shield sister

6

BLACK SISTERS + doodles.

8

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“Try not to die, Huntress,” she says as the Harvesters roar in over the dunes. 

Imperious, Eris thinks - if ever there were a woman born to be a Queen, this is she. No wonder she is the source of so many legends - one glimpse of her bright armor, gleaming in the ruddy light of Martian noon, and Eris believes them all.

Beside glorious Wei Ning, the wall of shield-sisters holds firm, unconcerned with the ineffective Harvester-fire, hardly blinking as the troops drop.

There are more than Eris expected. More than any of them expected - far more. None seem concerned. Behind the line of Titans, countless Ghosts work through the wreckage of the Collapse to recover…something. Something they feel is important - important enough to make a stand.

She pulls the rifle from her back. It has been her crutch for the last month, the tool she uses to navigate the endless sight-lines of the wide open sands, and the legion that has hosted her these past few months has not stopped needling her over it. 

A greenhorn’s weapon, they used to tell her. A coward’s weapon. The whispers faded when they heard her name, when they saw the overlapping tally marks etched the full length of the long, worn barrel - when they heard what she had done at the Gap. Now she recognizes the gentle ribbing for what it is; some sort of Titan bonding behavior. 

And they call the Hunters strange.

“Shields!” Wei Ning yells, as barrages from the distant Colossi rain down upon the Wards that blossom at her call. Dull explosions, visible through purple voidlight, shatter atop their heads, but their leader stares through it all, toward the lines of Phalanxes that march over blood-red dunes. 

“Hold, Sisters,” she says, arms clasped behind her back, “Until you can smell them.” 

Two Titans to a Ward. One carrying the Blessing, one the Fist. It is a mark of respect that Eris shares the Ward of Wei Ning and her shield-sister; the Ward of the commander of the Martian Shield-Lines - not just in name, but in the heart of every Titan on the planet. 

Either that, or it means Wei Ning thinks she cannot take care of herself.

Not a Queen, Eris thinks, an Empress.

Psions open fire from a distance, and Eris wonders again why they cannot understand that their bullets will never penetrate the Ward. Something very much like fear drives the legions here, some sick desperation that Eris can sense in every ambush, every assault. Not for the first time she wonders what forced the Cabal to Mars.

The Phalanxes grow larger, Ghosts still buzzing frantically through half-alive computing systems.

“Hold,” Wei Ning says again, this time a whisper that only Eris can hear, and she is certain the Titan is talking to herself. “Huntress, I’m afraid your long rifle may be useless when the fighting grows close. There’s still time to trade it out for a real weapon.”

Eris hears the laughter on her voice, as the huge woman pulls the sleek shotgun from the holster on her back, leans it back against her shoulder. The words on her right gauntlet glint purple-red; words that any Guardian stationed on Mars for more than a week can recite by heart.

“I’ll try to leave some for you,” Eris says, checking her magazine, and beside her Wei Ning’s shield-sister chuckles. 

She has seen Wei Ning’s Lines fight before, has watched them fall upon unsuspecting legions like the eagles from the old books, and she has learned enough about their kind that she knows it must kill their leader to stand and wait and defend, rather than take the fight to the Cabal. And yet that is what they do, and the muffled explosions beyond the Wards do not shake the grim calm of the Titans.

It is Wei Ning who leads the charge at last, as she always does, tearing from the Ward like a bolt of lightning, her fist shattering the skull of a legionnaire, two quick coughs from her shotgun felling the closest of the Phalanxes.

Eris has danced this dance before, and by the time the Titan whose Ward she shares has reached the battle line, Eris has neatly sidestepped from the bubble, lifted her rifle, and removed the head of a Centurion.

One, she thinks, and then the fight is on.

Wei Ning, to Eris’ dismay, is right. Landing shots grows more and more difficult as the lines blur, as Titans and Phalanxes crash together and the lone Huntress is buffeted by the changing tides of battle. Still, she is quick and sharp enough to find a line, here and there, and when she does she does not miss.

The Cabal do not stop. At first, they fall like the cannon fodder they are, but slowly - so slowly Eris is not certain that the Titans see it, close as they are - the sheer numbers begin to overwhelm the lines of gleaming plate. They are being pushed back; herded, almost. But wherever the Cabal begin to gain the upper hand, Wei Ning crashes through them, dragging her Shield-Sisters behind her, leaving corpses in her wake.

Eris knows that it will not be enough. 

She has abandoned her rifle, and now it is her cannon that does her bloody work. Before long her arms ache from its tireless kick, but still the Cabal come in an unending wave, their fear of death outweighed by their fear of whatever waits behind them. And die they do, in droves; they fall to Wei Ning’s fist, they fall to Eris’ cannon, they fall to callous lines of barking shotguns. 

Then a Titan falls. A Defender, caught off guard when her Ward finally shatters. And then another. The purple blisters on the dust begin to drop, and no new Wards blossom to take their place. The Lines shift, to shield the fallen, to allow for Ghost revival. And still the Ghosts ask for time. 

Across the dunes, Wei Ning, indomitable, drives her knee into the face of a Colossus, takes its head with her, but around her the Lines have begun to falter. Eris pulls her rifle from its sling again, yells into the screaming wind and sand, yells to call for a retreat; but this is not her Line, this is not her planet, and these are not Hunters.

It is not until Wei Ning, standing strong atop a dune, makes a motion with her hand that the Lines begin to fall back toward lonely Eris Morn, auto rifles keeping the ever-advancing wall of Cabal shields at bay as best they can, Eris’ own scope preying on those stupid enough to show their ugly faces.

The Ghosts are slow, so slow, but whatever they want from this dead place will have to be taken soon or be lost to the relentless march of the Cabal. Eris hopes that it is worth the ammunition, because their re-grouping has become a full-blown retreat, has become the desperate, crouching, backwards shuffle that Eris remembers from the Gap, and Traveler take her if she will watch another Guardian die.

The Light finds her knives, and the Trance consumes her. She runs through lines of retreating Titans, skips through rows of bulky armor now dulled by sand and munitions-fire, and she carves a hungry path through the advancing Cabal towards Wei Ning, towards the woman who will - who must - pull them from this disaster. 

She reaches the vanguard at last, crackling Light dripping from her armor, and with a final spinning lunge she breaks through to Wei Ning and her shield-sister, her commander’s shotgun still couched in tireless arms, hands still clenched into unbreakable fists.

“Wei Ning! We must leave!” she yells, but Wei Ning does not turn to acknowledge her. 

“Now!” she continues, “Before the Ghosts are taken!”

“Go!” Wei Ning screams, fury in her voice, and she thrusts her shield-sister towards the last defensible position in front of the Ghosts, to where they will make their final stand. And then she turns the full weight of her gaze upon Eris.

“Get behind me,” she growls, and Eris learns what it is like to fight back-to-back with her Empress of Fist and Thunder.

Together they hold the line, buying time for the scattered lines of Titans to retreat. Eris’ rifle may be slow but she is faster than any Titan, and with Wei Ning beside her there is nothing she cannot kill. They kill and kill and kill, with fist and knife and rifle, until Wei Ning grabs Eris and forces her to run, the massive Titan shielding her with nothing but her own bulk.

Eris sprints after the commander, breathing hard, diving in and out of the limited cover, and she is certain that the last sound she hears will be the hiss of Cabal artillery.

Wei Ning does not see the motion, far to their right, that pulls Eris to a stop. She skates ahead, and before long Eris is alone, sheltering behind the ruins of an ancient something. Eris has always seen more than most, and what she sees now makes her blood run cold. In the hollow of a dune, a Titan - her own Titan, the same Defender whose ward she shares - is pinned between two advancing lines of Phalanxes. As she watches, one of them raises a shield to block a shotgun’s shell, and with the same motion it smashes the Titan to the ground. 

Eris runs. She runs over the sand that does its best to trip her, runs through the hail of bullets and rocket-fire, runs toward the tiny purple shape in the distance, not noticing when her shields begin to chatter static.

She is not fast enough. The Phalanx lifts its shield again, slamming the edge into the chest-plate of the fallen Titan; once, twice, three times, and as Eris leaps from the edge of the dune she reaches forward through that endless distance and she pulls - and then she is there, and her long rifle does a shotgun’s work, hitting the Phalanx center-mass before her knife finds the beast’s throat, purple ichor blooming in the sky, and then she is in the dirt, leaning her full weight against the immovable mass of full Titan-plate, struggling even to shift it, as her shields fail and a bullet strikes her arm.

She screams, drops her rifle. Another hits her leg, and she falls to the ground. Around her, the ring of Phalanxes closes. She stares down the barrels of a dozen slug throwers, stares at them and snarls, but before she can lift her cannon something howls out of the sky and the ground shatters in blue arc-light, hurling Cabal soldiers away as though they are children’s toys. Then Wei Ning is beside her, auto rifle laughing at the Darkness, and before long there are no enemies left. With one hand she lifts her fallen squad-mate and hefts her over the shoulders of another Titan who skates away.

She pulls Eris to her feet as well, and her Ghost finally recalibrates and catches up with the damage she’s taken. The pain lingers, and Wei Ning lets Eris lean on a shoulder as they retreat.

“Ghosts have what they came for!” she yells, and Eris nods, trying to catch her breath. 

“What do they want here?” She yells back, as distant Harvesters disgorge yet more troops onto sand burned to glass. She reaches for her long rifle out of habit.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. They can have the place, and may they choke on the dust. Let’s go.”

“Wait. My gun.”

“My shield-sisters have already retreated. We’re not staying. You can get a new one.”

“I’m not leaving my gun!” Eris says, pulling away from Wei Ning.

“Hunters,” the Titan mutters, but she accompanies Eris back to the crater she made herself, and stands guard as Eris retrieves her worn rifle.

The Titans are waiting for them when they return at last, over dunes and away from the ruins the Cabal seem to want so badly, inside a claustrophobic bunker open to the Martian air. Wei Ning passes her helm to a Titan, then kneels in front of her battered comrade. Eris slumps to the ground, pulls her own helmet from her head, and leans against the comfortable weight of her rifle.

“Good eyes, Huntress,” Wei Ning says, not looking as she lightly slaps the Titan’s cheeks. “I should have noticed.”

“How is she?”

“She’ll live. Thanks to you. I suppose that’s what they call - ” her mouth curls into a grin - “‘Fine shootin’.”

Eris smiles a tired half-smile. Her whole body aches. She does not understand how this human wrecking ball appears none the worse for wear, but Wei Ning stands and offers her a hand. Eris takes it, and lets the woman pull her to her feet for the second time.

“You’re no Titan,” says Wei Ning, “But I name you shield-sister nonetheless. You can fight at my back any day, Eris Morn.”

Aside from a handful of appreciative grunts, no one seems to notice. The Titans are already intent on their next objective, but it is enough for Eris that a few nod in her direction. She cannot help the grin that spreads across her face then, as she returns her long rifle to its holster and trails her Empress back out into the alien light.

Once, she had thought that Twilight Gap would break them. Perhaps not. Perhaps it has made them stronger.

Perhaps this is what Pack feels like.

Love Is Blind

Originally posted by thearchitectwwe

Alright, so…  This is my first attempt at fanfic, hopefully it’s not too bad.  Uh, I want to take a minute to thank my Shield Sisters @p0tat0catofwesteros (Who was also sweet enough to give me title ideas to choose from)and @straight-outta-the-asylum for being amazing and taking the time to read this over and support me.  You guys are seriously so amazing and I love you both!

There will probably be a part 2 at some point.

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2126

Warnings:  Uh, little bit of blood, AJ Styles being an ass (still love you AJ), protective!Dean, swearing

Dean Fucking Ambrose. You’ve been accompanying him to the ring for about three months now, ever since he saved you from an overly flirty AJ Styles backstage.  Ever since then, Dean has insisted that you stay close to his side.  At first you thought he only wanted to keep you around in order to irritate AJ, but the longer the two of you stuck together, the closer you both became.  If you’re being completely honest with yourself, you were more than willing to spend as much time with Dean as he wanted.  You’ve had a huge crush on the man for a long time now, ever since his days with the Shield.  Although, you would never admit that to him.

The only person that knows about your feelings for Dean, is Nikki Bella.  As your closest female friend on the Smackdown roster, she took it upon herself to bombard you with questions about your relationship with the Lunatic Fringe, until you became so frustrated that you blurted everything out. Which is how your current conversation came about.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell him you like him.  He spends almost every waking moment with you, by choice.  He has to like you back.  And look at you, you’re gorgeous, he’d be completely stupid to not want you.”

“Nikki, I can’t just tell him that I like him.”  This is how most of your conversations with Nikki have gone for the past week.  She says she’s tired of watching you drool all over yourself whenever Dean is around, which is all the time.  She only wants you to be happy, you know that, but she tends to forget how horribly awkward you can be.  You may have confidence inside the ring, but outside?  Especially when it comes to men?  Let’s just say that you’re single and ready to get awkward as fuck around anyone you find attractive.  It’s a real problem.

Nikki scoffs, “What are you talking about?  Of course you can!  It’s easy. Here, watch me.”  Clearing her throat, she stands up straight and looks you in the eye.

“Oh, Dean!  I’ve loved you for so long.  The past couple of months have been the best ever!  You’re so sexy and crazy, and your blue eyes make me want to sin!”  Nikki said in a mocking tone.

“What the hell?” you say in between laughs. “I don’t sound anything like that!”

She laughs, “sorry to break it to you, hun, but that is EXACTLY what you sound like.”

“Seriously, Nikki.”  you say while sitting down on one of the benches in the locker room.  "I can’t, Dean and I, we’ve been hanging out almost constantly, for months now.  We’ve become really close friends.  I don’t want to ruin that.  Besides, I’ve only recently stopped being completely awkward around him.“

Nikki looks at you seriously before making her way towards you and sitting down next to you. "Alright, all joking aside, I really do think he likes you.  I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“Yeah, actually I have. He looks at me like he’s just waiting for me to either choke or trip on thin air, because I’m awkward as shit, and he knows it.”

“Well, I for one, think that he finds your complete lack of social graces, adorable.” She said while smirking at you.

Before you can open your mouth to say something, even mildly witty in response, there is a knock at the door.

“Y/N?  Are you in there?”  Dean calls through the door, causing Nikki to let out a soft laugh. “If you want me to tape up your wrists before we head out to the ring, you’re gonna have to get your pretty ass out here.”

Nikki smirks at you while repeating his words, “Your pretty ass!”  She laughs.

You roll your eyes at her before replying, “uh, yeah.  I’ll be right there.”

You glare at Nikki before standing and making your way towards the locker room door.  When you open it, Dean is standing next to the door, leaning up against the wall.  God, he looks amazing, you think to yourself. Tight jeans and an even tighter black shirt, which shows off his tanned, toned arms.  Fuck, those arms.  Before you realize what you’re doing, your eyes begin to wonder.  Traveling along his neck, to the scruff on his jaw, to those perfect, soft lips. Lips that you would do anything to feel on your own.  Your gaze lingers there for a moment.  Then finally, you find those amazing blue eyes…  Amazing blue eyes that are looking to you in amusement.  Shit. How long was I starring?  Did he notice?

“See something you like, doll?”  He said, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.  Fuck.  He did notice.  Of course he did.

“W-what? No.  Shut up.  You wish, Ambrose.”  You say with a nervous laugh.  Smooth, real smooth.  "Are you going to tape my wrists, or what?“

"Oh, someone’s feisty tonight.”  He laughs, blue eyes never leaving you.  "Come on then, darlin’.“

You and Dean head off to the backstage area behind the Titantron.  He grabs a chair and motions for you to sit.  Dean then kneels down in front of you and takes your left wrist in his hands, beginning to apply the tape.

This is one of your favorite moments to share with Dean.  He started taping your wrists for you, about three weeks ago.  You twisted your wrist pretty badly during a match against Alexa Bliss.  You didn’t tape your wrists as well as you usually do because you were too busy thinking about The Lunatic.  Of course, Dean had to call you out on it after the match, "You know, Y/N, if your wrists were taped right, that wouldn’t have happened,” he said, smirking as you rolled your eyes.  Ever since then, he has insisted on doing the job for you, even though he knew you were more than capable.  Not that you would ever complain about it.  He is always so gentle when he does it.  Something people might not expect from The Lunatic Fringe, and you love every second of it.  The way his hands travel along your skin sends bolts of electricity pulsing through your veins, and sets your skin on fire.  Sometimes you wonder if he feels it too, but you know better than to entertain those ideas.

“Alright, you’re good to go.”  Dean said with a smile, breaking you away from your thoughts.  "You ready for this?  Our match is next.“  He said, still gently holding your wrist in his hands.

Wondering if he realizes that he is still holding on to you, you laugh nervously.  "Y-you mean your match.  All I’m gonna do is stand there and watch you be a badass.”

He chuckles and squeezes your wrist before letting go and standing up.  Smiling down at you he says, “Nah, you’re my good luck charm!”

You’re completely helpless to stop the blush that creeps its way onto your cheeks.  With a small smile, you look away.  "Whatever you say, Dean.“

Dean only smirks at you before putting his arm around your shoulders and leading you out to the ring.

When Dean’s music hits, the fans go crazy, screaming and cheering for the two of you.  You made your way into the ring where Dean’s opponent for the night, Dolph Ziggler, was already standing.   You and Dean both had smiles on our faces, smiles that soon fell when AJ Styles began making his way to the ring with a microphone.

Dean, watches him like a predator watches its pray.  "Oh, sorry, don’t mind me Dean-o.  I’m just coming down to watch your match.”  AJ said with a stupid smirk on his face.  "Pretend I’m not even here.“  He takes a seat at the commentary table next to JBL and Tom Phillips. He makes sure to put his Championship on display, while winking at you.

Dean throws you a worried glance before you exit the ring, silently warning you to watch your back. As soon as the bell rings, Dean’s focus shifts to the match, only breaking concentration occasionally, in order to make sure AJ is still at the commentary table.

Despite the slight distraction AJ caused by sitting ring side, Dean is able to do what he does best in the ring.  That is until AJ decides he wants to get involved.  AJ rushes into the ring while Dean has his back turned, hitting him hard on the back of the head causing Dean to tumble forward.  As the referee calls for the bell, Dolph exits the ring, while you decide to get in, to try and pull AJ off of Dean.  

You leap onto AJ’s back, putting him in a head lock, using all of the strength you have to tighten your hold, giving Dean a moment to recover.  AJ slams your back into the turnbuckle causing you to groan loudly and loosen your hold enough for him to break free.  AJ is clearly annoyed that you got into his fight with Dean and turns his attention towards you.  

"What the hell do you think you’re doing, Y/N!?”  AJ snarls at you.  "Mind your own business, sweetheart.  I am not above hitting a pretty girl if I have to.“

Dean is slowly starting to stir on the ring apron.  AJ attempts to turn his attention back to Dean, but you grab him by the arm and turn him, your fist connecting with his jaw.  He holds his jaw and looks back at you, eyes filled with rage, his hand raising and then coming down to smack you across the face.  "What did I just tell you!?”

You hold your cheek, the smack causing your lip to begin bleeding lightly.  A small trail on blood coming from the corner of your mouth making its way to your chin.  By now, Dean is up and he is livid.  His eyes travel to the blood on your face and he snaps.  Dean, immediately jumps on AJ, tackling him to the ground and punching him repeatedly.  

You have never seen Dean so mad.  It’s a bit scary, but you’d be lying if you said watching him beat the living hell out of AJ, wasn’t incredibly hot.  

After a few more hits, AJ manages to crawl out of the ring and up the ramp, successfully getting away from Dean.

Dean then turns his attention to you.  He’s looking at you with a look you haven’t seen before.  He was definitely concerned, but there was something else in his eyes. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.  Whatever that look was, it was making your heart beat wildly in your chest.

Dean stops right in front of you, his right hand coming up to gently run across your now red cheek. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him for putting his damn hands on you!  Are you okay, Y/N?”  You nodded your head slowly, captivated by those damn blue eyes.

“When he hit you, I saw red.  Nobody, gets to touch you like that, not ever.  Not if I have anything to say about it.”  Dean smiles softly at you, his anger subsiding as his eyes traveling back to the blood on your face.  He leans down, tongue darting out to lick the blood from your chin to your lip.  You let out a small gasp as your breath hitches. Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, he is sliding his tongue into your mouth, kissing you with more passion than you have ever felt in your life.  

His lips were just as soft as you imagined them to be.  You knew in that instant, no one would ever make you feel the way he does.  You wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, hands in his hair, while you kissed him back with just as much passion as he was showing you.  He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against his body.  After another minute, Dean pulled away slightly to look you in your E/C eyes.  There was that look again, what the hell was it?  You weren’t sure, but the look he was giving you was making your knees weak.

You couldn’t think straight, too focused on the fact that Dean Ambrose just kissed you.  In the middle of the ring, and the fans were going insane.  You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours.  When Dean’s hand began to travel down your arm, bringing you back to reality. He took your hand in his, leading you out of the ring.  "Come on, Y/N.  Let’s get out of here and get you cleaned up"  He said smiling down at you.  

Let’s Play Pretend

My fellow Shield sister is first! <3 Thank you @i-kneel-for-king-loki for the request!

Prompt: (4)”You should be kissed and kissed often and by someone who knows how” (9) “You made my fingers all dirty, you better lick them clean.” (10) We are pretending to be a couple to play a prank on our friends. But I think at some point we might have quit pretending.
Featuring: Dean Ambrose

Master List Plug!

Keep reading

I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing (Dean Ambrose x Reader)

I seriously cried writing this. This was a request from my Shield sister @i-kneel-for-king-loki based off of I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing by Aerosmith, one of my all time favorite songs hands down. I’m quite proud of it. ALSO, this is my first time actually going into someone’s head and narrating a fanfic from their point of view. I liked experimenting with it, so please tell me if you liked it! Enjoy! Warnings for swearing

Keep reading

When your NOTP becomes a reality

Bonus :

// kI C KS MY OWN DOOR DOWN

I’VE GOT LIKE AT LEAST SIX DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF ROLESWAP/REVERSAL AUs

AND I REGRET NOTHING

buttersocked  asked:

So is this "Pack" thing a Hunters only thing? Or is it applicable to the other classes too (Titans and Warlocks)?

Greetings, Colleague;

An excellent query. Our earliest records indicate that the origin of language such as “Pack” and “Pack-mate” is indeed, as you put it, a “Hunter thing.” In particular, it appears most common in parlance between Gunslingers, though this certainly does not appear to be a limiting factor. Searching the contents of this log (colloquially, “The Mothyards”) for the key-word “Pack” reveals several such examples.

However, there are indeed records of Hunters accepting others into the Pack, as it were - just as there are records of Titans naming others as “Shield-sisters” or “Shield-brothers.” We shall endeavor to share such a log in the near future.

We appreciate your reaching out, and we look forward to providing you with further information of mild interest and dubious utility.

Cordially,

The Mothyards

9

carlson young family template

age : 25 && ethnicity: unknown white

  • mother: elisabeth shue (52) - german && english
  • father: brad pitt  (51) -  english, german, scottish, welsh, irish, dutch && french
  • older sister: kate mara (33) -  irish, german, french-canadian && italian
  • older brother: - luke mitchell (31) - unknown white
  • younger brother: - luke benward (21) -  english, german && scots-irish
  • younger sister: willow shields (16) -  english, german && swedish 
  • cousins: dianna agron (30) && evan peters (29)
Little Stark

Originally posted by imagine-that-marvel

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Little Stark

Prompt: Could you do an imagine of being Tony’s snarky sarcastic clever badass part-time Shield agent sister and Bruce’s best friend and therefore spends a lot of time in their lab while they’re your favorite people you are also brilliant, and therefore they also see Pietro always hanging around because he has a crush on you and Tony is protective big bro and everyone else just teases Pietro??

Note: Wow, that’s a lot……Let’s do this!

(Y/N) Stark had a ring to it, Pietro thought. But he also believed that (Y/N) Maximoff would suit you more. Ever since you had transferred to the Facility to be closer to your brother Tony and your best friend Bruce, Pietro couldn’t seem to get enough of you. When he wasn’t training or out on a mission, he was there, watching you work, looking for any excuse to talk to you.

“(Y/N), heads up,” Tony warned as Pietro zipped past the lab window. “Loverboy is incoming,”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You smirked, trying to hide your blushing with some well-meaning sarcasm. “Maybe he’s here to check out Bruce.”

“Bruce doesn’t have boobs.” Tony smirked, holding up his glass and taking a drink.

“Point taken,”

“(Y/N), I think I hurt my hand, will you look at it?” Pietro asked quickly, standing only inches in front of you. You blinked a few time, surprised by his close proximity.

“Did you try the infirmary, Speedy? I’m not exactly a doctor.”

“I am,” Bruce held up a hand. “I can look at it if you want,”

“Oh come on, Greenie, let the kid flirt,” Tony jabbed Bruce with his elbow. Pietro ignored Tony’s comment and held up his hand, taking off his wrist brace. He was right. There was quite a bit of bruising.

“What did you do, Pietro? Punch a wall?”

“Heh, not exactly,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you suggest?”

“Bring me ice and a towel,” You told him. In a fraction of a second, he ran to the kitchen and returned, holding a baggy full of ice and a towel with a panda on it. You wrapped the ice in the towel and started pressing it to his wrist. “Your metabolism should speed up your recovery, but you really need to be more careful.”

“If I were careful, then I wouldn’t have an excuse to come see you,” he watched you with stars in his eyes.

“All right Speedy, enough flirting for you,” Tony walked up to him and began to force him out the door.

“Bye Pietro,” You sing-songed as Tony locked him out of the lab. Bruce chuckled.

“Looks like you have your hands full,”

“You have no idea…”

anonymous asked:

Lol on the one fic you had a Shield sister? Where'd that come from is it like some sort of WWE club we can join?

Well @i-kneel-for-king-loki and @straight-outta-the-asylum and myself are Shield sisters. I guess we defend and bring justice to the fandom (though we’re not exactly sure how to do it). I’m not sure if we’re necessarily a club mainly just three wonderful girls who support each other.

How did this start ladies? I know it’s only been a couple weeks since our conversation but my head isn’t on very straight.