#Floral Bouquet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quietlyimplode · 1 year ago

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 19 - A floral bouquet

Warnings: child abuse, nightmares

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: after Clint proposes, they both need time to recover and recuperate.

A/N: this is completely unread, forgive the mistakes bound to be embedded. I don’t have the energy to read it though.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2011

IOWA

Recovery time is granted as a courtesy and requirement. It sets Natasha’s teeth on edge but even she can see that Clint needs it.

She wants the next assignment, the almost dying part not really phasing her. She’d almost died many times before.

If she was a cat, she would have used her nine lives by now. It doesn’t mean the panic for Clint doesn’t permeate into her dreams.

She dreams that she can’t breathe, and wakes up gasping, when she gets back to sleep, she watches Clint gasping for breath.

She performs CPR only to break his ribs and watch him die anyway.

It’s disconcerting and always results in her focusing on him sleeping into the hours of the morning.

He comments that she looks tired, but she always retorts that he does too.

There’s a cabin south of Iowa, he invites her to, she knew he had it but they’d never been able to go.

The dainty log cabin smells musty when they arrive, but as soon as it’s aired out, Natasha takes in all the details.

Surrounded by trees, the cabin is four rooms, a kitchen and main room all together, a bedroom and a bathroom.

There’s wood everywhere; bow and arrows on the walls, and a shot gun for good measure. He watches her surveil the place and stands in place, waiting for her assessment.

“Whatddya think?” he smiles.

“Did you make these arrows?” she asks in awe, touching them and continuing to look around.

“Yeah,” he nods, “the bow too.”

The wood fire sits inert and Clint promises to light it at night.

“Come for a walk,” he offers, taking her hand and leading to her to the door, “the weather is good and we can gather some wood.”

Natasha smiles and grabs her jacket as they head out.

The lake surrounds, birds chirping and flowers line the path they take.

It’s renewing in a way she’s never felt before; maybe that the air feels fresher than in the city, and whilst since they’d been released from hospital, breathing had been a little more labored, it feels like it can loosen off.

“Pick some flowers,” Clint prompts, “I’m going to get some twigs and kindling.”

It feels like an odd request, but Natasha follows it, starting with small flowers, pink ones that have tiny petals, she then finds some white ones, cutting them cleanly with her switchblade. She moves away from Clint and finds other flowers, longer ones that look like bells, the purple blending with the others as she traverses around the lake.

The yellow flowers spread everywhere, and she chooses them more selectively. Large petals, and smaller cone shaped ones.

As she heads back up the incline, Clint calls for her to come over.

“This one too?”

The delicate blue wildflowers were small, easy to pick and went well with the bunch that Natasha had picked

“They were my mums favourites,” she smiles.

She holds the bunch up for his approval and he smiles.

“Perfect,” he tells her.

They walk back, conversation easy, light gossip and commenting on the world around.

“Do you think it will storm tonight?” Natasha asks.

Clint shrugs, opening the door and allowing Natasha to enter first.

“Maybe, depends if the temperature drops, then you’re in for a chance.”

They both go about unpacking some food and Natasha starts cooking and cutting vegetables.

He sets about lighting the fire then puts her flowers in water and smiles as he places the forget me nots to the front.

“Tell me about her,” Natasha asks, “your mother? What was she like?”

There’s a beat of silence before Clint acquiesces.

“She loved nature. I think we would have got an animal if it wasn’t for him. I think she knew that if we did it would become another thing for him to destroy or use against us, but she made it up in other ways.”

He moves to the kitchen to help her, grabbing a carrot and chewing on it.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t —“

He waves her off.

“Nah, I want to, otherwise she just lives in my memories, and I’d like her to live in yours too,” he smiles, crunching down.

“She had brown hair, maybe a bit shorter than you, smart but in a clever way. Not book smart I think, as she struggled to read, but the way she could deduce and read people was easy. It always made me wonder how she ended up with my father.”

Natasha turns the portable gas heater on, and passes him the chicken for cooking.

“Did she like to cook?”

Clint laughs.

“No, not at all, we would eat the same thing over and over, meat and vegetables, or potatoes; there were lots of potatoes.”

He takes onions and places them in the pan.

“Barney liked to cook,” he says a bit more softly, “he’d take over from my mother when my father wasn’t home. He loved making sauces and mixing flavours.”

The sizzle on the chicken is loud and so the next words feel more for him than anything else.

“He found Barney once, cooking with my mother looking on, yelled and ranted that it was women’s work. He threw the hot saucepan at him and burnt him across the arm, here,” he says gesturing to his forearm.

“Barney still liked to cook, but was just more careful about how he did it after that.”

Natasha stands next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him.

“It’s okay, I was telling you about her, not him.”

Clint puts the next piece of chicken on the small fryer.

“She liked stories, any stories. So I’d tell her them from school, also, Gus; he had the best stories, so I’d tell her them too. I think she liked to think about them, maybe they helped in some way.”

Natasha takes over the fryer, motioning to the cooked meat for cutting.

“She could be forgetful, and told me things usually more than once, but I didn’t mind. She had the kind of voice that when she spoke you’d listen regardless of what she was saying.”

He stops cutting and thinks.

“I think she would have liked you,” he says generously.

Natasha looks to the pretty little flowers.

“Yeah. I think I would have liked her too.”

The distinct smell of the wood fire brings Clint out of his nightmare. The disorientation makes him freeze on the spot dampening his breathing so that he doesn’t wake Natasha.

He ruminates on the images the dream produced, the dodging of beer bottles before one caught him, the way he was small and his father was big, and his mothers face, blood coming out of her mouth and the familiar bruise covering her cheek and throat.

He sorts the images and finds the truth in the lies, then separates it further, smelling and grounding himself with Natasha’s gentle breathing and the smell of the fires.

He’d hoped talking about her would be cathartic, and in a way it was. He’d just not anticipated the memories it produced.

He sighs wanting to get up but knowing it would wake Natasha.

If they get married, he’s not going to become like him. He’s not his fathers son, he is his mother’s though.

He pulls out his phone and googles how far it is to visit her and settles back down with a plan for the next day.

The grave reads Edith’s name, the date of her birth and death and words that read ‘beloved mother’.

The fact that she has a headstone at all is something Natasha can’t help but comment on.

“The circus helped us pay for it, it came about a year and a half after her death, maybe 6 months we’d both been there. We agreed to work for free to get it done.”

Gently, Natasha moves the moss and Clint pulls the weeds around it.

It takes them some time but they clear it and make it neat in its appearance.

Natasha pulls the little bouquet of forget me nots she’d picked and places them down.

Clint hugs her and they stand side by side in silence.

The ride home is comfortable, soft country music playing as Clint taps his finger to the beat.

“Do you think my mother has a grave?” Natasha asks, a question she’s never thought to think.

Clint reaches across and holds her hand.

“I hope so,” he says, squeezing it.

“Maybe she had a sister or someone to lay some flowers at her grave too,” she hopes.

Clint nods.

“Maybe she’s hanging out with my mother, wherever they may be.”

Natasha smiles, then laughs.

“They’d tell lots of stories to each other I think,” she says.

“My mother would like that,” he nods.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, squeezing his hand.

“I know you had… dreams last night, but do you think this will make sleep hard as well? Can I do anything?”

Clint shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Nothing you can do, but maybe we can play a game or watch a movie together before sleeping.”

He sighs.

“It’s been a long day.”

Natasha nods, opening the window then closing it with the smell.

It breaks the mood and he laughs.

“Cows are certainly an acquired smell,” he grins.

“She liked magic too,” Clint offers, the movie finishing.

“Can I show you some?”

Natasha feels a curl of excitement.

Giving him her full attention, he produces a bunch of flowers.

It makes her burst out laughing.

“Can you do it again?”

He pulls a coin from her ear and then makes the flowers disappear again.

She takes the coin and rolls it over her fingers.

Clint nods in approval.

He smiles again.

“One more.”

From her ear, he produces two rings.

“I know we were dying, and that you may have just said yes—“

She doesn’t even let him finish.

“I want to marry you Clint Barton,” she tells him, taking the rings off him and examining them carefully.

Both of them thin, one with a red ruby and the other larger in size but just as thin, the metal infused with a purple hue.

“They’re for us, like your necklace, no one has to see them.”

He loves that she puts it on straight away, kisses him again and then tries to imitate the magic trick.

“Teach me,” she requests, “show me how to do magic just like you do.”

#whumptober2023 #no. 19 #floral bouquet #natasha romanoff #clint barton #clintasha #black widow #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #Clint barton fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #Clint barton x Natasha Romanoff #marvel fic #hawkeye fic

47 notes · View notes

kybercrystals94 · 1 year ago

Text

Flower Crowns

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 19|Prompt 19: Floral Bouquet

Rating: G

Words: 851

Summary: Wrecker helps Omega make a flower crown.

“Do you think we could make a flower crown?” Omega asks, plucking another blossom hanging low enough for her to reach from her perch on Wrecker’s shoulders.

“Sure, kid,” Wrecker says, “we’ll make you the prettiest flower crown in the galaxy.”

Omega laughs, handing the flower down for Wrecker to add to the floral bouquet he’s got in one fist, his other hand clutched around Omega’s ankle to keep her from toppling over while she reaches overhead. “Have you ever made a flower crown before?”

“Nah, but it can’t be harder than wiring an explosive,” Wrecker returns with a booming laugh. “Lot safer too.”

Omega giggles again, a sweet, melodic sound that makes Wrecker’s heart constrict with an emotion he didn’t even know he had in him until he met his little sister...a feathery light happiness that tries to burst out of him and fly away.

Another flower is passed down, and another and another. Wrecker takes a step every couple minutes, giving Omega new access to the bright pink and purple petaled blooms cascading from the wispy branches of a tree they found. While Hunter and Echo had gone into the village on a supply run, Tech, Wrecker and Omega went on a “nature walk,” as Omega called it. Tech preferred “research expedition,” and the two of them argued lightly over the merits of both titles. Ultimately, Omega won because Wrecker sided with her.

“You always side with Omega, regardless of the facts,” Tech complained, but his eyes betrayed the smile under his helmet.

“Only when she’s right,” Wrecker said.

Omega beamed. “And I am. Nature walk sounds nicer than research expedition.”

When they found the flowering tree, Omega immediately suggested making a bouquet of the flowers, saying they would look so beautiful in her gunner’s mount room. Tech ran a scan over one of the specimens and declared it safe to touch. He then promised he would show Omega how to dry the flowers so that she could save them later that evening.

“I am going to walk a little further on,” Tech said, looking down at his data pad. “Would you like me to meet you back here, or would you like to attempt to catch up to me?”

“I want to stay here,” Omega decided.

So, Tech walked on, promising to check in occasionally over comm, leaving Wrecker and Omega to gather her newfound treasures.

“I think we’ve got enough flowers to make a thousand flower crowns,” Wrecker exaggerates. The truth is, he can barely hold the bouquet in his hand without the risk of dropping some or crushing them at this point.

He feels Omega lean over his head to inspect their collection. “Hmm, we might have enough for nine hundred and ninety-nine,” she concedes.

Wrecker laughs and kneels so she can climb down from his shoulders. She takes the bundle of flowers in her arms, and they find a spot under the tree to begin the flower crown project.

Wrecker begins twisting the stems together like he would wire, folding and bending the ends together. Omega watches with wide eyed fascination for several minutes before making her own attempt. When her flowers refuse to be strung together, she drops them in her lap with a growl of frustration. “How do you make it look so easy?”

“Practice,” Wrecker says, winking his good eye at her.

Omega gives him a look. “You said you’ve never made a flower crown before.”

“No, but I’ve made plenty of explosives and Tech has me help him sometimes with the ship’s wiring. I guess twisting the stems like this is kinda like that. Just muscle memory.”

“Can you teach me?” Omega asks.

“‘Course I can,” Wrecker says. He pats the ground next to him, and Omega crawls over and leans into his side. Wrecker resumes his work on the flower crown, weaving new flowers and stems together with large but nimble fingers. He tries to slow down, exaggerate his movements.

Omega watches with adorable concentration, brow furrowed, mouth in a thin line.

“And we’ll tie it off like so,” Wrecker says, weaving the two ends of his flower chain together to create a halo. Turning, Wrecker holds the crown over Omega’s head. “M’lady,” he says and puts the crown over Omega’s blond locks.

Omega’s giggling smile absolutely melts his heart.

“Your turn,” he says, reaching out and picking up Omega’s abandoned project. “Let’s see what you learned.”

The second attempt goes better than the first; however, Omega’s flowers don’t hold together quite as well. She seems proud of her work nonetheless and stands up and drops the pink and purple thing on Wrecker’s head. “There. Now we match,” she says with a grin.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The Marauder is quiet. Echo has first watch; Hunter is finally asleep.

Wrecker climbs up into the gunner’s mount room. He sits on the floor and stares at the wall where Omega’s dried pink and purple flowers hang. The ones Tech helped her make that warm afternoon a lifetime ago, when everything felt almost perfect for the briefest of moments.

He misses that feathery light happiness.

END

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you’d like to be on my Tag List✨

#whumptober 2023 #day 19 #prompt 19 #floral bouquet #star wars #the bad batch #star wars tbb #sw the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #tbb tech #emotional whump #post season 2 #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fics by kyber

44 notes · View notes