else was involved....and then most of fandom compounded that by for years being like mmmm, no, Dick didn't get yelled at enough by his family for what HE put THEM through. Needs more yelling. More punching too. Bad Dick. Bad. This is the only way you'll learn not to die and get shipped off on a mission that you don't want but at least is to protect your family after being beaten into it by your dad whilst victim blaming you for dying in the first place. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN TO THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR FEELINGS FOR A CHANGE, DICK?!?)

- But like, BUT I DIGRESS aside....you know what was missing from all those monologues about how hard DICK'S death and ensuing year of basically exile from his loved ones was for EVERYONE BUT HIM?

We never got a single line of explanation as to what everyone else officially thinks even happened to him in the first place?

Like, did Bruce straight up just say oh bad news kids, your brother umm. Expired. Spontaneously. There's no one to blame, he just keeled over, its all very sad.

Is that how that went down?

You're telling me that the explanation of Dick's death didn't come with a single pointed finger at someone for this family of blame-happy vigilantes to like, BLAME for the loss of this brother they all mourned oh so much, they just couldn't help but blame him for all the hurt it caused them?

The family that in every other fic is like OBSESSED with avenging and being avenged and all things vengeful and even tangentially vengeance-y....like didn't ask for a single detail on whomst the fuck deprived us of our brother-having?

Where were the attempts on Luthor's life by Jason (who I mean, yeah I know it was in a previous continuity, but erasing that timeline doesn't erase my awareness of the time Dick killed Jason's murderer so like.....mmm, just saying, woulda been nice)....where was the rage directed at the Crime Syndicate and references to how seriously and personally the Batfam took making sure that they were PUNISHED for all this and would never be free to wreak havoc on their world or their family again? What did they tell Damian when he came back to life, and how are you going to tell me that this fraternal little ball of fury didn't aim himself like a cannonball at whomever the fuck had DARED take HIS Batman from him when Damian wasn't around to have his back?

Not only does everyone else's desire to be avenged start falling really flat the second you factor in hey maybe Dick feels "mmm what about MY avenging" sometimes, and why doesn't anyone ever care about doing that for him.....but also, y'know what REALLY sucks about the ONLY person we actually SEE being blamed for Dick's death and ensuing absence being like....Dick himself?

Not only were his family all super keen on making all of this HIS fault and HIM the bad guy because of how it made them all feeeeeeel (and meanwhile fuck his feelings, am I right Batfam hfaklshfklahfkla).....

They somehow found a way to justify prioritizing this OVER ever even getting around to blaming some villain for his death in the FIRST place, in the entire year or so they thought he was still dead!

Like, you couldn't come up with a single target in all that time, but Dick's back two seconds, and you don't even give him a chance to EXPLAIN before you're punching him, shutting him down with 'I expected better from you' and turning away with 'I don't want to hear it, why am I surprised Dick Grayson disappointed me again'?

afshklfhalfhalfhla

Make it make sense!

And like, it won't, cuz it doesn't, and it never will, and like I said at the top, the ONLY reason it all played out this way is because DC doesn't give a fuck about character development and deemed it necessary to go down this way for the sake of the plot (which was totes worth it, I mean, glad we sacrificed characters for this A+ plot which was clearly the greatest plot of all time and definitely justified every story choice made or not made around it loooool).

BUT.

BUT BUT BUT.

The problem isn't JUST that DC is stupid, even though that is an eternal mood and quite the problem.

Its that the SECOND large parts of fandom decided to play along with DC and just accept the story at face value, only add to it and play into it exactly as it happened in canon with no significant deviations, and like, heaping on the LITERAL abuse from Dick's siblings while ignoring the LITERAL abuse from his father....

THAT....is when all of this becomes relevant.

Because the second people decided TO engage with the reasoning DC gave for what Bruce did and how and what Dick did and how and just not mess with any of that and have it all play out exactly like that...

The second people are like, okay we're FINE with not just dismissing this story as OOC writing that doesn't make any sense, and actually VALIDATING it to various degrees by engaging with it as is....

That's when 'OOC writing' stops being an excuse or explanation for alllll of the above gaps in character logic and actions.

Because its like, when you had abundant chance to REJECT this story and say nope, this was bullshit from start to finish and I'm not here for it, when you were just as capable of transforming literally ANY aspect of this story you didn't like into something that made more sense to you....

And you chose not to.

That's.....accepting it as valid writing. You were like, okay, I'm game to just treat this as a thing that happened, just like they said that happened.

For the chance to give Dick shit for it, see. For the angst, see.

And that's when I'm like okay cool, so when engaging with this story as is and accepting it on face value and just delving into the characters as they were SHOWN interacting with and around these events......for the angst or whatever....

You guys just all decided en masse to just hop, skip and jump over allllllllll the opportunities for angst inherent in examining even ANY SINGLE ONE of the above lapses in judgment or hypocrisy on the parts of the characters (who don't get to be excused by OOC writing if you're not going to call the story an example of OOC writing, whoops).

And its just like, uh, what's up with that?

[druigswhores]

fluff prompts 10 & 19 with pietro maximoff would be so cute 🥺

elevator talk

summary: while on a mission with the avengers team you manage to save pietro’s life leading him to want to show his appreciation for you inspired by this prompt list

content warning: pietro maximoff x fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, mentions of blood, set after age of ultron but pietro never dies and civil war doesn’t take place <3

note: i hope i don’t disappoint you with this fluff! i’ve been reading more quicksilver comics recently and this is the outcome of that :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (lmk if you want to see anymore content like this <3)

masterlist

"Remind me again, why did the ENTIRE team need to come on this mission?" You complained, fighting off two grown men while waiting for the signal Tony was supposed to give to tell you it's safe to go inside the building.

"Call it a group bonding session." Tony teased while flying near the building in his Iron Man suit, trying to figure out how to lower the shields. Ever since the fall of SHIELD, it became even more difficult to find the remaining Hydra bases and due to the Ultron situation that occurred a few years ago, the difficulty only increased.

"Could we do a little less chitchat and a little more fighting?" Steve demands, you could hear Cap's grunts through your earpiece, making it obvious that he's struggling to fight off the Hydra goons.

You were a couple miles away from the building attempting to make your way closer to it, the enemies clearly noticed your arrival when they saw a person in red and yellow suit flying pass their windows, easily recognising the well known Iron Man.

And because a huge green angry Hulk isn't exactly easy to ignore.

"Clearly Cap can't keep up with us superheroes." Pietro teased, with a blink of an eye he knocked out the enemies surrounding both you and Steve.

"Thanks for the help Sonic, I'd give you some onion rings but I don't have any on me right now." You joked, smirking at the exasperated speedster that stood in front of you.

"I just saved your life and this is how you repay me Prinţesă?" He feigned hurt, placing his hand over heart.

"Saving her life? That's a bit of an exaggeration even for you Piet." Wanda's voice was heard from the comms, she managed to make her way into the building effortlessly, fighting beside Vision.

"Mind your business Wanda." Pietro scoffs biting back the smile forming on his face, he could hear his sisters laugh through the earpiece.

"As much as I love hearing the two of you argue with each other, now may not be the time." Natasha commented, followed by Clint agreeing.

You sighed, knowing they were right, focusing on the mission instead of the twin in front of you, glancing around at your surroundings. You noticed the enemies lined up behind Pietro preparing for an attack. You would've seen it earlier if it wasn't for the conversation distracting you.

You thought it was too late when you saw the bullet fly through the air, aiming directly at Pietro, it felt as though it was moving in slow motion. The piece of metal cutting through the air making its way to the speedster. Not registering the fact that Pietro had super healing abilities your mind recalled what happened in Sokovia. The bullets going through Pietro in every angle possible. Him falling onto the ground, the colour drained from his face, everyone thought he was dead, Wanda included. That was until the speedster managed to spit out a joke about Ultron's good aim.

You didn't register what you were doing until after you did it. Rushing to protect him from the bullet you pushed him out of the way last minute, the bullet barely missed him, you felt the bullet scrape against your arm instead. Pietro fell to the ground with a yelp as you fell on top of him, wincing due to the pain the bullet caused you.

Steve ran over to the two of you after knocking out the culprit.

"They're both down." Steve states, Pietro shakes his head, attempting to sit up, lifting you up and placing you in his lap comfortably.

"Why'd you do that? You know I can take bullets right?" Pietro scowled, glancing over your body to check for anymore injuries besides the bullet wound, his hands were gentle, brushing over your body in a caring manner as he lets the palm of his hands rest on the sides of your face, holding your face in his hands.

"Now i saved your life." You joked, blushing at the position the two of you were currently in and trying to hide the pain the bullet was causing you. You weren't a super soldier or someone with super healing abilities, so jumping in front of a bullet to save someone that could survive getting shot multiple times wasn't smart thinking on your part.

But you couldn't help it.

You wouldn't say you and Pietro were best friends, you did get along well but the twin refrained from getting close to any of the avengers. Your relationship consisted of teasing each other often and bumping into each other constantly during midnight, resulting in the two of you having your own midnight sessions where the two of you sat in the kitchen drinking hot chocolate.

You reminisced on the last time you had your 'midnight session' with Pietro, not being able to focus on what Pietro and Steve were saying to you, there was a loud ringing in your head, echoing as you closed your eyes to stop the headache that was forming, you felt yourself being lifted up in someone's arms.

Maybe you underestimated how bad the bullet wound was.

"Fine weather we're having don't you think?" You laughed, glancing over at the window, the heavy rain pelted against the glass of the compound, that alongside the wind that sounded much louder in your bedroom made it difficult to even attempt to sleep. You could just barely make out the trees in the distance due to the night sky.

"Didn't think you'd show up tonight, don't you need the sleep before our mission tomorrow?" Pietro questioned. He was facing the stove, you could smell the hot chocolate that was heating up. You made your way next to him, grabbing two mugs and placing them next to him before moving to the fridge to grab the whipped cream.

You swapped positions with Pietro, passing the can of whipped cream to him and grabbing the spoon that was used to stir the hot chocolate.

"Oh wait! I made cookies today, we could have them now!" You remembered, grabbing the plate of cookies from the cupboard and placing it on the table, Pietro immediately reached out for one, and then another.

"I don't know if you know this yet but, I love you." Pietro confesses, grabbing another cookie. You pushed the plate away from him before he could grab another.

"You gotta slow down Piet, don't want you emptying the plate before we even get to have the hot chocolate, now do we?" You grinned and he complains, reaching out for another.

"It's nice to know you care so much about my well-being dragă." You rolled your eyes at the smirk plastered on his face. With the blink of an eye he was stood across from you, closer to the plate of cookies, with another in his hand.

The two of you couldn't stop the smiles that formed on your face, even going to bed in a much better mood than you were in previously.

It was hours after the mission, you were patched up as soon as the quinjet landed at the compound. After a long lecture from Steve and the debriefing, you were finally able to be alone, only wanting to go back your room and sleep for days.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to your floor, too tired to take the stairs. You attempted to fight back the tiredness, blinking harshly to keep yourself awake, missing the blue streak of a superhero making its way into the elevator and right beside you.

"How are you feeling Dragă mea?" Pietro speaks out after a couple moments, you jumped in shock not realising the speedster was next to you.

"Dammit Piet! What did I say about doing that?" You held your hands over your chest, frightened. He looked at you apologetically before moving to the elevator buttons, pressing the button that stops the elevator from moving.

You stared at him as he sighed, struggling to put his thoughts into words.

"Piet... what's wrong?" You whispered, analysing his face and posture, you could tell he was stressed. He turned to look at you, his face softening when your eyes met.

"I can’t lose you prinţesă." He manages to say, making his way to you, reaching out for your hand.

His hand was warm in yours, he held onto your hand tightly, you looked at him confused, raising your hand to rest against his jaw, your thumb stroking his cheek gently.

“You’re not going to lose me, where’s this coming from Pietro?” You asked softly. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, your head rested against his chest. You could feel his uneven breaths, almost as if he’s on the verge of having a panic attack. Pietro struggled to even out his breath, panic bubbling up inside of him, he can’t lose you. Even the thought of losing you filled him with dread, he doesn’t deserve someone to risk their life for him, especially someone like you.

“How did I manage to get you?” He finally whispers, pulling back to look at you.

That’s when you understood what he was trying to say.

“I don’t want to lose you too, you know? Even the thought of it, it just-” You take a deep breath, smiling solemnly at him. “Every-time we go on a mission I’m terrified Piet, after what happened in Sokovia- after what happened to you. I cant lose you, I care too much about you.” The memories of what happened in Sokovia haunted you. You weren’t close to the Maximoffs then but you understood them, you understood their pain and loss. Similarly to them you had no one, no family, no one to say ‘I love you’ too.

Until now.

“That’s a very complicated way to say you love me, dragă.” He teased, you could see the redness in his eyes from the tears that were threatening to spill.

“Well no one else enjoys my baking as much as you do.” He rolled his eyes in response knowing your referencing the night before, while still holding you in his arms, he reaches out to turn the elevator back on.

No more words were needed to be said, not for now at least. You had each other, and that’s all that mattered to you, for now.

[cherienymphe]

Dark Fairytale (Peter Parker x Reader)

➥ { page breaks done by @writeyourmindaway​ }

WARNINGS: NON-CON/DUB-DON, alpha!Peter, innocent!reader, loss of virginity (both m and f), controlling and possessive behavior 

summary: when Peter Parker literally crashes into your life, falling in love with the handsome alpha was inevitable. Thinking he isn’t like the rest, you don’t take heed of the red flags until its too late

~

You had been in the process of taking your garbage out when Peter Parker crashed into your life. Literally. You had just closed the garbage bin and was in the process of walking down your cobblestone path back to your house when something hit you. Hard. Knocking the wind from you.

You crashed to the ground, chin hitting the stones, and it took you a moment to realize that the weight was still on you. You had groaned as the person rolled off of you, their harsh breathing reaching your ears. A dull ache began to take over, and you just knew that it was going to really hurt in the morning. With difficulty, you pushed yourself up, only to pause…for several reasons.

The first being that the scent that struck you was familiar in a way that you didn’t necessarily like. It was a rich and suffocating scent of an alpha, an underlying spicy aroma hitting your nose that made you twitch. At the moment, it struck you as bitter, frustration swirling in the air.

The other reason being his attire.

The blue and red of the suit that hugged his frame was recognizable anywhere. It was torn in a few places, showcasing bruised slivers of skin. Without thinking, he ripped his mask off, face twisted into pain as he exhaled. It was only when he opened his eyes did he realize that he’d landed straight on another person, and he’d just revealed his face to said person.

“Crap!”

He moved to sit up only to hiss in pain, and you reached for him.

“Hey, you just fell from the sky,” you slowly told him, pushing yourself to your knees as you scooted closer. “Don’t move.”

He looked as if he was going to move away from you, but you held him in place. Nervousness pricked at you at being in such close proximity to an unmated alpha with no one else around, but you pushed it away. He was hurt.

“I’m not going to tell anyone who you are. I don’t even know who you are underneath the mask,” you chuckled, trying to easy his worries. “…but you don’t look so good. I have a first aid kit in my house.”

You pointed to the tiny house at the end of the long walkway, and his gaze followed your hand. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, thinking, the pink skin reddening from an injury. Hesitantly, he nodded, and you helped him throw his arm over your shoulders. He groaned when he got to his feet, and you slowly but surely guided him towards the small building.

“Were you…fighting someone?” you eventually wondered.

“Yeah. A bit of a mission gone wrong,” he said through gritted teeth, brows furrowed.

You sat him down on your couch as soon as you made it inside. His chest heaved as he threw his head back, dark hair matted with dirt and sweat as his eyes fell closed. You ran your own eyes over him, frowning as something tickled inside of your stomach. Shaking your head to yourself, you moved to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.

He was still in the same position when you returned, lithe form stretched out, and you almost thought he’d fallen asleep. When you neared, he stirred, blinking his eyes open as he moved to straighten. You sat beside him, first aid kit in your lap. You could feel his eyes on you, and when you looked up, you found that you were correct.

He looked away as soon as you made eye contact, and you blinked, frowning a bit before returning to the task at hand. He wasn’t beat up too badly, so it took you no time to clean him up, placing a band-aid on a cut on his forehead.

You could feel his eyes on you again as you smoothed it along his skin. You bit your lip, body buzzing under the heat of his gaze. He didn’t look away this time as your eyes met his, and you slowly pulled away.

“There. I’m done,” you quietly told him.

He slowly stood, and you looked up at him as he did so. He flexed, taut muscles moving beneath the suit, and he sighed. He looked down at you, jaw clenched as he sent you a strained smile.

“Thanks,” he eventually said.

“No problem…Spider-man.”

His smile widened, and he stuck his hand out.

“Peter. Peter Parker,” he said, and his face suddenly pinched. “You won’t…you won’t tell anyone that, will you?”

You shook your head as you took his hand, shaking it as well.

“I have no one to tell,” you honestly told him.

You saw his eyes crinkle with curiosity, but he must have swallowed it down, turning to leave. It was late in the evening now, getting dark, and you watched him pull his mask back on before swinging on top of your house. When you stepped outside, he was nowhere to be found.

You thought it odd that you weren’t as starstruck as you thought you’d be if you ever got the chance to meet an Avenger, but you had simply gone inside and made dinner like it was any other night. You tried to push away how drawn you’d felt to him, but your efforts were futile. Peter Parker plagued your mind for weeks. So much so, that when you answered a knock on your door weeks later, you’d thought that maybe you’d imagined the web slinger standing on your step.

In reality, it was more like he was swaying on your step, fighting to stay upright. Like before, he looked bruised and like he’d just left a fight. You barely caught him as he fell forward, and it took all of your strength to help him inside. Like last time, you deposited him on your couch before making your way to the kitchen.

After you had cleaned him up as best as you could –he was in worse shape than the last time–you set the first aid kit down to look at him. His gaze was already on you, and you fought to hold it.

“Why… Why did you come here?” you quietly asked him.

His scent was much calmer now, no lingering bitterness, and the earthy aroma wrapped around you like a blanket. You wanted to bask in it. You shifted at your thoughts, and Peter ran his dark eyes over you at the movement.

“Mr. Stark…,” he quietly began, pausing to catch his breath. “I’m trying to prove to him that I can handle these solo assignments. If I keep showing up to the compound looking like I just came from war, he’ll think it’s too hard for me.”

You blinked at that, slowly nodding as you registered his explanation. You lived in upstate New York, so you figured that the compound must have been near.

“I figured that after the last time…I can trust you,” he continued.

“You can,” you quietly told him, standing to return the kit to the kitchen.

And to escape his intense gaze.

When you closed the cabinet, you turned around to find your living room empty of the masked superhero. You hadn’t even heard him leave. You sighed, and you couldn’t tell if it was from relief…or disappointment. You didn’t have very long to yourself to ponder over that, a heavy knock sounding on your door only days later.

You’d been in the tub when you heard it, and quickly tightening a robe around you, you ran towards the front door. You had known who it was before you even opened it, a small smile on your face as Peter stumbled inside.

Minutes later, you were sitting on the floor with your legs tucked underneath you as you tried your hand at stitches. You’d tried to tell Peter that you’d never done them before, but he didn’t care, clearly desperate. You wondered if he regretted that as you watched him wince for the umpteenth time.

“Ouch,” he gritted out, teeth clenched.

You shot him an apologetic look, a small smile dancing on your lips.

“I thought you had super strength,” you murmured.

“It still hurts,” he quietly replied, watching your fingers work over his hand.

He hissed, and you tutted.

“I’m almost done…”

He heaved a sigh, leg bouncing as he waited for you to finish.

“Why are you alone?”

You blinked at his sudden question, glancing up at him.

“Excuse me?” you asked, not understanding it.

He ran his eyes over you, trailing his gaze to dance along your collarbone, lingering in the open V of your robe. He suddenly glanced away as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, face flushed. Your skin had still been wet underneath the robe, the cool air making you shiver, but you felt your body heat up under his quick perusal.

“Why do you live alone? You’re an omega, right?”

You paused at that, heart skipping a beat before you continued with the task at hand. You knew that your suppressants weren’t strong, just enough to keep your heats at bay, but you didn’t socialize much. You’d never realized just how weak they were if Peter could sniff you out in no time.

“Shouldn’t you…? I mean…,” he trailed off, swallowing down what you both knew he wanted to say.

You licked your lips, and you felt the heat of his gaze on your face.

“I never knew my parents,” you confessed, voice deafening in the quiet cottage. “I was adopted as a baby by this…old bitty of a woman.”

You chuckled, snipping the thread.

“She was like a mother and a grandmother all rolled into one. This is where we lived…where I grew up,” you fondly told him.

You looked up at him to find him keenly listening, hunched over.

“She died years ago…some months after my 19th birthday. I knew it was coming, but it still hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.

You shook your head.

“It’s okay. She lived a long life, much longer than I thought she would, so I was grateful to have gotten 19 years with her,” you replied. “She left me the house and everything else she owned. Neither one of us got out much, and I saw no reason to change that, especially since I work from home.”

You shrugged.

“This is where I’ve been ever since, in this quiet little neighborhood.”

Peter snorted, and you pulled your hand away, having been ignorant to the fact that you’d been smoothing your fingers over his skin. Embarrassment flooded you.

“Your closest neighbor is half a mile down the street. You’re tucked away in this corner by yourself,” he complained.

“Your point being?”

He rubbed the back of his head, and you knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“It can be…dangerous for someone like you. I mean… What if someone follows you home? Another alpha? One who’s not so nice as me?”

You wanted to be annoyed, but the genuine worry on his handsome features made you crack a smile.

“I’ve taken care of myself for this long, Peter. I think I’ll be fine,” you responded, standing up.

He stood with you, raking his eyes over you. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he opted for thanking you instead, turning to leave. You stood at the door when he turned to face you, dark eyes filled with whatever thoughts he wouldn’t voice. With a shake of his head, he hopped over your house, leaving you once again.

It became a semi regular thing for Peter Parker to show up at your door in the late evening, battered and needing medical attention. You were starting to grow worried at how often he was depositing himself on your doorstep. You’d told him one day that maybe Tony Stark had a right to be worried.

He’d insisted that he could handle it, convinced that he was getting better.

“For Christ’s sake, I’m an adult now. I wish he’d start treating me like it,” he’d ranted one afternoon while you cleaned a nasty cut on his back. “No more of this probationary period stuff. I shouldn’t have to prove that I can handle missions on my own.”

You threw a sympathetic look to the back of his head, his scent bitter with frustration and anger.

“…maybe he’s just worried, Peter,” you quietly told him, trying to placate the man.

He heaved a sigh at that, back muscles flexing with the action.

“Yeah…I guess…”

You smoothed the bandage over his back, and unable to help yourself, you trailed your fingers over his smooth skin. You felt him tremble, a shudder traveling down his spine. Realizing what you were doing, you snatched your hand away just as he turned around.

The house was quiet as he just stared at you, and you stared back. Your heart felt like it was going a mile a minute, and you bit your lip as he ran his dark eyes over you, reaching out to touch your face. His finger trailed over your jaw, and you pulled away when his thumb grazed your trembling lip, looking away as you stood.

“It’s late,” you simply said. “Mr. Stark will be wondering where you are, and we can’t have him thinking you’re in trouble.”

You could feel his gaze on you, but you avoided his eye. You leaned against the wall beside the door as he made to leave, and you finally glanced up at him as he stood in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, and like so many times before, he looked like he wanted to say something before thinking better of it.

“Goodnight,” he murmured.

“Night,” you whispered back.

You pressed your hand against the door as you closed it, taking a deep breath. Your body still hummed from his presence, and somehow, you just knew that he was still on the other side. Something deep within you was telling you to open the door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You only relaxed when your stomach settled…and you knew he was gone.

You didn’t know why he was affecting you so much. It’s not like you hadn’t been around alphas before, because you had. Plenty of times, in fact! Granted, most of your experiences weren’t exactly pleasant, so you did your best to avoid interacting with them if you could help it. But…

There was just something about Peter Parker.

He didn’t seem like most alphas. He was soft spoken, always hanging onto your every word as he listened to whatever you had to say. He didn’t do that thing where he tried to intimidate you, subtly get you to subconsciously submit to him. In fact, you’d say that he went out of his way to shrink in on himself just to make you more comfortable.

Nana had also been an omega, but her mate had died long before you came along. From what you remembered, she seemed happy enough, but there was always a longing in her eyes that never went away. The bond remained until she finally died too. You thought about Peter…about what would happen should the two of you…

You turned to finally make your way back to your room, shaking your head. You felt silly for getting ahead of yourself like this, but you couldn’t help it. You were so drawn to him, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. But he was a superhero. He would always be in danger. You knew that firsthand, had seen the evidence and the price of his protection yourself.

What if you ended up like nana?

You pushed him out of your thoughts as you settled into bed, determined to let sleep claim you. You told yourself that this wouldn’t go on forever. There would come a day when he’d no longer need your help, and you’d both move on. You tried to ignore how your heart clenched at that as sleep finally claimed you.

You didn’t think that day would come so soon.

The weeks that followed were spent in solitude. Your routine continued as it had before without the interruptions of Peter Parker. You woke up and did some of your online work. You’d watch tv, maybe read a book, and when you needed to, you’d make your way to the grocery store. Before you knew it, 2 months had gone by with no sign of the masked superhero.

You told yourself that you accepted that you’d probably never see him again. That meant that he was doing much better now and didn’t need your help. You should be happy for him. So why couldn’t you find it in yourself to feel happy? There was an ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away. It had even started to keep you up most nights.

It was the middle of the night when Peter returned to you. It was long past a reasonable hour for you to be asleep, moon high in the sky. Your a/c had broken the night before, so your window was cracked, allowing the cool night air to hit you. You had been drifting in and out of consciousness, never fully finding sleep, when you heard something hit your front door. Hard.

Fear and surprise gripped your heart as you sat up. Confusion clouded your mind, but your feet carried you out of your room, nonetheless. You didn’t hear anything else once you made it to the living room, but your stomach tightened. As you got closer to the door, a spicy and heady aroma hit your nose, and you paused for half a second before running to throw it open.

A loud gasp escaped you as Peter practically fell on top of you. He’d been leaning on the door, and as you wrapped your arms around him, you understood why. The back of his suit felt wet, and something told you that it wasn’t water.

“Peter,” you quietly called to him.

He didn’t answer, and even in the darkness you could see that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. His head leaned against yours as you struggled to turn on the light, kicking the door closed. His breathing was quiet but labored. Guiding him down the hall was a task, bumping against the coffee table and knocking over a glass vase in the process, the plant and water inside of it crashing to the floor as it shattered.

He groaned, and your eyes widened when your back hit the wall. He pressed his hands against it, seeming to use all of his strength to hold himself up. Your own hands were still pressed against his back, and he blinked a couple of times, shaking his head from side to side.

“Peter…?”

He took a deep breath.

“I got…distracted,” he breathed.

You blinked at him in confusion, and he continued.

“I…had him,” he quietly said with a frown. “I practically had him, and then… It just hit me that…that I never learned your name.”

You scoffed, disbelief coloring your tone as he cracked a smile.

“Peter, you could’ve died,” you told him.

He chuckled.

“I almost did,” he sighed, starting to slump again.

With a yelp, you caught him, hoisting him up, moving along the wall towards your room.

“My name’s Y/N,” you told him as soon as you got in your doorway.

He pressed you against the doorjamb, and the air left you as his hands found your arms. His nose brushed against yours, lips moving as he repeated it to himself, testing it in his mouth. His scent invaded you, and you swore that you could taste him on your tongue. You swallowed when one of his hands came up to grip your jaw.

“P-Peter, you’re hurt…”

Your words died in the air as his lips met yours, and you tentatively kissed him back. His lips were soft, and the metallic taste of blood touched your tongue from a cut on his lip. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you could feel yourself growing heated. He took a step back, pulling you with him, and surprise filled you as you realized what was about to happen…what you wanted to happen…

You were even more surprised to realize that…you wanted to submit to him. Your body was practically begging for his dominant touch.

He pulled you towards your bed, and your feet stumbled into his. One of his arms was secured around your waist, holding you to him as he moved his lips against yours. Your fingers twisted into his hair, and he dragged his lips down your chin. You bared your neck to him, and he pressed his face into it, scenting you. Your eyes were focused on the ceiling when you opened them.

“Peter…I’ve… I’ve never…”

You tried to get the words out in between his kisses, but he was making it difficult.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay…”

You helped him peel the suit off, and you were tempted to stop when he groaned in pain, but he kissed you again before you could voice your concerns. His touch was gentle, but firm, clothes falling off of you and floating to the ground like feathers. The cool night air that slipped in through the window did nothing to cool your heated frame.

You were completely bare before him when your back hit your mattress, and you waited for the nervousness and fear to seize you…but it never came. You felt safe beneath Peter, safer than you’d ever felt, and it was a feeling you never wanted to lose. You splayed your hands across his chest as he hovered over you, dark hair brushing his forehead.

His eyes were dark with hunger, determination flittering across his features. He brushed his lips over yours so softly it could hardly be called a kiss. It stole your breath away either way. His bare chest pressed against your own as he settled in between your legs, and you sharply inhaled as he brushed against you.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered against your lips.

And he did.

He pushed into you slowly, and your lips parted at the intrusion. You avoided his back as you held onto him, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. You breathed through your nose, and you felt Peter’s lips ghost over your closed lids.

You opened them when he started to move, realizing that you wanted to keep your eyes on him. His brows were pinched, and you wanted to smile at the concentration on his face, but you found yourself biting your tongue instead.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before the dull stinging pain bled into something more. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, and he had his fingers intertwined with your own, pinning them to the bed. Even with the cracked window allowing the cool air in, a thin layer of sweat still coated your frames.

You didn’t know if it was always like this, or if it was just Peter, but your body felt like it was filled with bees. He would kiss you sometimes, telling you that it was okay and that he’s got you, reassuring you. Occasionally, you felt his teeth grazing over the skin of your neck, and you found that there was no fear, bearing your throat to him every time. Should he mark you, you’d welcome it. But he didn’t.

He feverishly pressed his lips to yours as his thrusts sped up, breath mingling together as you gasped into his mouth. One of his hands curled around your waist, fingers digging into the skin while the other tightened its hold on your hand. You could feel your stomach tightening, toes curling as something began to build inside of you. Peter let out a low moan as your climax hit you, clenching around him hard. His hips stuttered before stilling against yours.

You both were out of breath, and you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, struggling to keep his eyes open. The day’s events had finally caught up to him, and it seemed to take everything to keep him from collapsing on top of you.

He rolled off of you, chest heaving.

“I’ve never…done that before…either,” he breathed.

By the time you looked over at him, in shock, he was already asleep. You reached up to brush a dark strand out of his eyes, fingers lingering as they trailed over his face. His arm curled around your waist and, basking in the scent of your alpha, you fell asleep.

You were alone when you woke up the next morning. Your hand had drifted to the other side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, looking around with a frown. It didn’t feel like he was gone, but he was nowhere to be seen.

However, when you exited your room, sheet wrapped around you like a blanket, you could both hear and smell something going on in the kitchen. When you entered, you were met with the sight of Peter’s back as he stood in front of the counter.

You frowned at the nasty cut along his shoulder blade and suddenly regretted not tending to him last night. He turned before you even reached him, pressing his lips against yours, surprising you.

“I thought you’d left,” you quietly told him when he pulled away.

“Never,” he said with a small smile. “I wanted to make sure you got some food in you as soon as you woke up.”

He pushed you towards the table, and you sat down just as he placed a plate of pancakes and fruit in front of you.

“Won’t…won’t Tony Stark be worried that you didn’t make it back? He’ll think something went wrong. That you got hurt,” you said, looking up at him.

He sighed, a frown on his face.

“Yeah. He’s been…right to worry. You too. I don’t think I’ll be doing any more solo missions for a while,” he murmured.

You glanced away at that, and Peter placed his hand on your head.

“I won’t be going anywhere though,” he whispered. “Ever.”

Your heart fluttered at that, and you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. You watched as he stuck a fork in a piece of melon, holding it to your face.

“Eat,” he softly ordered, eyes on you.

You did.

It wasn’t said in so many words, but in that moment, it was clear that you were his.

You didn’t know how it went over with Tony Stark after he didn’t return to the compound that night, but Peter slept over almost every night after that. He’d knock on your door just as the sun was setting, and you’d let him in with a smile. He’d leave the next morning after making sure you ate, and you often wondered what he told the rest of the Avengers. You wondered if he told them about you.

Your heat, the first one you’d had in literal years, had come a week later. It had hit you so suddenly, and after so many years of going without one, it took you a moment to understand what was happening at first. Your skin was drenched in sweat, and you were naked and curled up in a ball on your bed, thighs slick and body shaking when Peter found you.

You had heard him knock on the door, but you hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to shout to him. Your eyelashes fluttered, and you thought to yourself that your heat was returning with a vengeance after being suppressed for so long. You couldn’t even find it in you to be annoyed when you heard him break into your house. Only relief filled you, knowing that you’d finally get exactly what you needed.

You knew that he smelled you the minute he walked through the door. He had been calling your name before he abruptly cut himself off. His footsteps were deafening in the quiet house, and you couldn’t even be bothered to lift your head and look at him when he stepped into your room. You felt his hand on your damp forehead, and you moved closer, weakly reaching for him.

“Oh, princess,” he sighed, peppering kisses over your face.

“Peter,” you whispered, hands gripping his shirt as he joined you on the bed.

“I’m here, now,” he murmured, swiftly peeling off his clothes.

You shuddered when your skin came in contact with his, pulling him closer as you rubbed your face along his neck. The sound that he made deep in his chest pulled a shudder from you, and you mewled against his skin. He turned you around, and your forehead fell against your pillow with ease.

He trailed his hands down your back, pushing you down until your chest pressed against the sheets as he pressed against you. It was almost funny how naturally you molded to the way he moved you.

“Peter,” you whimpered, reaching back.

He pushed into you, your slick walls hugging him as a low moan escaped your lips.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured, almost in awe as he thrust into you.

One of his hands was on your hip, the other pressing into your shoulder as you fluttered around him with every thrust. You had never dealt with your heats properly before, and your body hummed, feeling so right…so satisfied with Peter’s ministrations.

His chest pressed against your back as he leaned over you, lips ghosting over your shoulder and behind your ear. The bed trembled beneath you, and your eyelashes fluttered, eyes rolling to the back of your head with every drag of his cock. He was sating that fire inside of you, and you whimpered, hips collapsing.

His movements didn’t give pause, pinning you between him and the bed. Your toes curled, sweat clinging to your skin as your hands slid along the sheets. Peter laid his hands over yours, intertwining your fingers. His nose ran along the expanse of your neck, and you purred beneath him, heat racing.

“Peter,” you quietly begged.

His knees spread your legs, a choked moan escaping as he thrust into you to the hilt. You felt his lips part, sucking on the skin where your neck and shoulder met, teeth threatening to break the skin. You could feel him swelling inside of you, hand letting go of your own to grip your hair. Your scalp stung a bit at his tight grip, but you welcomed it, moaning.

He pulled your head back, baring your throat. Your legs trembled as your climax started to sneak up on you, but his thrusts and swelling cock weren’t enough. His teeth dragged along your skin, and you reached back to rest your hand on the back of his neck.

“Peter,” you gasped. “…please.”

“You want my teeth in you?” he hummed. “Want to show the world that you’re mine?”

“Yes,” you whined.  

You jumped when Peter’s teeth sank into your skin, but your body relaxed when your climax washed over you like a wave, covering your entire body until you were completely limp beneath him. Peter groaned into your throat, completely locked into you now. Your heart calmed down in your chest, one final shudder hitting you when he let you go.

He laved his tongue over your skin, soothing it, and you hummed. Your head fell back down to the bed, and Peter pressed his lips to your fresh mark. You sighed when he slid his arms underneath you, enveloping you in his hold as he rolled you both onto your sides. He peppered kisses along the side of your face before kissing your mark again.

“You’re being so good for me,” he murmured against your skin.

You could only muster the energy to hum a reply, fatigue descending over you. He was still knotted inside of you, and you leaned back into him. He chuckled, and the vibrations traveled from his chest to your back. Sleep claimed you for the first time of many in the days to come.

You didn’t recall your heats lasting so long, but again, you hadn’t had one in years. So perhaps your memory was off, or maybe it was as you originally thought, and it just returned with a vengeance. When both Peter’s cock and teeth weren’t inside of you, you were sleeping in his arms. On the off chance that you weren’t sleeping, and that was usually because he woke you up, he was feeding you, settling you against his chest as he held food and water to your mouth.

He didn’t leave you for a second, and you wondered what he told the rest of the team.

“I told them that I’m visiting a friend for a few days,” he whispered when you asked him.

Your heat was finally ebbing away, and you were lucid enough to have a conversation with him outside of begging him to fuck you. You didn’t know how to respond to that, and you frowned. Peter must have detected the change in scent in the air because he sat up with you, turning you to face him.

“Hey,” he softly said, hands on your face.

“Are you…ashamed of me?” you asked him before he could continue, and his eyes widened.

“Never,” he said with conviction. “Why would you…?”

“Your team…your friends, the people you live with…they don’t know about me, and you never bring up me going there or-.”

He cut you off with a kiss, moving his lips over yours.

“You’re mine. My omega, and I’m so proud and lucky to call you that…”

He licked his lips, brows furrowing, and you felt like he wanted to say more.

“…but there are so many alphas on the team. One other alpha on the team would be one too many,” he started.

You reached up to run a finger over his lip as he talked, and he lightly bit it, causing you to smile.

“I know it’s silly because you are mine, but…here…it’s just you and me. You’re all mine. Your attention is all mine, and I like it that way,” he murmured, eyes glazing over.

You pressed your lips to his neck.

“I like it that way too.”

You watched as he reached over to your nightstand, grabbing your phone. Confusion filled you as you wondered what he was doing.

“Here…,” he said. “I’m leaving instructions on how to get to the compound. I want you to always be able to find me if you need me.”

You took your phone as he handed it to you, feeling him bury his face in your hair.

You had never thought that you’d need Peter so soon.

You hardly left your house, but occasionally you did have to leave for groceries. Ever since you and Peter got together, he loved doing it for you, but you had depleted a lot of your food during your heat and hadn’t realized until a month later when it was too late and you realized you had practically nothing to eat.

You had been carrying your groceries to your car when you heard footsteps behind you. It was early in the day, the parking lot empty as most people were at work or still asleep. You didn’t think much of it until they were practically on top of you. When you turned around with a frown, you stumbled back at their close proximity, back bumping into your car.

The man before you was unfamiliar, and you didn’t appreciate the way he ran his eyes over you, nostrils flaring. Your own did the same, and the familiar scent of a beta hit your nose. Goosebumps erupted over your flesh as his eyes met yours again.

“Y/N Y/L/N. That’s you, correct?”

Your frown deepened, a sinking feeling in your gut, and you swallowed. This stranger knew who you were, and you didn’t know how…nor why. Before you could confirm or refute that, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo. He held it up, and your eyes widened.

It was you…at home…opening the door for none other than Peter. It was nighttime in the photo, and his mask was off, but with his back to the camera, his face wasn’t visible. Your lips trembled, and you reached for it, but the man snatched it away.

“W-what do you want?”

Instead of answering you, he reached for you, yanking you away from your car. You brought your hand up to push against his nose, surprised when a crunch sound hit your ears, and he stumbled away. Groceries falling to the ground, you hurried to get inside of your car. You locked the doors just as his hand landed on the handle.

You were trembling as you struggled to start the car and almost ran him over as you pressed the gas. In your rearview, you could see him moving to go into what you presumed was his own car. Your hands shook as they clutched the wheel, mind whirling as you fought to make sense of what was going on. How had Peter been followed? How did they even find your name? Where were you going to go?

The stranger caught up to you in no time, and when his car pulled up beside yours, you noticed a second man in his passenger seat. Just when you were going to press the gas all the way down, their car swerved towards your own, and you tensed when your car slid off of the road and into the grass. Their car had stopped up ahead as yours crashed into the ditch.

A gasp escaped you at the impact, forehead hitting the wheel. You paused for a few seconds, blinking before crawling across to the passenger side. When you opened the door, you fell out and into the dense trees. You crawled into the brush, body hidden from view as you collapsed onto your stomach.

You could hear their car approaching, hear them get out, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You didn’t know what would happen if they found you, but you knew that it couldn’t be good if they were looking for Peter. It was clear that they wanted his identity, wanted to know who the masked superhero was. You could hear another car approaching from down the long stretch of road, and you figured that they could to.

It seemed that they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves because you heard them return to their car. You knew they’d be back though. They weren’t stupid. They knew that you had to be near, and you knew that you had to get up. The problem with that was your head was spinning, a searing pain behind your eyes.

You heard them drive away, and when the other car had passed, you hurried to move. Your vision was spinning as you crawled across the road, pushing yourself to your feet to stumble into the trees on the other side. Everything blended together as you tripped over your feet, and you didn’t know how far you walked when you hit the ground.

You were in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. When your eyes finally remained open, you were relieved to find yourself in the same place you’d stumbled to. The sun overhead told you that hours had indeed passed. You had gone shopping pretty early in the morning, and you’d guess that it was afternoon now. When you reached into your pocket for your phone, you confirmed that it was 1:47 p.m.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position was a struggle, and you groaned as you pulled yourself to your feet. When you called Peter, it went straight to voicemail, and you wondered if he was on a mission or in lecture. You left him a voicemail, stumbling over your words as you pressed your hand to your head, telling him that he was in danger.

Hours passed, and you were still stumbling around upstate New York, outrunning strange men hell bent on taking you. Your phone was clutched in your hand, Peter’s directions detailed and clear. You were getting dizzy again, and when you practically fell out of the thick trees, you had to blink a few times. You were convinced that you were imagining the monstrous building before you.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that a stranger wouldn’t be able to walk on the grounds without alerting the superheroes. Your vision was starting to blur again, but you recognized the woman who flew down to land in front of you, auburn hair flying around her shoulders. You could faintly make out more figures running to where you were.

You would have collapsed again had she not caught you, and you hung onto her.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” you breathed. “…but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your words slurred together just before sleep claimed you again.

Your hearing was the first thing to return to you, and you didn’t know where you were, but you could hear hushed voices. They were near. Your brows pinched together when you realized that you were in a bed, and when you finally peeled your eyes open, you realized that you were correct in your guess.

The room was so…white. The walls, the floor, the equipment. Looking over, even the two other beds in the room were bathed in white sheets and pillows. It took a moment for you to realize that you were in some sort of infirmary or…recovery room. You moved to sit up, only to jump when someone was suddenly at your side to help you.

Your eyes widened at the alpha before you, his hands gripping your arms as he helped you straighten. It felt surreal to be staring Captain America in the face, but not as much as you’d think. Maybe it had something to do with the mating mark that was given to you by none other than Spider-Man himself. You weren’t exactly a stranger to superheroes.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“How are you feeling?”

You turned to the feminine voice, eyes falling onto red hair and green eyes.

“You have a bit of a concussion. So I’d take it easy if I were you,” she said. “Y/N Y/L/N, right?”

The familiar question reminded you of those men, and you nodded at her.

“Is…is Peter here?”

You saw confusion flit over her beautiful features as she crossed her arms over her chest, and when you looked up at the blond next to you, he sported a similar look.

“Peter?”

It suddenly occurred to you that they might have been taken aback because you knew his true identity. You nodded at him.

“They were looking for him, for Spider-Man. I don’t know how, but…they followed him to my house one night. They know that I know him, and I didn’t know where else to go,” you told him.

Captain America blinked, and you watched the way his eyes fell onto your neck, narrowing as his nostrils flared. He let out a soft chuckle, straightening up as he shook his head.

“A lot of things are starting to make a lot more sense,” he said, more to himself than you. “No, he’s not here, right now.”

“He’s on a mission,” Black Widow added.

She moved to help you out of bed, and you let her. Peter was right. There were quite a few alphas on the team, and despite the fact that you knew they would do nothing more than protect you, you didn’t feel comfortable without Peter next to you.

“…but you can wait for him while we get you something to eat. Is that alright?”

You nodded at her, and she helped you move from the room. The compound was huge, and you couldn’t help but to take the time to admire it while she led you to the lounge room. It was strangely scarce of anyone else, and you wondered if it was done on purpose, not wanting to overwhelm you.

“How long have you and Peter…?”

The question hung in the air as you sat on the couch.

“I’ve known Peter for some months now,” you answered, rubbing your temple with a frown.

“Here.”

You looked up, taking the painkillers and sandwich from Captain America as he handed them to you. He sat on the edge of the table in front of you, face serious.

“You said that someone was after Peter.”

You nodded.

“They found me when I was going to my car and tried to take me. I crashed my car,” you suddenly added, more to yourself as if just remembering.

He asked you to describe the men, and you did with as much detail as possible. When Black Widow asked how you found them, you didn’t know if you should be truthful or not. You wondered if it would get Peter into trouble. As if reading your mind, she reassured you.

“We don’t care how you found us. We’re just glad that you did…”

You licked your lips.

“Peter told me…in case I…needed to find him,” you quietly replied.

She nodded, quickly running her eyes over you.

“When Peter started to smell different, I didn’t dwell too much on it, you know, but now it all makes sense. So you’re who he’s always running off to see…”

You sent her a sheepish smile. You noticed that Captain America had excused himself, and you could hear him on the phone in what you assumed was the kitchen.

“How did you two meet? Sorry if I’m prying, it’s just… Peter’s a lot more secretive than we thought. I’m a little taken aback by you,” she wondered.

“Um…he kind of knocked me down in my driveway one day. Literally. He was hurt from a mission and I fixed him up,” you told her with a shrug.

“…and you kept fixing him up,” she surmised.

You frowned at her, and a small smirk graced her lips.

“Peter came clean that he wasn’t doing as well on his missions as he had led us to believe. I suspect that you had a hand in the deception,” she explained.

Feeling caught, embarrassment flooded you. She simply chuckled and patted your thigh before leaving you alone. You weren’t sure how long you sat on the couch, staring at the tv and nibbling on the sandwich given to you while you waited for Peter to return. In that time, none other than Tony Stark had arrived, the dark-haired man throwing you an unreadable look as Captain America led him past you.

You had a pretty good guess as to what they were going to discuss. Not long after, the woman who’d caught you when you passed out found you and introduced herself as Wanda. She sat with you, keeping you company, and you found that she was easy to talk to. Eventually, you heard some commotion, and you perked up when you heard Peter’s voice.

You could hear another low voice mixed in, and it wasn’t hard to guess that they were arguing. You could feel Wanda’s eyes on you as you scooted to the edge of the couch, neck craning, wondering if you should stay put or not. Their voices rose, and you frowned a bit when you recognized the other voice as that of Tony Stark’s.

“I don’t care,” you heard Peter snap, his harsh tone surprising you. “Where is she?”

The question appeared to be rhetorical because immediately after, you heard his footsteps as he sniffed you out. You stood as soon as he rounded the corner, and in the two steps you took, Peter had taken five, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m okay,” you quietly told him.

He tucked his face into your neck, brushing his nose over your skin and breathing you in. You did the same, wrapping your arms around him.

“Mr. Stark said that some guys tried to kidnap you…because they were looking for me…?”

You nodded, and he tightened his hold just before pulling back to look at you. He went to reach for your face before he paused, glancing over your shoulder. You did the same, your eyes meeting Tony Stark’s, and you were reminded that you weren’t alone.

He took a step back before pulling you along. You passed Tony Stark and Captain America, and the brunette took a step forward.

“Peter-.”

“We’ll talk later, Mr. Stark,” he said over his shoulder.

Peter’s room was on the other side of the compound, and he was quick in taking you there. As soon as he shut the door behind him, his lips were on yours. The kiss was harsh as he gripped your face, unlike him, and he pulled his lips away from yours, forehead resting against your own.

“You must have been terrified,” he murmured.

“I’m alright,” you told him, reassuring him.

You could feel that he was shaking, and there was a deep frown on his face as he ran his eyes over you, hands sliding down your arms.

“I can still…smell them on you,” he said through his teeth. “The captain too…and Nat…”

You had opened your mouth to speak, but he kissed you again, swallowing your words. His hands were everywhere, and you knew what he wanted when he tugged at your shirt. He rubbed his face over you as he peeled your clothes off.

His touch was firm when he finally got you on his bed, teeth nipping at you and fingers pressing into your skin as he pinned your body beneath his own. His suit soon joined your clothes on the floor, and you gasped into his mouth when he filled you with one thrust.

“I could’ve lost you today,” he whispered as he kissed you, pinning your wrists to the bed.

“You didn’t, Peter,” you whispered back, a moan climbing out of your throat. “I’m here.”

“Can’t lose you,” he brokenly mumbled as his hips curved into yours. “I can’t-.”

He cut himself off as he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at your mark, causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head. You didn’t know how much later he planned to talk to Tony Stark because it was some time in the early morning when he finally let you go, trapping you in his arms as you fell asleep.

You never did return to your house. Peter and Wanda cleaned the place out of everything you needed, and you quickly became a constant presence in the compound. You officially met the rest of the team that first morning, an embarrassing ordeal. You and Peter hadn’t exactly been the most quiet, and Sam cracked a joke that Peter didn’t find funny. Bucky did though, and that seemed to make Peter angrier.

In fact, he was irritated a lot lately. It started out little, a look here or a frown there, but the more acquainted you became with the rest of the team, the more quiet he became. You were never completely comfortable around the other alphas when Peter was gone, but they were never anything but nice to you. Especially Bucky. You noticed that he didn’t say much unless he was talking to Steve or Sam, but he did his best to make you feel welcome, to keep you from missing Peter when he was gone.

At least…you thought so.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Peter grumbled one night. “He knows it bugs me.”

You tutted, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

“Peter…he’s being nice,” you told him.

“He’s being sneaky,” he argued, voice hard.

You sighed.

“I get lonely when you’re not here, and Wanda is almost always sent with you on your missions. What do you want me to do? Lock myself in your room until you come back?”

“It’s tempting,” he whispered.

“Peter,” you admonished.

He sighed and turned around, taking your hands and playing with your fingers.

“You want me…to be happy, right? Because when I’m happy you’re happy…right?”

“Of course,” you quietly said.

“Having you all to myself makes me happy,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, frowning a bit.

“No one else can look out for you like I can… Unless you disagree?”

You shook your head, almost frantically.

“Of course not.”

He finally lifted his eyes to meet yours, brows furrowed.

“Ever since the incident, I just can’t find it in myself to trust anyone else but me with your wellbeing,” he said, and your heart clenched.

You tried to understand his worry, and so you eventually nodded.

“I’m going to talk to Mr. Stark about cutting back on my missions. At least until we can find you a new place,” he told you, surprising you with this.

Your brows rose.

“Oh! I… Peter, I like being here at the compound with you,” you replied. “Besides, it makes sense. Now you don’t have to travel back and forth just to see me.”

“Yes, but…,” he sighed, bringing your hand to his lips as he looked at you from beneath his lashes. “Don’t you miss when we had a space just for ourselves? I miss having you all to myself.”

His dark eyes were pleading, but there was an iciness there that gave you pause.

“…yeah,” you eventually admitted, and Peter smiled at you.

Tony Stark did not take Peter’s proposal well. You figured that he wouldn’t, but Peter kept trying to reassure him that it was only temporary. Either way, considering that the billionaire couldn’t physically force Peter to do anything, he was indeed around a lot more.

He was now there when you woke up, and his arms were wrapped around you every night as sleep claimed you. You made it a habit of showering together, Peter holding you to him as he lathered soap over you, lips trailing over your face any chance he got. You couldn’t deny that you preened at all of the attention, wondering how long it would last considering that Peter was helping you look for a new place to move. You wouldn’t be able to do this all the time once you did.

At least, you had thought so.

You could hear Peter and Tony arguing as you walked down the hall, nearing his room with a cup of tea in hand. You winced at the older man’s harsh tone, but it was Peter’s venomous one that made you frown.

“Kid, this doesn’t make any bit of sense, and you know it.”

“I’m not just going to leave her unprotected again, Mr. Stark,” Peter spat. “I’m going with her, and that’s that. Nothing has to change.”

“The two of you might as well stay here then. Doesn’t that sound more logical? If it’s privacy you want, hell, I can have an entire separate wing built for the two of you-.”

“I don’t want her here!”

You jumped at his sudden outburst, and Tony sighed.

“Peter, I know you don’t want a repeat of last time, and that’s why the compound is the safest place for her to be. There are more than enough people to protect-.”

“No.”

Peter’s response was clipped, leaving no room for discussion, and you took the lull in conversation as a sign to walk around the corner. Tony’s back was to you, and Peter’s face was pinched with anger, body tight with tension begging to be released. When your eyes met his, all of that seemed to seep out of him as his shoulders relaxed. Tony turned to tersely greet you as you slipped past him.

Peter’s hand found the back of your neck as you went to move past him too, pulling you to him as he glared at Tony. You watched as his jaw clenched, another sigh leaving him as his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“We’ll finish discussing this later, Peter.”

The door closed and locked behind him after his departure, and you looked at Peter with a frown.

“You’re moving with me?”

“I’m not repeating the same mistake as last time,” he told you.

“I think Mr. Stark is right,” you said with a frown. “Just let him build another wing or whatever. No one would dare try anything here.”

“You’re not staying here,” he quietly said, walking away from you.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not going to let you stay here so the unmated alphas in this place can keep sniffing around you,” he sneered, glaring at you.

You reared back at that, eyes wide. You thought that he had gotten over this, this narrative that he seemed to be convinced of.

“Peter, that… You don’t really believe that…do you?” you scoffed.

Peter briefly closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he approached you. His hands found your face, lips brushing your forehead.

“Of course, you don’t see it. You give everyone the benefit of the doubt. You don’t see what I see…”

“Peter, these are your friends. They love you, and they wouldn’t-.”

“There’s a grain of truth in those ‘jokes’ that Sam is always making. You don’t’ see how Bucky looks at you when you’re not paying attention…”

You were floored by his words, having a hard time believing them. He scoffed.

“I even catch the captain slipping sometimes when he thinks no one is looking.”

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you didn’t want to insinuate that Peter was a liar. Regardless, he seemed to believe what he was saying, and so you wrapped your arms around him.

“If that’s true Peter, no one can take me away from you,” you quietly said. “I’m yours, and that’s never going to change.”

You kissed him, but somehow, you felt that your words had no affect on him. He kissed you back, humming against your lips.

“Tell me that again…please,” he demanded with a smile.

“I’m yours,” you repeated as he wrapped his arm around your waist, taking a step back.

He deepened the kiss, grip tightening on you, almost painfully so.

“Mm, now show me.”

Peter’s behavior remained much the same. His presence a constant throughout your day, but again, you weren’t complaining. He was scenting you every chance he got, and his lips were always on your mark, a content sigh leaving you whenever his chest rumbled. The nights were usually when Peter had his hands on you, body pinning yours to his bed as he claimed you.

However, he had started to wake you up with his face between your legs, sometimes pulling you away to his room during the middle of the day. He always seemed to be hungry for you, and you’d be stupid to find fault in that. Sure, it cut into the time you spent with Wanda, but Peter’s touch soothed you in a way that only your alpha could.

The bruises he left behind didn’t even hurt that much, and the pain left behind from his harsh grip on your hair never lasted long. He was more than happy to let you sleep the day away after exhausting you the night before, periodically bringing food to you. The day everything changed, was the day you were supposed to train with Wanda.

She’d convinced you that you needed to learn to protect yourself better. You both knew that Peter would never allow you to be in a position to do so, but somehow, you’d been able to talk him into it. You didn’t know if he figured it couldn’t hurt, or if he was humoring you. However, both Wanda and Peter had been sent on a last-minute mission. Tony’s franticness had made it apparent that it was important.

You’d been weakly throwing punches at the punching bags when Bucky offered to help. Having been under the impression that no one else was here, you were happy that someone was available to train you. He was a good teacher, and by the end of the session, you actually felt like you’d learned something.

It was later that day, when you’d just come out of the shower, when you heard the commotion. You had run out of Peter’s room to make sure that no one was hurt, and you only increased your pace when you heard Peter’s voice in the fray. The scene that met you in the entranceway made your eyes widen.

Just past the front door, Peter was being held down by one of Tony’s suits, the man himself standing over Peter with a frown on his face. Across from them, Bucky was pinned to the wall by the webbing that had been splayed across his neck. Peter’s eyes found yours when you neared, and he grunted.

“Mr. Stark, I’m fine okay?”

His tone didn’t match his words, and you wanted to argue that he wasn’t fine.

“You just tried to kill Robocop over here, Peter,” Tony argued, making your eyes widen.

He followed Peter’s gaze when he realized that he wasn’t paying attention to him, and with a sigh, let him go. Peter was glaring at Bucky as he stood, and you watched in confusion as he neared you. You heard Tony sigh again, watching as he rubbed his forehead before going to free the super soldier.

“What’s going on?”

He ignored your question, opting instead to grab your hand and pull you along. He was walking so fast that you almost tripped several times in trying to keep up with him. As soon as you made it back to his room, the door was slammed shut, and your eyes were wide as he pressed his hand to the door, your back against it.

“Why does he smell like you?”

His question was quiet, voice steady, but you could see the anger in his eyes.

“Bucky? He helped me in the training room,” you told him, realizing that’s what all of this was about.

He heaved a sigh, pushing away from the door to sit down, head falling into his hands.

“You know that Wanda was supposed to, but she got sent off with you.”

You slowly walked towards him, squatting before him.

“Peter,” you called to him.

“I don’t want you near him,” he whispered, conviction in his voice. “…any of them. The thought drives me crazy.”

You bit your lip, annoyance bubbling up inside of you.

“What am I supposed to do, Peter? Lock myself away? You’re being ridiculous.”

“…and you’re being naïve,” he spat, eyes hard as he looked at you. “Unless you like them sniffing around you?”

“No!”

His eyes darkened at your tone, and he went to say something else when his nostrils flared. He ran his eyes over you, gaze blazing as his jaw clenched.

“You still smell like him,” he sneered.

You heaved a sigh, standing up.

“I’ll take another shower,” you told him.

You could feel his eyes on you as you entered the bathroom, and you pressed your hands to the counter, staring into the mirror. Peter wasn’t like this when it had just been the two of you, and you found yourself missing that. Most of all though, you missed how different you thought he’d been. You knew that things would very likely go back to that once you got your own place again but…

Surely you couldn’t go the rest of your life locked away in your house, interacting with no one but Peter? You’d grown to like the rest of the team, considering them friends. Were you now meant to give up those friendships?

You went to get undressed, and in doing so, you knocked over your toothbrush. It clattered to the floor, and you bent to pick it up. When you stood, a gasp escaped you, the toothbrush pinging against the floor again as you dropped it.

Peter was standing behind you, and you pressed your hand to your chest, attempting to calm your heart. He neared, and his chest brushed against your back as he placed his hands on the counter, caging you in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. “…you just drive me crazy.”

His forehead was pressed to your shoulder now, and you could feel him shaking. You reached back to lay your hand on the back of his head, running your fingers through his hair. He continued before you could speak.

“I keep thinking it’ll be enough. That if I come inside of you enough, they’ll back off…”

You frowned.

“…if I leave as many marks as I can, scent you enough, make sure you’re attached to my side…they’ll stay away…”

He nipped the skin of your back, and your frown deepened.

“Peter…”

“I mean, do I have to fuck you in every room of this compound until they get it?”

Your eyes widened.

“It’s never enough,” he said more to himself. “So what choice do I have to hide you away? Make things go back to the way they were…when it was just you and me…”

You moved to straighten, but he pressed his chest more firmly against your back, making you bend. You pushed back, but one of his hands came up to press in between your shoulders, shoving you down until your cheek was pressed against the counter.

“Peter,” you gasped, reaching back.

“If I have to tire you out so that you can never leave this room until we finally leave, then so be it.”

You tried to push yourself up, but his hold was firm. His hand slid up to press on the back of your neck, and you winced, shaking as you both felt and heard him release himself. You whimpered at the pain that traveled through your neck under his grasp, reaching back again when he yanked you up. Your eyes found his in the mirror, his gaze ravenous.  

“Peter, I have to shower-.”

“What better way to get Bucky’s stench off of you than to replace it with my own? You think if I bathe you in my seed there’ll be any trace of him left?”

He didn’t give you time to answer that before he was forcing your cheek against the counter again. He pushed into you, and your toes brushed the ground, a yelp leaving you. His strokes were quick and forceful, skin slapping against yours. No matter which way you moved, you weren’t able to get away from him.

His hand found your hair while the other pinned a wrist to the counter top, chest pinning you down as he leaned over you. His nose brushed along your ear, lips eventually finding their way to your neck, and you shuddered. He showed attention to your mating mark, and you hated the way your body welcomed the feeling it brought over you.

“Peter,” you protested, lips trembling.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “When I’m done, you won’t even remember what he smells like.”

Your lashes fluttered with every snap of his hips. It was so hard to remember that he’d forced himself inside of you, the comforting scent and feel of your alpha making you want to submit.

“You won’t go near any of them.”

You whimpered, pulsing around him and squirming beneath him as the command washed over you.

“From now on, you won’t leave this room without me,” his harsh tone filled your ears.

You didn’t respond, too busy trying to swallow down the moan threatening to escape. Tears kissed your eyes at his assault, and he kissed your cheek, licking them away.

“You’re my omega. All mine...”

His lips found yours as he thrust into you.

“…and I’m going to keep reminding them.”

~

tags: @harryspet​ @mcudarklibrary​ @darkficreposter​ @xoxabs88xox​ @readermia​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @hurricanerin​ @lokislastlove​

[katebishopofearth]

"I don't know what the future holds all I know is that I hope you're in it" for ironwidow :)

Thanks for the ask! I was going to write a short fic but it turned out to be a full-on one-shot so I decided to put it on AO3 too. This turned out angsty but tbh it's an ironwidow fic so you know what you signed up for.

more sacred romantic moments prompts here

-------

the universe and pure blind chance

They were all reeling in the aftermath of the Snap. Because how could you go on, knowing you had lost, knowing all you had lost?

Steve was quiet and sombre after watching his best friend die in front of him again, powerless to stop it despite all his power.

Thor had lost so much in so little time, that even a god could not get up again after this colossal defeat.

Wanda was a hollow husk of a person, turning almost as gray as Vision’s body, haunting the halls of the compound like half of her had died with him.

The Hulk was gone. He had roared his grief into being after the Snap and took off into the wilderness, taking Bruce with him. Natasha could have used his calm, quiet company, the feeling that they were the last two sane people on Earth.

Even Clint withdrew from her, angry at the world, angry at them, at himself, for not pulling a victory together at the last minute.

For once in her life, Natasha counted herself the luckiest among them. After all, when half of the universe was turned to ash, when each and every one of her teammates suffered terrible, personal losses, the universe and pure blind chance had not taken the most important person from her. When Tony stepped off the spaceship after three weeks in the cold desert of the outer reaches of the universe, they clutched at each other, dizzy with the relief that they were both alive when so many were not. That for once, the universe spun in their favor.

They held a funeral for their fallen teammates. There was no point in pretending that it would work out, that there was something they hadn’t tried, that they could think of some elaborate plan and bring everyone back. They didn’t even have bodies to bury – only Vision’s, and it was all that they could do to stop SWORD from seizing it.

It was a beautiful day in early summer, the kind of day that, in kinder times, would have seen all of them fanned out across the compound, training, jogging, meditating, swimming in the lake, sprawled on the grass, music and drinks and snacks passing between them like a college campus. But today, there was only a handful of them left, half a dozen solemn black figures saying a few clipped words, blurred by tears, that could not possibly hold the weight of those they had lost.

Natasha and Tony clutched each other’s hands the whole way through, not daring to let go lest the other turn to dust. Even as she mourned for Bucky and Sam and and Vision and Peter and T’challa and Laura and the kids, Nat couldn’t help feeling a little bit relieved – followed by a sharp slap of guilt – that all those closest to her heart had survived. But maybe, she thought, looking at the shadows beneath Clint’s eyes and the gauntness in Tony’s cheeks, not every part of them. Maybe not in the ways that mattered.

Afterwards, Natasha pulled Tony along the lake for a walk. He was still too pale and too thin after his stint in space, it was a singularly gorgeous day, and she needed to get away for a moment. Away from the collective grief of their teammates, just the two of them, so they could remind each other that they were lucky.

They walked with an arm around each other’s waists, leaning against the other, feeling the other’s weight and breathing against their own. For a while, the only sounds were their breaths and footsteps and the waves on the lakeshore. For a while, everything was peaceful.

They had been walking for maybe twenty minutes, a good distance away from the main building of the compound, when Tony pulled Nat to sit down on a tree trunk. It had fallen a few months ago – when Peter was trying on a new suit and went overboard with an attack function. Now, toadstools grew where the wood met the earth, lichen lined the rough edges of its bark, and a sapling sprouted from one end.

“I lost the kid, Natasha.” There was a rawness in his voice, a painful rawness that all of them – all the survivors – had grown all-too-accustomed to hearing and voicing in the last few weeks. It was like they couldn’t speak in any other way.

“I know,” she whispered.

“Do you know what it’s like – to watch someone you promised to protect – someone you love – die, and not be able to do anything about it?” He sounded desperate and broken, and it called out to the pieces of her that were desperate and broken.

An image flashed across Natasha’s mind – Russia, two dozen girls, broken bodies, pleading eyes – she pushed it away. The horrors of the past wouldn’t help her carry the horrors of today. “You know I do,” she said quietly.

But Tony looked away. “I don’t know anything anymore,” he confessed, anguish rolling like clouds across his face. “I thought I could build an armor around the world. Protect our planet, and everyone we love. But I failed.” His voice shook with bitterness. “When it came down to it, I couldn’t save Peter. I couldn’t even save myself.” He rested his forehead in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Gently, because he deserved gentleness, in all his fragility, as they all did in their collective fragility, Natasha placed her hand on his back, feeling the sharp curve of his spine under her hand. She didn’t have the words to comfort him, because this was beyond comfort. This could only be carried. So she would share its weight with him, and they would learn to carry it together.

“But you did save yourself,” she said. ”You came back to me.” She marvelled at the fact. “And that’s what matters, most of all. That I don’t have to go into the future alone.”

“The future?” Tony lifted his face from his hands to look at her. “They used to call me the Futurist.” He scoffed. “Some Futurist I turned out to be. I don’t know anything, much less what the future holds.”

“I don’t need you to know,” Natasha said, framing his face in her hands. ”All I need to know is that you’ll be in it.”

He rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. For the first time since he returned from space, there was a kindling of a spark in him, something that hummed like the arc reactor beneath his skin and bones, something small and alive that Natasha was attuned to.

“You won’t have to face the future alone.” Though still quiet, his voice sounded stronger. There was a steel of conviction in it. An iron-clad will. “I’ll be right there with you. No matter what happens.”

“We’ll face it together,” Natasha said, the end lilting up, half question, half hope.

“Together,” Tony promised. He nudged his nose against Natasha’s before she shifted, so they sat side by side, her head on his shoulder. They gazed out at the lake – at the peaceful afternoon in a world where the dust had settled.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Tony broke the silence.

Natasha leaned her head against his shoulder, her arm around him tightening. ”Me too.”

”If you weren’t –” Tony swallowed, she felt the bob of his throat against her head. ”I don’t know what I’d do.”

She took his hand and intertwined her fingers with his, offering the silent reassurance that he would never have to figure that out, that they were both so lucky they didn’t have to figure that out.

Even in the aftermath of the Snap, they would find a way to go on, despite everyone and everything they had lost. They would hold on to the ones they hadn’t.

[read on AO3]

[troquantary]

Cutting Hair as Punishment in the Twilight Saga

Okay, I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts around this into a sort-of-essay format for a while, because I find it disturbingly mean-spirited: Meyer has a pattern of using hair-cutting as a form of punishment for characters, especially female characters, who fail to embrace Bella and the Cullens with open arms. I’m talking particularly about Leah and Lauren, both of whom, while not outright antagonists like Victoria or James, are situated along with Rosalie as “against” Bella throughout the series. The Quileute pack, meanwhile, is situated largely “against” the Cullens, meaning Jacob and the rest of the pack get the Haircut of Shame, too.

(Also, I’ve been creeping through @panlight ‘s blog because I thought she had a recent post relating to this -- I was probably thinking of this submission and her addendum, which does discuss Meyer’s “punishment” of certain characters, but that post was about characters suffering for not waiting for True Love, or daring to do the Devil’s Tango before marriage. Still, it’s on-theme and very much worth reading, like all her stuff!)

So here’s the general outline: first I’m gonna talk about the shapeshifters and how their overall lack of choice frames cutting their hair as something forced on them and therefore punitive. Then I’m going to discuss Meyer’s FAQ response where she reveals that Lauren was tricked into cutting off most of her hair over the summer before New Moon, and how this adds an extra fun misogynistic element to the hair-cutting theme with respect to Lauren and Leah. I also use way too many words to do it, sorry.

Punishment | The Shapeshifters Are Given No Other Option

I don’t have the background or knowledge to discuss the significance of long hair to indigenous culture and identity in detail, and my understanding is that different tribes ascribe different meanings to it. What I’ve read it about it suggests that, generally, long hair represents strength of one’s individual spirit and of the community. It’s a source of pride, and is only cut off voluntarily in extraordinary circumstances, often as an expression of grief, or to mark a significant life change.

This sort of works in the context of the shapeshifters all cutting their hair -- phasing into a giant wolf, discovering the existence of the supernatural, and assuming the role of protectors is a major life event for these characters. But the negative associations make it a troubling choice on Meyer’s part, and that’s without even getting into the problem of her imposing her own worldbuilding onto the legends and culture of a real tribe. Because of the lack of choice involved in becoming a shapeshifter, the whole situation feels like a scenario in which the Quileute characters have their hair forcibly cut -- a degrading and traumatic act that (depending on their particular tribal belief) might symbolically sever them from their sense of cultural identity and connection with the rest of their tribe.

It all kind of begs the question: why does Meyer even have shapeshifting work this way? What narrative utility is there in having the length of their hair in human form determine the length of their fur as wolves, thereby compelling the shapeshifters to cut it so it isn’t a physical impediment? It’s another sign of the changes in Jacob, sure, but he’s already being uncharacteristically cold and distant, plus suddenly has the physique of a fit twenty-five-year-old; Bella already knows something’s very wrong. His short hair is just another jarring thing for Bella to notice and mourn, like the loss of Jacob’s “baby face” and general sunniness.

It does work as a symbolic thing, representing another sacrifice Jacob has to make and the change in how he now has to perceive himself -- but he’s already got a literal giant wolf form to represent that change in identity/self-perception. Forcing him to cut his hair too just feels like piling on. My argument here, which I hope will be supported when I discuss Lauren and Leah further in, is that it’s not just piling on, but actively punitive -- because much like Leah and Lauren are “against” Bella, the pack at large is “against” the Cullens pretty much through the end of the series.

The Quileute pack is definitely not a Cullen fanclub. The entire purpose of their existence is to destroy vampires, and the truce they have with the Cullens isn’t friendly. They still don’t particularly like or trust the Cullens even after allying with them in Eclipse, and in Breaking Dawn Sam is fully prepared to go to war against them to enforce the treaty. Bella expresses frustration with Jacob and the pack for not appreciating the Cullens more, yet is curiously less willing to scold Alice, Edward, or Rosalie when they call the Quileutes dogs and complain about their smell. (I think she might reprimand Edward for it at some point, but I don’t remember the exact passage.) Bella even starts throwing around “dog” and “mutt” as an insult herself -- I think we know whose side ol’ “Switzerland” is on, here, and whose side Meyer is on as well. The Quileutes aren’t exactly enemies, and in fact are crucial to the Cullens’ survival in both the newborn and Volutri conflicts, but they’re punished nonetheless because they aren’t wholeheartedly Team Cullen from the get-go.

So to explain why I’m so convinced that there’s a link between hair-cutting and punishment in particular, let’s talk about Lauren. There’s a definite gendered element to it this time, too -- by being tricked into cutting her hair, Lauren isn’t just diminished/shamed, but rendered (*thunderclap*) unfeminine.

Lauren Was Rude To Bella Like Twice, Let’s Humiliate Her

I think Meyer’s answer to the question “What happened to Lauren’s hair?” on her FAQ page speaks for itself:

Ha ha. I had fun imagining this one—I only wished that it had fit into the book somewhere. Lauren fell victim to the “model discovered in the mall” scam. An alleged modeling agent approached Lauren in a mall in Victoria, B.C., and told her she was a natural model. Lauren ate it up. The agent told her that if she did something edgy with her hair, and took some high quality head shots, her future was assured. Lauren followed the instructions—dropping fifteen grand on the pictures taken by the agent’s partner—and waited for her career to begin. She’s still waiting. Snort.

It’s pretty obvious that this was done spitefully. Here’s the list of Lauren’s crimes against humanity Bella at this point in the series: 1) she was jealous of the attention Bella was getting as the new girl; 2) she talked behind Bella’s back once, saying Bella might as well just sit with the Cullens now (and she isn’t wrong); 3) she eyed Bella “scornfully” the day of the La Push beach trip; and perhaps most damningly, 4) she’s blonde.

Post-haircut, she has the gall not to be thrilled that Bella’s deigning to speak to the lowly non-Cullens again, then sides with Jessica after Bella uses Jessica to make a point to her dad, is shitty company, and then risks getting them both raped and murdered in Port Angeles so she could get off on her hallucination of Edward’s voice.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge that long hair is tied to patriarchal notions of femininity and attractiveness. Women with short hair are still derided for being ugly, or assumed to be lesbians in a derogatory sense, or simply considered less feminine and therefore less desirable/worthy (because a woman’s worth depends on her desirability, after all). For many women and girls, losing their long hair -- whether because of illness, or gum getting stuck in it, or whatever -- is very upsetting and a hard blow to their self-esteem. Just look at Alice as an example of Traumatic Short Hair; her hair was shorn like that because she received electroshock “treatments” in an asylum. (Although in Alice’s case, I don’t think her having short hair is punishment, but a facet of the traumatic backstory all female characters in Twilight have to have for some reason. Plus, she started the series with short hair, which distinguishes her from the pack and Lauren, who were tricked or compelled into cutting their long hair during the series.)

But Lauren’s so bitchy, so she deserves it, right? Ha ha, she was mean to Bella and cared about her appearance too much, so now she’s ~ugly!

Leah Has It the Worst and It Makes Me Want To Burn Everything

The misogynistic aspect of hair-cutting as punishment is taken up to like, twelve with Leah. Not only does she suffer for being “against” the Cullens along with the rest of the pack (and Bella, too, so extra sinning), but she suffers uniquely for being the only female shapeshifter. A bunch of teenage boys regularly see her naked body against her will. Her previously devoted boyfriend imprints on her cousin/best friend, Sam dumps her and can’t even explain why, and the whole pack -- including her own brother -- resents her for being upset about it, even though she can’t help the lack of mental privacy. Because of that same lack of mental privacy, she has to hear every gripe the boys have about her, plus every enthralled thought Sam has about Emily while she’s still deeply wounded by their breakup.

She blames herself for her dad’s death, because she phased at the wrong time. We don’t get any indication that her fellow shapeshifters or the elders are trying to reassure her otherwise.

And of course, because she’s a shapeshifter, she has to cut her hair. In addition, because Leah’s a woman, this has the same misogynistic connotations as it did with Lauren. In Leah’s case, though, the de-feminization is compounded by her sudden infertility. It’s clear that Leah attaches her sense of womanhood to her fertility, rightly or wrongly -- she bitterly calls herself a “genetic dead end” in Breaking Dawn and thinks of herself as a freak. She feels like there must be something wrong with her, some un-womanly flaw, that made her one of the shapeshifters at all.

Then, just when Jacob starts to see her as a human being worthy of compassion, he imprints on Renesmee and doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything else anymore. No more bonding with Leah, no blooming friendship to help her heal and come to terms with the new realities of her life. (This is one of those dropped threads that aggravate me to no end -- what was the point of having Leah opening up to Jacob, or starting Jacob on the path of realizing he was being a dick to her this whole time and that she’s a person with  value, if he was just going to spend the rest of the book as Renesmee’s love-zombie and never think about it again? Disgusting.)

Leah was a lot more forgiving of Jacob than he deserved at that point in the story, for all the good it did her -- I think she’s mentioned maybe once in Book 3 of Breaking Dawn. At least she got her god-tier moment of yelling at a deranged, pregnant Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella...

I’m just going to note, for no particular reason, that in Breaking Dawn we get to hear explicitly that Bella’s got hair that falls “almost to her waist” and that she looks like “a freaking supermodel” because she’s so “beautiful and pale.” It just strikes me as a telling contrast at this point.

[happyocelot]

White Day

Summary:

Despite getting married in just a few weeks, Naruto's culinary expertise revolves entirely around cooking various kinds of ramen, and Sakura decides that it's time to put her foot down for Hinata's sake. Naruto would learn how to make something non-ramen related even if it killed her, and what better time to surprise Hinata than White Day?

Ahaha, a thing I wrote a while ago. Tell me what you think!

"Gah!" Sakura scowled and poked at the ruined dessert with a lone pinky finger as though she was handling radioactive waste.

Then again, it was hard to begrudge her this reaction, not when Naruto's attempt at a slab of White Day chocolate had melted into a silvery, metallic-looking blob, despite her best efforts at supervising him. These efforts included shoving a cookbook under his face while brandishing a rolling pin in her hand. Throughout the ordeal, Naruto had busily stirred the butter, icing sugar, and vanilla extract together, one eye fixed on the cookbook in great terror, and the other eye fixed on the rolling pin in even greater terror.

And yet...

She was at a loss as to how he managed to screw up one simple recipe so badly, even with all the ingredients and cooking instructions conveniently laid out right in front of him.

Beside her, Iruka-sensei frowned as he inspected the toxic compound, Sakura's partner in bafflement. She was truly grateful to her old teacher from the bottom of her heart for his assistance. When she found out that despite getting married in only a few weeks, Naruto's cooking expertise extended only to making miso ramen, shio ramen, tonkotsu ramen...

Basically nothing except ramen...she may have snapped. A little. Okay, maybe a lot. But seriously, what was the fool thinking, that he would feed Hinata noodles 365 days a year? Someone in the back of her mind, someone who sounded suspiciously like the long-dormant Inner Sakura, said yes. And that was enough to make her...snap.

A vision of the coming days flashed in Sakura's mind, one of a poor pregnant Hinata waking up to her future husband subjecting her to meal after meal of ramen, because he thought it was "nutritious" and "healthy" for growing babies.

Another vision of Naruto torturing his future wife and children by taking them out to Ichiraku for every meal, even at three in the morning.

The newly-awoken Inner Sakura viciously supplied her with a third image of Naruto's future kids, tearfully accusing him of loving ramen more than his own family.

The frightening thing was, Sakura knew that these visions of the future were all within the realms of possibility. After all, how often had she, Sasuke, and Kakashi-sensei gone through such situations? How many times did her old team return from missions, exhausted, bone-soaked, and ravenous, Sakura craving nothing more than some anmitsu and hot tea, only for Naruto to drag them all off to eat ramen? How many times?

Even Sai and Captain Yamato had suffered along with her, despite being late additions to their team.

A ninja was one who endured. But too much was too much.

It was unacceptable.

Hinata didn't deserve a married life of eternal torment, so Sakura had decided to take matters into her own hands. Naruto would learn how to cook a non-ramen dish before the end of the month, even if it killed her. Iruka-sensei was more than happy to help, when she informed him of the dire situation at hand.

And what better time to surprise Hinata than on White Day?

Which brought her back to the problem.

"It tastes fine," Iruka said, breaking a small bit off the blob and taking a bite, his eyes widening incredulously. "But I don't understand how."

"It doesn't matter if it tastes fine, not when it looks like cat puke!" Sakura snapped, also taking a bite and chewing slowly.

"Cat puke?" Naruto snapped back.

Her lips puckered as she let the delicious taste of vanilla soak into her tastebuds and radiate across her tongue. Mmmm, not bad, not bad at all. If Sasuke were to ever give her chocolate like this, she certainly wouldn't have minded. To be honest, Naruto wasn't actually bad at cooking, despite his lack of experience with anything other than ramen. She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the horrific-looking remains of his attempts at fried rice and other concoctions. Not that those dishes tasted bad, either...

But food presentation was important. And Hinata deserved the best. She needed chocolate that looked good and tasted good, not this roadkill-looking stuff.

"Yes, cat puke, Naruto. Please, we've been over this so many times. You need to make food that actually looks appetizing. So that people want to eat it." Sakura groaned and put her head on the table. It had been hours. Hours and hours.

Teaching Naruto was tough. Her patience was fraying like old cloth, and the only reason she was still keeping her sanity intact was the thought of Hinata's radiant smile at getting homemade White Day chocolate, just for her.

"Iruka-sensei..." She lifted her head wearily. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Teach us all for so many years," Sakura muttered. "Teach Naruto for so many years. It's killing me. I don't get how you're so patient."

Their old teacher chuckled. "Well, compared to painting the Hokage Monument, this is small stuff. And I've had years of practice reading Naruto's gibberish handwriting, so the mess he's making now is nothing."

"His handwriting still looks like gibberish," said Sakura. "When he writes mission reports, Tsunade-shishou always has a stroke trying to read it."

Both sensei and student laughed.

"I'm still here, ya know," Naruto said grouchily.

"Sakura, watch and learn from the master," Iruka-sensei said, rolling up his sleeves. It was usually something that inspired terror in his Academy students, but today the effect was significantly diluted by the fact that he was wearing a cute ramen-themed apron over his clothes. "Naruto, if you can successfully make twenty bars of properly-shaped White Day chocolate by the end of the day, I'll...I'll..."

He took a deep breath, like he was agreeing to sacrifice his limbs. "I'll...pay for two weeks' worth of yours and Hinata's ramen expenses."

Oh my.

That's worse than sacrificing his limbs, Sakura thought. Poor Iruka-sensei...

Iruka-sensei's hands were twitching, like they couldn't believe how narrowly they had dodged a bullet.

"All right!" Naruto's gloominess vanished, to be replaced with a bright smile, as though the clouds had cleared to make way for the sun. "Let's go, Iruka-sensei!"

Sakura's eyes crinkled at the sight of Naruto puttering around the kitchen, looking gleeful at the thought of two weeks of free ramen and subjecting them to his culinary eyesores.

Yeah, she could definitely picture Hinata's radiant smile.

Even if Naruto fed her objects that belonged in a horror museum.

[lostandsearching]

Her Loss

Pairings: Maria Hill/Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff/Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is forever searching for her, the half of her soul that will free her form the pain in her heart. But what does she do when the roads fork into different paths and into different arms. How does she differentiate from true love and fleeting lust? Can she find the arms of her destined or will she simply doom herself and let them slip through her fingers.

Warnings: WandaVision elements used, swearing (maybe?)

Word Count: 2600+

A/N: Here’s chapter 3 and we’re following our favourite little witchy! Just a shout out to @theperfectlovestory​ for being so patient and reading through my chapters. If you ain’t read her work, you’re missing out! As always, reblogs and feedback are welcome. Enjoy :)

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Tossing and turning, she shifts around in bed uncomfortably. Having been able to sleep the night before, exhaustion catching up to her, she is faced with another restless night. Her sleeping has improved over the months. The nights she cried to sleep was no longer a regular occurrence but she still had her difficulties.

The bed was always too unfamiliarly empty no matter how much time had passed. There was no weight by her side causing a dip in the mattress, no strong arms wrapped around her waist encasing her protectively and no cool body to nestle herself against. Her empty bed serves as just another reminder of everything she’s lost. The fates had been cruel to her, delivering her time and time again into loving arms only to rip them away from her far too soon.

Having accepted that sleep will not welcome her tonight, she looked towards the wall clock on her right. ‘It’s only four but I guess I can enjoy the quiet and watch the sunrise for a little while’ muttering to herself. She clambers out of bed throwing on a large dark blue jumper, his jumper, and a pair of jeans careful not to make any noise and stir the children next door.

She loves Clint’s children dearly and wholeheartedly. They accepted her, a stranger, as family without hesitation or fear of her abilities. Little Nate went so far as running to her with the widest grin on his face to proudly proclaim that he’s also named after her brother. This only brought happy tears to her eyes as she engulfed him in a hug. Yes, she loved them dearly and she couldn’t be more grateful to the retired archer and Laura for opening their home to her but sometimes it was too much.

The happy shrieks of laughing children reverberating off the walls, the gentle and loving touches between Laura and Clint, the pure love and pride in Clint’s eyes as he took in his family at the dinner table would sometimes be unbearable for Wanda. This was supposed to be the life she had with him. A home, he had secretly bought for them, in a place called Westview with two children at least. They would have dinner together as a family, watch their children grow up like no time has passed at all, even go trick-or-treating wearing silly family costumes. Her life would have been filled with love, laughter and warm embraces but he was gone, taking her dreams along with him.

Wanda quickly threw on her slippers and crept as quietly as possible out of the farmhouse, trying to avoid rousing the slumber of the ever attentive Hawkeye. He may need hearing aids but Wanda would bet anything that he wore them to bed to avoid being taken by surprise. One misstep on a creaky floorboard would have him rushing out with bow and arrow in hand, ready to protect his family from any intruder, only for her to flounder a lame excuse at her sneaking around at an ungodly hour.

Lady luck was on her side it would seem and she escaped the confines of the home without incident. She is instantly greeted by a cool and gentle breeze caressing her skin. She sits on the steps of the home looking up at the clear night sky as the sun teeters on the horizon, teasing the darkness with a warm glow. She lets her mind wander back to over a year ago, to the events that unfolded after her return from the now dubbed Blip.

//

One moment she had Vision’s lifeless body cradled against her as she sobs, only to be suddenly greeted by a strange man calling her to arms, Vision’s body nowhere to be found.

“The fate of the world needs you to come with me now if we are to have any hope in defeating Thanos” and with that he opened a portal and passed through, Wanda nipping at his heels.

She thrust herself into the chaotic battlefield, remnants of the destroyed compound strewn about, with only one goal in mind. He took the love of her life, he took her life and he’s taken her home. Thanos has taken everything from her and now she’ll make him pay.

She flew in engaging Thanos, bombarding him with all the rage coursing through her veins. Angry, red wisps encase the tyrant threatening to rip him apart but as she was within a hair’s breadth away from finding her revenge, hell fire reigned from the skies knocking her off her feet. The battle for the gauntlet waged on being passed from Avenger to Avenger in hopes of getting it to some rickety van in the distance.

When all hope seemed to be lost, the gauntlet fixed around Thanos’s hand once again with an arrogant line about inevitability escaping his lips, their one and only chance arrived.

“Stark! Now!” a sound shouts commandingly before a woman encompassed in light crashes into the purple titan throwing him back. In the few moments after the order, Tony flew into action and disabled the gauntlet remotely allowing it to fall from Thanos’s hand and to wrap itself around the ready fist of Captain Marvel.

“Yeah, I don’t think so” she retorts with a head tilt and a cocky grin painted on her face. ‘Snap’ the battlefield is once again being covered in ash but it is Thanos’s army that is falling to dust with himself crumbling soon after. Being exposed to gamma radiation in space for years and receiving power from the space stone made her more resilient to the after effects of using the infinity stones. Painful as it was, she would recover.

Wanda on the other hand wasn’t sure she would recover herself. Not only had she lost Vision and her home, in what felt like a matter of fleeting moments, she lost the chance at avenging him by her own hands. ‘He’s gone, this will have to be good enough’ she finally relents to herself.

It was only after the battle had ended, when Bruce and Captain Marvel, she later learned, had been tended to that she found out the true price of  her, and the half the universe’s return. Natasha Romanoff had given her life in exchange for the soul stone, she gave her life so the world could be set right.

The icy cold Black Widow had held her at arms-length after Wanda had entered the older woman’s mind at Ultron’s behest. At the battle of Sokovia Wanda tried to remedy her mistake and prove herself but lost her first home and the life of her brother, Pietro, instead. Clint quickly took it upon himself to care for the young witch and urged Natasha to give Wanda a chance. He believed she already paid a heavy price for her mistake, she doesn’t need to be punished anymore.

With many gruelling training sessions under the watchful eye of the Black Widow, a tentative bond slowly grew, one of mentorship and then eventually friendship. Natasha grew to care for Wanda like a younger sister, although she would never out rightly admit of her fondness to the other Avengers. Wanda learnt to appreciate that the harshness delivered in Natasha’s training had served to keep Wanda alive, to give her the tools to protect herself from their dangerous job.

She had lost another loved one, Natasha on a planet and in a time she couldn’t reach, she needed to get one of them back. She approached the only man she knew that would have the unending finances to find Vision’s body. Although she still doesn’t trust Tony Stark, his hubris being the reason for her parents’ death and then his pride being the reason she was locked away in the Raft like an animal, she believed that his intentions were only ever good, even if his methods were questionable at best. He swore on his daughter’s life, much to the surprise of Wanda only having learnt of Morgan, that he would find Vision for her. She will try to trust him once more.

The compound needed to be rebuilt and Stark needed to build another time machine so that the stones could be returned to their original time, cutting off the branches, at least that’s what was explained to her.

//

It took no time at all, considering Stark’s wealth and that the world was also eternally grateful for the return of their loved ones, for the Avengers compound to be rebuilt. Surprisingly, especially to Stark, she continued to stay at the cabin whilst the new time machine was being built. She couldn’t possibly go back to the compound with both her love and her sister being gone.

“Please bring her back, I can’t lose anyone else. I don’t know what I’d do” she pleads with her arms around the super soldier. She pulls back from their embrace, tears threatening to fall.

“I’ll bring her back Wanda, whatever it takes” Steve promises with finality and with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he steps into the portal.

Wanda stood there with bated breath, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. She squeezes herself tightly as if holding back a terrible force and its impending explosion from within, should Steve fail. It isn’t until Bruce speaks that she tempts fate by opening her eyes, fixed on the platform once more.

“5…4…3…2…1. Ha! It worked!” he yelps, fisting the air with joy.

Wanda couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, Steve kept his word. Forest green eyes land on hazel green ones. She wasn’t too sure what happened, one moment she was standing and the next moment, she was crumpled on the floor sobbing. She finally let the tears free fall, allowing the anguish, loss and small reprieve to wash over her. ‘She came back, someone came back’ a mantra repeating itself in her mind begging to be believed.

With all the agility and grace attributed to the Widow, Natasha leapt out of Steve’s arms to engulf the younger woman in hers. As is always in the Avengers’ lives, the joy of a win is forever marred with sorrow at the cost of gaining it.

The compound having already been built, Wanda finally returned with Natasha by her side. The Avengers home was no longer filled with mirth as it once was, trauma, loss and exhaustion hangs heavy in the air. Clint had chosen to stay at the compound temporarily, with his family, to spend time with Wanda and Natasha. Tony and Rhodey chose to retire, Captain Marvel had long since returned to space but promised to visit when she was in the galaxy, Thor chose to leave the Avengers to join The Guardians in space and Vision was gone.

It was a week after Natasha’s return, a week at the compound that Wanda finally got the call she so desperately needed.

“Hey witchy, how are you liking the new digs?” Tony jokes. Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes as anger began bubbling beneath the surface.

“I am not in the mood for your jokes Stark” her thick Sokovian accent slipping past the cracks of her control.

Tony lets out a heavy sigh before responding. “OK kid, this isn’t a social call. I promised I’d find him but I don’t think you’re gonna like what I’m about to tell you” he tries carefully.

Her eyes are consumed with whirls of red while her hand holds the phone in a vice-like grip. “Where is he Stark?” she says through gritted teeth.

“I tried to get his body released to me this morning, but they refused. I could spend every dime I have and liquidate all my assets, they still won’t let him go claiming that he is government property since he signed the Accords.” frustration clear in his voice.

“I will get the best lawyers on the case but it will take time be…”

“Where” she interrupts with a bite in her tone.

“S.W.O.R.D”

//

After the events of meeting Hayward and seeing what he had done to Vision, Wanda knew she had two choices. She opted for the latter. She called Natasha as soon as she left S.W.O.R.D’s offices making her way back to her car.

“Wanda, what’s going on? You ran…” Before she could finish her questioning, she is interrupted by Wanda’s broken voice.

“S.W.O.R.D have Vision’s body and they wouldn’t let me take him home to bury him. They’re tearing him apart like an OBJECT! He gave his LIFE and they won’t even let what’s left of him find PEACE!” her anger is replaced by breaking sobs wracking through her body, ending her ability to speak any further.

“Come home now. Clint and I will fix it” She commands calmly and confidently.

Just as Wanda was the female assassin’s younger sister, she was also the archer’s daughter. No-one messes with the two deadly assassins’ family and escapes unscathed.

True to the Widow name, Natasha seduced and hacked her way into S.W.O.R.D’s data server and extracted details on questionable S.W.O.R.D activities including Hayward’s isolated server with files and data on his less than legal proclivities.

Clint, being true to his ethos, was crawling through S.W.O.R.D ventilation shafts, planting well placed audio and visual recording devices, courtesy of Stark himself.

With all the pieces at hand, Natasha only needed the perfect person for the execution. Her love for Wanda saw her doing the unimaginable for the first time. She asked for help.

“Maria, I need you to do something for me. I need you to get Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. Clint and I have all the data you’ll need to make it happen” her steady voice not betraying the pounding in her heart.

“Why would I get on S.W.O.R.D’S radar exactly?” Maria responds emotionlessly. She would have done it without question of course, but she can’t let Natasha know that. After all, she has a reputation to maintain.

“Because I will owe you a favour” Natasha retorts through clenched teeth. A pregnant pause fills the air before Maria responds.

“Send me everything you have and give me 48 hours” without another word, Maria ends the call and Natasha releases a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

Maria, always a woman of her word, saw to it that 48 hours later Vision’s body was being returned to Wanda at the compound under S.H.I.E.L.D escort. Wanda may not have given her lover the death that he asked of her nor the vengeance that he was owed, but she could give him the burial that he deserved and the farewell she needed.

All the Avengers, including Rhodey, Tony and Thor, returned one last time to pay their respects, to honour their fallen ally and friend. Wanda laid to rest the love of her life and yet another piece of her heart.

//

“You know, you still aren’t as quiet as Nat” he teases taking a seat on the step beside her. “Penny for your thoughts?” he gently prods.

“Thinking about him” Wanda whispers, still unable to say Vision’s name since the funeral. “Thinking about what you, Nat and even Tony have done for me since”

He turns to look at the young woman and sees not only pain in her eyes, but a steady determination that wasn’t there before. He keeps quiet, allowing her to gather her thoughts without interruption.

“I think…no, I know I’m ready to go home Clint” she says with growing confidence. She finally turns to face the archer. She sees time, suffering and loss etched on his aging face but those are all muted by the brightness in his blue-grey eyes full of love and pride.

Wanda has survived the loss of her parents, her brother, her first home and her lover. She’s tired of surviving and she is finally ready to go home to start living.

“I’ll tell Nat so she can get a jet ready and prepared for you” and with that, they spend the last few moments together, sitting in silence and basking in the warm glow of the sunrise full of hope and gentle promises. 

Chapter Four

[echoalyssa]

Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it. 

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead. 

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others. 

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her. 

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears. 

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.