medical evac

Breathe ~ An Avenger’s Story  (12/15)

Originally posted by captainamerica1-6

AU Summary: Y/N meets an old figure from her past that she thought dead with evil intentions.

Notes: so yea this part’s a little messy because it seems like its out of context but trust me okay? it will all makes sense soon. im sorry for this crap but thank you for still reading it :)

Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13


“Did you or did you not fondue?”


“Y/N, come on. Whatever you and Spangles did, I’m pretty sure I’m better than him.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and focused on getting in position inside the quinjet. Tony was being difficult when he found out about the date. They’ve been called for a mission and he just wouldn’t stop.

“Tony, drop the topic. Please.” she said, checking up on her weapons while Clint activates the jet ready for flight. Tony stood beside his suit with his arms crossed still looking at Y/N when Steve entered the jet.

“Ahh. Here he is. Mr. I-don’t-have-any-dibs-on-Y/N-but-I-still-went-on-a-date-with-her.” Tony sarcastically implied. Steve glared at him and shook his head. “The betrayal, Rogers.”

“Don’t, Tony.”

Y/N turned around to face them both. “Wait, you called dibs on me?”

Keep reading

woeohtherclexa  asked:

hey mom!! i really love Yve and i was wondering if u could write a fic where Yve goes on her first mission and takes a bullet for Maggie and then Maggie gets mad at her and Yve says she did it because it's something Maggie would do for her.

First Yve fic here –

She swears she’s not nervous, and they’ve been training her to – among other things – be an expert liar.

But Alex puts her hands on Yve’s shoulders and stares her steady in the eyes anyway.

“I was terrified my first time out, Agent Butler. But you have done incredible things: you’re ready for this. You were born ready for this: to protect your friend, and beyond. I believe in you, okay?”

Yve nods and wishes vaguely that they’d let her wear her denim jacket instead of this damn DEO uniform thing, but Alex had known exactly what to say: calling her an agent, to invoke her protective streak. To tell her she was born ready.

Because she was.

“Yes ma’am.”

Alex grins. “Let’s move out then.”

It’s a routine recon mission, coordinated with the NCP – Alex hadn’t been expecting too much danger, and Maggie met them at the scene.

She was wrong about the not expecting too much danger part.

Because within a few minutes of them infiltrating the old Cadmus warehouse, they discover what even Winn’s most sensitive equipment couldn’t – that it’s not so old after all.

Because within a few minutes, bullets are raining down on them from all sides, and Alex’s stomach twists, because Yve is trained, and Yve is ready, but Yve is a child, and Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.

She swallows her fear, just as she was trained to, and shouts out orders and covers the techies brought along to salvage what they could from the old Cadmus computers behind her.

She glances at Maggie and all the has to do is jerk her head, and Maggie knows. The two of them circle around behind their Cadmus attackers while Alex’s team lays down cover fire and, moving as one body even across the warehouse from each other, they slap cuffs on their targets.

“Nice work, Danvers,” Maggie grins grimly, and the bang comes out of nowhere.

So does the yell of Maggie’s and the sickening sound of bullet meeting flesh, and Alex doesn’t shoot to injure, she shoots to kill, because Yve is bleeding on the ground and it could have easily been Maggie and Yve’s blood is on her shoes and Maggie is shouting for a medic and Alex Danvers is nothing if not ruthlessly protective of her team.

Of her family.

“Hang in there, Agent Butler, you’re gonna be just fine,” Alex tells her steadily as she kneels next to Yve, biting her lip and trying not to groan, her head in Maggie’s lap and Maggie’s fingers joining Alex’s on Yve’s upper arm to pressure the wound and stop the bleeding.

“Why would you do that, Yve? Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” Maggie’s voice cracks, and she runs a shaking hand across Yve’s sweaty forehead.

“The gratitude,” Yve chokes, and Maggie lets out a shaky laugh as Alex takes over on Yve’s arm.

“She’s alright, babe, I promise, it’s just a graze,” she whispers to Maggie, and Alex’s voice, Alex’s skills, Alex’s confidence, Alex’s reassurance, is the only thing that keeps Maggie together.

But it doesn’t take away her anger.

“Yve – “

“You’d do the same for me, Maggie,” she cuts her off through gritted teeth. “Look down into my gorgeous eyes and tell me you wouldn’t.”

Her voice is weak and strained and painful, but she forces her eyes open to look up from Maggie’s lap at the woman who recruited her, at the woman who thinks it’s her fault she’s been shot, but Yve knows differently: it’s Cadmus’s fault she’s been shot, and Maggie is the reason they found her friend all those months ago as she was starting training, and Maggie is the reason she founded a queer support group in the DEO last month, and Maggie is the reason she gets to wear this stupid, non-denim, amazing uniform.

“I would in a heartbeat, Yve,” Maggie tells her and leans down to kiss her forehead, and Alex wants to kiss Maggie’s lips, but she waits because the medical evac team is loading Yve out of Maggie’s lap, out of Alex’s hands, and onto a stretcher now.

Alex wants to kiss Maggie, to make love to her, but not yet.

Later, later, later.


“Agent Butler,” she calls, standing, and the evac team pauses. Alex bends over and strokes Yve’s cheek.

“Thank you. For protecting Maggie. It should’ve been me, not you, it… thank you.”

“What are secret agents for, Agent Danvers? And hell, it’ll make a great first mission story,” Yve grimaces bemusedly.

“And here’s to many more.”

Yve grins broadly. “Alright boys, take me away on my throne to the med bay!”

“Do we only recruit massive nerds to the DEO?” Maggie asks as she stands shakily, hugging her arms around her own chest. Alex goes to stand behind her and wraps her arms around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her hair.

“Naturally. Come on babe, I’ll give you a ride back to the DEO. Yve’s gonna be on some great painkillers when they take the bullet out of her arm, and Adrian is definitely gonna want to get on the phone with her for that.”

“Good god, what have we done?”

“Bringing Yve into the fold? Made the world a safer place, that’s what we’ve done.”

“You promise she’s alright?”

“I promise. I promise.”

And she is. When later that night, she walks out of the med bay with her arm in a sling, it’s to the applause of all the agents on shift.

“Glad you’re back on your feet, Agent Butler. We need that courage and those smarts of yours,” J’onn nods in solemn gratitude and approval, and Yve bites her lip as seasoned agents applaud her, thank you, wish her well.

Because she’s sacrificed for people before – too many times before – and she’s never gotten recognition, gratitude, appreciation, love, from virtual strangers that welcomed her into family, not like this.

Because this? This is the start of the rest of her life.

Aftershocks Part 12

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, The whole Avengers Gang

Warnings: Violence, ANGST!!!!! All the angsty angst. Blood. Bucky POV

Word Count: 1857

Summary: Bucky views the final events of the mission and has to make difficult choices of whether or not to stand by the reader or follow his instinct and go after Ward. 

Authors Note: Alright, we are winding down the final chapters, so it’s gonna be angst central. Love y’all, hope you enjoy! Also if you want to be tagged in the final chapters, let me know.

Tags: @crapythings @buckyismyaesthetic @endless-dawn @ckwylde,@cambodia5, @wxnchestervevo @fantasticimpaladoctor @chillnadia @stone-cold-mustache @katbird787 @helloitsgrc, @imhereforbvcky, @shamvictoria11

Aftershocks: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 8b, Part 9, Part 10, Part 10b, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Post Credit Scene

Originally posted by oreo-wonderbatch

Bucky’s POV:

“Y/N!” Bucky yells up as he races into the foyer immediately spotting her body bent precariously over the railing of the second floor, Ward behind her. He feels as if his heart has dropped out through his stomach as he takes in the scene. The tears streaming down her face, the blood dripping from her body, her life hanging in the balance.

“BUCKY!” She screams forcing his heart to slam back into existence as its pace quickens at the sound of her terrified cry, her voice begging him. “Shoot and she dies, Soldier.” Ward says calmly behind her. Bucky’s stomach tenses at the sound of his voice, fury bubbling inside of him “If you want her, come get her.” Ward continues, tipping her further over the railing, forcing another terrified whimper to rip through her lips.

Her desperate sound shoves Bucky into action, thinking of the best way out of the situation. Ward was not a man to be reasoned with and he knew that, “Ok, ok, Ward. I’ll play.” He puts down the gun, knowing he has others stashed throughout his suit. He tentatively begins to advance towards the stairs. “Bucky” she whimpers, forcing his eyes to lock to hers across the stairwell, his heart tensing in his chest, stalling as he stares at her terrified face. I promised… I promised doll.

“It’s gonna be ok doll, everything’s going to be fine.” Bucky assures her as he moves slowly up the stairwell, convincing himself in the process, creating backup plans as his feet pace up the steps, eyes locked on her. Ward laughs mirthlessly “So certain you are, Soldier? Clearly we’ve never met before.” What a fucking asshole, “Did you enjoy the state you found your little spider in? She sure can take a beating, can’t she?” What the fuck “Just like your girlfriend here.” He administers a hard smack to her ass making her cry out in pain, That’s it. That’s my girl. I will fucking kill you with my bare hands. Bucky growls below, rage coursing through his body at Wards audacity.

Ward continues, mocking Bucky “But still, I hope you enjoyed my kindness of leaving her alive, I can’t guarantee it’s going to happen again.” Y/N screams again as he tips her further over so that she is almost completely inverted over the banister, teetering like a seesaw as he holds her legs. Bucky’s foot halts above the step, his breath hitching with the sound of her scream. “Ward.” He snarls, moving a step further, reaching the landing of the first floor and beginning to climb towards them on the second.

“Bucky” she cries again, sobbing out his name, his stomach drops out, his eyes stinging at the sound of her voice. He breathes slowly trying to steady the croak of his voice, trying to keep her calm. I promised. “It’s gonna be ok doll. I’m coming for you.” Bucky soothes as he continues his cautious climb to her. His eyes lock on Ward, “Settle your score with me, just let her go!” “An interesting choice of words Soldier.” Ward smiles above him, the look making Bucky’s stomach wrench as he keeps his eyes locked on them, quickening his progress up the stairs “Very well, as you wish.”

Ward moves quickly throwing her legs over her head, forcing her into a bizarre flip, the force of the movement yanking her hands free from the railing. Her scream rips through him, pushing his body into motion, his feet shift beneath him as he throws his abdomen full force against the metal railing. He gets a foot out under him to lock around the barrier as he extends his metal arm into the center of the stairwell, seeking to catch any part of her falling form.

He is a moment too late. A second too slow, she slips through his grasp, her hands reaching up to the empty air, just a fraction below his reach. He watches as her hair flies up around her face, her name rips from his lips in a heart wrenching sob as he realizes his failure. He shifts his feet on the metal railing, making to jump off to follow her. Maybe his larger weight would allow him to reach her, catch her, save her.



Bucky is knocked back from his jumping position, falling squarely on the stairs. He sits up, slightly dazed from his relocated position, identifying the bullet lodged in the center of his Kevlar vest as the culprit of his fall. Then suddenly, he hears it. The silence in the stairwell. The absence of her scream. His stomach lurches as he rises to his knees, throwing his chest against the metal bars of the railing.

He looks down. His heart shattering in his chest as his head swims, a devastated roar emanates from his chest. She lays there, limbs splayed out awkwardly, a halo of scarlet blood quickly pooling around her head. “y/n.” Bucky whispers, his tongue tripping over her name in his mouth. He looks up to see Ward bent over the railing, smiling down at her broken body.

A growl tears through his chest, “WARD!” he bellows, making Ward snap to attention and take off down the hallway. Bucky’s rage courses through him as he begins sprinting up the remainder of the stairwell to pursue Ward, coming to a halt at the second floor, the white rage abating as his vision is sobered.

He sees blood stains smeared across the floor. The broken plaster, the discarded guns and bullet casings. He sees the evidence of her struggle. Her pain. Her fight. “My girl.” He sobs. Ward has to wait. I promised. His anger cools as he moves quickly to jump from the balcony, coming to land in a knee bent position on the concrete floor, a few feet from her body. 

He quickly takes in the scene, moving to kneel beside her, allowing himself to pray for the hope of breath on her lips. He sees her chest move in slow shallow breaths, realizing that she is still alive. A sob of relief rips through him as he guides his hand around her head, pressing on the wound on her scalp, trying to staunch the bleeding. 

“I got you baby. It’s gonna be ok. I’m here. I’m so sorry.” He bends over her listening to her shallow breaths, memorizing the sound of her faint heartbeat. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I can’t… can’t do this without you… I need … Please… don’t… don’t leave me doll. I need you. I want you… I love you…” His breath catches in his chest as his eyes sting, a few tears clouding his vision. “I love you” 

He hears a scuffle behind the door and the remainder of the team make their way inside. “Holy Shit” Sam’s voice is the first to break the silence. A muffled scream falls across the room, Wanda spotting Y/N’s broken body splayed in Bucky’s arms. “Help, please, help.” Bucky cries, imploring them from his kneeling position beside her damaged form. “Buck… What… how…?” Steve stammers, moving quickly forward to aid his friend. 

“We need immediate medical evac. Code 4. Sending coordinates.” Stark communicates through a com, nodding to Steve to confirm the emergency measures. “Ward.” Bucky growls looking at Steve. “He hunted her down. He knew. It was a trap. It was all a distraction.” “Bucky, we couldn’t have known, they had Nat…” “She never should have been here. Vision never should have left her.” 

A medical team arrives moving quickly beside her, cautiously moving her body to a stretcher. “Bucky, she made a choice, she told Vision to go.” Steve insists moving towards his best friend. “YOU MADE THE CALL STEVE!” Bucky hollers back, his anger breaking free as he moves behind the stretcher, following the shield medical team to the evac plane. He turns sharply, staring at Steve with cold and empty eyes. “If she dies… it’s on you.”


The heart monitor maintains a quiet, steady beat, unchanging in its consistency the past 2 days. “Mr. Barnes?” Dr. Tang interrupts quietly, causing Bucky’s gaze to dislodge from Y/N’s face and reluctantly drag towards the door. “What is it?” the gravel of Bucky’s voice made Dr. Tang hesitate as she takes in his dismantled appearance, a growth of dark hair thickening along his tight jaw.

His eyes dark and heavy with lack of sleep, his appearance made even more threatening by the dirt caked tactile uniform he still wore. “Just wanted to update you regarding Miss Y/L/N’s situation. Her condition continues to be” “Stable. Yes, I know. Anything else?” Bucky interrupts his eyes flashing back to Y/N, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“We have reached the 48 hour mark, the fact that she hasn’t shown any brain damage by this point is a very positive sign. We are hopeful that she will make a full recovery.” Dr. Tang finishes, moving into the room to glance once more at her chart. Bucky looks back at the doctor, eyes heavy “And the transfusion? Have there been any…” “Side-effects? No. None that we’ve seen so far. But we will continue to monitor her condition. For now Mr. Barnes, we are out of the woods.” Dr. Tang finishes, smiling softly at Bucky. “Thank you Doc, for everything.” She nods, departing from the room. Bucky leans forward and gently presses his lips against Y/N’s cold hand, “You’re gonna be ok doll… you’re… you’re gonna be fine.” His eyes sting slightly as he looks at her still form.

“Buck” Steve’s voice interjects behind him. Bucky quickly blinks away the tears clouding his vision, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Y/N. “Bucky… I’m sorry. I didn’t… it was a bad situation. I never thought she would be in danger. I didn’t… I didn’t know she meant this to you…” Bucky shifted uncomfortably, hearing the sincerity of the apology in Steve’s voice.

“Buck.” Steve moves into the room, coming to sit on the other side of Y/N’s bed, forcing Bucky’s attention to fall to him, “I didn’t know. You never said… I thought you were just close. How could I have known?” Steve pleads with his best friend. “If you had known, would you have made a different call?” Bucky asks, eyes locking on Steve.

He watches as his best friend takes a deep breath closing his eyes softly and hanging his head slightly. Steve inhales sharply, his eyes flicking up to gaze at Bucky, “No… I wouldn’t. It was a hard decision. But it was the best call for the team. We were outnumbered.” Steve stares at his friend, looking for some understanding, Bucky just stares at Y/N’s face, his thumb resuming its gentle circles on her hand.

“I love her.” Bucky whispers, his voice breaking, “I know, Buck.” “What am I going to do? What if she…” “She’ll be fine Buck. She’s strong. She’s a fighter.” Bucky nods slowly, a lump rising in his throat. He gently raises her cold fingers to his lips, “She’s a fighter” he whispers, his hot breath causing her fingers to twitch softly against his mouth.  

What Could Have Been

“Anakin -”

“Master, please!”

“I can’t go back. Please…just go.”

If Anakin Skywalker had not come back from Mortis, much would have been different.

With the death of the Daughter, the Son, and the Father, Mortis held fast to the Chosen One, refusing to let the Jedi leave to return to his galaxy. Eventually, the Jedi Skywalker understood, and sent his Master and his Padawan on without him, while he stayed to temper the Force on the planet that didn’t seem to exist. It was a crying Obi-Wan that dragged a pleading Ahsoka with him, but not before promising that - one way or another - Anakin would not die here, alone as he was with nothing and no one. Anakin smiled and told him to go before Rex missed them.

Rex never knew what happened to his General, only that he was missing from the rendezvous, leaving behind a grieving Padawan and a devastated Master. No matter how hard he pushed, Ahsoka never told him what happened to Anakin, only that he was never coming home. He was used to the MIAs, but this…this was something else entirely. It takes weeks of convincing on Ahsoka’s part - and numerous fruitless searches - before he reluctantly accepts that his General is simply gone.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hey, if you got the time could you please write a Sanvers fic where Alex risks her life for Kara because we all know Alex, that hoe takes bullets for her BULLETPROOF sister, and maybe gets hurt and Maggie gets mad and scared? (Bonus Points if Maggie finds out this way that Kara is Supergirl)

Perhaps this is obvious from the prompt, but be aware that this gets violent (but of course our babies will be fine and in love and safe, my name isn’t Jason Rothenberg).

IF YOU CAN’T READ PAST THE “Keep Reading” LINE FOR SOME REASON, READ THE WHOLE THING HERE, because it does NOT end with Kara yelling!!!!

Kara doesn’t see the Kryptonite-based, diamond-tipped bullets speeding toward her.

So she doesn’t understand, at first, why Maggie is breaking formation; why Maggie is screaming her sister’s name; why Maggie is sprinting across the warehouse, across the warehouse whose walls are shattering from the barrage of machine gun fire she is blazing through.

She doesn’t understand, until she hears a sickening ripping open of flesh.

Doesn’t understand until she looks down to see Maggie get there just in time to catch Alex as her limp body falls; until she sees Maggie cradle Alex’s bleeding form with one arm and unloading five rounds rapid of bullets into the chests of the two Cadmus lackeys who’d shot at Kara.

Who’d hit Alex. Because Kara didn’t see, because Alex dove.

And Alex’s blood is pouring out of her shredded torso, flooding onto Maggie’s hands, soaking into Maggie’s clothes, and Maggie’s gun is firing and Maggie is not missing a single target.

Kara sees only red and Kara seees only her sister and Kara has sworn never to kill but Alex is pale and Alex is starting to seize and suddenly Kara is realizing that there is no one left to rage at; no one left to even consider killing, consider maiming, consider hating – except herself, because Alex, Alex, Alex – no one left because Maggie has left no one standing.

So now there is only the eerie silence that accompanies the aftermath of Maggie’s loaded gun; now there is only J’onn sprinting and Kara flying and Alex’s third-in-command shouting orders for an immediate medical evac and Maggie ripping at her shirt and using it to stem Alex’s bleeding – to try to stem Alex’s bleeding – her hands the color of a Halloween prank gone wrong; her hands the color of war.

Kara lands and Kara yells and Kara convulses and J’onn’s arms try to contain her and she knows nothing else.

(continues below the keep reading line and here).

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Do steve and bicky pda a lot?

in nontraditional ways :D 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Asshole,” Steve says, when Bucky grabs his face in his hand to get a good look at him. “Barton needs medical evac –” 

“Bullet barely grazed him, he’s fine.” 

“I heard that!” Barton yells. “Fuck you too!” 

“Barnes –” 

“Rogers,” Bucky says, still looking him over. Then he nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get out of here.”

“No, really,” Barton says, clutching his arm, “By all means, take your time.”  

“You know, one time in Italy I saw half a guy’s face blown off and he was still alive for ten minutes after. You’re gonna be fuckin’ fine.” 


Steve walks carefully through the dark theater until he finds their row. “I got extra salt,” he whispers, and Bucky shushes him. Steve sits down next to him and balances the bucket of popcorn into his lap. Bucky blindly grabs a handful and shoves it in his mouth, and Steve puts his 3-D glasses on. The arm between their seats goes up – these are some fancy damn seats – and Bucky shoves it away after a second and slings his arm around Steve’s shoulders, tugging him close. 


“Are they ever not fused at the hip?” Tony asks Natasha, topping off her drink. 

She sips it and sighs, her brow furrowing. Across the spacious room Rogers and Barnes are sitting at a couch, their knees knocking together, their foreheads almost bumping. Rogers is laughing, his chin propped in his hand, while Barnes says something – and then Rogers rolls his eyes hugely and says something back, and Barnes reaches out in a flash and has him in a headlock. 

“Gross,” Tony mutters. Rogers is smacking at Barnes and laughing, and finally he shoves him off. Barnes reaches out and ruffles his hair. “Ugh,” Tony says. “I hate that Cap is cool now.” 

“He’s sweet,” Natasha agrees. They’re doing shots now, and then Rogers is standing up and bouncing on his toes. Tony definitely reads his lips saying something about arm wrestle. Oh, God. The property damage potential. Tony thinks about suggesting they move that outside, but Barnes unfolds all six feet and some inches of himself and digs his finger into Rogers’ side, and Rogers punches him in the arm, and Tony feels something warm in his chest. Probably heartburn. 

“I’m too old for this,” he tells Natasha. 

“No,” Natasha sighs, “You’re just getting soft.” 

What If, Part 6

Author’s notes: This part is a little rough, forgive me if there are any mistakes. Definitely send me an ask or something letting me know if there’s anything glaringly wrong. I do not own any part of Blizzard or its many franchises or characters.

A crack of thunder rang out causing Tracer to flinch and Amélie to duck. Swiveling her head around, Amélie immediately spotted the enemy sniper and dove to her rifle. Aiming quickly, she managed to eliminate the threat just as a helicopter was heard in the distance. She caught a sea of black flooding the streets as Talon agents took formation below the building. Amélie rolled to her back, taking cover behind the small ledge.

“I need back up at my location immediately!” Amélie yelled into her communicator. She released the device to focus on Tracer’s limp form on the concrete before her. “I have wounded!” She screamed over the radio. She crawled over to Tracer in a panicked search for an entrance wound. She peeled off a stained t-shirt seeing her normal dark uniform below even darker from her blood. The young woman took short shallow breaths, a line of blood trickling from her mouth. Amélie’s hands pressed hard on a ragged hole just an inch from the glowing red ring on her chest, now flickering like the breaths she took.

“Stay with me, ma chérie, stay with me.” She shifted her body weight into keeping the wound compressed. A helicopter descended close to the roof top and Amélie struggled to decide between maintaining pressure on the wound, or reaching for her rifle. Before she had to make a decision, the side door flew open. A primal roar filled the air, drowning out the rotors of the chopper for a brief moment. Winston flew from the craft and disappeared over the edge of the building.

“Our furry friend has got the right idea!” Reinhardt shouted over the communicator, a boisterous laugh resonating in his words. McCree peeked over one of the massive man’s pauldrons and pointed a finger gun at Amélie.

“We’ve got your back.” His slow drawl was heard easily over the radio as he shifted, grabbing his hat with one hand and holding tight to Reinhardt’s armor. The two sailed off the craft together, McCree giving a “Yeehaw!” as they disappeared into the fight.

Mercy glided across from Amélie, brushing her hands close to the convulsing form between them. She looked up at the sorry filled eyes that would not lock with hers.

“Amélie.” Angela demanded her attention with her serious voice, generally reserved for grim diagnoses or delivery of bad news.

Amélie snapped her head up to meet eyes with the medic.

“Do you want me to save her?” Mercy asked. Amélie sputtered incredulously for a moment before answering.

“Yes! Please amie, please save her.” That was all the answer she needed as she waved a hand above her head. Amélie removed her hands as the convulsing stopped. There was silence for a moment, only interrupted by the slam of a hammer against metal. She swiveled her head around to see the stout Torbjörn setting up a turret at the edge of the building. She turned back to the limp form before her and whispered in French.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you both…” Angela watched silently, not knowing the language, but understanding the meaning of her words.

Grappling hooks dug into the side of the building next to the turret. The Swedish man growled and kicked one loose, a sickening scream was heard floors below.

“We’re going to have to move soon!” The engineer announced as he poured molten metal down the next hook. “Ha! Try that on for size!” He yelled in response to the following yelps of pain. A flash of fire passed close by the short man, knocking three more ropes loose and causing him to stumble backwards to avoid singeing his beard. “Watch where you’re firing that thing, you old coot!” The insult echoed across the communicators.

“Who are you calling old?” Reinhardt fired back with a laugh.

A cough snapped Amélie’s attention back to the young woman before her. She rolled to one side, retching a puddle of blood. She spit a tiny metallic shard that skipped across the concrete and rolled to her back. She gasped for air, large panicked breaths before she began digging at her chest with her fingers.

“Restrain her arms.” Mercy’s orders were followed instantly as she hovered her golden hands over Tracer’s chest. Her breathing evened as she blinked taking in her surroundings.

“Think you ought to buy me a drink first.” She choked out a raspy laugh, her smirk extended by the line of dark dry blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. The women all let loose a relieved chuckle.

“I think you owe Angela one for saving your smartass.” Amélie’s eyes glowed.

“Yeah, yeah, round of drinks for everyone if we make it out of this alive.” Torbjörn shouted over the gunfire. “The turret will cover our exit, can we move?”

“Carry her.” Mercy instructed Amélie. Scooping the smaller woman effortlessly, they trotted to the helicopter.

“Medical evac is a go.” The pilot’s voice rang on her the communicators as Amélie watched the battle from above. Torbjörn stayed with his turret, not missing the opportunity to lay fire into the soldiers below him. She saw black forms flying through the air as Winston pummeled the crowd. Reinhardt charged forward to meet the ape, swinging his hammer and threatening to crush just as many men. McCree hung back, picking off any stragglers that managed to escape the two massive men.

“Your exfil is two clicks out, gentlemen.” Another pilot’s voice rang over the comms.

“Take your time, we’re havin’ fun. First boys night out in a long while.” McCree’s drawl answered, assuring their safety.

i-likecalibrations  asked:

I request number 6 for Shenko, please? :)

Kaidan’s chest burned and tears blurred his vision as he desperately clawed at the rubble, his bloodied fingers no longer feeling the pain as he dug loose chunks of concrete and steel. His biotics strained as he used them to move the larger pieces, the heat from the implant searing into his skull; his head pounding from the strain. A hand, pale and bloodless, was revealed as he heaved aside a large slab and he choked on a sob. 

Oh God, please no.

“Shepard? Baby?” He seized the hand, squeezing the boneless fingers and searching for some sign of life; a movement, some heat, a biotic spark. Some sign that she was still down there, still alive, still with him.

He felt nothing.

“No, no, no.” The words were ripped from his throat on a ragged breath, and Kaidan renewed his efforts to pull the blocks off of her. “Please, hang on, love. I’m here. I’m here.”

Others joined him, helping hands that tried to ease him back and reassure him, but he snarled when they tried to make him leave. He didn’t care, he didn’t need their help. He had to save Shepard. He couldn’t lose her again.

Not again. Please not again.

Finally, with a biotic pull that left him reeling and dizzy, he Lifted a steel girder from her body and tossed it to the side. His biotics whipped through the air around him as he fell to his knees, frightened, and scraped the loose pebbles and stones from her broken body. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes, beautiful and blue, stared up at him.

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anonymous asked:

Marry me, 00Q

“Marry me, Q!”  Bullets ping off the metal door as Bond slams it shut behind himself; his laugh is breathless.

“Oh, I think not,” Q murmurs into the microphone at his lips coolly.  “What have you ever done for me?”

“Isn’t saving the world enough?” Bond rejoins.  On Q’s screen, the dot marked “007″ is on the move again.

“Left up here.  And no, considering you wouldn’t have been able to save the world without me, that’s me rewarding you for something I did.”

“A reward!” Bond crows.  “You think very highly of yourself!”

“I am a goddamned gift, Mr Bond,” Q tells him primly.  

“Well,” Bond agrees.


“You didn’t even try to save it,” Q complains bitterly, and Bond groans, frustrated.  “If I had my way, I’d send you out armed with a penknife and a prayer.”

“Ah, but a prayer from you could move the gods,” Bond teases back.  Blood flushes to Q’s cheeks in a hot pink rush.

“Anyway,” Q confesses reluctantly, “I’ve been informed by Mallory that I basically have to give you this one.”  

It’s an elegant creature, this pistol.  There’s a sleek, deadly black gleam to the body; as Q’s fingers whisper over the personalisations he’s added, Bond’s eyes go wide and round, hands all but wiggling in eagerness.

“She’s lovely,” Bond coos.

“Well,” Q accedes, coy pride on his face.  His eyes are still glittering with it when Bond looks up.

“Marry me, you genius.”

“You only want me for the presents,” Q says, chortling.


He’s.  Bond is.  Q’s fingers curl around the edge of his desk; Bond’s medical evac has just arrived, and it takes everything inside of him not to rush down to the medical wing to see him right away.  Instead, he naps fitfully, showers, tries to look less like he’s spent the last two days glued to his station obsessively watching Bond come home from yet another mission he shouldn’t have been able to walk away from.

It’s a moot point.  Even groomed and rested, at least enough that the darkest bruises under his eyes are no longer black as coffee, Medic Pitt won’t let him in.

“I’m sorry, Q.  He’s not even awake yet.  We haven’t let anyone in yet, even Mallory.”  Medic Pitt’s smile is sad, sympathetic; they’re waiting for Bond to wake up, when there’s every possibility he won’t, and how will Q cope if–if he can’t see him before–

James Bond’s smile is a revelation.  It’s the only part of him not tired, not worn out; when his lips curl like that, it’s department store crisp, barely used, entirely new.  Q’s worked hard to earn that smile, then caught himself making the effort, and when it had all come to him, it had only made sense.  It only makes sense.  If he can’t see that smile again–

He drops everything when Medic Pitt calls.  He’s not even supposed to be at Six–mandatory holiday–but no one stops him; Bond’s smile is the only part of him that doesn’t look weak and tired when he looks up as Q enters the room.

“They wouldn’t let me in before now,” Q blurts out.

Bond reaches out; there’s tears on his fingertips, and Q hadn’t even noticed he was crying.  “Marry me, then,” Bond says.  “They’ll have to let you in.”  Q’s laugh is a hiccough.


He’s curled tight against Bond’s side, fingers toying absently with the brand new scar that stretches from his left nipple to the faded appendectomy low on his abdomen.  Bond is feeling better, Q knows, if from nothing more than the way he’s breathing, slow and relaxed, still damp with sweat and water from the flannel on the nightstand.  Q shifts against him, and Bond looks down.  He looks impossibly fond.

And Q knows the words on his lips before he forms them.  He shakes his head with a grin.  “Not without a prenup.”  Bond scowls.

khaleesikate88  asked:

I just started watching season 9 of red vs blue again and I just realized how much I enjoy the freelancer pilot. You or somebody should write something about her interacting with any of the freelancers.

[AO3 | FFN]

Look, sometimes you’re just a glorified cab driver, trying to catch up on your reading between fares. Sometimes you’re dropping into a hot zone, trying not to get exploded into tiny pieces. There’s not a lot in between.

Early in the Project, Pilot 479er swoops in to save the day.

“Sixteen chapters,” she mutters over the warning klaxons, reaching a hand out to stab a finger blindly at some of the flashing lights on her control panel. “Sixteen fuckin’ chapters I’m slogging through, I just get to the good part, and these assholes decide they need extraction now?”

"Are you addressing me?” FILSS says.

She snorts, twisting in her seat to deactivate the alarms. “Sure, why not? FILSS, log my frustration and disappointment at being unable to find out whodunit until after this mission. Which I might very well die in, actually. Huh.” The final alarm finishes sounding around the time she’s plotted her approach vector, and she breathes easy in the new stillness. “FILSS, if I die, log my eternal irritation and determination to come back as a ghost to haunt this terminal and read the rest of the book.”

“Logged,” FILSS says, blandly.

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@queermaster007​ cont. from [x]

James watched Q through half closed eyes. He was trying his best to stay conscious; he’d been shot enough times to know how important it was, but he was struggling more and more. He wanted to tell Q to push down on the wound harder, he wanted to tell him to get the medical evac team there faster, but he couldn’t come up with the strength. “Keep talking.” He mumbled. If Q talked it gave him something to focus on.

Q used to be the youngest double oh ever (he was a double oh before Bond was). He “died” while saving Bond on their first mission together. After a couple years, Q come back as ‘Q’ and Bond reacts. (could be angst or fluff, it doesn’t matter) – anon

Yessss! Jen.

“Double-oh eight?!”

Q froze.

This was not going to be good.

“… double-oh seven,” Q greeted, with a strangely awkward thing that ought to have been a smile but managed not to be; he turned his attention back to the painting in front of him, wondering – with a touch of hysteria – whether he still had the option of pretending to be somebody else.

“You’re dead.”

“Not quite.”

Bond sat down heavily, tension riddling his body. Q couldn’t really blame him. The last time Bond had seen him, Q had been carted off the medical evac, never to be seen again and officially recorded as dead. Bond’s very first mission.

(They had slept together on that mission. More than once. Q blushed most of the way to his toes at the recollection).

“I thought you were dead.”

“Yes, that’s more accurate,” Q nodded. “I don’t have much I can say, on this front. It was necessary at the time, for a number of reasons. I apologise unreservedly for any distress…”

“… any distress,” Bond hissed, a shade too loud for a public gallery. “You were dead. I was responsible for you.”

Q arched an eyebrow. “I was your superior officer, I think you’ll find that I was responsible for both of us,” he returned primly. “As it happened, the way to ensure our safety was the feigned-death incident. Not what I had intended, I would like to add, but necessary all the same.”

“You could have contacted me afterwards.”

Bond looked genuinely upset. Not just petulant or angry, but genuinely upset, as though Q truly had managed to do damage. “I considered getting in touch once the smoke had cleared,” Q mused, “but it seemed increasingly unlikely that it never would. Hence I am no longer on field work, and it would have been foolish to contact you. Now, onto the mission at hand…”

“… and you’re now Quartermaster.”


“But you’re…”

“Finish that sentence, and I will kill you.”

Bond didn’t doubt it. He still had vivid memories of the man in action; Q was one of the few agents Bond remembered with nothing but respect. He had been brilliant.

And now, his Quartermaster.

Such a strange world.

“All of us die once in a while,” Q reminded him quietly, wryly. “Necessary sacrifices. New beginnings.”

Bond looked at him. Truly looked.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

Q hesitated, his assessment transparent, the thoughts flicking. It was probably a bad idea, if he was being honest; Bond was a loose cannon, Q was juggling identities and a very demanding job, both had histories of destroying people they loved.

“Alright,” Q nodded, blithely ignoring all better judgement. “Drinks.”

Gold Skies

Carmilla military AU. Laura, a woman with a severe aversion to relationships, is less than welcoming to the new young pilot in her unit, Carmilla, who stirs up new emotions that Laura is scared yet curious to discover. Co-pilot LaFontaine dealing with the birth of their new baby with stay at home mom Perry, and lovable Danny finding herself in this insane world of fly in rescues with the love of her life.


March 3 rd

0745 hours

Region of Qatar

LaFontaine sat cross legged on their bunk, their computer sitting comfortably in their lap. Their face instantly lit up as the screen displayed their fiance’s beautiful, albeit fuzzy, face. They had only been back out to deployment for about a week, but it felt like an eternity since they had last seen her.

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