I know I do not love thee! yet, alas!
Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;
And oft I catch them smiling as they pass,
Because they see me gazing where thou art

(from Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton's poem, "I do not love Thee")

Natasha-centric:

"I don't have the time everyday to put on makeup. I need that
time to clean my rifle."
~Henriette Mantel

Clint accepts the over-tight grip, because he always knew it was going to be hard to get paternity leave, and if she breaks his hand in labour then at least he'll get time off work. (He'd still rather she didn't break his hand though...)

Clint and Natasha have masses of UST, but have never acted on it. Then they have to go on a deep cover mission where they have to pretend to be a married couple for several months. This involves them living in the same apartment.

Bonus points if they had to be legally married for the sake of the cover.

I heartily approve this detour into Tropesville. :D

Inspired by poppetawoppet's prompt (http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/60569.html?thread=723609#t723609) of 'Clint Barton, Vampire Slayer'.

Art (or fic, or other) including any of the following elements:

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, Vampire Slayers. Geared up in their slaying gear: leathers, gloves, jackets, boots, medieval weaponry (sword for Natasha, bow for Clint?). Pre- or post-battling with evil, blood stains and spatters as appropriate. In a graveyard, moon shining on them. Side-by-side film-poster style, or facing each other and being this close to jumping each other's bones, or rolling around on the grass/gravestones while they make out/tear each other's clothes off. Add any other elements as takes your fancy.

Huh. This might actually work for an idea I already had notes of for a Buffy fusion. If we get that extension for filling prompts, I can do it.

ZOMG yes! That is one of the very first songs I started mainlining after discovering C/N. Love love love. :D

Natasha is the Rose Bride. Clint is a Duelist. (Bonus points if you incorporate the overarching mythology of the Prince/Princess/Witch and/or if the rest of the Team/characters are Duelists, too. Frankly, I think Bucky/Winter Soldier would make a dynamite Dios/Akio.)

Nothing into something into nothing
Every rule you break means there's no turning back, no looking back.
The words that I could never say -
The clutter that is in your way is nothing new..nothing new
Is your armor thin again?
Do I want to wear it down?

(Your Armor by Charlotte Martin)

Open the hurt locker
and see what there is of knives
and teeth.
- Brien Turner, "The Hurt Locker"

Because dictartor_duck just IMed me with a link and "Clint and Natasha have totally gone here" and I am giggling imagining it:

Clint and Natasha (the reason is up to you, but I'm thinking vacation, either voluntary or ordered) go to the Madonna Inn.

Which room do they order/get assigned and what are their reactions? (And what do they do with the rest of the inn?)

Dude, they totally got put in the Wilhelm Tell Room.

Also, that place is... wow.

Spy, secret agent, and assassin are all terms that can overlap.

They are not synonymous.

Love this prompt. Love all your prompts come to think of it.

Crime Family AU where Natasha is a family member or retainer and Clint is an undercover(?) FBI agent.

Awesome prompt.

Sooo Catherine M. Valente owns my heart and soul and everything dark
Clint/Natasha, sooooo:

“You want Death?” he hissed. “I am Death. I will break your neck and cover you with my jar of dirt. When you kill, you become Death, and so Death wears a thousand faces, a thousand robes, a thousand gazes.”

Edited 2012-08-08 03:47 am (UTC)

SUMMARY: (fusion with Mythos Academy) Clint and Natasha are both outsiders at Mythos Academy, even without them both being Champions. But the bond they forge will defy their differences in age and experience, carrying them both through blood and fire.

Natalia was born knowing that she belonged to Death.

But she didn’t hear him until the night her parents died, as the house burned. It was His voice in her head, woven from shadow and wind, that woke her up, and told her to escape.

He talked to her often over the years that followed, though only at night. His voice was always made of darkness, and smelt of ashes and snow. She saw him in dreams, a pale man with midnight hair and eyes, and it was as she slumbered that he taught her.

“I am sorry to have to come to you like this,” he apologized to her once, “you deserve a childhood, and to grow and learn in your own time. But I have great need of you, my dear one, and if you do not start learning now, you will not be ready, and you probably will not survive what is to come.”

“I want to live,” Natalia told him, with all the pragmatism of a native Russian. “So I need to learn.”

He smiled at her, a wintry thing, but not without kindness or affection. “Such a clear-sighted child. You may very well turn out even better than I hoped! Your work will be unpleasant at times; it will often be painful and demanding. You will have a long and hard road to travel. But you will not go unrewarded, I promise. What I do not have time to teach you, others will, and you will know the satisfaction of accomplishment, the protection of knowledge, and the security of knowing that you are not only strong but skilled, and your confidence is well-earned. You will not be without love, either, dear one; your fierce little heart will not be empty forever. You will have a mate worthy of all your trust and capable of returning your love measure for measure, even as I found mine.”

As she slept in the tiny room next to Uncle Ivan’s – more a closet, really – she dreamed of her Lord of Darkness and Frost. At his urging, she found and read books about ancient mythology and history, before the birth of Christ, and he told her in her dreams what really happened. How Loki, Norse God of Mischief, had sparked a war that consumed every Pantheon of the Earth. European, Asian, African and even those of the jungles of America – they had all named Champions, who fought in their name against Loki and his allies. How Loki had finally been defeated in single combat by Nike, Goddess of Victory, and had been imprisoned and sealed away.

It wasn’t long until she realised who her beloved teacher must be.

Not Death, but the King of the Dead.

“Why do you come so often in the winter?” she asked him one night, after their knife-fighting lesson. “Doesn’t your wife miss you?”

She already knew enough of things done in night-darkened bedrooms that it had occurred to her that it could not be a safe or healthy thing to provoke the jealousy of a goddess – especially one who could only share her husband’s bed half the year as it was. After all, she knew the truth of that story, too; Kore had been abducted, true enough, but it had been with her happy co-operation. She had chosen to become Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.

He smiled at her. “My Queen knows the importance of your training. She had her own Champion to train some time ago. Besides, she likes being able to exercise her skills at ruling; she’s not given the chance to do much in the way of useful work in the time she spends with her mother.”

Hades taught her how to become part of the shadows, to conceal herself from his enemies. He taught her how to listen to them, and gain knowledge of all the things done in the dark. How to fight – and how to kill. Most importantly, she learned how to recognise those it was right to use those skills on.



TO BE CONTINUED AT AO3 (http://archiveofourown.org/works/500615)