#mad archer prompts

[dixons-sunshine]

Damn Tease | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was an extremely hot day in Alexandria. Luckily, there wasn't much to do, barely anything at all, so you and Daryl decided to do it while everyone else relaxed for a change. However, Daryl soon wished he hadn't offered, because you decided it would be a good idea to get him all worked up—and your tiny shorts and tank top certainly didn't help his mind stay on track.

Genre: Suggestive.

Era: Alexandria, no arc in particular.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes.

Word count: 1.5k.

A/n: For @ghostboneswrites2's writing challenge! It's my first time ever doing one of these so hopefully I did it right lol. I hope you like this! By the way, to my fellow writers, please join if you feel up for it! You can find the post with the prompts and rules here.

The blazing summer sun relentlessly beat down on the world ravaged by the undead. It seemed as if though even the flesh eating monsters that roamed the earth every day had deemed the day too hot to go on their regular cannibalistic ventures, for no rotting corpse could be seen for miles and no loud groan could be heard in the near distance. The Alexandrian occupants had decided that the overly hot day would be spent lounging indoors or on their porches, the tasks of the day luckily not too much and could be left for the next day. However, Daryl had decided earlier that very morning that lounging indoors wasn't an activity that he wanted to partake in, so he went about completing the miniscule amount of tasks around the community. And since you didn't want to spend the day lazing around without him, you decided to join your partner on his stubborn venture.

However, as you brushed past the crossbow-wielding archer to grab one of the crates to bring into the pantry, your behind brushing ever so slightly against his front, Daryl wished you had decided to spend the day like the rest of the community. Although you were helping, and he certainly appreciated your help, you were being a major, hot as hell distraction, and he was two seconds away from dropping the crate of cherries he was carrying, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you back to your shared house to indulge in the fantasies his mind was conjuring up the longer he stared at you.

Daryl felt like a perfect fool for even thinking of things like that while the two of you were supposed to be working. You barely even acknowledged his presence, too caught up with your own tasks to do so, and there he was, ogling you like an inexperienced school boy with a dumb crush on the popular girl. Admittedly, the outfit you had chosen to wear that day certainly didn't help his problem at all. The shorts you were wearing left just enough covered for his imagination to run wild, and your tank top hugged you in all the right ways, your cleavage covered but also showing just enough skin to have him licking his lips to keep them wet. Whether you had worn that particular outfit just to tease him and punish him for not complying with your request to stay indoors that day, he didn't know. What he did know, was that he desperately wanted to tear that shirt from your body, and work his way down to—

“I was thinking,” your voice rang through the air, effectively snapping the huntsman from his provocative train of thought. You had stepped back into the part of the pantry that temporarily housed the crates the two of you were hoisting and sorting out. “Tomorrow, when we go on that run, we should swing by that store we saw a few weeks ago. You know, the one that had all those kiddie pools? It would be nice to bring a couple of them back for the kids so that they don't have to suffer in this weather.”

“Yeah,” Daryl began, his eyes following you as you bent over to pick up your water bottle, your shorts riding up ever so slightly and driving him mad. He should just shoot himself at that moment and spare himself the misery you were putting him through. He cleared his throat, put the crate of cherries he held in his hands down on the ground and tried to focus back on the conversation at hand. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You smiled at him and took a sip from the water bottle that held some cherry flavoured drink you had made that morning with the same cherries the two of you were busy with in the pantry. You accidentally spilled some of the drink, and the droplets trickled down your chin and onto your chest, soon disappearing down your shirt. Daryl's eyes followed the droplets that trickled down your shirt, inhaling sharply when you tried to brush the wetness away, slightly pulling your shirt down and exposing some of your bra. God, you were driving him completely insane.

You looked up again and locked eyes with Daryl, and you smirked slightly at the sight of him. He was tightly gripping the shelf to his right, his knuckles turning white at the force he was bestowing on them. His breathing was heavier than usual, and he not-so-subtly adjusted his jeans. Good, your plan was working.

“Daryl, are you okay?” you asked him ‘innocently’, walking up to him and barely containing your smirk when you heard him inhale sharply. “You look a little flushed. Maybe you should sit down for a bit.”

Daryl licked his lips as he stared down at you, his vantage point giving him a clear view down your shirt. However, Daryl forced himself not to think like that. “Yeah, m'fine, Sweetheart. Why do ya ask?” he told you, trying to convince both you and himself. “And m'jus' a lil' hot, s'all. Nothin' to worry 'bout.”

“Are you sure?” you asked him while looking up at him through your eyelashes while maintaining your innocent act.

Daryl nodded quickly. “Yeah, m'sure. Ya dun' gotta worry 'bout me. I'll be alrigh'.”

“Okay, if you're sure.” You took a few steps backwards, sending him a mischievous smile. “By the way, you should probably focus more on sorting out these crates than staring at my ass. And my boobs, for that matter.” Daryl's eyes widened at your words. He started stuttering out words of denial, claiming he wasn't staring, but you simply waved him off. “No need to deny it, Daryl. Besides, I'd be offended if you didn't stare. I didn't wear this outfit for Spencer, after all.”

Realization dawned on Daryl. He shook his head and cursed himself for not figuring it out sooner. This was your version of revenge for him deciding not to stay in with you. Under no normal circumstances would you ever wear an outfit like that while doing chores around the community. It all suddenly made perfect sense to the archer.

“Ya did this on purpose?” Daryl asked in an accusing tone, shaking his head when you simply sent him a smug smile. “Yer a damn tease, ya know tha'?”

In a surge of confidence, you dipped down to grab a cherry from the crate Daryl had put on the ground. You stepped forward and looped an arm around Daryl's neck, staring deeply into his ocean coloured eyes as you slowly and sensually bit down into the sweet fruit. A mischievous, teasing smirk rested on your face as you heard Daryl let out a shaky breath, and you pressed your body impossibly closer to your partner's, successfully eliciting a small groan from him when you put just the slightest bit of pressure on his growing erection. “I know,” you whispered in a sultry voice, throwing the stem of the small fruit away to loop your other arm around his neck as well. “That's the whole point. Consider it payback for not staying in with me today. I had so much planned for us today, so many fun activities, but you just had to be your selfless self and do this.”

Daryl gulped and stared down into your eyes, his pupils dilating with each passing second. His hands rested on your hips, his grip tightening at your words. “Wha' activities did ya have in mind?”

Your smirk widened and you leaned up to let your lips hover over his, just barely grazing against his. Daryl's breathing stopped at that action, his eyes following your every movement. “Well,” you began in a seductive whisper, one of your hands trailing down his chest, his stomach and stopping just above the tent that was forming in his jeans. “Let's just say, it's not exactly something people would consider kid-friendly.”

Daryl's heart sped up at your confirmation. He pulled back from you and turned around to pick up the crate he had put down, before looking back at you expectantly. “We have a job to do. Let's get this over and done with, yeah? Then we can go home. The other chores'll have to wait 'till tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened at the pace he had started working at, the smirk on your face ever present. “What? I thought you wanted to get everything done today. Isn't that why you didn't want to stay in with me?”

“Jus' quit smackin' yer red lips and help me, won't ya?”

You giggled and sprung into action, eager to finish up with what you were busy with and to return home with your partner to do something way more exciting than sorting out crates. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” Daryl praised you, sending heat straight down to your core.

Daryl was a selfless man by nature. But just that once, he wanted to indulge in something meant just for him, and that something was the two of you, naked as the day you were born, in bed, limbs tangled together. And Daryl would be damned if he let that opportunity slip between his fingers.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[mammalsofaction]

Cupid, Cupid Shot Me 5 Times in the Heart

Rating: T

Relationships: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Hurt/Comfort, Divine Wrath, Divine Hubris, Roman Gods, Human Perry the Platypus, ASL, pining, idiot4idiot

A/N: Dedicated to @erizumon for being a sweet cheerleader, @adhdoofenshmirtz for the awesome prompt that I couldn't resist even if it took FOREVER, and @agentlizardofowca for putting up with me complaining about proofreading

---

Perry's at the point of his career–as the uncle of the Flynn-Fletcher twins, arch-nemesis of Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz as well as the best agent Danville's OWCA had to offer–that he often thinks he's really seen everything.

Heinz, in this case, often and with joyful vindication, trumps the laws Quantum metaphysics nearly every day. Sometimes accidentally. His nemesis is the one who's taught him best the boundary between realities can often be as flimsy as a blue-print, and the difference between success and failure for even the most mad of ambitions may sometimes be luck, coffee and determination.

What he's trying to say, here: Perry keeps thinking Heinz can't really surprise him anymore, scheme wise. Today, he was proven wrong once again.

The trap snaps him up upon entry; Perry finds himself hanging by a tangle of ropes hanging from the ceiling. It pulls him into a pose that was a bit on the nose, considering the date. His left leg suspended and tied close to his back, leaving him partially horizontal, and forcibly arching his back, his arms stretched out into an archer's bow.

Cupid. Right. Valentine.

The first thing he notices was the behemoth of an inator; metal molded in hearts, chrome, scarlet and pink.

The second thing he notices is the raised platform in its heart, colored bone white and curved into a ribcage.

Say what you will about Heinz, but he would always stick to a theme.

"Always a pleasure to see you again, Agent P, " the man croons, stepping out of the shadows. His sneer is a poor facade over unrepentant, almost cruel glee. It made him look more evil than he truly was, and it ratchets his blood ever hotter. Perry chitters, but Heinz barely gives him a second glance.

"I'm sure you've been made aware of what day it is." Heinz drawls as he began to pace, shooting a scathing look past the bounds of his balcony. "Neither should you be surprised I've got a grudge or two to keep.

"You see, Perry the Platypus, as is the case for everything else, my love life has only ever been a neverending trail of heartbreak and misery. Middle school crushes, high school prom dates...I've even fallen out with the mother of my daughter, and we used to be pretty good friends in college! Nothing but a trail of failure and disappointment on both our halves...but mostly on mine.

"Recently, I have found myself fallen for this, ah, another candidate." Here, Perry notices another two things; one, the deliberate, albeit curious avoidant of pronouns, and on two, how the man pointedly avoiding his eye.

Both facts which contribute to a hopeful skip to his heart rate... completely inappropriate to his circumstances. This was not the time to be daydreaming.

(Nevermind that he had never had an indication of where Hein swung, in a sense, and how some implications were really opening things up for him.)

Heinz was still monologuing, naturally. "Which might even be a case more impossible than the last. I mean, we're ideologically opposed in most, if not all our moral grounds, and he's...God, he's too good for me, too much better looking. Way out of my league, it'll be like-like shooting for the moon, except I've already done that successfully multiple times, so-what's more impossible than the moon? Mars? Maybe a distant star of another solar system, maybe the Andromeda. I don't know, one of her fast moving moon systems. It doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is," Heinz shakes his head, trying to focus. "It's impossible. He's impossible, I've got no chance, and I'm destined for another crash and burn not too far down the line, and being reminded of this stupid holiday makes it even worse, because I don't even know if he's-he's attracted to guys like that, or if he's even single! He could be out there on the arm of some...girlfriend or wife with three kids and I'd never know! Or maybe it would be more merciful if I didn't let myself know--but it doesn't matter," Heinz says vehemently, eyes closed and fists shaking like he's once again forcibly attempting to focus, while Perry wiggles in his trap with his heart in his throat thinking loudly that he had the kids, but not the wife, on account of being apparently and decisively gay and available, if that was at all relevant to certain interested parties.

Read the rest on Ao3

[lulublack90]

About Me

Hi there, Lulu here.

I do have a real name but I prefer to go by Lulu on here and Ao3 so please use that.

I go by she/he/they. Call me what you want I don't mind. It changes day by day for me in the real world, but my friends and family don't know that.

I'm pansexual but again only a few people know that.

I'm in my 30's but have the maturity of a teenager unless I'm in parent mode when I have to pretend to be a grown-up (It does not last long!).

I am a huge huge huge Harry Potter fan (Fuck JK, she's a dick!) My house is full of so many HP-related items. In fact, I think every room has something in it, thank the gods my husband is also a massive nerd.

In case you can't tell I am Neurospicy. I am in the middle of getting diagnosed with ADHD and by that I mean I am procrastinating actually starting the process.

Now where was I?

Oh, yeah I like so much stuff I can't think what else to put here but yeah Harry Potter, mainly Marauders era but I love anything really.

My fav ships are Wolfstar (I've loved them since I was a young thing and didn't even know it was a thing." Jegulus (My new love.) Dramione (Lord have mercy) Drary (Lord I need more mercy) Pandalily (Meep!) Dorlene (Squeek!) I like Marylily as well but not as much, but I love them when I read them.

My asks are open and you can send me whatever you want, no hate please no one needs that in their life and Tumblr is my happy place don't spoil it.

Things that make me happy

You guys. Honesty it's Tumblr, I've only just really found this and all you amazing people who like my silly stories that I've only been writing regularly since December 23 when I found you all. My husband and son make me happy and so do my dogs and cats. I love watching storms and autumn. I read a lot, I crochet, I knit, I write. I am a huge fan of chocolate. If you give me chocolate I will be your friend.

Music

Bowie. Nuff said.

But yeah I like a lot of different stuff, it depends on my mood as to what I listen to. I drive my husband mad because I like songs by lots of people but I can't remember what they're called or who they're by.

Books

My all-time favourite book will always be Prisoner of Azkaban. It is my happy place.

My house is full and I mean full of books. I don't actually know how many I have but last time I estimated I had 300 in my bedroom alone. (There are piles of books in every room 😬)

ACOTAR!!!

Shows/movies

Harry Potter, The Martain, The Princess Bride, Labyrinth, Hunger games, Twilight (Don't judge me they got me through a dark time.), How to train your Dragon, Disney anything, plus others there are so many and I'm bored of listing.

Good Omens, Schitts Creek, Parks and Rec, Bake off, Handmaids tale, It's always sunny, community, Harbin hotel, archer, vampire diaries. Plus more but yeah typing.

Okay I think I'm done but who knows I might add more if I remember.

Love you all

Lulu

xxx

My Ao3 List

These are my fanfics on my ao3

Bitten M- Remus, Sirius and James head to the forest for a fun full moon. Everything is going great until one of them has an accident. (This was the very first fanfic I wrote. It's okay.) Wolfstar. Complete.

The Prisoner T- Sirius Black has been wrongly imprisoned for 12 years. He's bided his time but now its time to escape and right the wrongs of the past.

The Prisoner of Azkaban as told by Sirius Black, filling in the gaps starting with his escape from Azkaban. Wolfstar. Complete.

The Cupboard E- Hiding from Filch and awaiting rescue things get a bit close in the cupboard between Remus and Sirius. Wolfstar smut one shot. Complete.

Birthday E(I think, I'm not good at telling) Sirius finds Remus alone in their dorm room instead of enjoying the party downstairs. Wolfstar. Complete.

The One That Got Away E- James agrees to throw a party at his house. Sirius asks to bring his little brother, how could that possibly affect James at all? Based on the micro fic series I wrote in January. Jegulus. Backcould Wolfstar. Complete.

Jegulus Prompt Series All the prompts I've written on here in one place.

Wolfstar Prompt Series All the prompts I've written on here in one place.

The Way They Were T - While Harry is clearning out Grimmauld Place he discovers that Wolfstar were a thing.

Love Hate and the Ability to Change M - Sirius is taking Remus to the hosital wing on the full moon and Regulus catches them kisses. After some rather nasty words Regulus tells Sirius something about himself.

The Way They Are M - Part two of The Way They Were. Harry and Draco spend more time together and Draco finds another box for Harry, this time from Remus.

[mi-i-zori]

Writing Resources - Masterlist

This masterlist will host the links to the posts and threads I've saved as writing resources. None of them are mine - all the credits go to the amazing people who made them.

Characters

Author, Narrator, Protagonist, Hero... Who is What ?

Creating Black Characters With Intent

Describe Your Main Character Sheet

Emotionally Reserved Characters

Flaws to Give to Your Characters

How to Introduce Your Character In 3 Steps

How to Show Emotions (They have a whole series for this, please go check it out !)

How to Write a Character Who's in Pain

How to Write Trauma With Humanity

Open Letter from a Poc for People Who Are Writing Characters of Colour

Questions for Crafting Problematic Characters

Tips : Nail Your Character's Mannerisms and Speech Pattern Down

Top-Tier Villain Motivations

What Will Your Character Do If...

Fantasy

Fantasy Guide to Education

Make and Interesting Wedding Dress in Your Fantasy Setting

Reasons Why Can't Your Characters Use Magic To Fix Everything

Some Locations and Structures to Include in Your Forest

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Good to Know

A quick Guide to Animal Symbolism

An Introduction to Small World Theory

Differences Between UK and USA Military Dog Tags

How Boat Pronouns Work

Medical Facts that are Commonly Overlooked

Medieval Dyes

Playing Music With a Bow! (The Archery Kind)

Realistic Travel Time

Roles on a Pirate Ship

Slater's Impromptu List of Military Reference Material

Sick/Poisoning Fics

Stop Doing This in Injury Fics !

Symbolism in Writing

The Anatomy of Passing Out : When, Why and How to Write It

The Anatomy of Punching a Character in the Face

The Symbolism of Flowers

Ultimate List of Weapons and Arsenal for Fantasy Setting: Purpose and Who Uses Them

What's the Deal With Archers and Animal Companions ?

Horror

Creepy Things to Add to Settings

Horror and Comedy : 90/10 rule

How to Write Creepy Stories

How To Scare Your Readers

Most Common Character Flaws in Horror Fiction

"Never Were" and "Used to Be" Monsters

People Get Eldritch Madness Wrong

Romance

When the Romantic Tension is High

Tips

If You're Starving in a Post-Apocalyptic Fic

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff

Pep-Talk - You Are Allowed to Be Proud of What You Write + List of YT Channels and Amazon Links for Writing

Resources About Survival in the Wild

Skip Google for Research

Some Writing Advice

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

Write Smarter, Not Harder

Writing Tip : Research

Vocabulary

Aesthetic Words to Fill Up Your Vocabulary

Bilingual Characters - German Edition

CoD - Spanish for Ale and Rudy Fics

Colours in Descriptions

IRL Operator Phrases/Terms - USA Edition

Gemstone Colors

German Pet Names

List of Wikipedia Articles - British and American Words and Differences

Scottish Phrases and Words for Soap MacTavish (or Scottish Characters in general)

Soft-Feeling Latin Words and Phrases

On Using Words that Indicate Sounds and Tones for Dialogues

Words to Use Instead of "Running"

Words to Use Instead of "Sighed" and "Frowned"

Writing Russian-Speaking Characters

Voices

A Guide to Write a Mancunian Accent

Growled, Roared, Snarled, Etc... A Brief Description

Writing Character Accents in Fiction

Worldbuilding

A Website That Walks You Through Creating a Believable Society

List of unique and imaginative types of government that can add depth to your fantasy world

Random Linguistic Worldbuilding

Other

Backup Your Tumblr Blog

Disable Recall for Microsoft's Copilot+ PCs

How to Find a Post on Tumblr

Protect Your Stories on AO3

Show Me a 10ft Paywall, I'll Show You a 12ft Ladder

Mii's Blog Recommendations

@deception-united - I love the resources this person shares ! They have a masterpost that lists their useful posts, but they also complete some of these posts as answers to asks and reblog a lot of other resources.

@leisureflame - This blog has a lot of resources, advice and prompts ! The author also offers to help with other people's struggles too, which is immensely wholesome in itself.

@writers-potion - This blog has tons of amazing posts to help writers with their research. I keep coming back to it, and highly recommend checking it out ! Here are this person's extremely useful Masterpost (1) and Masterpost (2).

[bokettochild]

For the febuwhump prompts, how about Mask and Captain Link with either hostage situation or "you weren't supposed to be there"?

Since the whole "hostage situation" got requested by someone else as well, I ended up going for the other option!

And hey, we're a month late, but I'm working two jobs so I think it should be fine LOL

Anyways, here, have some Captain Link freaking out about Mask's safety!

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1,610 (Mask cuts my word counts in half LOL)

Summary: Caught in a battle with the tides against them, Captain Link elects to use some slightly less than honorable methods to down their monster enemies. Mask isn't told about the plan though, but maybe he should have been...

-

  War isn’t pretty.  Sacrifices are something that often must be made, most commonly in the forms of life, of soldiers, but sometimes at a cost to the land, to cities, to integrity and honor. Winning isn’t easy, and it’s rare an enemy will play by the rules, so there’s rarely any point in doing so yourself either. That doesn’t make Link feel any better about his decision, but it’s the truth. He can’t play fair against demons if he wants to win. 

  “The bombs are placed sir.” A soldier announces, throwing a quick salute, one that he nods to acknowledge. 

  Behind him, the battle still rages, but Impa had demanded he fall back long enough to at least have his own wounds bound before charging back into the fray. In that time, he’s laid some quick plans, and while the idea of causing the very ground to collapse beneath the feet of the enemy camp isn’t something he’s proud of, he has high expectations that it will turn the tides in their favor. 

  That’s what matters, in the long run. Stopping the enemy, no matter how, and getting his own people out of here alive. Even so, he doesn’t like it. He’d hate to have such a tactic used on his people, and he knows the hylian army would call it dirty and lowdown of the enemy to do the same. Still, the odds are far from in their favor, and he’s got to level the playing field somehow. Leveling the actual field of battle by collapsing the ground beneath their camp, behind their defenses, is the best chance he’s got. 

  “Set to blast?” 

  “Five minutes, sir.” 

  He wishes he had a clock on him, or some sort of watch or other time keeping device, but he doesn’t, and he can’t. He’s got enough gear to mind, and the ever-present tick of a clock would only serve to drive him mad in the long run. 

  He waves off the thought and turns his attention back to the battle, although one part of his mind stays focused on the field medic binding his wounds. Potions are running low, and until they can stop long enough to acquire ore from Ravio, they need to save what they have for the more serious injuries, or those near death. Using a potion on himself when he’s only been stabbed a couple times is pointless. Still, he doesn’t trust medics as a rule, so letting them work without waiting for the inevitable “mistake” won’t stand. 

  He only breathes freely when the medic leaves, and he’s free to reach for the Master Sword again and return to battle. Even then though, his breathing isn’t as steady as he’s like, what with the bruised ribs and all. 

  “Countdown?” He asks his lieutenant. 

  “Two minutes.” 

  They have only a little longer to wait until the ground collapses, and his own people are too far ack to be affected, still tackling the front lines of the enemy, not the archers and far larger beasts that throw heavy clods of earth and explosives down amid them. 

  Two minutes. Then the assault will stop, and his people can sweep in and finish this mission. Two minutes and the monsters they’re fighting won’t have backup or cover fire to aid them, and the hylian forces can overtake at long last.  

  He scans the field briefly. He’s not heading back in, not yet. The men don’t know the cliffs will be going down, and they’ll need direction when they do. They’ll need instruction, and he’ll be the one to provide it when that happens, coming back down amid them to offer guidance and direction. First though, he needs to ensure that all goes as intended, and be prepared on the chance that it doesn’t for one reason or another. 

  “One minute sir.” His lieutenant pants. They’re both tired, they've been fighting for hours without rest and all of them are flagging.  

  “Hold in there, lieutenant,” he tries to assure. “We’ll have them.” A charming smile, one Impa had made sure was trained into him, weas ready to unleash, was something to settle and strengthen and give hope, a confident look and glitter of the eyes, seems to settle the man at his side. 

  “Aye, captain.” A weak attempt at a smile answers his own bright one. “We- sir!” Dark eyes widen in horror as they fix behind him on the enemy, and Link turns through force of habit to catch sight of the foe, the change of the tides, the danger that no doubt lies behind him. “Mask!” 

  It takes a second, but then he sees it. A little flicker of yellow against the sea of silver and red. A little kitsune mask bobbing at the hip of a child who’s charging, alone, blade charged with magic and felling monsters with ease born of experience, uphill. Uphill into the blast zone. Uphill towards the camp and leading some of their soldiers, although the men are harder pressed to follow his lead in slipping through the enemy lines, no matter how hard they try. Uphill into where only seconds remain before bombs take out the land and level the camp, leaving nothing but rubble behind. 

  His feet are moving before his mind has time to catch up to him, a shout on his lips and panic making his heart race. 

  “Sir!” His lieutenant’s voice raises, but the rest in lost in the sounds of a blast that has a rumble filling the air around them, screams of the enemy rising beside the sounds of tumbling earth, crumbling and cracking rock, and flames that last only as long as the explosion before being smothered with the falling rubble. 

  A gust of smoke and cloud of dirt arises, blowing back against them, blinding all, even the enemy, temporarily and giving his men time to strike out blindly at where their foes last were even while the beasts startle and pause with sight lost. “Press forwards! Hold the line!” He manages to shout, gathering his own wits enough to supply commands to his men, commands that echo back as officers repeat the orders to their men, a chorus that echos even as he moves with them. 

  There’s no trace of yellow up ahead, not in the rubble of what’s left, but he moves along anyways. He strikes the fallen foes that still sow signs of life, be it in flailing limbs or shrieking from piglike snouts. Blood paints the path he takes, but his gaze searches for bright and sunny yellow, something innocent and warm against the battlefield around them.  

  Cries, shouts, screams and the clashing of blades fills his ears, drowns out any shout he calls out into the rubble, but the tide of the battle is changing he can hear his men’s voices rising, hear the hope as they push their way past, felling their foe now that bombs and arrows don’t rain down from overhead upon them to make them fall back again and again. His mind isn’t on their victory though. There's a part of him, a part that knows he must remain focused, set, poised, ready, aware; something that tracks where they stand and how they fare, but another part searches. 

  The monsters fall in waves. The beasts within the rubble give their final cries as his blade ends their miserable lives. His men begin to shout their victory as the sounds of blades clashing dims, fades entirely, but their captain does not celebrate beside them. 

  He is searching. With the enemy felled he can drop his sword, drop to his knees to push aside rubble, dirt, stone, anything that’s left of the tumbled apart camp. 

  Proxi whizzes about; searching, calling. His voice rises beside hers. “Mask! Kid, come on!” 

  There’s no returning call. 

 “Please!” 

  Behind him, there’s murmuring. Shouts fade, feet fall. There’s a rush of booted steps and then hands are helping to lift away the rubble. Voices of every sort rise to call out, their cries all the same. “Mask! Where are you, kid?” Searching for a flicker of yellow, a head of yellow hair or a familiar smiling mask. Searching for a smirking face, a little troublemaker. 

  The fairies dart, the men sift, the cries of all sound over the field in the absence of a monster’s squeals. The joy of victory fades as they look for a single soul caught in the winning blow. Caught where he was never meant to be, at the worst of times for him to have slipped loose from amidst them. 

  It feels like forever, the moving of ruble, the sifting, the calling. Each second is torture, heart pounding fit to burst in his throat as he tears through the remains of the enemy camp. Not here, not there. Not amid the monsters but not far away. He’s frantic, pushing aside burdens that, in his right mind, he’d ever dare attempt to move alone. The singing of pain through his frame, through every muscle and bone, is ignored as he tears through, searching, searching, searching- 

  ��Captain Link!” 

  Yellow, paint chipped and steaked with dirt and blood. Yellow matted and filthy strands, the face beneath just as stained. He doesn’t care though. He’s gathering up the tiny form in his arms and holding, clinging, fingers searching for a pulse even as his own reaches speeds he didn’t know possible. 

  The faint little beat beneath his fingertips is enough to have a sob escaping past the heart in his throat. 

  His kid is alive. He’s alive, he’s going to be okay. Link clings tightly, holding the boy close. He’s alive. Thank Hylia, he’s alive. 

[briar-ffxiv]

FFXIV Write #04 - Reticent

FFXIV Write 2024 Master Post

Prompt #4 - Reticent

Note: Little cameo of Haurchefant as I'm trying to write a bit more of Briar as my personal WoL.

Trigger Warning: There is an animal death, but not graphic or drawn out!

The Coerthan wolf snarled, foaming jaws spread to expose dripping fangs. Wiry muscle bunched under mangy fur a moment before it launched its gaunt frame into the air, long claws reaching out.

Haurchefant brought up his shield, digging into the snowy ground to brace as he readied his sword. For a moment, he looked into the wolf's mad eyes, setting his jaw for the impact of the beast crashing into him.

The impact never came.

An arrow hissed through the air, slamming into the wolf. The barbed arrow sank deep into the animal's side, piercing its lungs and heart, and knocking it to the side. The wolf gave a ragged yelp as it was struck, crashing to the ground. It thrashed a moment before going still, eyes blank and staring.

Haurchefant stared a moment before turning his head to see the archer. His heart skipped a beat to know that it was Briar. The Shroudborn half-Elezen stared at the wolf for another moment, green eyes sharp before he looked up. Briar's intense expression softened as he smiled at Haurchefant. Briar walked toward him, red-gold hair tossed by the icy winds. He rested a hand on Haurchefant's arm and looked up at him for a moment before moving past to the aid of the other Fortemps knights dealing with the diseased wolves. Haurchefant watched him go, chest tight for a moment before he shook his head and rallied his men. There were more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.

Later that evening, the small group of knights and Briar were back in Camp Dragonhead. The skins, teeth, and claws of the dead wolves had been gathered to be used as they could, but the rest was burned to hopefully prevent the spread of whatever disease had driven the beasts mad. The group had no injuries other than a few scrapes and bruises that were easily handled by the chirurgeons. In all a successful mission to defend the camp.

Once he'd tended to his men and sent the report, Haurchefant had gone to check on Briar. Technically, the half-Elezen wasn't his responsibility, of course, but…

Haurchefant wanted to see him.

As both an excuse and an offering, he'd stopped by the kitchen to grab a few mugs of hot chocolate. When he'd mentioned to the cook who it was for, they were been kind enough to even put a dollop of whipped cream on it. The redhead was known to have a bit of a sweet tooth.

So now Haurchefant stood before the door of Briar's inn room. It was foolish that he could face dragons without hesitation, but gathering the courage to knock took a minute. But he did and a moment later, Briar's soft voice was heard. "Come in, please!"

When Haurchefant opened the door, he smiled but then froze for several long heartbeats. Briar had clearly just finished washing up. The shirt he was wearing seemed to be borrowed from someone taller and wider so the cream-coloured wool had slipped down, giving the Ishgardian a glimpse of a sleek, freckled shoulder marked with an old scar. The scar looked like a burn and he wondered where it had come from. And for a moment, he let himself imagine what it might feel like under his fingers.

Even more distracting than the glimpse of rounded shoulder and soft nape was the fact that Briar's hair was down. Haurchefant had never seen it down before. Still damp and curly, it gleamed in the firelight in thick strawberry-blond locks that fell just below Briar's shoulders. It reminded Haurchefant of rose gold but looked soft enough to bury his fingers in. He had the urge to tuck it behind that charming little pointed ear that was peeking through the unruly mess.

Innocent of the effect, he was having, Briar smiled at Haurchefant, a towel between his hands that he had been using to rub the water from his hair. Those lovely green eyes looked up at him and that sweet smile showed. "Good evenin', Lord Haurchefant," Briar said softly.

The Ishgardian looked down, tongue-tied with the things he wished to give voice to. He had given hints, of course, but Briar had neither reciprocated nor rejected Haurchefant. It ate at him not to know one way or the other. He questioned sometimes if it was simply Briar's inexperience that caused the misunderstanding or if ignoring was a gentle refusal. All Haurchefant had to do was ask, he was sure. Briar Redfeather was nothing if not an honest man.

But Haurchefant could not. Not tonight at least. So instead, he smiled tenderly at the Shroudborn, offering a mug. "I thought you might like something to chase away the chill, my friend."

Briar brightened, setting down the towel to reach for the hot chocolate. "Thank you!" He glanced at the fire and smiled. "Would you like to keep me company for a little while? If you have the time."

There were always at least a dozen things in Camp Dragonhead that needed his attention at any given moment, but tonight, Haurchefant Greystone simply smiled in return. "It would be my pleasure, my friend," he murmured, moving to join Briar beside the fire.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Caesaria's 50 Follower Celebration Event

Ahhh I am very excited to have hit my first little milestone on this site! I've been wanting to do something for a while but wasn't totally sure what I wanted to do until now. Because I'm so focused on my Riddler x Reader long-fic, Cat & Mouse, right now, this event will be surrounding that. Below I've included links to several prompts (credit goes to the original prompt creators)! Please follow the rules outlined below:

Choose one or more of these prompts to send me and I'll write something between Edward and Detective. Please specify which prompt and number they are!

Dirty Text Prompts

Discreet Sexual Tension

"I Want You"

Jealousy

Because I'm feeling spicy, if you want to see any of these prompts with Detective and someone else like Archer, Sam, Scarecrow, or Mad Hatter, I'll do that too!

Prompts will be short, at least 500 - 1000 words unless I get inspired to write something longer. These prompts are non-canon to the story, though I do reserve the right to make them canon if the time comes.

My ask box is open, so send any and all requests my way!

[polutrope]

ohh I love the Silm prompts! may I request either 7 (could not escape and would not yield) or 11 (because he is the son of his father) for Celebrimbor? ~ maglor-my-beloved <3

Thanks for the ask @maglor-my-beloved, and glad you like the prompts! I went for a combination of both. Also sharing today as part of @fellowshipofthefics Forged in Fellowship day.

Celebrimbor at the sack of Sirion, 875 words. Angst.

Warning for moderate violence and a canonical character death.

* * *

What if his father had been among them? It was the first question Celebrimbor asked himself when he smelled the smoke and saw the flames licking the night sky on the outskirts of Sirion.

The next thought, when he pulled his hauberk over his head, was the sickening realisation that, if Curufin had been among them, the mail may have hung less heavily on his shoulders. That he would have lifted his sword more willingly against his own father. The one who had stood by when it was forged, the one whose approval Celebrimbor drank up with a wretched thirst. 

Hatred, that poison he had spent years drawing from his heart, now coursed hotly through his veins. 

Celebrimbor was not a kinslayer. And despite his burning rage, he had no wish to become one. But now, they offered him no escape. To flee would be far worse than to fight. 

He pushed back against the clawing fingers of his bitterness and girt himself to face them—the foes of his chosen kindred—with calm determination. 

He ran through the streets, calling forth the small contingent of fighters Gil-galad had placed under his command. His voice competed with the clamour of others orders: to take up arms, to seek shelter, to fly to the ships, to guard the Lady. His courage contended with the chilling drone of a chorus meant to inspire terror: the voices of seasoned warriors led by the greatest minstrel the Noldor had ever known. 

It did not take the Fëanorians long to force their way to the centre of the town. They spilled out over the quay. Few resisted their advance. Some threw themselves into the river rather than fight. Whether seized by the madness of terror or because they would rather drown than take up arms against another elf, Celebrimbor could only guess. Others, many of them once-warriors of Gondolin, resisted fiercely, unhesitating as their axes bore down upon distant kin, eyes glinting with cold light as their swords found the weak points in their opponents’ armour. Driven, perhaps, by memories of ice and betrayal that had eaten away at them for five long centuries.

Celebrimbor did not allow his gaze to rest on the faces of any of the Fëanorian soldiers. He lifted a fist, signalling to the archers on the roofs behind him to nock their bows. He lowered it, and a spray of arrows whizzed through the air. Few found their mark. 

One of the enemy soldiers turned on him. Celebrimbor drew his sword, his muscles instinctively flexed to fight. His gut churned. His thoughts were elsewhere, where they could not persuade him to drop his weapon and run. 

Then the soldier addressed him. “Lord Celebrimbor.” 

Celebrimbor tightened his grip on his sword hilt, resisting the urge to lower it. The man’s name came to him unbidden. “Calandur.”  

Having spoken it the rage in Celebrimbor’s breast cooled.  Calandur’s jaw was set, his mouth drawn down into a frown, but there was no threat in his eyes.

“Stay behind us, lord.” 

With that, Calandur spun around with a great cry. “A runandor!* Faithful servants of the House of Finwë!” he shouted. “Redeemers! Now is the hour! Turn! Turn and stand your ground!”

Suddenly, a wall of bodies encircled the remaining Fëanorian soldiers. They had only two ways of escape: to cut through their own people or to leap into the river. 

The progress of the battle came to a gasping halt. Then one of the Fëanorian commanders shattered the stillness with a cry. Celebrimbor caught the glint of a long russet braid as he turned to see that his soldiers were gathering around him. 

He caught the river of red that spilled from his neck when an arrow sank into the flesh above his collarbone.

He watched him fall.

As easily as if he were a withered leaf upon the bough, Amras Fëanorion fell. 

In the moment of shock that followed, Calandur and two others stepped forward and tossed the thrashing  body of Celebrimbor’s uncle over the quay’s edge. It was a mercy. Fëanor’s youngest son would receive no burial rites; but nor would a hateful swarm descend upon his corpse, hacking to pieces one who was—who might have been—a noble lord of the Noldor.

Fierce fighting resumed, with the defenders of Sirion now gaining the upper-hand. Celebrimbor was blocked from entering the fray by the tight circle of those who called themselves Redeemers. 

It was then he realised there was another choice. To escape was not to yield. To escape was to preserve; to dare to hope.

He called to one of his archers to follow him, then ran down the quay, untethered a sturdy fishing dory, and leapt in, bidding the other elf to join him. Then he rowed furiously into the darkness, towards the Cape and the ship havens. There was little hope that the people of Sirion would prevail, even with the aid of the Fëanorians who had turned against their lords. But there would be survivors, and they would need strength and skill and courage if they were to rebuild their ruined lives in the years to come. 

It would not be Celebrimbor’s lot to die here, needlessly; not yet. 

* * *

*'A runandor!' is Quenya for 'O Redeemers!'. Thanks to Shihali on the SWG Discord for the translation.

It’s my headcanon, based on a map in The War of the Jewels with a dot labelled ‘Ship Havens’ on Cape Balar, that there were actually two settlements on the Bay of Balar: one built on or very near the actual mouth of the river Sirion (called simply ‘Sirion’), and one, much smaller and chiefly for the purpose of shipbuilding and mooring, on Cape Balar to the northwest (called simply ‘the Cape’). Almost all the survivors of the sack of Sirion were those who were at, or fled to, the Cape at the time of the attack.

I also headcanon a Beleriand-born Celebrimbor, though there could be other reasons he is not a kinslayer.

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

You'll always be alive in my head

This is for prompt #4 Hallucinations. It gets really dark so fair warning.

TW: Character Death, Descriptions of decaying bodies, wounds, panic attack, blood

Summary: Clint is held captive after a mission goes wrong. Used as an experiment, he must face his fears and come to terms with wounds he'd thought had healed. Will he make it through or will his mind crumble under the pressure?

I really hope you like this. Please leave a comment if you do. It'll decide if I do this again next year.

Clint is going to kill Fury when he gets out of here. He knows Clint is better at long range than up close. Yeah, he can hold his own if he has to but it was always Nat that was great at close range combat. 

Now, he's strapped to a table in some mad scientist's lab staring down said mad scientist. 

Doctor Andrew Tachrive is currently trying to create a mind control device that controls what the poor victim sees. In order to do that he's been injecting people with a special chemical compound that activates certain parts of the brain. 

Clint was supposed to grab a vial of the compound and try to get any information he could get his hand on. 

Obviously something went wrong. 

He never should have taken the mission. He should have told Fury to shove off. 

He isn't Nat and now it's going to bite him in the ass. 

“Come on Doc. I. Sure we can talk this out.” Clint says as he struggles against his binds. 

He's strapped to a metal table with leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists. Neither give him any leeway to move. The strap across his chest keeps him from wiggling too much and the strap across his forehead keeps his head firmly positioned against the table. 

Doctor Tachrive walks toward Clint t with a needle in hand filled with a neon blue liquid that Clint assumes is the compound. “What is there to talk about, Hawkeye? I have an Avengers in my lab to use as a test subject. This will provide wonderful results for my experiments.”

“You won't be getting any results when my friends find out where I am and blow the place up.” Clint says through gritted teeth. 

The doctor chuckles standing just out of reach of Clint's hands. “How? The place has a tracker jammer in place. The trees are too close to the building to be seen  from satellites properly. You are about to be incapacitated. So, Hawkeye. Please, tell me how your little friends are going to find me?”

Damn. He's got a good point. Even Shield struggled to find this place. Will they even notice something is wrong if he doesn't show up in a few days? God he hopes so. He really doesn't want to be injected with whatever that is but it's not looking too good right now. 

“Tony's a smart guy. He'll notice if I miss another game night.” Clint is trying to bluff his way through now. 

Tachrive scoffs as he prepares the area on Clint's arm for injection. Ripping an alcohol swab open he wipes down the crook of the arm thoroughly. When finished he looks at the Archer strangely. 

“Perhaps your friends do find this place. Maybe they do rescue you and shit this place down.” He sticks the syringe into a vein and slowly injects the shot into Clint's arm. “It will be too late to save you from what's about to happen. It won't save you from what you're about to see.”

Clint has no words for that and just watches the doctor throw the syringe into a biohazard waste bin. Tachrive turns around to address Clint again. “I will be back in an hour to watch the reaction… Not that you will notice.”

Well, that's not ominous. Clint is really wishing he'd told the group where he was going when Steve had asked. 

He's really wishing he'd told Fury to fuck off. 

Clint is expecting something to happen far sooner than it does. He spends most of that time trying to figure his way out. It's not until the twenty minute mark that he starts noticing anything weird. 

A child's voice rings out, faintly sounding as though it came from down the hallway. It sounds like a young boy yelling out for his dad. The kid only calls out a few times before fading away. The voice almost sounded like Cooper but that's impossible. Right?”

A small shot of doubt and fear shoots through Clint making him struggle against his binds harder. It works as well as it did the first time, which is, not at all. 

Five minutes later he swears he hears Lila screaming for him. Begging for him to save her. The terror in her voice, as she screams for Clint, makes his face pale. How did this guy find them? If his daughter is here then the boy crying out earlier was absolutely Cooper. Oh god. Do they have Nathaniel or Laura? What’s the sick bastard doing to them?

Fear and adrenaline spark through his entire body. Clint frantically pulls at the cuffs but the most they do is rattle where the links meet the table. He growls in frustration at his helplessness. He has no weapons he can reach. His wristbands have been taken off so the cuffs would fit.

They have his family and he’s stuck here completely useless. Father of the year right here.

“Let me out! Let my family go! They have nothing to do with this.” Clint screams.

“Are you sure about that, Legolas?” Clint looks over at the doorway only to see Tony Stark.

Tony is leaning against the doorway wiping his glasses off with his t-shirt, his watch glinting in the harsh light. He’s watching Clint with an eyebrow raised. 

“What are you doing just standing there? Help me get out of this thing.” Clink kicks out as much as he can in emphasis.

Tony doesn’t move at all. He simply hangs his glasses from his shirt and continues to stare down the archer.

“What the fuck are you doing? My kids are in trouble!” Clint yells out in frustration, unable to keep still.

“Some father you are. You can’t even keep your kids safe. I’m surprised your wife never divorced you when this all started. Hell, you’re pretty useless as an Avenger.” Tony says this as if he’s talking about the weather or a grocery list.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Stop standing there and doing something useful, Tony!” He’s panicking in the worst way just thinking about what his kids might be going through.

“Laura was one helluva Shield agent. To think she was one of the best and gave it all up for you. And then you didn’t even have the decency to keep your family safe.” Tony walks into the room glancing around the place. “ She's a great mom and she'd have made an amazing Avengers. I doubt she'd have even blinked twice at keeping you family safe.”

That cut Clint to the quick because Tony is right, isn’t he? She'd been at the very top and had given it all up so she could stay home and raise the kids. While he's doing what? Gallivanting all over the world? He's barely home anymore and it kills him. 

Another scream echoes along the hallway and it sounds exactly like Laura. The terror in her voice shakes Clint. She's a seasoned agent. It takes a lot to make her sound like that. What are those monsters doing to her? 

“Laura? Laura, baby just hold on! I'll get you out of here!” Clint screams as loud as he can. 

Clint is scratching at the cuffs around his wrists like a wild animal. With the little momentum he has he jerks his legs back and forth trying to break the ankle cuffs. All it does is wear him out. 

Tony watches him while sitting on a little stool until Clint stops wheeling himself over to where Clint can see him. 

“Well. That was a life dramatic and anticlimactic. I don't think you're getting out of this one, Legolas.” With a little smirk Tony boops Clint's nose. 

Clint growls, “I would if you'd untie me instead of acting like this is some kind of fucking vacation! That's my family they're hurting. What would you do if that was Pepper?”

“Oh, I'd burn this place to the ground but I'm not the one strapped to the table. Am I?” Tony shrugs and gets up. “While this has been absolutely riveting, I do have better things to do. I can't just sit around all day listening to people screaming.”

What? Is Tony about to leave? Is he seriously about to leave Clint and his family in this place? 

No. 

No, that can't be right. Tony wouldn't do that. The guy has a lot of faults but he'd never abandon someone in need. Especially a fellow Avenger. 

But… those things he said. 

“Tony! You can't leave. At least get my family out of here. Please!” The desperation in Clint's voice is palpable. “Tony!!”

The genius doesn't say anything as he walks toward the doorway. No matter how much Clint begs and screams, the man leaves. 

A guttural scream builds up in Clint's throat. All that fear, frustration, and helplessness building up into a horrible noise. 

The screams of his family are getting louder with Nathaniel’s voice added into the group to create some sort of sick harmony. The intermingling voices are driving Clint insane and can’t help but wonder what god he angered to have his family tortured like this with no reprise.

He’s watching the doorway for any sign of his family or their tormentors when a familiar figure walks past the door, red hair with blonde tips fluttering in the air as she quickly walks by. 

It’s not possible. He watched her die. His heart broke the day that she sacrificed herself for him. His best friend wouldn’t have just walked by alive and indifferent to him strapped here. This has to be a ploy. A trick by his captors to break his mind.

With the screams of his wife and kids echoing in the room, Clint fears it might be working.

“Nat!” He screams out to the illusion on the off chance that it’s real.

“You dont deserve to say that name.” a female voice with a Russian accent says with such disgust.

Turning his head toward the voice as much as he can his heart nearly stops.

No longer does he see the sterile lab he’s trapped in. No, he’s back on Vormir, breathing in the thick air again. Yelena, Natasha’s sister is standing on the edge of that forsaken cliff casually balanced on the balls of her feet. She’s wearing the same clothes he saw her in last. Her arms are crossed and the look of disgust on her face makes Clint feel like a bug.

“You don’t deserve to utter her name.” Yelena snarls, “Not after you killed her.”

“No! I tried to catch her. I did everything I could to save her. It was supposed to be me.” It’s a conversation they’ve had before and he thought they were past it but the anger in her voice tells him otherwise.

“You could have done more. Should have done more. Now, I will never see her again.” Unshed tears shimmer in Yelena’s eyes. “I will never get to see my sister again.”

“You know… He let your family die so I say we show him what that pain feels like.” Kate Bishop is standing off to the side with her bow notched and ready to be used.

Clint’s heart falls seeing his family kneeling before Kate and Yelena. They have their backs to him but what he sees is enough. Each of them has their arms tied behind their backs. Their clothes are ripped and he can see bruises and blood covering every inch of their exposed skin.

Clint cries out for them but they don't turn around. It’s as if he doesn’t exist. Maybe he doesn’t. Everything seems to be out of place and surreal and yet at the same time what if his doubt is wrong and it gets his family killed?

His mind is cracking under the pressure.

“I’m not sure how you fooled me into thinking you’re such a great role model but I think it’s time to rectify that,” Kaye says cheerfully as she aims her bow at Lila.

“NOOO!!” Clint screams. “Please, Kate. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong but don’t take t out on them. They’re innocent. Let them go!”

“You let me die, Clint. That’s what you did wrong. I loved you like family and you didn’t save me.” Natasha walks into view as if she’s been there the whole time.

Except it’s not possible. She’s dead.

His best friend. His sister. His family is standing in front of him looking just as she did when she jumped off the cliff. He’d hug her if it wasn’t for the fact he’s still strapped down. Instead, his frustration spills out of him as tears.

“Nat, this isn’t possible. I watched you die.” Clint’s voice is full of disbelief.

Natasha scoffs and cocks the gun she pulls out of her thigh holster. “No thanks to you. Which is why your family has to die.”

With swift movements, Natasha and Yelena shoot Laura, Cooper, and Nathaniel in the head while Kate shoots Lila in the head with an arrow.

Clint screams and struggles to break free as each member slumps forward, blood instantly pooling around their bodies from the wounds. The screams elicited from Clint are those of a broken man. Of a man whose been betrayed by those he trusts.

His mind crumbles and he throws himself around as well as he can, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. There’s no rational though as he howls with pain and claws at his binds.

The binds fall away like magic though Clint doesn't question it. Instead, he scrambles off the table trying to get to his family as close as possible.

The blood is easier to see the closer to them he gets. Each pool of blood flowing closer to the others and then joining together like a small pool of red liquid. Each wound is just as prominent as the others. 

Clint drops to his knees at the closest person which just so happens to be Lila. He grabs at her still warm body drawing it onto his lap, almost hugging it as he sobs. 

“I'm so sorry.” He cries as he kisses her blood soaked hair. “It's my fault. I'm so so sorry.”

He's oblivious to the world around him as he gently rocks his dead daughter back and forth. 

“This is your fault, Clint.” Nat squats next to him putting her hand on his shoulder. “If you had taken my place, none of this would have happened. Your family would still be alive.”

“Dad?” Lila's eyes are open and focused on Clint's face. Her skin is a pale only the dead can have and her eyes have lost all color. “Why didn't you save us? You're a superhero. An Avenger. Why did you let us die?”

Clint gasps in disbelief. He watched Lila die. He can feel her skin cooling as she lays in his lap. The arrow from Kate's bow is still protruding from Lila's head. 

“How is this possible?” His voice is thick with tears. “I… I watched you die?”

She doesn't answer. Simply looks up at him with those dull eyes, blood leaking down her face from the wound creating the only color on her. Movement in Clint's periphery has him looking over at Laura. She started sitting up as if she wasn't dead just seconds ago. Yet, when she looks over at him he can still see the oozing bullet hole in the middle of her head. 

“Look at what you've done to us, Honey.” Laura says as she gets up. “You've killed us.”

A sob breaks free as he listens to the accusations being thrown at him. He did kill them didn't he? Maybe it wasn't by his hand but if he had tried harder to save Nat then his family wouldn't have been murdered. 

“Dad?” If you loved us you would have saved us.” Copper is standing up helping his brother do the same. 

All Clint can do is repeat the same broken apology over and over again. He sits on the Stoney ground sobbing as his family and friends encircle him. Nat and Yelena pick Clint up under the arms and force him to stand on his own two legs. 

The longer he watches each of them the more he notices how all of their features change. His wife's hair starts to fall out in clumps while Nats skin grows gray and clammy, eventually peeling backwards as it decays, exposing the muscle and tissue underneath. An eyeball falls out of Cooper's eye socket and Nathaniel has less teeth than before. Lila's nose is gone exposing the bone underneath. 

The cacophony of voices grows louder and he can see the crowd surrounding him has grown larger. Even with faces half decayed he recognizes them. Some are from Shield missions gone wrong while others are innocent victims killed while he was trying to save the world as an Avenger. 

The noise of each accusation merges together to create a wall of blame. It presses down on him and cocoons him in a wall of guilt and regret. It's well placed blame that he deserves because it is his fault. It's his fault that they're dead. He could have done so much more. Should have done so much more. 

Clint spins in circles, tear filled eyes flickering from face to face as he tries to continually spit out apologies while choking on the sobs trying to break free. He's nearing levels of hysteria and insanity as his sobs are closer to screams. 

Something pricks his neck and he tries to slap the area but the crowd closes in and attacks. They grab at his clothes and lbs causing his reflexes to kick in. 

Clint fights against the decaying of his loved ones as a spotty darkness enshrouds his vision. It only takes a few minutes before he lacks the energy to continue his fighting. His energy lags so much that if it wasn't for the crowd constantly grabbing at him he would have fallen to the floor. The spotty darkness soon takes over his vision completely and he falls unconscious listening to the screams of the dead and living alike. 

~~~

Clint wakes up confused. There's the smell of cleaning chemicals and the sound of beeping that tells him he's in a hospital but he doesn't know how he got here. Slowly, opening his eyes against the barrage of light in the room, Clint blinks rapidly. He can tell he's in the media at the compound; he just doesn't know how he got here. 

“Glad to see you're awake.” The familiar voice draws Clint's attention to the doorway. 

Clint groans as he tries to remember what happened and how he got here. “Hey, Steve. How long have I been out?”

Steve Rogers moves closer to the bed and hands Clint the small cup of water that was on the table next to him. “A few days. We had to keep you under sedation.”

Clint struggles to process that. Under sedation? What the hell for? “Why was I sedated? Actually, how did you find me? I was in the middle of a Shield mission.”

Steve grabs one of the visitor chairs put in the room and drags it over to the bed, seemingly struggling with something if the expressions on his face are anything to go by. He seems to finally settle on something when he takes a seat. 

“What's the last thing you remember Clint?” Steve says with a soft calm voice. 

Clint squints his eyes at Steve in suspicion and confusion but answers anyway. “I was sneaking into a scientist's lab. I had just managed to get past the security and was working my way inside when…”

What did happen? Why was he having such a hard time remembering? Was it a side effect of the sedation? An echo of a scream bounces around his memories but he can't place where it's from. 

“Why don't I remember? Steve, what happened that I needed sedating?”Clint asks. 

“Fury called the team when your tracker went offline. The place was so well hidden that it took us a few hours to even find the place. When we finally found you, you were strapped to a table screaming about something and trying to break free. I got the straps and cuffs off you and you ran over to one of the security guards Bucky shot screaming about how sorry you were. It was like you were seeing something completely different.” Steve whispers as if that would soften the blow. 

As Steve talks small bits and pieces of memory flash in Clint's mind causing him to gasp in pain. 

Seeing Nat again.

 His family's death. 

Their decaying bodies shambling towards him like zombies. 

“Friday! Call Laura. Call her cell.” Clint shouts as panic sets in. 

“What's wrong Clint? What's going on?” Steve asks. 

Clint doesn't answer until Laura's voice comes through the ceiling confused. “Laura, you're safe.”

“Of course I'm safe, Honey. Clint, what's wrong?” The worry in her voice comes through clear. 

He sighs in relief. It wasn't real. His family is safe. “Sorry, Laura. Just a mission gone wrong. I'll be home whenever I'm cleared from the medbay.”

“Is it serious?” She asks. 

“Mad scientist injected me with some hallucination chemicals to figure out how to mind control people. I'm fine now. I promise.” Clint says it with the utmost confidence praying to whoever will listen that it's true.

Steve nods his head in confirmation. 

“Can't you have normal problems like, I don't know, maybe getting shot?” Laura laughs, “as long as you're okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. Give the kids a hug for me.”

“I will. Now I'm sure you need to do a million other things before you can come home. Text me when you're on the way.”

“You're right I do. I'll let you know.”

They say their goodbyes and when the call has ended Clint sighs in relief. He looks at Steve and gives another sigh but this one is tired and weary. 

“I'll tell you what I know and then I am going to get some answers.” Clint says. 

~~~

Two days later and Clint is finally out of medbay and ready to leave. Whatever chemicals were on that syringe took an awful long time to clear out of his system. He'd have mild hallucinations and start screaming about something terrible he was seeing. Doctors or one of his friends would have to calm him down. 

It happened less and less as the stuff was flushed from his body until he'd finally gotten the all clear sign. He absolutely knows he's going to have nightmares about this and he's prepared to deal with the fall out. 

The wound he thought had healed at losing Nat feels like it's been ripped open and is bleeding again. It's going to take time for such a raw wound to heal again but he'll get there. 

She'll always be alive to him in his head. 

[13phantom13angel13]

Besties Care

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This is one of the prompts (relatively) for @thenewgirl76. I hope you enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason was fuming. Roy could tell by the way he was angrily cleaning his gun and muttering to himself under his breath. He didn’t know what he was pissed off about, he just knew he was mad and on the verge of going into a rage. Roy hated when Jason went into a rage. It was damn near impossible to get him out of it.

Last time it happened, well…we’ll just say it got ugly real fast. Roy had to think quickly before he got worse. Roy nibbled on his bottom lip as he thought of ways to nip it in the bud. He glanced at Jason, watching him scrub the disassembled barrel with a wire brush. Hm…

“Hey Jay.” Roy called to him from across the room. Jason didn’t even look up. Just continued to clean vigorously. Roy sighed, pushing himself off the wall and approached the stewing gun slinger. When he was behind him, he attempted to gain his attention. This time tasering his sides as he said his name loudly. “Jason!”

An undignified squeal left Jason as he jumped and damn launched himself out of his chair as he arched away, his arms slamming down against his sides. Jason looked up at the archer with startled eyes.

“What the fuck, Roy!?” He squawked out at him. Roy’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he watched Jason stand, his demeanor guarded. A devious smile spread across his lips. “Roy. No.”

“No what, Jay?” He asked as he trapped Jason against the table.

“No to whatever you’re thinking!” Jason’s hands came up to defend himself. Roy wiggled his fingers at him.

“I’m thinking I just found a way to calm you down. Now hold still.” Roy’s hands zipped out at lightning speed and latched on to Jason’s sides.

Another squeal ripped out of Jason’s throat as he slammed backwards into the corner of the table, laughter already bubbling out of him. He swatted at Roy’s hands.

“Roy nohohohoho! Stahahahahap it!” He squirmed as much as his limited space would allow as Roy chuckled with him. “Dohohon’t fuhuhucking tihihihickle me!”

“No way! I totally forgot you were ticklish.” His wiggling fingers moved up towards his ribs causing Jason to hunch forward as his laughter increased. “If this gets you out of whatever rage mode you were about to go in to, I’m not stopping until your knees give out.”

Jason’s arms were locked against his sides. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t move them to attempt to stop Roy’s tickling fingers. He started to slump down as his knees started to shake. Roy was going to get his wish soon if he didn’t stop.

“Roy plehehehehease! Knohohock it ohohohohoff!” He squirmed more as Roy’s fingers traveled higher towards his armpits. His laughter shot up in pitch as he mustered the strength to grab Roy’s arms. “Dohohon’t you dahahahre!” He cried out. Roy’s grin reached a whole new level of devious at Jason’s pleading.

“Oh. I dare!” Roy psyched Jason out by faking a move up towards his armpits and then darted down to latch on to his hips. That did it. Jason SCREAMED as he went crashing down to the floor, Roy following down after him, still attached to his hips. Jason howled in hysterics.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK!!! ROHOHOHOHOY!!! STAHAHAHAP!!! I GIHIHIHIVE!!! I GIVE!!!” Roy stopped immediately and got off of his friend. He grinned victoriously down at him.

“Don’t let me catch you in this state again. Or I promise you, I won’t stop until you cry. Got it?”

Jason nodded breathlessly as he laid on the floor holding his aching stomach. Damn that man could be ruthless. But that’s what best friends are for.

[dixons-sunshine]

Yielding Isn't My Middle Name—Chapter Three | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: Your suspicions regarding the community you were trapped in only heightened with each passing second. Daryl was mad at you, and you had confirmation that you were pregnant. Things couldn't get worse, could it?

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of pregnancy, blood and injuries.

Word count: 2.7k.

A/n: I feel like this is all over the place, plot-wise. However, another chapter was highly requested (by a few anons asking about it), so I stuck it out and this was born. I also feel like it ends on an awkward note, but I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger. I don't know if I did it right lol. Anyways, I hope you like this!

Taglist: @dixons-girl89 @jupiter1700 @enlightndone @shadowcitrine @ddamm @caseylicious @celtic-crossbow

“Alright, then.” Doctor Owen Miller tightly secured the bandage around Daryl's wrist. “The bandages should be able to come off in two to three days. The rope burns weren't that severe. You can feel really lucky about that.”

The doctor's suspiciously friendly voice barely reached the archer's ears. His ocean coloured eyes stared off at nothing in particular, his mind desperately attempting to wrap around that one pivotal fact the doctor had accidentally exposed to the unsuspecting father. Due to that fact, about a million thoughts were flooding through his brain—pregnant. You're pregnant. Baby. Father. He was going to be a father. He needed to get you out of there. He needed to keep you safe.

“Liam should be made aware that I expect to see the lady again tomorrow,” Doctor Owen told Mariah, subtly motioning over to you. “With the beating Peter gave her, I want to monitor the baby. I want to ensure that these two don't lose their child due to that asshole's—” The doctor cut himself off and took a deep breath before continuing. “Peter's recklessness. Please bring that to his attention.” With that, the doctor walked towards the door and opened it, momentarily stopping to add one last thing. “I'm off for the rest of day. Don't forget to lock up once your done.”

Mariah nodded as she helped you from the bed, careful not to disturb your injuries. “Of course.” She turned towards you and gave you a hesitant smile. “Ma'am, how are you feeling?”

How were you feeling? There were at least a million answers to that question: Slightly happy. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. But above all else? Overwhelmed. You were truly and undeniably extremely overwhelmed. You now had concrete evidence that you had a life growing within you, and although you were ecstatic at the news, you knew there were far more pressing matters at hand. For one, you were a thousand percent sure that your husband was pissed at you for keeping your pregnancy a secret and insisting on going with him beyond the safety the walls of Alexandria provided. On another note, you were even more certain that the supposed safe zone the two of you found yourselves trapped in wasn't all what Liam was making it out to be. That almost definitely meant that blood would be shed when you and Daryl attempted your escapes.

“Ma'am?” Mariah prompted, snapping her fingers in your face to grab your attention. “How are you feeling?” she repeated the question in a softer tone.

You shrugged and cast your eyes down towards your feet. “Okay, I guess,” you mumbled out weakly, your voice unknowingly snapping Daryl out of his trance and redirecting his fiery gaze to you. “I've had it way worse than this before.”

Mariah chuckled before she took a step back. “I bet,” she began, picking up the tray with the various tools and ointments that were used to clean and fix up your wounds. “You look like a real tough gal. You wouldn't have survived if you didn't get roughed up a couple of times, right?”

“Right,” you agreed in a mutter, your eyes hesitantly moving to meet those of your husband. You flinched a bit when you were met with a glare, but you didn't blame him. You knew he'd be pissed, and rightfully so. You just didn't expect him to be so open about his anger. Well, open by your standards. To the regular eye, his anger would be mistaken for the signature Daryl scowl, but you knew better. This was different. He was angry. And he was angry at you, which made it so much worse.

Mariah placed the tray on one of the tables before turning back to face you and Daryl. However, before she could speak up, a voice could be heard through the room; a voice that you had grown to know and hate, all within a few... Minutes? Hours? You didn't even know at this point.

“Mariah, love,” the voice of your captor, Liam, rung through the air from the walkie talkie that was sat on one of the shelves. “It was just brought to my attention that Doctor Miller is done with the new recruits. Please bring them up to the house for me.”

Mariah sighed, her steadily relaxing demeanour being replaced by that earlier nervous, mouse-like stature she had when you had originally met her. She walked towards the door and opened it. “Please follow me,” she squeaked out nervously, her eyes darting around.

You slowly walked towards her, not sparing Daryl a glance because you didn't want to see the anger behind those beautiful blue eyes of his. Besides, as mad as the archer was at you, he would never let you face that man alone. He would much rather die, that much you knew.

Daryl grumbled to himself and followed behind you, proving your point. Together, in silence, the two of you followed the woman out of the makeshift medical building and up to the big farmhouse you vaguely remembered spotting earlier—the farmhouse Liam had mentioned you and Daryl would be staying in with him. In no time at all, the three of you were walking up the steps of the majestic, white home, and in through the front door.

The inside of the home looked even more beautiful than the outside. It seemed as if though the horrors of the outside world were never heard of for this house. The floors were shining, the walls were decorated with all sorts of artwork, and there was even a television resting in the living room. However, you doubted the object even worked, because you hadn't spotted solar panels or anything that could generate power, so the thing was more of a decoration than anything else.

You were snapped out of your rather unnecessary train of thought by the feeling of someone's hand resting on your shoulder. The touch was all too familiar—it was your husband who was resting his hand on your shoulder. A subtle glance to your left proved your suspicions correct. So your husband didn't hate you. You considered that a win. However, you were confused as to why he felt the need to do that. He rarely did that in public, unless he was trying to comfort you, or to refrain himself from launching a punch in someone's direction. So why would he—

Your thoughts were cut off by the obnoxious sound of an all too familiar British accented voice. “Ah, well would you look at you?” Liam began as he descended down the stairs, his green eyes alight with invitation. However, whether or not it was genuine, you were yet to find out. “You're looking better, Y/N. Doctor Miller did a good job. A shower and a set of fresh clothes will certainly make you look rather ravishing.” Daryl's hand tightened on your shoulder, and you brought your hand to rest over his, a subtle way of trying to calm him down. Liam noticed, however, and sent Daryl a reassuring smile with a raise of his hands. “Woah, there, champ. No need to get all feisty. I already have a lady of my own. I was just making an observation.”

“Observation, my ass. Shouldn't even be lookin' at her, ya stupid fuck,” you heard Daryl mumble under his breath, and you had to refrain from giggling. Daryl wasn't a jealous guy perse, and he certainly wouldn't stop you from befriending other guys, but he definitely had his moments. Although he had other reasons to want to knock this guy out, it was rather cute to know that he didn't want Liam to look at you that way.

Liam, thankfully, was blissfully unaware of the archer's hateful words, instead turning to regard Mariah, who had been quiet during the whole exchange. “Hey, my beautiful girl,” he greeted her, opening his arms as an invitation for a hug.

Mariah hesitantly walked into his arms, tensing slightly when he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head. You were sure to make a mental note about that. You didn't know why exactly Mariah was so scared of her husband, but you knew it wasn't good. If his own wife was terrified of him for god knows what reason, you didn't even want to know what he could do to complete strangers.

After he was satisfied with the hug, Liam pulled back and turned back to you and Daryl. He was about to say something until an unknown man barged into the room, breathless and sweating. Liam scowled angrily at the man, swiftly pushing Mariah aside. “Reggie, this better be really fucking important. You know how I feel about being interrupted when interviewing new recruits.”

The man—Reggie—quickly nodded. “I know, I know.” He panted breathlessly and leaned against the wall in an attempt to recapture his breath. “There was a man who demanded to speak to you. He refuses to speak to anyone but the leader.”

Liam stared at Reggie for a few seconds, his face giving absolutely nothing away, until he nodded and turned back to you and Daryl. “Please make yourselves comfortable. I promise I won't be long. Mariah,” he began, turning to his wife and lazily waving towards the door that lead to another room. “Please make our guests something to eat. I'm sure they must be absolutely famished. Oh, and get them something to drink as well.” Liam sent the two of you a smile. “I hope wine is alright. I'd offer up some scotch, but that's really hard to come by and I don't fancy wine that much, you see.”

“Liam!” Reggie exclaimed impatiently. “We got to go!”

“For fuck's sake, alright!” Liam roared loudly, his eyes alight with a fiery glare. He roughly pushed past the man and stormed out of the door, Reggie having to jog behind him to keep up. The door closed behind them with a slam, and just like that, you and Daryl were left alone with Mariah for the second time that day.

Mariah let out a small sigh, and you could see her visibly relax without Liam's presence. It was odd to you that the woman felt more at ease with two complete strangers who could turn around and end up hurting—or killing—her, and it only fueled your reluctance to trust Liam. There was something very off about that man, and you were determined to find out what.

Mariah turned to look at you, her eyes darting between your face and your stomach. “Um, are you sure you want wine? I mean, I don't want to force you to do anything, but—”

“It's okay,” you cut her off, sending her a small, tight-lipped smile. “Water is fine, thank you.”

Mariah nodded and motioned towards the couches. “Please, feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I won't be long.” With that, she scurried off into the kitchen, leaving you and Daryl alone in the living room.

Without the company of others, the air surrounding the two of you got tense very quickly. Neither of you made a move to sit down, but Daryl did move away from you, his warm, comforting touch leaving your shoulder. He refused to make eye contact with you, and it broke your heart. You knew he was mad at you, and he had every right to be, but it certainly didn't mean that it didn't hurt. You were certain it would be up to you to clear the air, and that's what you'd do—whether Mariah heard it or not.

“Daryl—” you began hesitantly, but you were instantly shut down.

“Don't,” he muttered bitterly, his back still turned to you. His shoulders were visibly tensed and even though you couldn't see it, you knew his jaw was as well. He was trying hard not to lash out at you, and you had to give him credit for his self-control.

However, you weren't having any of it. You were nothing if not extremely persistent, so you'd stop at nothing until you'd had a chance to explain yourself. “No, I'm not gonna stop until you've let me speak my mind.”

Daryl whipped around to face you, his eyes finally meeting yours. His eyes were set in a steely glare, but you didn't back down. “Where could ya possibly start explainin' yerself to me?” he spat bitterly. “Yer pregnant and ya kept tha' from me? Ya begged and pleaded to come with me on the run today and put yerself and our baby in danger! Now 'cause'a tha', yer in fuckin' danger. If ya had jus' told me tha' ya were pregnant, maybe things would'a been different. Maybe we would'a been safe back home. Maybe I never would'a suggested the run. Maybe I would'a let Rick come with instead'a ya. Maybe—”

You cut Daryl off by pulling him into a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. He froze for a few seconds, hesitating to return the hug, but ultimately wrapped his arms around you. He rested his chin on top of your head, closing his eyes as he felt the anger drain from his body. He never could stay mad at you. However, it didn't mean that he wasn't still upset that you were in danger.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered against his chest. “I should've told you I was pregnant, I know that. I just didn't want to say anything until I was a hundred percent sure. That's why I wanted to go on that run with you. I wanted to find a few pregnancy test. I guess I could've just asked you to do that, but I didn't want you to freak out. I was... Scared. I was scared that if you knew that I thought I was pregnant, something would go wrong. I don't know what I expected to go wrong, but I just... I promise I was gonna tell you after I knew for sure. You have to believe me. I—”

“Hey, s'okay,” Daryl reassured you, pulling back to look into your eyes. Daryl was feeling all kinds of bad at that moment. You didn't deserve to be treated like that for any reason, especially not by him. You had your reasons for keeping it a secret from him, and he couldn't blame you for it. He was upset, but the two of you could figure that out later. For now, all he wanted to do was get you the hell out of that place, and to do that, he needed a clear mind. “M'sorry fer reactin' like tha'. M'upset ya didn't tell me, but there ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it now. We jus' have to figure out a way to get the fuck outta here. We can figure the rest out later, alrigh'?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you practically sprung apart when the door flung open again. However, instead of being met by Liam, you were met by somebody completely different. The man came strutting in like he owned the place. The man stopped and regarded the two of you with an indifferent look. “And you two are?” he questioned, plopping himself down on one of the couches.

You shared a look with Daryl, neither of you making any attempts to answer the question. However, you didn't need to, because Liam soon entered the home as well, sending you and Daryl a suspiciously friendly smile. “Sorry for disappearing, champs,” he began. “He was the one causing an uproar by the gates. This guy can make quite the spectacle when he wants to, don't you, brother?” The two men shared a laugh, before Liam calmed down and regarded the two of you. A look of realization dawned on his face, and he hit his forehead with his palm. “Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce him. This is Lucas Davis, my brother and right-hand man.”

The man—Lucas—sent you a small smirk, his eyes trailing you up and down. And for some reason, you knew that the arrival of this man would only mean trouble.

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[miraculousmultifan]

stranger things (taylor's version) prompt list

this list contains every taylor swift song and it will be marked by which songs have already been claimed. i'm sorting these prompts by album in chronological order.

since taylor swift has A LOT of songs, the list will be below the cut :D

original post HERE.

taylor swift

tim mcgraw

picture to burn

teardrops on my guitar

a place in this world

cold as you

the outside

tied together with a smile

stay beautiful

should've said no

mary's song (oh my my my)

our song

i'm only me when i'm with you

invisible

a perfectly good heart

fearless

fearless

fifteen

love story

hey stephen

white horse

you belong with me

breathe

tell me why

you're not sorry

the way i loved you

forever & always

the best day

change

jump then fall

untouchable

come in with the rain

superstar

the other side of the door

today was a fairytale

you all over me

mr. perfectly fine

we were happy

that's when

don't you

bye bye baby

speak now

mine

sparks fly

back to december

speak now

dear john

mean

the story of us

never grow up

enchanted

better than revenge

innocent

haunted

last kiss

long live

ours

if this was a movie

superman

electric touch

when emma falls in love

i can see you

castles crumbling

foolish one

timeless

red

state of grace

red

treacherous

i knew you were trouble

all too well

22

i almost do

we are never ever getting back together

stay stay stay

the last time

holy ground

sad beautiful tragic

the lucky one

everything has changed

starlight

begin again

the moment i knew

come back... be here

girl at home

ronan

better man

nothing new

babe

message in a bottle

i bet you think about me

forever winter

run

the very first night

eyes open

safe & sound

1989

welcome to new york

blank space

style

out of the woods

all you had to do was stay

shake it off

i wish you would

bad blood

wildest dreams

how you get the girl

this love

i know places

clean

wonderland

you are in love

new romantics

"slut!"

say don't go

now that we don't talk

suburban legends

is it over now?

reputation

...ready for it?

end game

i did something bad

don't blame me

delicate

look what you made me do

so it goes...

gorgeous

getaway car

king of my heart

dancing with our hands tied

dress

this is why we can't have nice things

call it what you want

new year's day

lover

i forgot that you existed

cruel summer

lover

the man

the archer

i think he knows

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

paper rings

cornelia street

death by a thousand cuts

london boy

soon you'll get better

false god

you need to calm down

afterglow

ME!

it's nice to have a friend

daylight

folklore

the 1

cardigan

the last great american dynasty

exile

my tears ricochet

mirrorball

seven

august

this is me trying

illicit affairs

invisible string

mad woman

epiphany

betty

peace

hoax

the lakes

evermore

willow

champagne problems

gold rush

'tis the damn season

tolerate it

no body, no crime

happiness

dorothea

coney island

ivy

cowboy like me

long story short

marjorie

closure

evermore

right where you left me

it's time to go

midnights

lavender haze

maroon

anti-hero

snow on the beach

you're on your own kid

midnight rain

question...?

vigilante shit

bejeweled

labyrinth

karma

sweet nothing

mastermind

the great war

bigger than the whole sky

paris

high infidelity

glitch

would've, could've, should've

dear reader

hits different

you're losing me

the tortured poets department

fortnight

the tortured poets department

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

down bad

so long, london

but daddy i love him

fresh out the slammer

florida!!!

guilty as sin?

who’s afraid of little old me?

i can fix him (no really i can)

loml

i can do it with a broken heart

the smallest man who ever lived

the alchemy

clara bow

the black dog

imgonnagetyouback

the albatross

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

how did it end?

so high school

i hate it here

thanK you aIMee

i look in peoples windows

the prophecy

cassandra

peter

the bolter

robin

the manuscript

[cosmiclove-heavenstruck]

october prompts: #1 thick, acrid smoke (by @scealaiscoite)

he sets her on fire, but she still chooses him. she has waited so long for this. the people are mad, but she stays in smoke – until he leaves. the smoke still haunts her, lingering on her clothes and in her room.

sources under the cut

loml / i can fix him (no really i can) / hoax / castles crumbling / daylight / you're on your own, kid / clara bow / the black dog / cardigan / you're on your own, kid / "slut!" / the archer / hoax

all by taylor swift

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwritePrompt #2: Horizon

Prompt #2- Horizon

Entry #1

"Are you still here? Gods, its like the Archer's guild is rotting… And Luciane just keeps letting it happen by admitting outsiders! If the Twelveswood is on peril, its because of people like you."

The voice had come from behind Falerin's back, and its shrill cadence left no doubt as to who it belonged to. Falerin lowered his bow and stretched his arms languidly, not bothering to turn and look at the Wildwood who was speaking to him. Instead he leaned back against the railing between the lobby and the shooting range.

"Take it up with Luciane then, Silly. She invited me to practice here." he said, pretending to stifle a yawn. He'd learned long ago that the best way to piss people like him off was not with heated arguments so much as casual dismissals. Just the same, hearing that voice brought bile to his throat.

"My name is Silvairre." the Elezen said. His voice was almost a growl.

Fal smiled widely, still not bothering to turn around.

"Oh I know. But believe me, its better than the other things I want to call you." he raised his bow again and took aim while still leaning on the railing, knowing that showing such a disregard for proper Wildwood archery form would irritate the man further.

"Every day we see more and more of you disrespectful, blasphemous, filthy Ala Mhigans. The elementals rejected you for a reason, you know. You fools think you're entitled to our land just because you let yours fall to the Garleans. This would never have happened to the Wildwood." he said, having all the bluff and bluster of an angry chicken.

Falerin took aim carefully, disguising an irritated sigh as a meditative breathing exercise. Turnabout was fair play. He'd told Silvairre he wasn't actually from Ala Mhigo just as many times as Silvairre had corrected him on the pronunciation of his name, to just as much success. The bile in his throat rose even further. Fal knew that he should let the conversation go at that and not engage the man further. But if he'd learned anything from living with the 'Mhigans, it was stubbornly refusing to lay down and die, literally or metaphorically. One could only gracefully evade for so long, especially when the blows were aimed as low as blaming the dispossessed subjects of a mad king for their own suffering.

"You're wrong." he said simply, loosing an arrow, which thudded into the target just a few ilms off-center.

"Remember what Luciane said - right and wrong are merely questions of perspective. And that was a terrible shot."

Fal finally turned around, greeting Silvairre with his wide smile. Hearing him quote the guildmaster was rich. He'd probably already called her a fool more than once that day, albeit behind her back. He was a man who would only grant respect for others if it benefitted him, and even then only in certain situations.

"I know you love the sound of your own voice but do you even hear yourself?" Fal said calmly, crossing one foot over the other and leaning on his bow. "Of course your perspective is shit - you're so far up your own ass that you cant even see out of your own arsehole, not that you'd want to come out of it, what with how much you revel in the smell of your own farts."

Silvairre's face reddened. Fal continued to smile.

"Would that your arrows were as accurate as your insults are vulgar!" Silvairre spat, abruptly turning around and storming out of the guild.

((Okay, you got me. This has fuck all to do with the Horizon prompt. I tried to work the word into that last insult, but "You can't see the horizon past your own arsehole" just sounded too wordy. If this one wins me a prize, I'll abdicate. : P))

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes Chapter Sixteen

Are We Crazy...

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> The pair meet a therapist, and Widow meets Clint... In a nicer way.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 5920

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Shitty therapists, dismissal of symptoms, forced viewpoints, just general crappy approaches to mental health, particularly psychosis. But also self-realisation and cute stuff.

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. You know the drill. A surprisingly feel-good chapter in the end, though. Corresponds to Magic and Madness - Chapter Five, though the two events are unrelated. Masterlist can be found here. It's here that the main reality starts to become evident in this work, in a way that is, for us, beautifully poetic. We deeply hope you enjoy this turn of events. Creators reserve the right to discuss their own condition however they see fit. And uh, smut. Lots o' smut. Sorrynotsorry. Is squirting a porn trope not often seen in real life? Maybe. Is it still something that we think needs to be normalised? Yes. (consider this a content warning for uh mess rip)

Check it out below, or on AO3 here! The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (15/72) Next Chapter (17/72) ->

Bruce still wouldn’t let me look at the scale, but between his subtle smile and the bloat still settling in my abdomen, I knew my weight had gone up.

Lunch was a buffet of reheated dishes, quickly polished off throughout the morning by a cycle of Avengers dipping in and out.

For once, Clint and I were the only ones actually sat at the table – a condition of my treatment plan – and it was a startlingly laid-back meal, for once.

… I could get away with it. There’s only Clint here to watch me. He’ll never notice if something that made its way to my plate carefully makes its way back.

Maybe, Widow conceded, but then we looked in unison to the archer beside us, gesticulating wildly, crumbs spilling from his mouth, and they smiled fondly. But you shouldn’t. For him.

For him, I agreed, taking another bite.

“Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?”

I hate her.

The disdain was instant as she’d settled herself opposite me, all sharp angles and high cheekbones, gaze flicking over my body indiscreetly.

Someone that looks like that is supposed teach me to eat?

Widow snorted, rolling their eyes. Talk about the blind leading the blind, huh?

���I have an eating disorder rooted in a history of sexual, emotional, psychological and physical abuse, both in childhood and in adulthood. Oh, and there’s a voice in my head that tells me if I don’t starve myself, I’ll be killed when the people who raised – tortured  - me from a young age finally hunt me down and take me back there. I go days at a time without eating, I make myself sick, and I dig knives into my flesh; the most recent example of this actually put me into a coma for two weeks. We're here because it’s reached a point of no return, and if this doesn’t stop now, it won’t stop all.”

Widow winced as I spoke of them, and I murmured an internal apology. I just want to shock her. She seems unflappable.

“A voice?” she prompted evenly, making a note on the sheet on her lap. “What voice is that?”

“A part of me,” I countered quickly, eyes narrowed. “An irrefutable and profound part of who I am.”

She hummed, watching me carefully. “You seem very attached to something you say causes you distress.”

“They’re learning to do better.”

“’They’? I thought you said there was only one.”

I rolled my eyes at her arbitrary focus, unable to hide my petulance much longer. “They’re a ‘they’ because they don’t fit in to human concepts of gender, not because they are plural.” An amused snort echoed in my mind, wryly but gently pointing to the amount of times I’d referred to us as ‘we’.

“I see,” she murmured, making way more notes than my response had warranted. “And this ‘voice’. Is it here with us now?”

“They are always here.”

“I see. What is it saying?”

Fuck this bitch. I’m not an it.

I bit back a smirk, shrugging. “They don’t always say much.”

Her eyebrow quirked, unimpressed. “Then how do you know it’s there?”

“They are always there. A part of me, like I said.” Fuck this bitch. You're not an it.

“I’m concerned about the validation you are giving to this ‘voice’ through your personification.”

Since when was therapy about just bashing me? I’ve made mistakes, but damn...

I shook my head, willing to give her one more chance. “They aren’t especially relevant; can we just get back to my issues?”

She hummed, chin balancing on perfectly tented fingers. “Actually, I think it is profoundly relevant. I think that most of your behaviour – which I’m reluctant to label an eating disorder, or trauma – is based upon this ‘voice’, and your steadfast dedication to it is deeply troubling. I think it’s highly possible that normal human emotions – sadness when something goes wrong, low self-esteem – have been twisted, not as a result of a litany of various mental illnesses, as you seem to believe, but as a result of an auditory hallucination, your determined belief of which seems akin to psychosis. I think that you would find significant relief in treating and eradicating this ‘voice’, and that the removal of it would be endlessly beneficial for you. Would you say my assessment is accurate?”

I blinked.

I blinked again.

Please… Please let me take this one.

Have at it.

I was jerked backwards, body unmoving but impossibly distant, and I vaguely recognised the sensation when I had conceded control to Widow once before – when they broke Clint’s heart.

“You know nothing,” they ground out, fingers curled into intimidating fists by their sides as they stood, entire body bristling with fury. “You are nothing. You are a poorly-trained fool who wouldn’t understand a real problem if it slapped her in the face – and believe me, it is tempted.”

The therapist paled with understanding, fingers reaching unconsciously for something unseen. “I-I didn’t mean to imply-”

“You did not imply anything. You told this poor, damaged girl that all of her issues are in her head – that they are her fault, rather than the blame resting solely on those who treated her – treated us – the way they did. Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused? Three days ago, Nat just might have believed you, and it would have killed her.”

“And as for my own ‘treatment and eradication’,” they quipped, fingers quoting sarcastically as they stepped closer, predatory and terrifying, “what do you think now? Do you think I am just an ‘auditory hallucination’, a symptom of psychosis? A voice without a name, or even deserving of the basic fucking dignity of not being repeatedly addressed as an ‘it’, despite being told that I am, in fact, not an it?” Their hands slammed down on the arms of the chair, leaning closer to her trembling face, no longer an inspiration of cheekbones and jawlines, but instead a mess of sweat and terror as she shook her head quickly. “My name is Widow, you little bitch. And if Natasha was asleep right now, you would not be walking out of this room. I will always protect her, and fuck you for trying to tell her otherwise.”

There was no blackout this time, no disconnect as Widow brought true fear to the dangerously underqualified therapist, and I whooped my support as they turned on a heel, storming from the interview room, the glass above the door cracking with the impact.

That was amazing – you are amazing!

“Thank you,” they grunted, bare knuckles stinging as they collided again and again with the heavy boxing bag, sweat running in rivulets down their arms.

“Heart rate spike – Natasha Romanoff, gymnasium.” Friday’s lyrical voice was soft but distant, and I rolled my eyes.

You know we shouldn’t be exercising, right?

“Punch the bag or punch the bitch, it is your choice,” they quipped, and I revelled in the passionate ache in our straining muscles.

“Nat? You in here?”

Widow froze, panting lightly, dropping instinctively into a half crouch. What do I do?

I shrugged internally, stepping back as they tried to drag me forward. It’s your call. But you don’t have to be afraid of facing him as yourself. He might not understand – not at first – but he loves me, and you’re a part of me. He loves us; he just doesn’t understand that we’re not one and the same yet.

Nodding stiffly, they straightened, bruised knuckles curled through habit as Clint stepped around the corner, taking in the bedraggled person stood before him and the steady swaying of the bag.

“Nat, what the hell? Your therapist just left, looking like she’d had the fright of her life – she said… Well, it doesn’t matter what she said, but she definitely won’t be coming back. You’re not supposed to be exercising, either. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“Нет,” Widow replied, shaking their head as they stepped back, hands raised defensively. (No.)

… You’re scared. How did I never realise, all this time? You’re not mean, or angry, or vindictive. You’re just scared.

“Nat?” Clint pressed, head cocked with concern, extending his fingers.

Widow met his gaze steadily. I’m terrified. “Нет.”

His brow furrowed, and then cleared, nervous understanding dawning. “You’re not Natasha.” They nodded once, jerkily, eyes narrowing as the proffered fingers receeded. “You’re… You’re The Voice, aren’t you?”

“She calls me Widow now,” they replied, tongue still thick and heavy through a lack of familiarity.

C’mon, Clint. You’ve got this. Please, please don’t be afraid of them.

Please… Don’t be afraid of me.

Clint nodded, fingertips brushing the tattoo on his wrist unconsciously. “She’s safe?”

They flinched minutely, wounded at the implication. “I will always keep her safe.”

Snorting softly, his gaze found the cracks on their knuckles. “You’ve not always done the best job, have you?”

I winced, but Widow simply rolled their jaw, head shaking. “Нет… But I am trying to be better.”

Clint paused, watching them carefully before he inched slowly closer. “That therapist… She didn’t have many nice things to say about our Natasha. Is that why you scared her?” They nodded, gaze dropping, and he extended his fingers once more, reaching across the space between us and him. “Then I’m glad you were there to protect her. Thank you, Widow.”

They looked up in shock, finding his eyes, firm and genuine, resting on their own. “… You are welcome, Clint.”

I gasped as Widow backed away, finding myself once more in control of our body, muscles trembling with exertion and adrenaline, heaving air into tired lungs. My knees trembled and I sat quickly, hands buried in my hair as I sobbed.

There were no more words until I was tucked up in our bed, Clint’s hands gently smoothing antiseptic across our battered knuckles, the skin softened by lack of training. “…Nat?”

I nodded quietly, burrowing closer against his side. “Hi.”

He exhaled softly, placing a gentle kiss to my hair. “Hi.”

“Am I crazy? She… The therapist – she said Widow is a hallucination, and that I’m psychotic. Is the right?” My words were soft, muttered against his hipbone shamefully, but he tipped my head to meet his eyes.

“I can’t say I exactly understand what is happening in that head of yours – but I don’t think you’re crazy, Nat, and I definitely don’t think Widow is a hallucination. She seems as real as you or me.”

I nodded once, swallowing around the lump in my throat, but Widow baulked. “They,” I amended quickly, sensing the cause of their discomfort. “They don’t like ‘she’ – and definitely not ‘it’. They like ‘they’.”

His fingertips brushed my forehead, smiling softly. “They. Got it. Sorry, Widow.”

I grinned as they did, my fingers wrapping with his. “They appreciate that. The therapist… No matter how many times we corrected her, or when I explained that Widow doesn’t really fit gender, she just kept saying ‘it’.”

He grimaced, returning to his careful ministrations on our cracked knuckles. “Yeah… I think Fury might need to reassess the therapists he employs. And, ideally, get rid of a few in the process.” He leant to kiss my hair, and I purred. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk to Bruce, see if he has any thoughts, and then we’ll find one more suitable. If you’re willing to try again,” he added, lip curling. I nodded, and he paused. “I… If both of you are willing to try again.”

Are you?

Widow snorted, rolling their eyes. I’m always happy to scare the shit out of an idiot, so yeah. But thanks… for asking.

Smiling fondly, I burrowed closer against my partner. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

There was a pause, and then he sighed, wrapping light bandages around my hands. “You know we’re going to have to tell Bruce you were beating up a punching bag, right? I mean, he knew about the alert, and the therapist hauling ass, but I’m gonna have to tell him you were exercising.”

I flinched, but nodded my acceptance, a blossom of pride blooming in my chest at him making the difficult choice. “It’s okay. I get it.” His lips brushed my tender knuckles, soft and tentative, and he hummed thoughtfully. “... I know recovery should be motivation enough for its own sake, but I had an idea for our own little contract.”

I quirked a brow uncertainly. “We... We’re not meant to be deviating from the treatment plan, Clint. Last time-”

He shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. This is more of a reward-punishment kind of deal.”

“Oh? That’s... Interesting.”

He smirked, pulling me bodily onto his lap. “Well, Bruce cleared us to still... Be us, right? So… How about we try that ‘pillow princess’ thing, huh?”

I grinned in response, arms snaking around his neck, purring lightly. “I can’t say I’m opposed to the idea.”

He shivered as my tongue met his jaw, then drew back, swallowing. “Well, there lies the reward-punishment part. I’ll spend all evening, every evening, letting you just lay on that pillow... As long as you’ve been following your treatment plan that day,” he added, his thumbs skimming the bandages on my knuckles, and I scowled.

“But I didn’t know today – that’s not fair. Besides, I did so many good things today, remember? A good first day. I even...” Head ducked, I looked away. “It was just us for lunch, and I knew I could have gotten away with it. But I didn’t.”

I glanced up as his chest puffed with pride, lips brushing my forehead tenderly. “I really appreciate you telling me that, Nat... I guess you’re right. We’ll consider adherence from now. But this is your only free pass,” he added, one finger raised warningly, expression barely shifting as I wriggled in his lap. I nodded and grinned, wrapping my fingers with his, delighted by this new motivation I’d been given. Clint, however, simply paused and cocked his head, watching me uncertainly.

“What is it?”

“How does this... Work, now? I mean... It’s their body too, right? And you know how important consent is to me. I don’t want to... Do anything they don’t want, too.”

Fingertips brushing my chest, I sighed softly, touched. “Clint...”

He really is nice, isn’t he?

He really is.

“Honestly, I don’t think either of us quite know the answer to that. It’s... Complicated – and I’m sure Widow will correct me if I’m wrong – but I think... It’s largely up to whoever is currently in control, y’know? There’s... We don’t have to be around for something, if we don’t want to be.”

Though we should probably discuss any ‘hard no’ limits at some point. Like Clint said... It’s our body. There’s a difference between not wanting to be present for something, and not wanting it to happen at all.

Clint hummed, oblivious, and then glanced at me. “... Has it always been you?”

My hand wavered back and fourth, indecisive. “It’s always been at least me. I’ve always been the one in control. And before you ask, yes – the other night was my idea. Widow wasn’t even around for most of it. It actually... It was a turning point for us, when we took care of you, after. I think it was the start of stuff changing.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“I’d like to get to know them better,” Clint murmured, his hands trailing my sides lightly. “I think we have a lot in common – we both only want to protect you. And we’ve both been a little… Misguided about how to do that in the past, but we’re trying to do better.”

… I think I’d like that.

I relayed their sentiment, and he grinned, fingers smoothing my hair gently. “And hey, you never know… Maybe one day I’ll find out what they like, too,” he noted, smirking, before paling in panic. “Not that I would ever assume… I don’t think I have a right, or anything. And you’d have to be okay with it, of course. I mean, is it cheating? You’re separate people, but it’s still your body…”

I laughed, pressing my hand soothingly to his chest. “Clint, take a breath. It’s fine. I think we’d enjoy that.”

Speak for yourself. I jerked back, horrified at my lack of clarification, and they laughed. I’m kidding, Nat. I’d very much like a front row seat to his… Prowess. You’ve had your first, I think I’m overdue.

I snorted, rolling my eyes affectionately and pressing my forehead to my partner’s. “Does this mean we’re in a throuple, or something?”

“I think the kids these days call it ‘polyamory’, Nat,” he laughed, lips brushing mine. “But I think we don’t need to put a label on it – at least not yet.”

“You’re the one who called us a couple,” I pointed out with a smirk, recalling his declaration after the attempted car theft. “They picked ‘the wrong couple’, remember?”

Blushing lightly, he nodded. “I remember. I also really hoped you hadn’t heard that. I wanted to ask in a better way.”

“Ask what?” I pressed, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

“If you – oh, God, I feel like a child, but I want this to be official,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, face darkening from pink to magenta. “If you’d be my girlfriend, Natasha.”

A pure, innocent thrum travelled through my body, a happy shiver following in its wake. “I’d be honoured, Mr. Barton.”

After dinner – an uneventful, if somewhat challenging affair – Clint and I cornered Bruce, retiring to the lab with mugs of coffee.

“… And that was when Nat came back – our Nat, I mean. But it’s not the first time – and sometimes it’s not a full takeover like that, she just goes a little… Blank, you know?”

Bruce hummed, watching me carefully. “Do you lose time? Come around in places you don’t remember getting to?” I nodded enthusiastically, unable to count the amount of times I’d disappeared during a particularly stressful mission, or even just ‘woke up’ in the middle of my kitchen, with no recollection of getting out of bed. “How’s your memory?”

I rolled one shoulder thoughtfully, chewing on my lip. “Not too bad, now. But… I don’t remember a lot of stuff from my past. Even things I should. I get flashes sometimes, but… Mostly it’s just a feeling. Fear. Panic. Desperation.” The nights spent exercising and purging that I can only get vague impressions of.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Bruce surveyed me, head cocked. “How long have you been hearing her for?”

“’Them’,” Clint and I corrected together, and I shot him a fond smile. “I’ve heard them… I guess since the thing with Cl-… The thing with Loki,” I amended, wincing apologetically. “But… I think they’ve been around longer. I think the reason I don’t remember a lot of the horrible things that happened to me is because they do. I think they just… Want to protect me.”

His fingers pressed to his lips, deep in thought, and I exchanged another glance with my partner – my boyfriend, I amended with a shy giggle. “Natasha, I am not a psychologist. But I have some thoughts, and I believe I know exactly who I need to refer you to.”

I swallowed dryly, hands clenched tight. “Do you think I’m crazy? Or psychotic?” I added, heart hammering.

The doctor simply smiled sympathetically, shaking his head. “No, Nat. I don’t think you’re crazy. And I certainly don't think you're psychotic.”

“So… What is it? What’s going on with me?”

He hesitated briefly, glancing between the two of us. “I can’t say for certain, and I don’t want to give you inaccurate information if I turn out to be wrong.”

“Just a theory, Bruce. Please. I… I feel like I’m losing my mind sometimes,” I admitted, voice dropping to a whisper.

Wincing empathetically, he nodded. “… What do you know about Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

“So it’s often thought to be caused by childhood trauma?”

Bruce nodded, the end of his pen between his teeth. “Though there are arguments about that – but this isn’t the time, and nor is it applicable to Natasha’s situation. I think it’s pretty clear that Widow has been around since her childhood, trying to protect her from the things she endured in the Red Room.”

“Oh, so I’m a textbook crazy,” I snorted, pushing a hand through my hair.

All jokes aside, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. Widow and I had listened quietly as Bruce explained the disorder and common symptoms, becoming increasingly awestruck as to the accuracy of what he was saying.

Though if anyone ever calls me a ‘personality state’ again, I’m going to get violent.

I laughed aloud, drawing the men’s eyes to me. “Widow doesn’t agree with some of the terminology,” I explained, still grinning. Bruce reached for a piece of paper, and Clint leaned forward, listening intently.

“Why don’t you tell us how we can make them more comfortable, then?” the Doctor pressed, pen poised.

My archer nodded, gaze flicking briefly to Bruce. “I’d like a copy, too.”

“Of course.”

I blinked in disbelief, startled and touched by this display of consideration, a far cry from the trained professional who had simply questioned my sanity. “W-Well, uh… ‘Personality state’. ‘Alter’. They’re just… Widow. A person. It makes them feel less important – nobody refers to me like that, after all.” Bruce nodded, his  pen moving blindly across the paper, his eyes still focused on me. “Uh… I guess the idea of their existence being a ‘disorder’ kind of sucks too, you know? Like… They’re not something that needs to be cured.”

“Is there another way you’d like us to refer to your… Situation?”

I smiled fondly as a suggestion echoed in my head, nodding in agreement. “We are… Multitudes. Many. I guess we're just... Nat and Widow, you know? Natasha.”

Clint beamed, reaching out to take my hand fondly. “And I love every part of your multitudes, my dear, sweet Natasha,” he assured me – us – while Widow flushed.

“And we don’t want ‘treatment’,” I added, brow furrowed. “They’re not something that needs ‘eradicating’. The only thing we need is to learn how to communicate more effectively.”

Bruce nodded again, making another note. “I’ll make sure to find a therapist who doesn’t push for integration – fusion, of the alt- the people present, into a single individual,” he explained, wincing sweetly at his fumble.

I shook my head fiercely. “I don’t want that. Neither of us want that.”

… Really? I’d have thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me, if you had a real chance.

No way, I scoffed, shaking my head once more and drawing looks of confusion from the two men around me. You’ve saved my life, Widow.

I also tried to end it.

What you tried to do – everything you’ve ever tried to do – might have been… Misguided, at times. But you were just trying to keep me safe, even though I never extended the same courtesy to you. I’m sorry, I added, eyes lowering in shame. I… I hated you, and that wasn’t fair of me. No wonder you lashed out – I never once thought about how you actually felt. But we can both do better, right? Together.

Together.

I was exhausted and shaking by the time we finally made our way back to the room,  my body and mind not used to so much work. But that didn’t stop me from flopping back against the pillow with a grin, extending my arms to my lover. “I did good, right?”

He smirked, nodding. “You did… But Bruce had stipulations, remember?” He turned on his heel, leaving without another word, while I blinked quizzically after him.

Juice before, snack after.

Oh yeah. Ugh. Fine.

The small bottle was delightfully cool as he handed it to me, and I purred, pressing the condensation-peppered container against my chest. Clint simply swallowed, looking away, jaw tight, as he drained his own juice in two long pulls.

…He didn’t want you to have to do it alone.

Grinning, I shook my head. Nope.

The archer’s eyes flicked back to me, eyeing the still-sealed OJ. “Nat. Drink your juice. Please.”

I quirked an eyebrow, momentarily offended – I was only enjoying the coolness for a second – before I noticed the slight increase in his breathing rate, the mild expansion of his pupils, and the hands curved into fists in his lap.

… Oh. He’s not being a jackass – he’s impatient.

I slowly unscrewed the lid, humming casually under my breath, while he twitched and fidgeted, teeth grinding audibly. I was halfway through the bottle before he met my gaze steadily, suddenly serious – and nervous.

“I… I’d like to know who… Who’s around for this. If that’s okay?” he added hesitantly. Smiling, I wrapped my fingers around his.

You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to.

Oh, I want to. Neither do you, you know.

I smirked, meeting the oceanic eyes of my dear, beloved Clint. There’s no way I’m missing this.

I wonder if I could…

There was an odd feeling somewhere indescribable, almost a shuffling and rearranging, and we sighed in soft wonder, finally together.

“We can share,” we whispered, half in answer to his question, and half in awe.

His eyes grew wide, trembling fingers caressing our cheek. “Widow?” We nodded, and he smiled. “And also Nat?” Another nod, and he shivered, gaze dropping back to the bottle in our hands. “Finish your goddamn juice, guys.”

The container was empty and tossed away a heartbeat later, and we dropped heavily back against the pillows, arms extended once more. “Now?”

He growled, dropping himself over us, his lips finding ours. “God, yes.”

Clint was patient despite his hunger, and we spent a significant amount of time just kissing and reaffirming consent before he eventually slid his hand under our shirt, light fingertips brushing our ribs. “Is this okay?” he clarified once more, brow furrowed in sweet confusion.

“Clint, Natasha has had several orgasms at your hands by now. It is my turn. Please stop hesitating. This is fine.”

I snorted at Widow’s words, and Clint’s eyes widened comically. “You want me to… Give you your first?” He laughed softly, pushing a hand through his hair. “I could get used to this honour. You’re going to make me cocky.”

We raised a brow at the double entendre, and he pinkened slightly, but our amusement was quickly forgotten as his teasing, tugging fingers found our breast, toying with the pert nipple gently. A soft sigh was dragged from our lips, head tipping back as we hummed. His lips found our throat, licking and nipping, and our hands balled in the sheets, back arching into him. A brief interruption while our shirt was pulled from our body, and then he was on top of us once more, body weight pinning us to the bed. I felt our breathing hitch nervously, and Clint paused.

“Is this okay?”

I… I think so. I think so.

“Nervous,” I murmured on their behalf, gesturing to our position. “Submissive. Vulnerable.”

He winced, raising himself higher on one arm. “Should I move?”

Our legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him back closer, pressing our hips against his. “No,” Widow growled, fingers tightening in his forearms. “Make me love it.”

He swallowed dryly, then nodded, rolling his body against ours, eliciting a stuttered groan from our parted lips.

His mouth started again on our throat, but slowly began to migrate down, pausing briefly to press his teeth lightly around our nipple, drawing out another hiss and whimper of desperation, before he continued his trail, stopping at the line of our sweatpants and meeting our eyes imploringly.

I shivered at the memory of his tongue on me, and we nodded fiercely.

By the time he was back between our legs, which were anxiously half-closed to hide our now-naked body from view, a low tremble had started in our bones.

Are you okay?

Terrified, they admitted, voice soft. … What if he hurts me?

I glanced down, taking in the man patiently rubbing our thigh while he waited for us to relax, content to wait as long as it took, knowing he’d stop if we asked him to – or even if we didn’t, because he didn't need us to say anything to know we'd had enough.

He won’t.

Whether through my words or Clint’s careful ministrations, Widow unlocked our muscles, allowing our knees to fall apart slowly, the archer’s eyes flaring with desire, gaze locked on ours as he slowly inched forward.

“Oh…” Widow sighed, our body leaning into the contact as his tongue trailed slowly over our heat. “Wow.”

I felt Clint chuckle, hands around our thighs to pull us closer as he set to work, licking and nibbling and sucking and – Dear God, what sorcery is this?

I hummed in agreement, our head dropping back. He was, admittedly, even more adept when he wasn’t tied down, the full range of his talents at our disposal.

Though there was another benefit, too.

Widow froze as an uncertain, questioning fingertip touched to our hole, patient and inquisitive.

… We’ll be okay?

I promise.

“Green. Green, Clint.”

They groaned as he entered us slowly, our own fingers finding his hair and tugging lightly, desperately. “Fuck, Barton. Nat was right. You really are worth it.”

He simply moaned in response, redoubling his efforts - tongue swirling - first one, then two digits pumping steadily inside us, caressing and perfect.

We swallowed around the lump in our throat, unintelligible words beginning to fall thick and fast from our lips, hips twitching desperately.

You know what to do, Clint. You know how to break them.

On cue, he looked up, face still buried between our legs, his cerulean eyes on ours as he drew back just long enough to speak. “You wanna come for me, Widow? Prove it. Come for me.”

They whimpered desperately, hips jerking, thighs clenching, our hands grasping frantically to push him ever closer as the climax hit. We – they – couldn’t help ourselves, an undeniably deafening scream of pleasure tearing from our lips as he fucked us enthusiastically, tongue caressing every inch of us, driving us through with unrelenting passion until we were mewling and whimpering, writhing beneath him.

He tapped our thigh, and we unclenched, permitting him to draw back for breath, ears red from the force of our hold. “… Sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” he groaned, raising his head to look at us. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He wiped his face, and our head cocked in confusion at the droplets peppering his skin, eliciting a wry smirk. “It seems Widow has a talent I hadn’t yet found in this body.” When we merely frowned further, he gestured to the significant wetness on his cheeks. “Squirting. Female ejaculation. Basically, shooting instead of flowing,” he added when our confusion didn’t ease up.

Oh. Oh. “Oh.”

Our face flamed, and he scrabbled quickly up the bed to grasp our chin. “No. No embarrassment. God, no embarrassment. I fucking loved it. You’re so hot.” His fingers tightened in our hips as he growled, his arousal pressing against us indiscreetly. We reached for him, hand brushing the very tip of his member through his boxers before he twitched his hips away, shaking his head.

“Pillow princess, remember?”

“But…”

“You don’t have to worry about me, guys. I’m more than happy to go without if it means you two are satisfied.”

We hummed, back arching, legs around him once more. “There’s ways we can help without putting in much effort, you know,” we murmured, hips rolling meaningfully. He let our a staccato groan, one hand finding our waist.

“You don’t have to-” “Clint. Shut up and fuck us. And besides,” I added, grinning. “Widow now has an experience I don’t. We’ve gotta even things out, right?”

He moaned, rutting shamelessly against us. “Pretty sure you experienced it too, Nat.”

I nodded thoughtfully, reaching down to slide his boxers down as far as I could reach. “True… But I want to start it. If you think you can manage that,” I implored, eyes wide and innocent as his tip touched to our wet heat.

He slid inside us easily, drawing a sigh of pleasure from our lips and a ragged groan from his own. “Fuck… You’re so wet,” he purred against our ear, hips setting up an immediate, punishing pace. We whimpered at his words, body growing impossibly hotter.

“I love it when you speak to us like that,” Widow admitted tentatively, fingers catching on the skin of his back. “We both do.”

“Oh?” His teeth found our throat, free hand pawing blindly at our breast as he stretched us. “You like hearing how good you feel, huh? How hard it makes me, just thinking about you?”

“Y-yes,” we stammered, head falling back once more. He growled against our skin, deep and predatory.

“You do – you feel so good around me. So tight, so wet… So desperate for me to fuck you, huh?” We nodded with a whine, our own hips jerking upwards to meet him. He hesitated briefly, swallowing audibly, then- “I just love this slutty pussy.”

A gasp of surprise and a moan of delight, our fingers reaching for him desperately, pulling him closer, deeper. “Please-”

“What is it, my little ones? Do you want me to let you come? To let you squirt?” We nodded frantically, and one hand pulled our hair back, his lips finding our ear as his hips snapped forward, frantic and furious. “Do it. Squirt for me, my loves. You can do it.”

We cried out as our body imploded, forcing him out as we contracted, wetness flooding the sheets below. Clint leaned back quickly, pushing himself back in as he watched, revelling in the bursts leaking around him, hands finding our hips to jerk us closer, his thrusts short and deep. “God, you’re hot. You’re so fucking hot-” With a surrendering groan, he pumped himself impossibly deeper, comforting heat filling us up from the inside.

We lay panting in his arms, drenched in sweat – and other things – as his seed slowly leaked from between our legs.

Ok. I… I need a break. But that…

Good, isn’t he? I smirked.

Incredible.

I stretched my tender muscles as Widow receded, sighing contentedly. “I think you broke them.”

Clint glanced down in sleepy alarm, heavy lids as wide as they could be. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Are-”

Shaking my head quickly, I placed one exhausted finger to his lips. “In the best possible way. Evidently, you’re ‘incredible’.”

He laughed, embarrassedly rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far…”

I gestured idly at the mess of our bed, placing a tender kiss to his chest. “You already did. The words were a bold choice,” I added, one brow cocked in amusement.

He flushed crimson and sat upright, shifting himself from beneath me. “I… Aren’t you supposed to have a snack?”

“Clint.”

He paused from pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, red and nervous.

“Yeah?”

“We loved it.” I gestured to the bed once more, smirking. “That should have been obvious. And besides, Widow was right – you know how you love the marks? Well, we love the words.”

He swallowed dryly, colour fading. “…Noted.”

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Pinned

A kinkmeme is a prompt challenge: here people can anonymously (or not!) send prompts, and people can pick them up and fill them.

RULES:

Send 1 prompt = fill 1 prompt. It's rude to expect people to make things tailored specifically for you and not give anything back. Aim for that sweet 1:1 fill/prompt ratio. It's fine if you lag a bit behind, but I will get mad if I catch you sending 5 prompts without filling a single one.

Almost anything is allowed as a prompt. For a list of the few exceptions, see here.

You can also post prompts on our ao3 collection or our dreamwidth. I will cross-post them here regardless.

Any medium is allowed for fills. Fanfics. Fanarts. Edits. Videos. Songs. And anything else I might have forgotten.

Any skill level is allowed for fills. Never written a fanfic before? Only able to draw stick figures? Fucking grand. Get in here, tiger.

Any effort level is allowed for fills. Doodled a thing in five minutes? Wrote a 50 word-long fic? Fucking grand. Get in here, tiger.

Multiple fills for a single prompt are allowed. Multiple prompts in a single fill are also allowed.

If someone fills your prompt, say something nice about it. Comment on that fic. Leave nice tags on that art. Directly message the guy if they're off-anon.

If you don't like a prompt, look the other way. This is a kink meme, not a forum to discourse on whether a prompt was ooc/didn't care for the worldbuilding/offensive to a character/ect

The mod cares much for privacy. Please do not ask me for any personal information or opinion. I will not answer.

HOW TO SEND FILLS TO THE BLOG

I would prefer if you posted your fill somewhere else and then sent me a link to it. Sending a link can be done through: askbox, submit box, DMs, directly tagging me if you posted it on your own tumblr.

We have an ao3 collection. If your fill is on ao3, you can post it there too. This isn't mandatory, it's just helpful for me. If I see a new fill in the collection, I will post it on the blog.

For nsfw artists: we have received fills before hosted on Squidge Image or on google drive.

If you send me a link to a fill and it is not posted after a few days, feel free to send me a message about it. It is possible that I did not see it or forgot about it.

HOUSEKEEPING

Every prompt is tagged as #prompt. Every fill is tagged as #fill.

Prompts & fills are tagged by: fandom, character, kink/trigger. Use these tags to look up prompts you want to fill, fills you want to read, as well as blacklist anything that might be upsetting to you.

Prompts that do not apply to a specific fandom or character are tagged as "any fandom" or "any character". If none of the prompts in your favorite character tag appeal to you, you can look these up for inspiration.

I am queueing prompts to avoid flooding and keep the blog active over time. That means your prompt can take some time to show up. Do not panic.

I make weekly summaries of the prompts we've gotten/the fills we've received. They're tagged as #weekly roundup."

If you want an old (more than a month old) prompt to get more attention, you can send a request for a prompt reminder. That means that prompt will be included in the weekly roundups.

THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND

If your prompt is vague or only implies things, it is possible that the filler will have an interpretation you do not like. I know everyone wants their prompts to sound pretty and poetic, but if your prompt is "and then blorbo meets a mysterious white-haired figure in a red coat," you are equally likely to get a fill with Archer, Amakusa, and Kuroe. I advise prioritizing clarity over poetry, unless you are specifically sending a vague prompt to see how people will interpret it.

Not everyone is familiar with every fandom meme. Especially true since some of our fillers don't use tumblr. If your prompt rely on a fandom specific thing that can't be looked up on the wiki (ie a popular fanservant, a fantheory, ect) you REALLY want to prioritize clarity over poetry, or your filler will completely misinterpret what you're talking about.

For crossovers: please explicitlyl say in your prompt what is the other franchise you're crossovering with. This one is for me. Googling can only get me so far when you're using obscure quotes, and that makes things a nightmare to tag correctly. Plus, see above on misinterpreting prompts that aren't explicit in what they want.

If your prompt is complicated, you are less likely to get an artfill. Not an issue if you're specifically looking for a fic, but something to bear in mind.

If you're okay with artfills, you can say so! I'm told some artists are hesitant to fill prompts because they're afraid the prompter is specifically looking for fics. If you don't mind though (or even prefer artfills) you can always say so.

For fillers: if you want a clarification on a prompt, you can always send me an ask and I will relay the question. That being said, I do not guarantee an answer. General rule of thumb is: if it's not explicitly forbidden in the prompt, then anything goes.

Sometimes, the fill you will get for your prompt will not be what you want. Maybe you wanted an artfill and you got a fic. Maybe they interpreted your prompt in a way you don't like. Maybe the fill just suck. I still expect you to say something nice about it (see rules above). If you want more more control over the kind of fills you get, commission someone.

If you like a fill, let it known! Comment on that fic! Leave nice tags on that art! Directly message the guy! Even if it's not for one of your prompts! Someone who gets compliments is someone who is more likely to do another fill.

That's it! Have fun!

Still have some question? Check out our FAQ!