#arrowsandantics

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick || Clint & April

ArrowsandAntics

Clint had a feeling that the way they were speaking about him as if he wasn't there was some sort of academic snobs' right of passage and that he shouldn't be too offended by all of it, but he still was taken aback by their severity. He raised his eyebrows higher and higher with each jab at his appearance, or probable lack of intelligence, or the assumptions about their sex life. He did have to hold back a snort of laughter when one of them suggested that linguistics was a man's field. Not that it wasn't a noble profession or that men should be considered anything less than what they were for being a linguist (as a matter of fact, Clint was pretty jealous of some peoples' abilities to learn languages so easily - he had a good handle on three or four of them, but it took him years of hard studying at SHIELD to get there, and still usually needed a translator on comm during missions) but it wasn't exactly at the top of his list for "manliest professions." If it hadn't been for this group of "gentlemen" right here, Clint probably would have assumed that the genders were split fifty-fifty in this profession, if not slightly in favor of the women.

He lowered his hand back to his side a second or two after the men began speaking, once it became clear that no one was going to shake it, and remained silent until April grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the group. "What a bunch of jackasses." he said, not minding that the group was still within earshot.

He smirked at her comment. "I get why you'd be tempted, though I think a steak knife might've looked a little worse on your record." He glanced at the woman they were approaching, and recognized her as the third suspect. He let April and the woman greet each other, and stood back a pace or two until April introduced him, the small hint of a pleasant smile resting on his lips as he observed the two.

April was more than grateful to be away from the group of professors and doctors. If there was one thing she hated doing at conferences like this, it was socializing. Elyse Anderson was for the most part tolerable at least.

"April-" She said, accent Americanized French - "It is good to see you again." She laughed, pulling April into a familiar hug, "Were the old boy's club giving you a hard time? Would you believe Dr. Middling pinched my bum earlier tonight?" She sniffed, tucking an errant brown curl behind her ear.

April snorted, "Doesn' s'prise me in th'least. Elyse, this is Clark Bates he's my uh... new paramour." She said with a smile, "Clark, Elyse Anderson."

Elyse whistled, "I'm impressed. Usually you go for the weedy, arrogant ones." She smiled easily and caught a passing waiter to fetch up three flutes for them, "So how did you come to be dating the illustrious Dr. Miller, Mister...?"

[darcywho]

Time to take stock: Darcy was currently speeding through the streets of New York, her best friend was bleeding out in the back seat because something was wrong with her baby, and Sarah Jane was screaming in the car seat beside the blonde. 

If that wasn’t a sign that she needed to call in reinforcements, Darcy didn’t know what was. Thank god for hands-free calling. She was persistent in her calling Maria Hill, more so in getting the woman to patch her through to Clint in the field, yelling at a cabbie who just cut her off in his attempt to get as far away from the burning buildings as possible. 

“--Don’t ask questions, Clint, just listen. The baby’s coming, April’s bleeding, we’re heading to Bellevue. 

[erosoftitan-a]

The Hangover (Dearly Beloved pt. II) || Starfox and Hawkeye

His head was pounding. His mouth was dry and his eyes were crusty. He was nauseated by the sunlight coming through his suddenly very thin eyelids. He felt like he'd just died. Kronos almighty, what had just happened? This was the hangover from hell; from Mephisto himself. It took a

lot

- a lot of a lot of different things - to give an Eternal a hangover like this, so it was imperative that the redhead get up and try to remember the cause. In fact, his superior physiology allowed him to already start feeling better, so he opened his eyes and--

--Nope.

With a dramatic groan, the Titan, eyes closed, splayed his limbs and found that he was on a hard and mildly rough, plush surface - a carpet. His right leg was stopped by something that was hard but still had some give - a couch. The brightness of the light was pretty much coming from everywhere around him, so he figured the walls around him, or at least somewhere out in front of him, were windows.

Heavens it had been a disturbing nightmare. The end of all existence, the resurrection of his dead best friend, right at the side of his horrible brother who he was forced to work with; realities being ripped apart, his mind being invaded by his undead friend, his brain being smothered by powers beyond his physical capacity to handle, and even his soul being torn apart by it - by love. What drama! What tragedy!

But Eros of Titan wasn't much into tragedy. Adventure and romance with happy endings were more his thing, so instead of dwelling on it or its potential meaning, he felt relieved and happy that it wasn't real and that he was alive and well. Well, maybe not well, but . . . alive.

The night before started coming back to him. It wasn't hard partying or anything of the sort, just Starfox and Hawkeye discussing a potential problem that needed a solution over a glass or two of Titanian wine . . . No, wait, that was a few days ago. Right, Barton had been knocked on his ass by it, so they hadn't been able to have an intelligent conversation the first time around.

The light was blessedly blocked by a sudden shadow right before he could curl up in the fetal position. The empath dared not lower his shields because the sensations would be awful, just like all sensations were during a hangover or a sickness. That and he knew exactly who it was.

It was a giant anthropomorphic penis by the name of Clint Barton and to know that took no clairvoyance.

Eros just needed some water, then he'd recover much quicker. In the meantime, he spoke with his head facing the shadow.

"I've never felt this close to death . . . not even when I slept with her."

A beat.

"Which never happened. Twice."

[ arrowsandantics ]

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

Four months pregnant was weird. She didn't know how Darcy had managed it, but Darcy was approximately the size of  small, very attractive planet. So maybe it had more to do with Steve's terrifying supersoldier sperm, and less to do with not having enough body space for gestation.

The guest room was packed up. Not that there had been much in it to begin with, but various knickknacks had been stowed into tubs for donation, linens all pulled free and folded away into the linen cupboard. The problem was that she needed to dismantle the bed and shelves.

Amongst other things, she also couldn't really move the tubs out of the room. She hadn't said anything to Clint yet, but her OBGYN was concerned she wasn't gaining weight quickly enough, coupled with the dizzy spells and there was some serious concern happening.  

She set her phone on the counter as she padded into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. She wasn't hungry, and the effort of cooking often meant she felt too tired to actually eat; but this was important. The key she'd had made for Clint, glinted on the counter beside her phone.

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

darcywho

The pain is sudden and lancing. The sort that stops her in Darcy’s kitchen. Hand at her stomach. The news has been going nearly nonstop for the last few hours, it’s past dark now. She curls a hand over the lowest curve of her stomach and then gasps, knees shaking-

“Darce-” She calls, voice breaking, doesn’t know if Darcy can hear her over the explosions happening in real time on the television. Another sudden throb of pain and she reaches for the counter, knocks her glass of water to the floor with a shatter and slips to her knees. The pain is intense, she hasn’t-

“Darcy--” Her hand comes away covered in blood. 

[darcywho]

"Pardon My Hand"

send “pardon my hand” for my muse’s reaction to your’s sneaking up behind them and slipping their hand between my muse’s legs..

Apparently, wearing a skirt was just as good as a hand-delivered invitation. It didn’t stop the soft gasp of surprise or the reddening of her cheeks at the first brush of calloused fingers. 

“Whoa my god,” she squeaked out, hands gripping the edge of her desk in the middle of her office as she looked over her shoulder at Clint. “Y’know, when I said we should get lunch whenever you come back from saving the world, this wasn’t what I actually had in mind.” 

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

arrowsandantics

It takes a week before the doctors are fine with sending April home. There is some concern over how slowly she is healing, coupled with the previous damage from her miscarriage a handful of years prior. The doctor spends probably thirty minutes going over instructions with Clint. Brown eyes stern, “Restricted activity Mr. Barton. For at least the next three months. If not longer. Keep her hydrated and well-rested.”

But home they go, with Tommy cradled in April’s arms to the apartment with the nursery Clint had so lovingly crafted and painted whilst April had been busy with work. April is tired enough that she mostly just wanted to curl up in bed with Clint and Tommy. Once everything was settled she handed the baby to Clint, “I’m gonna run a bath. Can you get him settled in?”

[darcywho]

"I'd serve coffee on that ass."

“--Is this your way of asking for a cup, or do I need to talk to April about her tastes in men again?”

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

April misses the days when she and Clint did not have kids running screaming through the house. To be perfectly honest, not that she doesn’t adore Tommy and Faith she just... once upon a time her free moments were spent in the quiet. Reading. Or working.

Not being shot at by deranged metahumans masquerading as pseudo-vampires. She’d lost her shoes in the kerfuffle (something which still stung); Tommy cling to her side, eyes wide with terror. At seven, he was her little man, whereas Faith-- only recently turned two, had a fist crammed in her mouth while she sniffled and heaved quiet little sobs that April did her best to soothe.

The lead metahuman (April refused to call them pseudo-vampires in her head) had clearly been reading too much Vampire the Masquerade and Anne Rice. He rounded the corner with a fucking bat, his duster sweeping out behind him.

“C’mon doc- we just wanna talk, maybe have a little snack or two.” 

All April could hope was that Clint was actually near his damn phone.

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

When April was fourteen she found her father's dead body in his study. In some universes she collapses in on herself. Leaves home. Goes to Brown. Forgets about her family and never speaks with them. Not for ten or more years.

Staring across the stage at the lowered curtain, these are the thoughts that distract her as the orchestra opens. Side stage she spies Ingrid giving her an enthusiastic double thumbs up. Ingrid is her competition and one of her best friends. Ingrid is also not human. April only knows this because two years ago when April and Ingrid met, it was days after Ingrid had joined the company. They'd been in Paris and someone had tried mugging them. Ingrid, who at the moment is dark skinned, with wide almond shaped, amber brown eyes. A high forehead and natural, kinky curls that halo her face. Had turned a vivid blue and sort of... grown about three feet. The mugger had been frozen solid. April-- April had been duly impressed. They'd been attached at the hip since. It was funny because Ingrid was her biggest competition for the principal position. A position April had held for almost a decade.

The orchestra reached the first crescendo and the stage lit up. Curtains rising and she spun out across the stage, limbs graceful. To be fair though; April knew the shelf life of ballerinas was limited, and she was cutting it close in her late twenties as it was. She was transitioning into film and television and when she left ballet entirely Ingrid would step into the pincipal position and show everyone just how amazing she was.

The ballet came to a close some hours later and April hid in one of the dressing rooms with Ingrid giggling, rumor had it there was a new stage hand hired onto the company and several of the dancers could not stop talking about him. Ingrid shared April's opinion, "Another man who'll try and sleep with half the company and be summarily fired for it."

April laughed, "You mean he'll try an' sleep with you an' I'll get to laugh as you shoot'im down."

Ingrid shrugged, and smiled slyly, standing, "Maybe. Try not to stay too late." Before she ducked out of the dressing room leaving April alone.

Later that evening at the after party-- April stood leaning against the couch laughing at something someone (she had no idea who, half the people who came to these parties were some semblance of rich/famous/or otherwise ridiculously well-connected) had said to her before her smile became strained and she made a hasty retreat to the penthose's balcony.

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

Text || Clint

April: I need you to come over

April: I'm trying to organize the guest room to make room for a nursery

April: and I can't move the bed.

April: I require your strong man arms.

[darcywho]

Blue

ask me to describe a color without using that color

It’s the color of the sky. This pale, expansive canvas she remembers from New Mexico, when she could see it horizon to horizon, sunrise to sunset. The color that would deepen until stars poked little holes through its fabric and shine their light through. It’s the stain of ink on her fingertips because she refuses to use black (so she can discern originals from copies, she says practically, not letting on that she misses being able to look up and just breathe without the smell of the city, of skyscrapers and people and business tainting the air that fills her lungs). It’s her husband’s and daughter’s eyes, identical in shade and occasionally in mirth; a color that calms her while it inspires the occasional thought that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mess up her life like she thought she would because now she has this and how could something like this ever be anything but right. It’s the color of the sky over her house in upstate New York, darker than the sky over New Mexico where she started. The sky in which clouds drift by as her friends visit for the weekend with two dogs running circles around each other while Darcy catches up with her sister-friend and comes up with weird food for Clint, whom she loves like the brother he’s come to be. 

[darcywho]

can we just assume werecat au was just some really awesome sex dream turned completely horrifying?

lmfao 

yes, yes we can. one too many horror movies before bed. 

[darcywho]

contact

Name: Big BirdRingtone: Night Birds by Shakatak

[aprilmillerphd-archive]

HAWKWORD

Which one sexts like a straight white boy? Clint. Definitely Clint.

Which one cried during a fucking disney movie? Uh, going with Clint on this one. April is not a crier. Unless she’s pregnant and then there are so many emotions.

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave? Fuckin’ Clint. 

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who” thing? April. If she can. 

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner? April, what I have poor circulation!

Who had that embarassing Reality TV marathon? Clint. To be fair this, it’s definitely Coulson’s fault.

Who laughs more during sex? Tie, they both tend to laugh a lot during sex.

WHO IS THE LITTLE SPOON? Spooning doesn’t… really happen. April is not much on the spooning during bed, but if it does, usually she falls asleep on top of Clint.

[darcywho]

arrowsandantics

[text]: Dude. Food is happening. Chinese and Ethiopian. Bring pickles?