LET ME TASTE YOUR TEARS, TUMBLR.
(Here, have a fic. I’m posting it to AO3 as well.)
“I am an archer and that is good.” Clint murmurs to himself, pulling back the string to his bow. His eyes are closed and the listens to the sounds in the still room. The creak of the draw, the pound of his heart, the soft rush of his breath. He inhales, he exhales, he releases the arrow. “I am an archer and that is good.” He reminds himself as the string chafes at his fingers and snaps against his forearm.
He missed a shot today.
He won’t stop practicing tonight.
He runs out of arrows. He opens his eyes and some are off. Faintly, scant centimeters. It’s still not good enough. He doesn’t care that he’s been at this for six hours. He has to be perfect. He’s worthless if he isn’t perfect. He missed today. He took a shot and it didn’t kill his target and they killed so many agents…
“I am an archer and that is go—” he chokes and can’t finish the word. It’s not good. He isn’t good. His shaking so hard that he nearly drops his bow. He can hear his teammates degrading him. He listens to their voice so often that he can construct rants of disappoint and hate toward himself in anyone’s voice. He can use his team to beat himself down and down and down.
Names echo in his mind, insults to the lilt of his teammates voices. His eyes are burning as he yanks the arrows from the target. He marches back to his shooting point, roughing scrubbing the tears from his eyes. He settles into his stance, raises the bow, nocks the arrow, draws… inhale… exhales…
“You failed me.” The string snaps from his fingers, tearing at the callous as it hits the meat of his forearm and turns a mass of welts and bruises into broken skin. Clint whirls around, the bow clattering to the floor.
His heart rackets in his ears as he searches frantically for the owner of that voice, as he searches for Phil. But there is no Phil. As he missed today and cost several agents’ lives, he was too late then and didn’t stop Loki. He was possessed by Loki, and the fall of SHIELD and the Helicarrier—however temporary—was his fault.
“Sorry,” Clint chokes as he presses the heels of his palms to his aching eye sockets. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Phil.” He knows this is his fault. He knows it. “I will never be a super-soldier.” Maybe he would have resisted then. Maybe he would have been able to say no and escaped and protected Phil and not failed, failed, failed.
But what if he had been a super something and Loki used that too. “I will never be a super-soldier… and that is not… bad.” Revise. Breathe. Recalculate. Clint picks up the bow and continues to shoot, to practice. Again and again. He shoots until he’s aching, until his fingers are bleeding, until the welt and bruises give way to cuts.
And then he bandages himself and continues.
He stops around four in the morning. His legs are shaking from pain and exhaustion. He’s bled through his bandages and can’t feel his hands or arms. His mind is almost as numb. His fingers are swollen and so are his eyes. He watches himself in the mirror and loathes himself more than he did that morning.
He wouldn’t want to wish his life on anyone else. “There is no one I’d rather be, than me.”
Because I could?
ERRMERRGERRRD TERK ER TERRRT
Fuck fucking trick-or-treaters. Joel is happily on his ass, watching Ghostbusters and eating candy. His candy. Well, his girlfriend’s candy. But it’s also his. When he steals it.
"Ow!" Joel smirks as he slurps the gummy worm into his mouth as Sako gawks at her bitten fingers for a second before glaring at Joel. "Those are my fingers, asshole."
"Mm, nope. My fingers." He smirks and clicks his teeth at her.
Sako glares and grabs a KitKat and stuffs it into her mouth. Hatching an idea as she watches the movie, she starts to let little hersey’s bars melt on her tongue, eating them slowly. When Slimer is on the screen she turns to Joel an leaves and chocolate-y, slimey spit trail from chin to forehead.
The shout and the fact that Joel tosses the bowl of candy halfway across the room makes up for the mess. She nearly laughs herself sick as Joel bitches and wipes at his face with his now-shed shirt.
Joel throws it at her face and she stops laughing. Time for revenge.
They miss the rest of the movie.
Porter can totally be graceful anywhere he wants, when he wants—except the kitchen. It’s like the linoleum is suddenly covered in lube or something. He just stumbles and slips and… well. It’s not a pretty sight. He’s grateful for hotels providing the food for him.
But this morning isn’t in a hotel. It’s in a house. Anton’s house. And Porter is standing in the middle of the kitchen with a broken plate on the floor and burnt eggs everywhere. And Anton? Anton is laughing at him in the doorway.
It gets worse when the toast goes off and the hot bread flies at the back of his head. His pout is entirely justified—unlike the snort and side-holding that Anton is doing as he slumps against he wall. His face flames but luckily his boyfriend slips on shoes and grabs a broom, and then a vacuum, to clean up the shattered plate so he can walk safely.
The morning ends up with them sharing a chair at the breakfast bar and eating toaster waffles with peanut butter and jelly. Porter vows to never attempt making breakfast again.
[Here, have an AU pool scene with… a side of awesome XD Yooooou’ll see]
“It’s kinda funny, this, yeah?” Zach grinned as he lightly tugged at the straps. John glared at him, but couldn’t do much else with the tape over his mouth other than glare hotly at his former friend. “Now, now, Johnny-boy. You look like a frustrated kitten. Keep that up and I’ll fall over giggling.” He gripped the vest by the arm holes and hefted John up off the floor. He shoved him into the chair that had been sitting behind him, “Take a load off, Pet. You’re not needed yet.” James was elsewhere, probably taunting Sherlock via mobile.
“Y’know, of all people… you knew this was going to happen. You were always suspicious of my Precious, and you knew of my loyalty to my important people.” Zach turned an accusatory green gaze to John as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His suit rumpled slightly, but he didn’t care. James had demanded him to look nice for their first real appearance since Zach had wiped them from the radars so long ago. “You just… sat back and watched. You watched me flounder and try to desperately save Precious, in vain. And what did you do?” Zach hissed as he pushed away from the wall and marched over to John’s chair. “Fucking nothing!”
He hooked his foot under the rung of the chair and yanked up, canting it back and watching John fall. The Semtex were plastic explosives, only a correct charge would set them off, so not even a bullet could harm it. He smirked at the choked whine of having the wind knocked out of him leaked from John’s throat. “Some friend you are.” The crack of the back of his skull hitting the cement made him smirk and he watched John blink hard to clear his vision.
He squatted down next to John’s torso and and tapped his bottom lip. Tap, tap, tap, tap. “This is the end of our war, Pet. Can’t you hear the drums? They’re calling for blood. Your blood, and Sherly’s.” He gripped the corner of the tape over John’s mouth and ripped off suddenly, his eyes watching the lips warp under the pull of the adhesive.
“Zach, don’t do this.” John begged, trying to find something in the man before him that exposed the boy he had known in school. It was nowhere in sight. He blinked as Zach laughed again, throwing his head back. The older man pulled out a pocket watch, with interesting patterns on the front.
“Mm, almost time.” Zach stood and raised an eyebrow. “And really, no one’s called me Zach in such a long time. Been going by my hacker tag, mate. Where’ve you been? Although, bit more than a tag, now that I’ve got all my memories back. D’you remember that name, Pet?” He grinned down at John as deep blue eyes widened. Oh, this was rich.
John stared up in horror. He’d met others, so many others. He’d met alternate Sherlocks and Johns and Moriartys, he’d even met the Doctor a few times and now… He’d finally met him. ”Master… you’re… you’re the Master?!”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “Got it in one! Bravo, Johnny.” His phone beeped four times and he gripped the front of John’s vest. “Ever wondered how I managed to look the same so long, so did I! Precious got me this lovely little watch and then whamo! I found me again. Now, come. It’s time.” He hauled him to his feet.
“No, Zach… you don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do. I want to mess up Time and how it’s supposed to go. See, Precious and I will actually kill you two and then the Doctor will come and alter all this. You won’t actually be dead for too long. Doesn’t matter. You aren’t important. We’re after the TARDIS.” He yanked the jacket onto John and grinned before shoving him out. He listened to the conversation, to Sherlock’s and John’s voices. He listened to his lover come out, reveal himself… And then he stepped out behind Sherlock.
“Surely you wouldn’t forget us, Surly?” He cackled as Sherlock spun about and pointed the gun at him. He could hardly hear Sherlock’s accusations above his own hearts beating wildly. Thud, thud, thud, thud. “Did you miss me?” His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket where his laser screwdriver hummed, waiting for him.
Pale eyes narrowed, “Master? Well, this is a surprise.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Precious, this is boring. Can we cut to the fun part?” At James’ wicked grin, he stepped aside as Sebastian’s laser point aligned in the dead center of Sherlock’s forehead. He pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and pointed it at the only tiny explosive on John’s chest. Delicate, concentrated, meant to only rip open John’s chest and kill him instantly without hurting those around him.
In seconds, John and Sherlock were gone, bleeding on the side of the pool and staring at each other with blank eyes. He stepped over the bodies on his way to James’ side and pocketed his screwdriver. “Lovely.” He smirked over his shoulder at the remainders of his ‘childhood’ friends and offered his arm to his lover. “Now, Precious, we wait for the Doctor.”
“If he doesn’t show, Master, I will have to skin you.” James commented with an air of nonchalance as he looped his arm through and squeezed lightly. He smiled up at him with devilish curls at the corner of his mouth.
“If he doesn’t then I’ll be the best damn pair of shoes you’ll ever have.” James laughed and he grinned and together, they left the corpses for Sebastian to clean up. They had places to be, people to kill, and someone had to pretend to be a Mr. Harold Saxon in the morning.
Reblogging because Master/Moriarty is <3 I love Wholock so much and I think that the Master and Jim would be good friends. (Might be difficult to understand what’s going on without knowledge of these two? In the RP “Zach” is an OC, once best friend of Sherlock Holmes, but got romantically involved with James Mortiarty (A boarding school AU)
Ugh I am so slow and I am sure I drew Joel’s tattoos wrong.
And I know he was supposed to be hiding, but as much as I tried they came out awkward so I did this instead. Hope you don’t mind Anon.
I promise I will practice drawing more.
I promised (randomly…five minutes ago…) to write Chu a drabble for any of her pics. She just happened to pick one I have been eying for a while.
This was the best idea ever. Ready for adventure, Joel made sure he had his camera, his announcer voice (like he’d ever be without that) and suitable camouflage. Sure, he had the disadvantage of height, but it just happened to be a test of his ninja skills…which he’s still working on.
Camera in hand, he crept (strolled) up to his prey (Sonny) and hid effectively (stood in front of him). His tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth amid his fierce concentration. There was no way he’d be seen. “Today, I give you the elusive Skrilloala. We are currently watching him from the bushes of his natural habitat. He is the only one of his kind as—”
"Joel." Sonny deadpanned, the most straight faced he had ever been. "I can see you, mang." He raised an eyebrow at the camera that clearly was video taping him.
"No, you can’t." Joel retorted as he stepped closer. "As I was saying," he cleared his throat. "The Skrilloala is the last of his kind as the rest were ab—"
"Yes, I can. Your disguise sucks."
"No, you can’t and no, it doesn’t. Shut. Up." He moved in even closer and laughed when Sonny pushed him away. "The Skrilloala is the last of his kind—” He had given up on his serious announcer voice and now just wanted to finish his speech. “As the rest were abducted by aliens. Leaving him alone.” His voice drooped to a hissing whisper. “Forever alone.”
"FOK YOU!" Sonny spun and marched away, irritated even though Joel had laughingly added aliens. Aliens were cool, but they weren’t enough to make up for his craziness.
Joel turned the camera toward himself to record his face and the two branches held to the sides of his head with one of Sonny’s sweat bands. “The Skrilloala has a short fuse, probably resulting from its severe lack of height. It also has way too much energy from its diet of candy. These handicaps are easily forgivable though, due to how adorable the Skrilloala really is, and by how fucking hilarious it is to troll them.”