An Adventure From The Start {thegreatestmarksman}

Ria woke up like she did everyday in the circus at the usual 4am. Even though the ringleader in the circus where she now lived was far kinder then the one she had grown up with before, she still woke up at the same time everyday. Ria didn’t talk, didn’t interact with anyone, and hadn’t since her brother had been killed earlier that year. In this new home, she had no one. No where to start, other then with her trapeze, which she knew better then anything else.

Ria stretched and readied herself, and without waking anyone, she started to work on the bars; swinging and diving, flipping and soaring, performing as she was taught. Being sold didn’t help her depression, for all she knew at that point was that she was a performing monkey, a trapped soul with no where to go, no one to talk to, no one to tell her things would be okay. Which definitely was disturbing. 

Hunger Games AU

The boy straightened his bright blue tie, making sure his threadbare but clean grey jacket and pants were in perfect order. The Reaping was early for them; they had to stagger them, after all. So all of Panem could see. 

He registered early enough, after kissing his mother and father goodbye. A little prick of blood. 

12 Y/O

Elise, their Capitol escort, and all of District Three’s former victors were all present. One man and one woman were chosen to mentor, boy and girl. Being the youngest of the eligible kids was great for getting a view. 

He imagined that his name was in the Reaping bowl; oh, three or four times. He had taken out extra chances in exchange for food when his mother was sick. 

So he stood, and waited. First, the girl was chosen. It was Lisel, a girl from his school. She was slender and tall and 15 and he didn’t know her that well. But he guessed her chances were good. 

Finally, it was for the boys.

“Edwin Jarvis!" 

He could hear the crying of his mother as he straightened his tie and went up the stage. There was no call of volunteers. 

The boy was small; golden blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. The adults watching all nodded to their new tributes. 

Soon enough he was on the train, watching the rest of the Reapings. His competition. 

Open~ Relationships only

Soulless' Journal (Part Four)

30 december 2012.

Location… not sure. 

Well, I found out tonight that I seem to be Immortal.  Let me back up and set the scene.

I looked up an old acquaintance of mine, Clint Barton.  Needed someone to back my play on a pack of werewolves.  Being an archer, I knew he would be the last thing they would expect.  Like an idjit, I went and got myself infected.  

I must have gotten scratched or cut myself, easy to do in a fight like that.  Anyhow, I was half-way through my second bottle of good scotch when I realized that the itching I had was probably from the wolf’s bane on the table.

I had a cut on my arm that wasn’t bad but just wouldn’t stop seeping blood.  Of course, I hadn’t been quite so drunk by that point I might have caught it.  Instead I bandaged and kept going.  It wasn’t until I noticed the black haze on my hands, a tell-tale of infection.  And then I tried the damn knife trick.  It came up black and burned like fire.

Well, That sobered Clint up in a couple of heartbeats.  He was up and had his bow in just a couple of breaths.  For as drunk as he was, his hands were steady, I can say that much.

For the record, dying hurt just as much as I remember, but half as much as I was expecting.  A silver arrow wasn’t the worst way to go I suppose.

But I woke up in the same position, the blood scabby and dry, and the arrow still firmly lodged in my chest.  I had to pull the damn thing out. 

All the tests for werewolf came back clean.  But a strange side note.  Before I went down I could swear there was sulfur.  And now, waking up, Holy water doesn’t smoke like for a demon, but it certainly is uncomfortably warm.  Crowly pull me back maybe?  Dunno, but it seems, at least for now, I am immortal.  I guess the not sleeping now makes sense.  Not sure I like this new change of status.

Gotta go, that friend of my Clint, looks like he is coming to.

thegreatestmarksman asked:

(tortured) "Leave him alone! You want me you fuckers!" The curse of having the same face was that they didn't believe him, and he knew that HYDRA was creative in their torture methods. "I'm the one that works for SHIELD, he doesn't even know what I do!" He screamed, trying to fight the binds.

My muse is being tortured in front of your muse. What are your muses thoughts?

Control your breathing, control your breathing. Its the best he can do, with eyes shut tight and teeth bared in a pained grimace; the mercenary keeps his head down, focusing on Hawkeye’s voice, trying to evade the pain burning under his flesh like a scorpions sting. Its inescapable, and he’s given up fighting, and he’s even given up trying to answer their questions: questions about SHIELD and operations and people he doesn’t know, nor does he care about. Control your breathing. 

That’s what they’d said in the army if you got shot, or if you got taken out. Just breathe, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Or, in this case, out through clenched teeth. But that had grown tiresome as the session wore on; even breathing became difficult, and he prayed more than anything for the depths of darkness.

Yet, they were resourceful, and they never let him stray too far from consciousness. If they were completely unsatisfied they’d try to make him squirm, but even now he didn’t have enough energy for that. So he breathed, and he listened to his alternate beyond him and the seemingly far away sounds of his own torture. 

He didn’t know what they wanted, but he’d take being mistaken for Hawkeye any day. Any day, no matter the pain. Control your breathing. “Clint just stop.” The mercenary begs, his voice broken and low, no louder than a pained whisper. He could get through this, he could push past the pain, he could wait it out. Control your breathing.

anonymous asked:

M!A: For your verse with thegreatestmarksman, guess what? The baby is here!

[sjdpoishigd Just gonna skip the birth because yeah]

Loki curled into himself, breathing heavily as he held the newborn child close to his chest, exhausted. The baby boy was sleeping soundly in his arms and Loki barely had the strength to pull a blanket over them as he waited for Clint to return.

And I Thought Istanbul Was Full of Turkeys @thegreatestmarksman

“Barton, we have a mission.” Natasha called, finding the archer and dropping a tablet in his hands. “Suit up and meet me on the quinjet in 15 minutes. If you’re late I get to drive.” Before she went to gather her own things, Natasha turned to give him the major points of the mission. “We’re going to Istanbul; weapons smuggler. We have to capture him, interrogate him, and make sure he can’t tell anyone else what he tells us. Sounds like whatever he’s been selling; SHIELD doesn’t like.”

With Barton caught up and getting ready, Natasha grabbed a few extra weapons and some supplies for disguises, and headed for the quinjet.


Jamie sat up, bleary eyed and sighed, getting out of bed slowly as to not disturb the archer who was still sleeping peacefully beside her. She got dressed in running gear, pressing a kiss to his head before sticking a note to the lamp shade on Clint’s bedside.

She ran through central park, returning and taking use of Clint’s work out station in his room in the tower to do pull ups. She’d wait for Clint to wake up so he could help her stretch her arms out. So.. she showered and started coffee to brew and thought about going out and buying breakfast.

She ended up going back out and getting him breakfast (dim sum from the little hole in the wall place a few blocks down. She returned, putting the food into the fridge before she went over and looked out across New York from one of the huge floor to ceiling windows.

Sold || CLOSED

Most of the others in the front barns were free to roam their cells while people browsed the stock. In the back barn though, all stock were chained with very limited range –the hard sellers, hopeless cases, and the stock no one seemed interested in buying. For many of them, the tall blond included, today was their last chance to be purchased before going to auction the following day and heading off with the highest bidder. And the highest bidder was usually still pretty low and they all knew where they went was likely going to be the place they died.

Standing as far back as his chains would allow, Steve kept his chin up. He and the others looked around as the stock manager brought a small group of people through, stopping at each cell to give the slave’s basic rundown and suited work.

A frown settled on his face as they stopped outside of his cell and the stock manager began his spiel. “Lot 436, male, 26 years old. As you can see he’s built and suited for manual labour, though he’s got some guard dog tendencies, so even some security work might be suited for him. Never had anyone claim it as their reason, but he might make the right master a decent… personal attendant.” He chuckled, missing the way the man’s eyes flashed coldly behind him.

“Why is he back here? Why so low a price, he seems like decent stock,” a larger man from the back asked.

“Well,” the stock manager replied, glancing over a Steve. “He’s nearly killed several of his fellow slaves in other situations and put his last master in a coma… he’s a difficult case. Shall we move on?”

thegreatestmarksman replied to your post: “I blame anons.” Clint said weakly, but wasn’t actually too upset about this. He had to move to the balls of his feet to kiss Lucifer, and he also had to pull him down to make kissing him easier.

Clint rolled his eyes, but was smiling softly. “I’m just making sure that you know so that if you want to smite someone, it won’t be me.”

Lucifer chuckled, “Ah, don’t worry I have no plans to smite anyone."  His eyes took on a mischevious twinkle, "Though if you had been a bad kisser…”
If Only for a Night

The first month Jamie tried to forget Clint with a Romanian.
He had the archer’s eyes.

The second month was a tourist from New Zealand and another from Australia.
She didn’t stay after they were done.

The third month she went back for duty and came back from the grave.
She burnt her childhood home to the ground.

The fourth she found herself in New York. She found herself sneaking into Stark tower. She found herself in Clint’s room, sitting on the bed where she felt most at home, but not quite.

That’s because home is where the heart is.

With a final glance at the door Jamie dipped her head into her hands with a groan. “He won’t want to see me” she told herself.

Natasha knocked on Clint’s door. “Hello” she called out slowly, peeking her head in.

News about Clint’s new associate from MI6 dying traveled around the tower fast. Of course… Natasha was the last to know because everyone thought she already knew.

Slowly she walked into the room, sitting down on the bed next to the archer she put her hand on his back. “You alright?” she asked, rubbing his back slowly.