CW: Blinded whumpee - references to eye gore, dehumanization, creepy and sadistic whumper, noncon touching (nonsexual)
Set after The First That Will Live
Killan’s world and its details as always belong to @wildfaewhump. It’s Vic’s sandbox - they just let me build some fucked-up castles there.
“Been thinking, me,” Calon Nie said, tapping talons lightly on the stone ground.
He watched the blindfolded human boy clumsily pawing with his pinkish pointless prodding little fingers at the feathers of one reddish-brown wing.
It had come within a day or so - the boy had started, in this sad little human way, to try and groom himself, combing through his feathers with those blunt-tipped skin-covered fingers, straightening them obsessively. Even after he stopped being able to see them, Calon Nie would watch him spend hours trying to carefully straighten them back to the right placement.
Instinct, pure and simple - and Calon Nie enjoyed the sight of it, the proof that his theory on the sharing of blood and the connection of bone to back had been correct. Each piece of the boy he took away and replaced with something else seemed to impress more and more deeply into him a set of fae-born impulses he didn’t have on his own.
It wouldn’t be long before they would move on to the voice, and then the organs, and then… who knew? At some point, Calon Nie had begun to wonder how many parts of a weak, ineffectual little thing could be replaced before what he created was no longer the original human at all.
Could you take out a brain and give a new one? These were the questions Calon Nie asked himself before he slept.
It wasn’t clear at first if the boy heard him speaking - he kept combing at feathers, and Calon Nie let the silence draw out to listen to their soft rustling. The wing was majestic - the hand hardly worth having. He would fix that, when the boy’s body was ready.
He could fix everything in the boy that was not to his liking. He understood that, now, in a way he hadn’t before the wings connected, the magic settled and took root in him. Starsong wrapped itself around the human like a blanket, a pillow pressed over mouth and nose to smother the human in the boy and draw out the fae.
He would kill the humanity of the boy, burn it away, and beneath its ashes he would find the new thing underneath.
“Buachaill del.” The boy did not look up - not that he could, exactly, look at all. Bandages wrapped over his head from eyebrow to cheekbone, covering up the evidence of his failures. It was the pain of his useless failed eyes that led the boy to spend the hours grooming his wings, soothing himself, as blood soaked through the cloth.
He wept blood, now, and that was the most fascinating part of the eyes to Calon Nie.
“Killan.” The boy flinched at the use of his human name, the name Calon Nie did not like. He bit the syllables, drew out the ah sound, made his disgust perfectly clear. “Listening? Listen to Calon Nie, you?”
“Just focus on my voice, Nicky. It’s okay. Just listen to me. I’m here.”
Listening is all he can do. The restraints keep him from moving. There is nothing besides antiseptic to taste and smell. Worse, however, he is no longer able to see because the cruel doctor wanted to find out if eyes could be regrown with the same patience as a cut limb or broken bone. This is pure pain. Pure fear. He can hear Joe, but nothing more.
“It’s going to be okay. You’ll be okay. I’m right here, I promise, just breathe.”
He tries to breathe but he can’t see. And the doctor won’t stop touching him. Her latex gloves are cold and wet with blood against his skin, feeling his face, daring to dip her fingers into the empty space in his skull where his eyes used to be. It hurts. All these sensitive nerves not meant to see the light of day are now exposed, touched, hurt. Damaged.
“You do have beautiful eyes,” she says as she continues to explore. “Do they regrow the same color?”
If he could move, he’d bite her. Instead he must stay still, and wonders if she has an inclination toward lobotomy, like an asylum in the fifties that tore so much away from them both. This experimentation is not their first rodeo. It is, however, the cruelest. She removes her hands only to return with something sharp. God, it hurts. He screams.
“Relax. I’m trying to observe the regrowth.”
So he’s healing, then. He almost doesn’t want to, afraid she’ll simply repeat the process.
“Nicolo, respirarti. It’s going to be okay.”
It’s not going to be okay. It’s going to hurt, it will never stop hurting, and he has to wonder just how awful things will get before the others come to rescue him. Will she do this to Joe? He tries to ask but his mouth feels filled with blood, and even once the doctor is done poking around his face, his sight remains missing.
Reblog if you enjoyed!
Whumptober2020 - Day 26 - Migraine
Tony has a migraine. It’s not a great day. 3/8
Tony realises that it’s not his fault, but it’s hard not be disappointed in his body and it’s failures. He expects more.
Tony knows it’s going to be a shit day from the moment he wakes up. Maybe he slept funny, maybe it was something he ate the day before; he doesn’t care; his damn head won’t stop pounding.
He’s lucky that they’ve been relatively light on missions, thanks to Natasha, that he’s been able to catch up on work, on things he wants to do - but that doesn’t bode well for sleep. Late nights and early mornings don’t go so well but he has a business to run (kind of) and mind to occupy. Sometimes the ideas just don’t leave him be til he gets it out, or he’s terrified he will forget the idea. He pushes through. Peppers already left, answered his late night note on the table with some kisses and a ‘see you tomorrow’, he picks it up and has to really concentrate to read it. He’s glad that she’s not here to see him suffer, knows that this is going to turn into something.. Not good.
He doesn’t have time for a migraine. He’s got shit to do and they’re just inconvenient. He heads to the shower and runs the hardest water pressure he can. Comes out and feels marginally better, taking some painkillers and eating a banana; he gets changed slowly.
Heads to the workshop and waves his hand when Friday asks if he’s ok.
He’s not; but he’s sorta functional. Just needs to do some things and then he’ll go sleep it off.
It’s around midday, he realises that the painkiller took the edge off and he hasn’t topped them up. It’s coming back with a vengeance, and he feels it’s too late to top up without taking something significant. Tony re-ups anyway. He’s nauseous, realises he took them on an empty stomach and looks around for something, anything that will line his stomach and help contain the saliva that’s looking in his mouth.
He does not feel good.
He sits for a minute, gathering himself, if only his head would stop hurting, he might be able to think straight.
He runs through his checklist of his usual protocols, it’s all he can do to list them off. He’s had a shower, eaten a banana. Hasn’t tried caffeine yet or icing his head. One step at a time. He can do this.
“Friday.” He calls holding onto the wall next to the elevator, “turn the lights off.” He’s pleased to find all the lights turned nearly off but enough to find his way.
Movement is not his friend.
Heading to the communal kitchen, feels as though it takes a year; he finds Steve making lunch. Murmurs a hello, gathers some supplies and leaves. It’s so bright in there. He grabbed two ice packs and put them on his head, puts the Ironman helmet over it to hold them in place. Opens the faceplate and sucks down some iced coffee. The milk lines his stomach and the caffeine takes the edge off. He’s not sure if it’s the combination of the ice, caffeine and painkillers but he feels marginally better. Staving it off rather than let it ravaged him full bore.
He’s just going to lay down, just for a minute.
He wakes when it’s dark, rolls over and regrets whatever position he was in, he’s still got the helmet on with the ice inside. Oh right, his head. It’s better. Not 100% but he’s far more functional now at, looks at his watch, fucking 2am, than he was at midday yesterday. He’s slept for just over 13 hours. Ugh. He’s wasted the day. Tony realises that it’s not his fault, but it’s hard not be disappointed in his body and it’s failures. He expects more.
Wonders if he can get some work done, he decides on a hour of work and then bed, asks Friday to give him 10 minute warnings to finish up, just as Natasha had suggested. It had seemed dumb at first, but it’d actually helped pull him away, knowing the expectation that he needed to finish up and change activities.
At 2.50 he’s just getting in his groove, he’s reprogrammed a drone and managed to get it to be invisible when the alarm goes off. Asks Friday to wait 5 minutes which goes far too quick.
Begrudgingly, he packs away his work and has the drone fly with him as he heads for his room. All at once, the lights go; everything goes. There’s no light, no sound and even Friday is non responsive which is impossible, unless.. someone’s cut the hard wires, sent an EMP.
“Friday?” He calls.
Shit, there’s nothing.
He turns the corner and turns back straight away, there’s people inside the tower. There’s infiltrators in his home, and they’re approaching; there’s 5 of them in plain white masks, and they all have guns pointed straight at him. The drone transforms quickly into a suit surrounding and protecting him. They’ve heard it and open fire on his location, he’s lucky that the suit is surrounding him faster than the bullets are flying at him; he lets off two blasts taking down 4 of the five, the last one runs at him; before any other tricks are pulled, Tony knocks him out; hard.
“What the fuck.” He says to no one in particular. He reaches for his phone, and then realizes, it’s not going to work, everything is fried. He’s lucky that his suit runs on nanotech and not electricity. He hears what sounds like a controlled explosion coming from above.
Fuck, that’s Natasha’s area. He pieces it together as he heads for the floor.
They’re here for her.
Day Twenty Four: If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad
Prompts used: migraine
Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Battle Tendency
“Again?! Come On!” Jojo complained.
Caesar sighed, feeling like they were getting nowhere and all because of his new idiot companion.
Jojo groaned and raised his arms, holding the cup and tipping it slowly upside down, concentrating on keeping the water inside of it. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, pretending to ignore Lisa Lisa’s scowl.
Caesar sat a little bit away watching with annoyance, already done with his training for the day and was perhaps more mentally exhausted than physically. He really wished Jojo would just get the hang of it so they could move on to something else. His head drooped lower as he rested his chin in his cupped hand, then brought his hand up to rub at his head. Damn, he felt like he was getting a headache. That was the last thing he needed right now.
“Come on, Joseph,” Lisa Lisa commanded as the water wobbled.
“Trying,” Jojo grunted. Lisa Lisa stepped toward him and raised her hands in an attack.
As soon as her Hamon power barely touched Jojo, he countered it but let the water fall from the cup with a cry as it splashed over his boots.
Caesar sighed and continued rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Again,” Lisa Lisa told him.
Jojo threw the glass to the floor and it bounced once before it shattered. “No, I’m exhausted! I can’t do any more today,” he whined dramatically.
Their coach scowled, but threw up her hands. “Fine. I can’t stand trying to get you to listen to me any more either. Messina and Loggins will continue your training tomorrow.” She turned around and left. “And clean that up,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Jojo huffed and muttered something under his breath as he bent to start picking up the shards of the glass.
“Who does she think she is, anyway?” Jojo complained, looking up at Caesar. “I mean, we’ve only been here a week, how does she expect me to be able to do all this?”
Caesar sighed and pushed himself to his feet, trying not to wince at the pain in his head that was only increasing. Maybe it wasn’t just Joseph giving him a headache. It had been a while since he’d had one this bad, but it really felt like he had a migraine coming on. Maybe he would go lay down and try to sleep it off…
Warning: character dealing with the aftermath of a potientally life-changing injury
Aziraphale reaches a hand out at the sound of the door opening, wishing he was better at sensing other occult beings. He knows whoever came in isn’t human, since his wards have been on overdrive since… since everything.
‘Angel,’ Crowley confirms, voice soft. Aziraphale hears his footsteps come closer and, for the first time, doesn’t jump when Crowley takes his hand. ‘I have-’
‘Doughnuts!’ Aziraphale takes another sniff, mouth already watering. ‘Chocolate?’
There’s a smile in Crowley’s voice. ‘And strawberry.’
‘Oh so you’re eating with me then?’ Aziraphale feels for the edge of his chair, using it to push himself up. ‘I’ll get plates.’
‘Sit down Angel, I can do it.’
Aziraphale ignores Crowley, counting the steps to his kitchen. ‘No need, I have you. You got us food, I can fetch plates.’
‘Crowley!’ Aziraphale snaps, resisting the urge to turn to face him until he has a hand on the counter and won’t get disorientated. ‘If I don’t practice doing this, I’ll never be able to do it alone.’
Footsteps as Crowley follows him into the kitchen. Aziraphale lets his head follow the noise, hoping that his coporation’s dull eyes are tracing the movement and not looking off into the distance.
Crowley puts a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s cheek and runs his fingers under Aziraphale’s eyes. ‘You won’t need to. I’ll be here until you heal.’
‘…And if I don’t?’ Crowley says Aziraphale’s eyes are clearer every day, that the burns are fading, despite their cursed nature.
But Aziraphale still can’t see. Not through his human eyes nor through any of the eyes of his true form.
‘I’ll still be here.’
Aziraphale smiles, leaning in to kiss Crowley. He brings a hand up to touch Crowley’s lips, just to help him aim. Crowley kisses back with desperation.
Finally, Aziraphale breaks it. ‘My dear, I do not doubt for a moment you would be there. But I would still like to learn for myself.’ He runs a hand along Crowley’s forehead and brushes the hair out of Crowley’s eyes.
‘I want to be independent, so that we can be a partnership,’ he says and leans in. ‘Greater than the sum of our whole. No matter what happens. Our side means, us. Together.’
And Crowley rests his head against Aziraphale’s. ‘Together.’
Entry Number 20 (replaced with alternate prompt) and 26 for Whumptober 2020: Memory Loss and Nightmare
Title: Love Is Watching Someone Die
Fandom: Final Fantasy XV
Summary: Almost a month ago Gladio and Ignis were in a horrible car accident. Gladio walked away with cuts and bruises, Ignis hasn’t woken up yet.
Cross posed to Ao3
Content warning: migraine aftermath, emesis mention, attempted murder, victim-blaming, talk of death, past noncon of a minor (not discussed in any detail), death threats, suicidal actions (not for the reason you think), blood mention
@eatyourdamnpears, darlin… enjoy.
The first thing Gavin was aware of was light filtering into the room through the curtains. The second was the soft touch of Isaac’s fingers carding through his hair. Gavin sighed and rolled towards his warmth before he remembered moving caused him agony – and relief struck him when his head only throbbed a little bit.
He blinked his eyes open. Isaac was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, gently smoothing Gavin’s hair.
“Ugh,” Gavin mumbled.
The Scoop of a Lifetime - 26
Whumptober Day 26 - IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD…
CW: head injury, mentions of gun violence/battlefield type setting, referenced injuries, panic attacks, let me know if I missed something!
There was something hard and sharp and painful digging into their cheek. They groaned, moving their head slightly but it kept poking. They turned their head, reaching for their pillow, their bed really uncomfortable all of a sudden. Their hand closed around air, and they set their head back down on the painful poking thing. They were just so tired, they could ignore it for now. What they couldn’t ignore was the hand on their shoulder shaking them.
With a start, Devin opened their eyes and stared up into Duncan’s worried face. They could see his mouth moving, but the ringing in their ears made everything sound garbled and disjointed. They found their focus slipping and dragged their gaze back to him. He was making the same shape with his mouth over and over. That’s my name, they thought distantly.
Their head was pounding and reached up a hand to touch a throbbing spot near their temple. Duncan saw them moving too late and their hand was already feeling it and it touched something warm and sticky and their hand came away covered in something garishly red. Their mouth fell into a circular O as they looked back up at Duncan, wondering if he was as surprised as them. Probably not, he’s seen a lot more worse stuff before. Instead, he was staring at them in concern, gently shaking them in an attempt to help them concentrate. So it’s only now that he decides to help me, instead of when he was torturing me.
Devin giggled then, loud and hysterical. They weren’t exactly sure why they found that so funny, but they did. Duncan carefully grabbed their face, pointing it towards him. His mouth moved and they were surprised to find they could actually hear him.
“Devin, come on, focus. Devin. Devin. You can do this. Deep breaths.” He sounded borderline panicked. They closed their eyes, breathed in deeply, the smells of gasoline of smoke of blood of death of destruction of pain and misery and pain and death assaulting their nostrils. The pungent odors helped ground them, so that when they opened their eyes, they were as focused as they could be with the ringing still in their ears, their vision still slightly blurred, and their head still pounding.
They licked their cracked, dried lips before saying hoarsely, “I’m here. I-I’m okay.”
Duncan ran a quick hand over their face. “Good. We, we’ve got to get out of here. Now.” Devin had never heard him sound so scattered, so unsure.
They looked around, realizing that the damage seemed to have only gotten worse while they’d been unconscious. The concrete around them had been blown into chunks, like a mini crater, and they could see similar damage throughout the highway. More cars were overturned, dented and smashed, and there were a few small fires that they could see. The gunshots were still coming, although a little less frequent now, and Devin could see a handful of scattered dark, motionless shapes that they chose not to look too hard at.
Duncan stood, offering a hand down to them. They took it, nearly standing when they let out a cry of pain and went down. Fire like they had not known since the day he smashed my ankles up he hurt me so much he ruined me they’d hurt their ankles had raced up through their legs, causing them to collapse.
They stared up at Duncan, breathing hard. “I-I’m sorry, my ankles, the explosion, they must’ve..” They trailed off, seeing Duncan’s grim expression. They thought this is it he’s finally deciding to kill me or leave me i’ve become too much of a burden swallowed hard before he was leaning down, scooping them up in his arms. They let out a surprised yelp, automatically looping their arms around his neck.
“It’s okay,” he said roughly. “I’m getting you out of here.” They were about to respond when he took off at a brisk pace, and the jostling had Devin squeezing their eyes shut, each movement sending spikes of pain through their head and legs. He traveled quickly, ducking behind cars occasionally at particularly nasty rounds of gunshots.
It was only when he began to slow, the noises sounding muffled, that Devin dared crack open an eye. They were off the main road, right on the edge of the tree line. Duncan squeezed them slightly, causing them to glance at him.
“Do you think you’ll be able to walk now?” At Devin’s hesitant nod, he set them down. They stood shakily, arms wrapped around themself, as Duncan pulled out his phone. “Dammit,” he quietly cursed. “Where is he? He was supposed to be right here to pick us up. Boss’ll be real upset if he’s a no-show.” He kept up a steady stream of muttering, almost as if he didn’t realize he was speaking aloud.
Devin didn’t bother to enlighten him and instead leaned hard against one of the trees, closing their eyes and trying to get their thoughts in order. They’d been in the car, then they had been grabbed by someone who didn’t work for Wildre. They knew that much. Then the man had hit their head really hard he hurt me a lot and now i can’t think straight what if my brain won’t work permanently what if he really did break me and that’s when things seemed to go a little fuzzy. Their head seemed to throb in response to their confusion but before they could try to unravel their memories, Duncan was sighing in annoyance, sliding his phone back into his pocket as a car slid up near them and a man got out of the driver’s side door, waving his hand and calling out to them.
Devin flinched slightly at the noise. Duncan walked over to them and, gently taking them by the arm, led them over to the car. “Don’t worry,” he said in a low voice. “We’re getting out of here, just like I said we would. Just-” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose- “just ignore Michael, okay? He can be a bit much sometimes.”
Not in the least reassured, Devin nodded uneasily as the man walked around the side of the car to open up the backseat door. A figure stepped out, and Devin felt their heart stutter before realizing it was he hurts me he hurts me he hurts me Wildre. At least he was a known variable.
Devin froze when they saw what he was holding, though. A blindfold and a pair of headphones. “Please,” they whispered, knowing their hoarse voice would carry to Wildre, their heels digging into the ground, ignoring the pain that shot up from the action. “Please, not again.”
He frowned slightly, glancing down in consideration, before wordlessly passing the items to the other man, the one they could only assume was Michael, who ducked inside the front seat of the car to tuck them away. Devin relaxed slightly, no longer resisting as Duncan continued to lead them the last few steps to Wildre.
As he turned an appraising eye to them, they returned the look right back to him. His clothes were a wrinkled, torn mess, and he had a bit of dried blood splattered across a couple areas, although whether that was his or someone else’s they couldn’t tell. Despite his ragged appearance, he still seemed as arrogant and smug as ever. “Devin, love,” he said in a surprisingly warm voice. “So glad to see you’re still in one piece.”
They nodded mutely, holding back a grimace as every word he spoke seemed to drive a hot poker through their brain. He reached out to gently take them by the arm, Duncan immediately surrendering his grip of them. Devin leaned heavily into him, feeling as if their legs would give out any moment.
As Wildre guided them into the backseat, right next to him, and the other two men got into the front seat, he leaned over to murmur, “Let’s get you home now, eh, love?”
They didn’t have the energy to contradict him.
Five days left! Five! Today’s is another shorter entry, written for:
No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?
Wound Reveal |Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury
Post-ROTS fic. Gen. Injuries and fighting. Ahsoka considering all the things she learned during the war and applying them in a fight.
Ahsoka considered, the thought a passing fancy in the heat of battle, that she’d never thanked Master Obi-Wan enough for everything he’d taught her. It was just that, at the time, he’d always made it seem effortless, as though carving a few extra hours of bunk time out of his day to offer extra instruction hadn’t been any kind of consideration at all.
She flipped backwards, deflected a blaster bolt back towards the troopers crowded into the hall, and brought her other saber up into a guard. She wished, mind thrumming along while her body moved through muscle memory and the will of the Force, that she’d taken a click after their Jar’Kai training sessions to - to grip his shoulders and let him know that she appreciated it.
26. If you thought the head trauma was bad…
When Nile heard the retching she hurried to the bathroom, only to find Joe leaning over the bowl, his arms wrapped around it and hurling. Nicky sat beside him but when he saw Nile, he came out of the bathroom, closed the door behind her and nodded at the kitchen.
She followed him over there before she asked if Joe was okay.
“He has a migraine,” Nicky said and leaned against a kitchen counter. “And he didn’t tell me it was coming up.”
“Uh… we can still have migraines?” Nile asked. For a moment she had thought as and immortal you’d be immune to such things.
“Unfortunately, we can,” Nicky sighed. “We cannot die, but we can still feel the pain.”
She nodded slowly.
“That’s…” she started but if she was honest with herself she had no idea how to finish the sentence.
“Could you maybe stay here for a moment?” he asked. “I’ll hurry down to the drugstore to get some meds.”
“Sure,” Nile nodded. “Sure thing.”
“Thanks,” Nicky smiled and left the kitchen.
Slowly she went to the bathroom to find the other man still clutching the bowl.
“Hey,” he whispered when he recognized her. His eyes seemed glassy and he was clearly in a lot of pain.
“Hey,” she said, too, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “Do you… do you need something?”
Joe shook his head and groaned the next moment. He tried to wipe his lips with the back of his hand and Nile took a towel and gave it to him. He nodded thankfully, only to wince the next moment.
When he tried to rise she went to him and held her hand out.
“Here, let me help you,” she said quietly. She took his arm and led him to the bedroom he shared with Nicky. Slowly he lay down on one side and pulled the blanket over his face.
“The light?” Nile asked and Joe groaned.
She went and closed the curtains. “Better?”
Joe was quiet for a long while but then he started to mutter under his breath.
“More than nine hundred years and still no cure for this damn migraines.”
“Do you have them often?” she asked quietly.
“Only when wie lie low for too long,” he admitted. “Can you do me a favor and cut the right half of my head?”
“Uh… what?” Nile squawked.
“He asked me the same thing a few times,” she heard a voice behind her. Nicky was back but - as usual - she didn’t hear him. It was terrifying how silently he could move.
“Please tell me you didn’t actually do that!” she blurted and Nicky looked away for a second. “Oh my god.”
“It was one time,” Joe mumbled from under the blankets. “And it didn’t work.”
“Oh my god,” Nile said again and rose.
“Thanks for watching over him,” Nicky just said and went to sit beside Joe. He took out two pills and gave them to Joe who swallowed them without water. “He can’t stand any liquids when he has migraines. He always has to puke. But when the pills kick in, it will get better.”
“Okay,” Nile nodded and went to the door.
“Thanks,” Nicky said again and Nile closed the door behind the two.
Hershey’s Kisses takes place in the same universe as @lonesome–hunter‘s The Devil’s Highway. If you aren’t reading, I’d highly recommend it! The Boone Clan will soon appear in the Blevin’s home and vice versa!
Big Boy belongs to my lovely wife!
*This is part of whumptober 2020
CONTENT WARNING: mentions of death, mourning loved one, human captivity, finding comfort after loss
Songbird sighed softly as she made her way to the far corner of Josiah’s yard. The sun settled on her olive skin in a layer of warm tingles, paired perfectly with the gentle breeze that swept through her auburn curls and ruffled the light fabric of her dress. Every now and then she felt the urge to make her way to where his body was buried beneath the lush grass, Songbird expected to feel the pain and sadness of his loss as she crossed the yard. But somehow a visit to Big Boy’s final resting place always soothed her nerves and made her smile just as easily as he had while he was still with them.
The sycamore tree was growing far faster than any of them expected, already almost as tall as she was despite having been planted as a sapling just over a year ago. Songbird thought it’s impressive size was fitting, considering that it was planted over the gentle giant and, in theory, had a little bit of his soul in every inch that it grew. She ran her fingers over the young tree and smiled at how smooth the bark was. It was gentle, just like Big Boy, and soft to the touch no matter how rough it looked as it grew.
She sat down in the grass and pressed her palm to the earth, closing her eyes for a moment as she felt the earth breathe beneath her. It was easy to feel the depth of his loss, to lose herself in the empty space that he left in her life. But when she sat beside the grass that grew just a little greener and closed her eyes, Songbird could still feel him as if he was standing beside her. She could still feel his comforting smile and reassuring gaze, the way he stood protectively over her shoulder anytime he was close by.
She sat in the grass, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and she could always feel Big Boy sitting beside her.
26. If you think the head trauma was bad…
“Aww, doctor, no,” Clint muttered and slid to the edge of the hospital bed. Dr. Creed just looked over the rim of his glasses, raised one brow… and turned to Natasha.
“Clint,” she said, “you stay in bed.”
“Aww, Nat, no!” Clint whined now.
“You have a concussion, Agent Barton,” the doctor said and removed his glasses to clean them.
“It’s not that severe, it’s just…” Clint started but now Nat made a step in his direction.
“It’s a concussion, Clint,” she said. “And you stay in bed.”
“No, it’s just a headache, I can…”
“Do you want me to get the handcuffs?” Natasha asked and when she saw Clint’s gaze she added, “The cuffs Coulson gave me.”
“You’re no fun at all,” he muttered under his breath but he lay down nevertheless. He winced and Nat could see that he was clearly in more pain than he was willing to admit, but he stayed in bed and that was a good sign.
The doctor went to the door and Natasha pulled a chair over, placed it beside Clint’s bed, sat down and put her feet onto the mattress beside Clint’s leg. He stared at it for a long moment.
“What are you doing?” he wanted to know.
“What do you think? I’ll stay here till the doctor says you can leave.”
“But that’s… uh… uhm…” he deliberated for a moment and Nat sighed inwardly. “Forty-eight hours! That’s two days, Nat!”
“I know,” she said and reached in her pocket, pulled her phone out and started to type.
“You can’t stay forty-eight hours,” Clint said and glared at her. “You have to eat and you have to sleep and… and shower!”
“That’s why I just sent a message to Steve,” she said with an evil smirk. “He will come in a few hours, will bring me food and take over for a while.”
“You really don’t have to stay,” Clint said and Natasha couldn’t hold back the snort.
“Yeah,” she said. “That was a good one!” She cocked her head. “Honey, I know you well enough. If I’d turn my back on you for five seconds, you’d disappear through the vents. No, no, I’ll stay right here in this chair till Steve is here to guard you.”
“Guard me sounds so negative,” Clint muttered.
“Well,” Natasha said and shrugged. She folded her arms over her stomach and looked at him. “You can as well sleep. You need to rest.”
Clint slid down in the bed and pulled the blanket over himself, but still glared at her. But Nat saw that his gaze wasn’t as sharp as it used to be because of the concussion. She also was aware about the risk of flight. Clint disappeared before and worsened his condition.
“You’re no fun,” he grumbled and Nat gave him a sweet smile.
“I know, I love you, too!”
No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU?
Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal
No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?
Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation
No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE
Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation
No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS
Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Characters: Jonathan Sims|The Archivist, Martin Blackwood
Warnings: Withdrawal-like symptoms, blood, collapse, self-destruction.
Summary: In a world made of choices, Jon has made an important one. It won’t be pretty.
Read on AO3
There was something almost pleasant about following for once, Jon noted as he trailed behind Martin. It felt sort of domestic in a way. He couldn’t help but feel that if Elias- Jonah - hadn’t decided to use him to bring about the end of the world when he did… if they were allowed to carry on with their lives, that this would almost bear resemblance to a weekend adventure, hiking through the countryside, or hunting for fossils by the cliffs of Whitby; Martin leading the way and Jon just happy to be accompanying him.
For a brief moment, it was nice.
Then things started to slip.