On a generational spaceship, the kind where it's the great-great-whatever grandkids of the people who leave Earth who eventually arrive at the final destination.

Do Clint and Natasha sign up to go and why, or are they selected? Are they people in the middle of the journey, who are born and will die on this ship, and what choices and kind of life do they have? Are they towards the end of the journey where everything is old and falling apart? Or are they nearly at the end, contemplating the landing and how everything is going to change?

Edited 2021-02-14 04:36 pm (UTC)

Inspired by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's Good Omens, as in the spirit of it but not strictly that story:

Clint and Natasha are an angel and demon who have been on Earth for so long that they're closer to each other than their respective sides and have become each other’s person.

Summary: High above New York, an Angel and a Demon contemplate an alien invasion over a nice glass of rosé.

Hug thanks to alistra for betaing!!


*****


“You again? People are going to talk, you know.”

He hasn’t even turned; angelic vision seems to encompass the full 360 degrees. But the tone of his voice and a subtle shift in his wings make it clear that her presence is welcome. His wings are black now; for a moment she wonders idly whether he has chosen the colour in a nod to her, knowing she would come. The falling dusk, she notices, gives them an almost purple sheen.

Finally, he faces her; the smile in his eyes belies the diffidence of his earlier words.

“Yeah, well,” she says as she sits down beside him, careful not to dislodge the bottle of wine and two glasses that have materialized on the ledge between them. “There aren’t that many conversation partners around this planet with shared life experiences. Besides, I thought you called?”

She inspects the label on the bottle. Pointe du Diable Rosé, its colour deepened by the early evening light. He knows what she likes and is happy to indulge her; the hard edges of his own ascetic nature have long since been worn down by the delights and sensations this world has in abundance. And like her, he spends more and more time in corporeal form to enjoy them.

“I suppose I did,” he finally admits. “Although it wasn’t entirely conscious.”

She lets this slide; denial of their close association continues to be a bit of a thing for him.

“I like your new wings,” she says. “Black suits you. The white was a little … insipid.”

He chuckles as he reaches for the bottle, removes the cork with a flick of his fingers and starts pouring.

“I thought you’d appreciate the visual.” He hands her a glass. “Nice locks.”

Her hair, she knows, shines as a halo of flame in the day’s dying light. She’d hoped he would appreciate its humanizing softness; as it turns out, he seems to be fighting an impulse to touch it.

The view from where they are sitting, near the top of the Chrysler Building, is breathtaking. All of New York is laid out before them; windows and metal surfaces are beginning to pick up a fiery gleam as the sun sinks beneath the city’s jagged skyline. Above them, the normally silver scallops of the roof are bathed in gold and the gargoyles that jut out at the corners look ready to leap to life.

“So what are we celebrating tonight?” she asks, twirling the glass between her fingers and nudging her chin towards the bottle.

He shrugs; the movement causes his wings to rustle. The sound is both ominous and familiar, slightly threatening yet oddly comforting. It stirs something else in her, too, but she represses that thought as quickly as it arises: Reenacting the original sin is not for the likes of them. Perhaps they have both started to identify a little too much with their latest human avatars.

She struggles a little to remember her original question as he answers.

“The end of the world. Coming the day after tomorrow, around teatime. Or so I’m given to understand.”

“Again?” she frowns. “Also, I wouldn’t call that cause for rejoicing, exactly. I thought we were against that sort of thing now.”

He takes a sip of his wine and briefly closes his eyes as he savours the taste. The ability to feel joy for either of them had once been limited to responding to praise from their Masters, but appears to have gone curiously astray on this remarkable little planet. She, too, dips her long and sensitive tongue into the blush-coloured liquid, enjoying the little shiver of pleasure the act provokes.

She pulls her mind back to the discussion just in time to hear him speak.

“We are against global destruction, you and I, yes. But it looks like your side is bringing some big guns this time, and I have a feeling that mine’s either been asleep at the switch, or worse, is cheering on the doom for some stupid political reason. And as for the humans, they were completely oblivious until a few hours ago. Sometimes I even wonder whether their … SHIELD hasn’t been infiltrated by… Well, you know.”

His jaw sets for a moment before he continues.

“Snakes.”

He draws out the sibilant sound in what she knows is a direct challenge, his crystal eyes boring hard into her smoky ones; her breath hisses reflexively in response. Sometimes, despite the millennia of mutual tolerance and, eventually, friendship, the old instincts occasionally rear up.

“You said my side is bringing ‘big guns’?” she says, a little snippily. “Might I remind you, most of the messes we’ve cleaned up over the years couldn’t have gotten started without your people either looking the other way, or actively helping.”

She sheathes her claws and smoothens the scales on her back before she responds.

“So what does Armageddon look like this time? World War? Genocide? Insurrection? Global pandemic?”

“Alien invasion,” he says drily. “Leading to war, crimes against humanity, pestilence and really bad political takes. Something for everyone.”

“And you know this how?”

“Barton,” he shrugs, naming the human he’d chosen to watch within SHIELD - the man who’s personal aesthetic, she suspects, influenced the change in his wings. “He’s currently inhabited by one of the aliens.”



Read the rest on AO3 (if you will...)


Edited 2021-02-18 03:46 am (UTC)

CIRCUS AU (look, if I didn't leave a circus prompt you'd wonder what was wrong with me *grins*)

Clint Barton has recently become established as top billing The Amazing Hawkeye. Natasha Romanoff is a performer/member of an established, static, big name circus. (Think like Cirque in Las Vegas.) She's been sent to recruit Clint from the shitty, run down travelling circus he's in. She understands loyalty, but the more she learns about Carson's and the way Clint is/has been treated, the more she really doesn't understand why he keeps turning her down/is so reluctant to leave...

(Or something like that. I mean I love me anything circus.)

Could be AU or not - some well meaning person in Clint's life (who doesn't know that he's Hawkeye OR Clint isn’t Hawkeye) notices that Clint keeps getting beaten up/in trouble/could do with some help not being clumsy and so signs him up for a self-defense/martial arts class run by Natasha Romanoff (who could be the Black Widow volunteering/undercover/on leave/side job etc or not).

Ignore any deaths in Endgame... but keep Bucky and Sam taking over for Steve at the end. What are Clint and Nat up to? What are their reactions? Amused? Alarmed?

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR FALCON AND WINTER SOLDIER AHEAD:


I loved the wrangler/therapist lady, whoever she is and think she should have been hired long ago to bitch at/force team bonding on the Avengers. Alternatively, she's therapist/team bonding person at SHIELD who signs off on Strike Team Delta.

This tumblr post: when there’s a character with few or no scruples who outsources their moral compass to someone else

it’s sort of the equivalent of when a cat jumps up somewhere they shouldn’t be and you just pick them up and move them off it, only with murder or whatever.

character a looking at character b like “okay is this a situation where I can do a murder” and character b like. “no. we’ve gone over this.”

Edited 2021-02-10 10:53 am (UTC)

Soulmates AU, but they’re platonic soulmates, or they're not each other’s soulmates and they're still in love and a relationship, or just mess with the trope. Anything where it's never mind should, this is what works for us.

Why Clint and Natasha aren't allowed to train SHIELD Agents (or new recruits or miltary groups or anyone) together.

Or: 5 reasons why Clint and Natasha aren't allowed to run training sessions together and one time Steve asks them to for the Avengers (and Fury/Hill/Coulson/someone from SHIELD is like: why. Why would you do this. Steve, no.)

\0/

OK so this is in need of editing, but I wanted to get it in under the wire…


Pas de Deux


“Did you post that training schedule?”

Maria Hill’s eyes bore into Steve’s with a hardness bordering on diamond. He looks over at the bulletin board. Yes, he could have used Outlook, but dammit, there’s nothing wrong with using a corkboard, even if it marks him as a dinosaur.

“Yes, why?” he shrugs. “Something wrong with pen and paper? Less likely to be hacked, for one thing.”

She shakes her head impatiently.

“I don’t give a damn about that. You can use smoke signals for all I care. What I’m worried about is this.”

Hill stabs at the paper with a flawlessly manicured, but very short-trimmed fingernail.

14:00-15:30 Introduction to Tai Chi, with Barton & Romanoff, it says. Meditation, Self-Defense & Full-Body Exercise all rolled into one.

Steve doesn’t get it.

“Yes, so?” he says. “They volunteered. Clint says it’s a great way to get back into physical movement after lunch, and Nat…”

Hill gives him that Oh my sweet summer child… look that he always gets from people when they’re about to haul out a grisly tale about some huge, man-made disaster everyone knows about, but that he totally missed out on while under the ice.

“Yes, and Romanoff no doubt told you that they used to do this at SHIELD every Tuesday and Thursday and that it was hugely popular, including with the support staff.”

Since that is pretty much exactly what she’d said, Steve says nothing, just waits for the other shoe to drop.

“This is entirely true,” Maria continues, after clearing her throat. “However. SHIELD's HR figures showed that employee productivity actually went down ... significantly on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. And that there was a direct correlation. You’ll see.”

“That makes no sense to me,” Steve interrupts her. “Productivity isn’t everything, even in HR world. This sounds like a great opportunity for team building. Plus, Clint and Nat definitely need to be doing something positive together after that unpleasantness in Leipzig. As far as I can see, all that’s a win-win.”

Hill shrugs.

“Fine,” she says. “Do what you want, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

*****

The first time Steve participates in the tai chi session, he finds himself drawn in by the way it seems to slow everything down – the sense of just being inside his own body, the moments of pure relaxation, punctuated by the sudden, cathartic release of air and adrenaline. The whole experience is quite exhilarating, actually, for something that doesn’t involve punching a sandbag as hard as you can.

It’s only towards the end of the session that Steve becomes aware of the numbers of people standing in the visitors’ gallery above the gym, watching the proceedings.

As for Barton and Romanoff, the instruction portion done, they are now floating into a warm-down pattern of their own, two black-clad bodies, bare arms glistening with sweat, moving in complete harmony. Eyes locked, they seem to be engaged in a silent conversation in which words are translated into movements, saying …

What, exactly?

The susurration of voices from the gallery increases in intensity, with fragments like “Man, you find it hot in here?” “God, I’ve missed that!” and “You doing anything later?” reaching Steve’s enhanced hearing. Nothing, however, that sounds even vaguely of insurrection or complaints to management.

He looks over at Hill. An unexpectedly attractive droplet of crystalline sweat is running off her temple, past her ear and down her very long neck into… She raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Well, that was pretty invigorating,” he says, straightening his t-shirt. “And people seemed to enjoy it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

Hill gives him a look that somewhat incongruously reminds Steve of Peggy, explaining the concept of the fondue.

“Do you know where your secretary is?” she asks, blandly.


*****

The next several sessions are much similar to the first, except that Steve is really beginning to enjoy the … certain glow that seems to linger afterwards.

Barton and Romanoff seem quite unconscious of the effect their very personal blend of grace and power seems to be having on those around him, and just head off to their respective quarters afterwards, side by side, Clint’s hand resting lightly on the small of Natasha’s back as they exchange one of their secretive smiles. He leans down and whispers something into her ear that makes her throw back her head and laugh.

The first thing Steve notices that these sessions are the single most popular thing in the compound, after the baklava made by Doreen, one of the more serendipitous of Hill’s SHIELD re-hires.

The second is that staff seems to be thin on the ground right afterwards. Accounting in particular turns into a wasteland, with only one or two people manning their cubicles.

Steve’s own secretary, Lillian, who doesn’t actively participate in the sessions but can be counted on to occupy a front seat in the visitors’ gallery, is a frequent absentee, for at least two hours after. She works hard and isn’t afraid of pulling overtime, so Steve doesn’t challenge her; he really doesn’t want to be that kind of boss. Even Wanda and Vision always seem to have something to do right after as well, so Steve has actually had to reschedule the Magic vs Repulsor Tech session to five o’clock.

The third thing that Steve notices is that despite her dire prognostication, Maria Hill is right there with him during the sessions, shaping the patterns into the air with the grace of a deer and occasionally casting a glance in his direction. He finds himself matching her movements, although no doubt his bulk is incapable of mirroring the fluidity of her motions.

But still… The sensation is something Steve is coming to look forward to, even after only a handful of sessions.

*****

It’s Friday afternoon and Barton and Romanoff are starting to do their private warm-down in the corner, absorbed in each other and seemingly oblivious to their audience (although Steve doesn’t doubt that both of them would turn into lethal buzz saws at the drop of a pin).

“They’re incredible, aren’t they?” Maria says intently, almost reverently. For a moment, Steve wonders whether this is the same woman who’d tried to talk him out of letting them run these sessions. “Carter used to describe what they’re doing as a form of tantric sex.”

They’re standing side by side, watching, and suddenly Steve becomes aware of something else he’s failed to notice until now. His nostrils flare a little as he breathes in what can only be described as … chemistry that permeates the air.
Maria watches him with a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t quite put his finger on, but certain parts of his anatomy are taking notice.

“Now do you see?” she says. Her voice is getting a little breathy and she seems to be standing a little closer than before.

Steve does. He may be almost a hundred years old, but he’s not dead.

"Productivity may be down," he says, "but what about morale and employee happiness? Did your HR people ever measure those?"

She purses her lips and slowly shakes her head - as close as Maria Hill will ever get to admitting defeat.

“It’s Friday afternoon,” he says, cupping her elbow with his hand and guiding her away from the not-so-private show at the other end of the gym. “Time for a drink?”




Edited 2021-03-01 03:57 am (UTC)

AU: Natasha is a news reader, Clint is the weather guy.

Legit all this makes me think of is Owain from North West Tonight xD

Okay, SHIELD Agents, spies etc are kinda paranoid. They'll check their immediate surroundings for anyone listening in, check for bugs, be on the look out for anything suspicious. Natasha is an excellent spy in the field - an underestimated woman, can become anyone, and so on. But around people in the know/fellow spies, she's suspicious as Russian and a Black Widow...

Enter Clint Barton. Oh, he's just Barton, napping on the break room sofa or handing you a coffee or a white dude in kinda military clothing who looks like he fits.

AKA spy team with complimentary competencies.

Because I love Fairy Tale AUs, dammit: Clint somehow ends up staying in a castle with a mysterious beast, and he doesn't know who she is or why she lives here alone but he's starting to think "beast" is the wrong word.

GOSH DARN IT I DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO WORK ON MY FAIRYTALES RIGHT NOW!

(but, uh, push me on them sometime after promptathon? I HAVE IDEAS.)

Because I love Fairy Tale AUs, dammit (2): Natasha and her eleven sisters (or "sisters") wear out their dancing shoes every night. Clint gets hired to find out why.

Edited 2021-02-11 02:53 am (UTC)

"I get emails from a raccoon."

Forget about Endgame, except Clint still has that minimized space ship he promised Rocket he'd bring back and now it's Saturday night...

Natasha and Nebula compare notes.

omg yeeessss!!!! assassin buds 🤩

assassin girl's night slumber party 🤩🤩

Massage

That's it. That's the prompt ;)

I am very late to the party, but I come baring TFLN

(401) This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?

(440) The ticket read "Found nude in a tree"

A finds a book left behind on the subway by B and tracks them down to return it. Cuteness ensues.

Undercover SHIELD assignment or Coffee Shop AU except it's in a realistic (and terrible) coffee shop.

This is brilliant and hilarious and I wish I could write it but I have precisely no experience at all to draw from and I feel like I should??? But still: brilliant.

“It’s us agaisnt the world.”