Former URL(s): josephwhoredonlevitt, spookehtastic, iwasjustcolors, josephmanwhorelevitt
It’s only when Natasha’s driven them miles away from New York City that Clint wonders where they’re going. He spent so much time under Loki’s spell that he’s finding it hard to take control again, to think for himself, to get back in the driver’s seat; he’s lost his baseline, and he’s falling, falling, falling. But this is Natasha, not Loki, so Clint merely sits back and allows the barest trace of a smile cross his features, confident that while he’s still stumbling through the dark, she’ll be there to guide him back into the light.
holy shit this is an amazing prompt (i’m also going to assume this is MCU Howling Commandos led by Steve and not Fury’s Commandos)
Rogers rescues them from HYDRA, and not long after, he offers them a chance to join his own elite commando unit — the Howling Commandos, and it’s only natural that they accept. Clint’s the eyes, the fastfoot, the scout, the sniper, and Natasha’s the spy, the strategist, Rogers’s right hand, second only to Barnes. It was clear from the start to the rest of the Howlers that the two work well together, the soldier from Iowa and the Russian defectee, and they have history together, that much is true, but for the longest of times they’ve only consider the other as a partner, an equal, a constant. It isn’t until Clint narrowly misses death after the destruction of a HYDRA weapons factory and winds up hospitalized, that the two thinks the other might mean a lot more to them than they’re willing to admit.
hedging bets and holding cards to our chests
by rennertastic
Well, here’s a short preview of a fic I’m doing, prompted by the lovely rennerquinn (guise go follow her now mkay). It’s a sort of crossover/AU between the Avengers and the Unusuals, and if you look at it in a certain way, it’s kinda Clintasha. If you associate all the characters Jeremy Renner’s ever done with each other, or maybe if you consider Jason Walsh as a sort of AU Clint Barton.
Anyway, enjoy!
The rust-covered swing squeaks as Clint halfheartedly pushes himself back, then eases his legs and lets gravity do its work. Some nights he’d find himself wandering to the local elementary school, and before he knew it he’d be on the swing, listening to the creaking of the chains, pushing himself back and forth; the repetitiveness of it all was a comfort after the Manhattan Incident, something constant after a wave of inconsistency.
Natasha finds him one night at the schoolyard, gives him a look but says nothing, merely sits down on the other swing; the silence between them is deafening.
oh jeez. never really tried my hand at rpf (never thought I could do the characterization justice), but I’ll give it a shot. :D
When the last of the dishes are done, Jeremy takes off his apron and unceremoniously tosses it across the kitchen, then sags against the counter, rubbing his forehead with a weary hand. “Closing time,” he mumbles; he blinks, stumbles out of the kitchen, picks up the apron on his way out and hangs it by the door.
“Tough day, huh?” Scarlett asks him; they’re seated in her car (she comes by to pick him up after he locks up the diner), his whole body is wracked with fatigue, and all he can do is yawn out, “Yup,” and press a sleepy kiss to her cheek.
alrighty, here goes nothing. arghihopeidon’tdisapointbutmywritingistypicallyshittyso
They sit together on the branch, Natasha leaning back against his chest as Clint props himself up against the rough bark of the tree. “Have you ever seen something like this?” Natasha asks softly, both of them gazing out at the slowly-setting sun; it’s a magnificent scene, of blinding golds and oranges and searing shades of that same red that drowns both their ledgers. “Yes,” Clint murmurs into her hair, breathing in her scent. But more beautiful, and infinitely more stunning, he thinks, and Natasha can feel his smile against the back of her neck.
whoops i accidentally four-sentence’d
