#nat writes stuff

[nixies-creations]

Music Producer Bradley x Rancher Jake

"You know, baby," Bradley starts as he passes Jake a towel to dry his hands, "I definitely didn't have a cowboy kink before I met you." Jake hums, eyes flicking to Bradley before focusing on hanging the towel back up on its hook before turning to lean back against the counter. "Oh?" Bradley nods as he moves in to crowd up against Jake, hands moving to grip the counter on either side of Jake's hips as he tilts his head down enough to press a trail of kisses against his scruff covered cheek before capturing Jake's lips in a soft, tender kiss. "Yeah, baby. Definitely didn't have a thing for the rugged, sweaty, hard working type before I met you." "Should I apologize for opening your eyes to how sexy I can be?" Jake asks, lips curled into a smug smile as he moves to wrap his arms around Bradley's shoulders. "Definitely. You should definitely apologize for using your wile's to make me fall in love with you," Bradley agrees brightly, eyes sparkling as he moves his hands down to grip the back of Jake's thighs to lift him up onto the counter. "You finished with your chores?" Laughing, Jake moves to hook his legs around Bradley's hips, drawing him in even closer to that they are pressed flush together. "Ol' Jerry told me to take the afternoon off since he knew you got in last night. Seems to think his boss could use a little time welcomin' his husband back from bein' outta town." "Remind me to buy Jerry something to say thank you."

[atalienart]

Writing stuff. I'm not sure what to do. I know I joke about being scared of showing someone else my writing, but I'm actually so terrified that I don't think I can do this. It's not that I don't like my story. I read it and I think it's maybe not that bad for the second attempt at writing a story and it might be improved to the point of being fine. I worked on it hard, I did my best for now. Reading it is fun for me. But then I'm panicking, actually panicking, at the thought someone will think it's ridiculous, that I am ridiculous. Only thinking about someone reading the story makes me feel so embarrassed and I don't know how to fight it. And it's not about criticism, I'm fine with people telling me what works and what doesn't in a book. Criticism of my work is fine. I want it. My logical brain craves it. But I don't want people to think stuff about me. It's paralysing. How do I just go for it? How do I show my writing to people? I want to show it. Do I just quit and keep it in my drawer?

[shorthaltsjester]

re the first three tlovm s3 episode title teaser fr. vex getting [redacted] while standing in front of percy . i will undoubtedly have Thoughts about plot n adaption once the whole season is out but i will say people acting like vex potentially dying again is a betrayal of the arc is . i say this politely. ridiculous. vex’s most common habit aside from haggling and flirting in campaign 1 was being knocked unconscious. she required full ass resurrection spells on four separate occasions. we currently have no idea what the shape of any arc in season 3 will look like beyond broad strokes and teasing shots. if they end up wanting to incorporate the exandrian magic lore of it’s harder to come back each time you die, vex seems like the obvious opportunity to do so. please at the very least save the panic posting for when you actually have something to panic about .

[hangmanbradshaw]

You better take it from me, that boy is like a disease

Call a girl like that renegade runaway.

They say we got tangled in a love triangle, a fatal game of truth or dare, but the truth remains a mystery.

Or, Bradley’s new to town, and if you ask the townsfolk, Jake’s a Cowboy Casanova and Nat’s a devil in a satin dress. Oh, and there’s the small fact they’re at the center of a local disappearance.

[owuwi]

thinking about charlotte rn.

thinking about coming home — her secluded area in her compound — from a long day from college and she's waiting for you with a warm meal. it's no secret that charlotte matthews cannot cook at all, not even if she had to to do it to save her life, but she tries. she always tries for you. she'd run you a nice bath afterwards, the water being the right temperature for you to melt the moment you step into the tub. she wouldn't allow you to move a finger, claiming you've done enough for the day, and instead would wash you — like a mother would do with her child —.

after everything, she'd take you to bed. maybe light up a few candles and then give you the most head spinning, toe curling massage and possibly something else;)

[writingforstraykids]

Me rn trying to finish the 45 pages of various papers/essays due on Friday😭 i enjoyed my semester break for a little too long it's my own fault...

[queeenpersephone]

omg!!!! i’m so happy you are still alive in the ironwidow fandom and THANKYOU so much for the sneak peak of king of my heart - i am so looking forward 🥹🥹💞💞💞

& when inspiration strikes, here are some drabble ideas from me <3

— Morgan & tonynat drabbles,,,, i read your endgame drabble about them and thought it was sosososososos cute and would love love more of how nat has interacted with morgan through the 5 years and made their little family ( i love domestic fluff and i think nat and children is always just so 🥺 ) + optional appearance of Pepper and Rhodey to complete the iron fam (i don’t ship pepperony but i love pepper and i really appreciate how you write her in your fics <333)

— Nat with young peter drabble!!! i love (how many times have i said love im so sorry there’s no other way to describe my feelings ㅋㅋ) your ao3 fic about nat adopting peter and rasing him, would love to see their little spider family through the years from babey peter to teenage peter and + maybe their little family after the addition of tony 🩷

BUT YES! that’s all from me <3333 have a great day <3

hi hi!! sorry it took me so long to get to this but thank you so much for the prompts - this drabble is adjacent to your first one. it's not exactly on point but it's part of a larger fic ('so it goes') that i'm getting close on finishing up that does have actual morgan&nat interactions! this is just the lead up to that. it was going to be that but then tony and nat started talking and they have a mind of their own lol. still, i hope you love it as much as i love you for this super sweet ask <3

this takes place in this drabble's universe where tony and pepper break up (but changing it a little so it's after they have morgan) and tony and nat get together about a year and a half after infinity war. you don't have to read that one to get this one <3

-

At first, he doesn’t realize that he’s keeping his two lives separate. 

Natasha comes upstate often, but sporadically. They don’t speak of it, but he knows that she’s running operations for the Avengers. Sometimes, he wants to call up Bruce or Clint or Thor or, god, even Steve, and demand to know why it’s Natasha who has to keep the world together while the four of them wallow. But then he’d be a hypocrite because he’s wallowing too, and that useless conversation isn’t compelling enough to open up a line of conversation that he wants to remain closed. Plus, it would violate the unspoken agreement between Nat and him that their time is sacred, separate, and private. 

It takes him about eight months to realize that she never visits when Morgan is with him. 

Initially, he’s grateful. Morgan knows about Natasha, but only as Daddy’s friend who visits him sometimes when she’s not there. He certainly talks all about Morgan to Natasha, who easily keeps up with the proper commentary, questions, and advice when he gushes or worries about his daughter. 

Morgan, as the brilliant three year old she is, is the one who throws a wrench in things when she finds Natasha’s jacket on the couch. When Tony tells her that his friend must have left it when she was visiting a few days ago, Morgan collapses on the couch and immediately pouts. 

“Auntie Nat?” She demands in the cutest toddler voice he’s ever heard. Tony has never really liked kids, but this one? She’s amazing. He nods in response to her question. “She was here?”

Tony smiles. “She’s here a lot, munchkin. Who do you think has been helping me with all your pretty flowers?” 

“You do the flowers with her?” Tony’s brow furrows at the disgruntled tone. Is she jealous? He opens his mouth to reassure her that he loves planting flowers with her the most when she speaks again. “I wanna do flowers with Auntie Nat!” 

“You don’t even know Auntie Nat,” Tony points out, crouching down in front of her and tucking her hair behind her ear to see her face. 

“Yes I do! Mama said she’s your friend, and Uncle Rho says that they ‘venge together. Daddy, I want to ‘venge with Auntie Nat too!” 

Tony chuckles, lifting Morgan into his arms and pressing kisses to her cheeks until she giggles. “There will be no avenging, but maybe there can be flowers,” he tells her. “No promises. I have to talk to Auntie Nat first.” 

A few days later, she runs into her mother’s arms, chattering about Natasha and her red hair that she saw in pictures and can she have red hair like Auntie Nat’s or Mama’s? Pepper raises an eyebrow at Tony, who shrugs. 

“It’s about time,” she says, kissing his cheek in parting before getting into the car and driving off. It used to hurt, this part. But it doesn’t hurt anymore, because Morgan’s departure signals Nat’s arrival. 

For the first time, that idea of that separation makes him frown. 

The frown lasts for another few hours, when Nat pulls up in the 1965 Shelby Cobra, one of his favorites that he’s permanently loaned her. Not like he has to drive anywhere. He tries to put on a grin for her, but she sees right through it. 

“What happened?” She demands immediately, before even greeting him. Her eyes scan their surroundings, as if looking for a threat.  

He just shakes his head at her, holding out his arms. “Get out of the Compound mindset and into the cabin one,” he cajoles. “Kiss me, and I’ll explain.”

She caves, pressing a gentle, domestic kiss to his lips, the one he loves that makes him feel like they’ve been together forever. When she tries to pull back, he resists, holding her close for a beat longer. She allows it, sinking into his embrace in return. 

“Okay,” he sighs after another thirty seconds, leading her into the house, “I’ll tell you everything.” 

“If only it was this easy creating treaties with aliens,” she drawls, spotting her jacket on the couch. “Oh, I was looking for this one.” 

Tony ignores the second comment, turning to her with wide eyes, affecting the most offended look he can come up with on the spot. “You’re telling me you’re out there kissing aliens to get them not to destroy the Earth?” 

Natasha spots the joke from a mile away, but she plays along. He’s sure she knows how much he’s missed verbal sparring with the team. “I’ve never kissed an alien,” she retorts, but then, almost as an afterthought, something flickers in her eyes, and she turns quickly to grab the jacket. “I’ll just put this with my things upstairs, so I don’t forget it again,” she adds, walking toward the stairs. 

Spotting the flash like a seasoned veteran he is of understanding this particular woman, he narrows his eyes, following after her.  “Wait wait, what was that?” He accuses, making his way up the stairs. They creak with each of his steps, even Morgan’s light steps, but never Natasha’s. “You’ve kissed an alien?” 

“I haven’t kissed anyone since we started this,” she soothes, entering his room and hanging the jacket up in the closet space he’s left for her. She’s clearly hoping to drop the subject.

Oh no. Tough luck. He’s not really upset, especially not with this new, roundabout admission that they are exclusive, but he’s not going to let this go. “Who?” He pushes, fighting to hold back his grin. He stays in the door, bracing his hands on the frame. Not that she couldn’t get past him easily. She shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I swear I will never bring it up again, I solemnly swear, but if you don’t tell me, I’m going to keep asking and asking… better yet, I’ll ask the only alien we really know-”

The skin around Natasha’s eyes tightens just a little, but it’s enough. 

“Thor?!” He shouts, before rubbing his hands over his eyes. “Agent Romanoff… You - how - when -” 

“A mission,” she explains, short and sweet. “Before Ultron. For a cover. That’s it. Are you done?” 

Something in her voice makes him pause. “Yeah, Nat. I’m done.” She moves to leave, and he drops his hands to let her. 

The house is silent for a little while before he goes to find her. She’s on the bench on the dock, listening to the wind whistle through the trees. It’s getting dark early now, a sign of the approaching winter. The trees still have some color, though, and it’s beautiful. 

He doesn’t waste another second. “Look, honey, I’m sorry. I touched a sore spot. You know I don’t think less of you for what you’ve done, right? Because if I haven’t made that clear, I’m making it clear here and now.” 

She sighs, patting the seat next to her. He sits so that their legs press together, and she leans her head on his shoulder. 

“It’s not that,” she says. “I just… I saw Thor last week.” Tony stays silent, waiting for her to continue. “I want to respect your feelings on this, Tony,” she adds finally. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them. “Tell me,” he requests, and she does. 

She keeps it brief, but even brief, it sounds terrible. Tony had never been close with Thor; he was always going off-world, doing his own thing. Tony would never admit it, but he’s always been cautious of the demigod after realizing that it was his brother who terrorized New York. And then, during Ultron, Thor had choked him, gone off on his own again, and hadn’t really come back for any substantial amount of time afterwards. Sure, Tony’s well aware that he hadn’t tried to understand the life of a god king, but then Thor hadn’t seemed to think much of him either. 

He really hadn’t thought Natasha to be all that close with Thor either, and from her words, he hadn’t been wrong. But she’s been making efforts, and all of those efforts have been going to waste as Thor sinks deeper and deeper into a depression of which none of his friends, people, or the Avengers can cure him. 

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she says, reading the horror in his expression. 

He wants to tell her that she can tell him anything, that he’s willing to help, that he can go see Thor or Thor can come here because Tony himself is happy now, is content, is willing to help, can save the world again…

“- Hey, Tony. Tony! Listen to me, solnyshka, count my heartbeat. One, two, three, breathe.” 

He opens his eyes. He hadn’t even realized that he had closed them. “Natasha, I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

She shakes her head. Are those tears in her eyes? “No, I’m sorry. You had something to tell me?” 

“Nat, Thor-”

“No,” she says, final and serious. “No, Tony. Tell me what you wanted to say.” 

He caves. He’s afraid to admit he caves because he wants to. What kind of superhero is he? “Morgan wants to meet you,” he offers. “She saw your jacket.” He chuckles a little wetly, but Natasha is too kind to comment on it. “She’s jealous that I get to plant flowers with you and she doesn’t.” 

Natasha is silent for a moment, then: “and you want this? Pepper is okay with it?” 

This time when he laughs, it comes out clear. He can feel her relax next to him. “Of course I am,” he tells her. “You two are the best parts of my life.” Natasha smiles. “And never worry about Pepper. She saw this coming far before you or me.” 

She turns into him, burying her cold nose in his neck. Perhaps she is protecting herself from the cold autumn air, but he thinks he knows better. “With Pepper’s brains and your good looks, that kid is going to go far.” 

“What about my brains?”

“I know what I said,” she retorts, but he can feel her smiling against his neck. 

He sighs, but he’s grinning when he wraps his arm around her a little tighter, turning his face into her hair. “You’re not as inscrutable as you think, you know,” he whispers. An offered truth. 

She inhales, and they watch the lake for a while before she returns the favor. “I know. I’m not trying to be inscrutable with you,” she confesses.

[natreads]

december nat I will fight you for not doing the readings needed for this january home exam

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #7: Morsel

Her fingertips skittered across the strings like sparks between blades. Her heart rattled against her ribcage in tune as the heel of her hand slammed against the body of her guitar in her frantic rhythm. Her voice clawed its way out of her throat and scraped itself against her sharpened teeth. Her thoughts minced, bitten down, and mauled by it all only to arrive to waiting ears with words that could only be described as raging. The dagger-sharp-heel of her boot dragged against the stone as literal sparks flew. As pale gold eyes burned as hellfire in the low light.

When you were an emotionally stunted winter of a woman with all the social abilities of a particularly poisonous plant, what did you do? How did you go about having the conversation? With yourself, or if you were being particularly generous, with someone else? A specific someone else who’d actually been the topic of thought for some time now? Did you just drop it there, in the midst of something else, as a cold open and pray for the best? Did you wait for the conversation until the moment was right? Did you stuff it away and pray the thought never came to you again for as long as you lived? Rakaso wasn’t Ishgardian or repressed enough for that last option. No. Instead, then, she sidestepped all of the above with all the guile of someone who’d only ever been able to barely survive brief moments of emotional intimacy by pretending they hadn’t happened at all. Or by blaming booze on the moment of weakness. No, no. Instead of all of the sane or perhaps insane options. Instead of holding up a letter, sealed, and asking of its contents without needing to open it. Instead of flicking it open herself and simply reading within. Instead of stewing in her thoughts and letting them spiral out of control in that melodramatic way she’d been rather fond of lately. Her claws screamed their way down guitar strings in a display of sleep-deprived mania.

The heel of her hand sped with the beating of her heart as she screamed her way out of the start. Out of the rough, quiet, unhelpful beginnings of the song. Get to the speed, the rage, the therapeutic escape of thoughts. Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- Well, you look like trouble but I guess I do too-- The wrong string, the wrong chord, a bash of her heel against the amplifier as she careened her way back on course. If she couldn’t do it right the first time, do it first the right way, she’d force it anyways. Who cares if she fucked it up one way or the other? To the audience it was all the same, maybe, and to the target of it all it wasn’t going to matter anyways. Through it all, if she was going to admit it, there was only the question only the dread only the worst thing she could possibly say to herself in the midst of the lyrical self-flagellation that was happening. What do we do now? If for some odd reason, any reason at all, if she wanted it to be more than just some awful song to sing. More than a heart between her teeth. More than blood and bone. More than some long, dark prayer that was filled with the selfish wants of a woman who didn’t know if that was what she wanted at all. Gods above just kill her. It’d be so much easier.

At least by the time she was coming off the stage she’d gotten it out of her system. Even if it was that same, half-flushed smile that was greeting her. She’d tired herself out. Her heart’s energy all spent on running as fast as the percussion. As running as fast as her thoughts. Enough that even flicking the other across the chin with her claw didn’t even elicit a skipped beat or an aching chest. Enough that she could slow down to see the flicker in Nat’s expression. That same change. That same reaction. She clicked her worn claws in practiced Huntspeak that she knew the other couldn’t repeat or even begin to understand. Still. As she glanced back. That look of hers that Rakaso had long since given up parsing. She returned it with a lopsided grin, a wave, a beckon.

She headed for the door.

[shallowseeker]

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Truth & despair on AO3 & the Tumblr link to the fic

(Unreliable Sam-POV Destiel, post 15x19 Inherit the Earth, cosmic complications with a happy ending)

With Cas dead, Jack vanished, and Dean in turmoil, Sam turns to therapy. His search for answers leads him to the bunker’s surveillance footage, where he uncovers startling evidence that casts doubt on Dean’s account of Cas’s death...and Dean's sanity. Determined to restore a semblance of normalcy, Sam gets them back on the road. But their case takes a terrifying turn when Chuck appears with a chilling revelation: the universe is targeting them in a deadly Final Destination-style game of fate. As Sam grapples with his own fears and a world seemingly set against them, he clings to the hope that reuniting his fractured family will be the key to overcoming everything. Maybe once they’re all back together, they won’t need therapy at all.

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

[chiropteracupola]

spooky scary sleepover

[moth and compass is a collaboration with @natdrinkstea]

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Short Prompt # 13

Decided to spice things up with villain x villain instead of my usual hero x villain.

TW: None!

"I've never cared for a thing in the world, love," the villain purred, tracing the perfect curve of their lover's jaw, lazily trailing their finger down to their neck.

"I know," the other villain breathed out heavily, refusing to meet their gaze.

"But you, on the other hand," they started, pressing a slow, delicate kiss to the other's cheekbone, "occupy a space in my mind that continues to spread, like poison in the bloodstream. And I just can't fathom living without it."

"You had. . .ambitious plans, I did, too," the other villain reminded them, their tone sober, but their eyes half-lidded, peeking out beneath gorgeous, dark lashes, letting their fingers intertwine with those of their paramour's.

The criminal pulled them into their lap effortlessly, making their now shallow breath catch in their throat as they temporarily let go of their hands. They could feel their partner's strong arms bracketing around them, their hands in theirs again, their fingers skirting over their sweetheart's knuckles in soothing motions.

"And what's stopping us from doing everything we've ever desired, together?" they whispered, voice velvety against the other's ear.

"Vulnerabilities," they concluded, treacherously kissing the crown of the second evil-doer's hair in spite of their dismal words. Or word, actually.

To their surprise, the villain chuckled. "Darling," they crooned, their hands now toying with the fabric of their flame's silk shirt, "we are not heroes. We do not love in the weak-willed way they do, no sacrifices for the greater good or whatever spiel they believe in. You and I make each other stronger, so what if we enjoy ourselves in the process? Even hardened hearts like ours need someone to belong to."

They eased their fingers out of the other's hands, tracing patterns into the skin of their arms, rubbing the lean muscles tenderly, smiling a little to themselves as they watched the tight line of their shoulders fade.

"Well, there's no holding back, now, lovely," the other villain said with a grin, pressing a passionate kiss to their jawline.

Their villanous lover laughed, a genuine, musical sound. The world was theirs, and more importantly, so was the beautiful villain in their lap.

Previously, both villains had feared love, thought of it as a trap, something to clip their wings. Foolish reminisces of naïve minds. They'd never imagined they could feel so free. Nothing felt like pure ecstasy, unbridled euphoria coursing through their veins the same way that this did. It tasted sweet, felt intoxicating, set their hearts on fire, the same flames that would soon consume the world, leaving only their names written in ash and smoke.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @usernotfound000 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[atalienart]

Maybe unpopular opinion about romance in books but...

Why does the MMC need to be fascinated by the FMC from the moment he lays his eyes on her? Why the single look and "she's the one" situation. And then during the love confession we have this "I loved you from the moment I saw you for the first time" shit all over again. Can't he love her from the moment she falls from the horse or when he sees her talking about her hobby of collecting stones or something, later in the story? Why is it always "from the moment I first saw you"?? It might be romantic but it's pretty boring for me. And I'm not talking about noticing that someone's visually attractive. I mean seeing someone and being like🗦(✪ ω ✪)🗧

(idk, maybe I just can't imagine it myself, looking at someone and be so stricken with everything about them, not to mention someone else looking at me and thinking something like this, ha! well that'd be absurd xD maybe it's just normal for pretty people, that's why it's so common)

[wistfulwatcher]

i feel like your roman candle; misty/nat, 8k, explicit

written in response to a series of tumblr erotic prompts (since i ended up getting many more than i was expecting, i have combined the ones that fit!).

prompts used: caught masturbating, torn lace, against the wall, fingers (@igotreallyreallytiredofmyoldurl), “do that again”, hair, panting, love bites, taste, restrained, desperate, tease, on the edge, and in public (if you squint)

read here on ao3

[scriptlgbt]

How would you feel about us opening the ask box?

So... we have a giant backlog of years-old messages. Some of the questions may or may not be relevant anymore to their askers. Some are from deactivated blogs. Some are things we've struggled to answer. Etc.

The backlog of asks has prevented us from opening the ask box.

So we want to ask you as readers and writers what your opinion is. Longer explanation below.

Life happens, and this is all volunteer-run. But I am sorry for all of you who wrote to us over the past few years only for us to not have the capacity to answer at the time.

Something we have done in the past was briefly open asks to help us get the momentum going, while we chipped away at older asks that required more research or reaching out to guest mods with identities we don't have. Or slowly getting to answering questions about our own trauma in order to help someone else write it in a way that respected its gravity.

With opening the ask box then, it also meant that the mountain continued to grow large. In an ideal world, we'd be able to answer every ask quickly.

I realize folks will see this and reply with, "why not just get new mods?"

Taking on new mods requires figuring out what an application looks like, reaching out to demographics besides our own (and knowing where to do this, and the right way, considering this is an unpaid gig), interviewing, and training new mods in how the ScriptFamily group of blogs operates. And generally, even when people go through all that process, very few people are able to maintain activity on the blog. Which is understandable! We are all in that boat! (ALSO. This isn't a sideblog, so it requires logging in and out, or using another browser, pls advise if you know a workaround. ) So the balance of labour put in to bring on new mods, vs. labour saved by it, is a HUGE roll of the dice.

I say all this not to discourage people from asking tough questions. Only to hopefully give some insight into why some asks take so long, and that it's because I've been researching Molly Houses from their heyday for like 5 years and figuring out what a Bavarian asexual man would call himself in 1920 using repatriated texts from the Magnus Hirschfeld Institute, typed manually and auto-translated. And also... someone asked about the omegaverse, AKA the A/B/O trope and transness this one time and... we all have a lot to say, haha. It's a lot to unpack! But we're passionate. And I hope as we work through asks in the future, our archive will help us better be able to help you.

But IDK, what are your thoughts on all this? Should we just go through the backlog very slowly (regardless of the age of the asks)? Or do you want the ask box opened for your current questions?

[27spoons]

fic here