#defectivexfragmented: clint

[taintedbloodlines]

( @defectivexfragmented liked for a starter from Klaus Mikaelson )

Klaus spotted the familiar face leaned against the bar and smiled to himself. This wasn't much different than their last meeting. It seemed that Clint Barton had a passion for punishment. He moved through the crowd, bumping into annoyances along the way. Finally he was standing next to his target. "Well, well, Clint. I would have thought you had hightailed it out of New Orleans, yet you are still here. Has our little town grown on you that much?"

[taintedbloodlines]

"I have no use for the news. It rarely is accurate --- they always twist the facts to their advantage. I employ a network of those who are all too willing to tell me what I need to know. Your friends are saving the world and shit as you put it --- but maybe not as heroically as the news claims. You lot do create a path of destruction in your bid to save lives." Klaus gave an exaggerated eye roll. He leaned back in his chair and gave Clint a look. "One has to wonder though --- why are you hear drowning in alcohol while your friends are out there doing good deeds?"

His body went stiff with the mention of his friends, though he did the best to keep it off his face. It took everything in him to keep his gaze on the glass in his hands and not look to Klaus. “I’m sure if you change the channel on the tv over there, the news will be talking all about their heroic deeds. Saving the world and shit.” There was a hint of annoyance mixed in with his tone. A random bar in New Orleans and he gets flack. "Listen Klaus, all I want is a drink and I'll be on my way out of the city first thing in the morning. No reason to ruffle feathers."

[eyeless-smiles]

eyeless-smiles asked: [ PULL ]:  sender  pulls  receivers  hair. (For Clint, found him!)

@defectivexfragmented

Another town, another no name hole in the wall bar. Not that it mattered to him as long as they were fully stocked behind the bar and didn't say shit about his name. Clint was a paying customer after all. He simply wanted his glass to remain full and to drink in peace. It had been over a year at this point and the Avengers still hadn't managed to track him down, even with Tony's tech and Natasha's skills. Finishing off his second glass of bourbon, the archer waved to the bartender to indicate he wanted another and set the empty glass towards the inside of the countertop. The drink was replaced before the bartender headed into the back, assuming to the bathroom, and leaving him alone in the empty bar. Clint let out a heavy sigh, gaze briefly turning towards the old television mounted on the wall and was relieved to see no mention of the Missing Avenger on the news. It was an old news story but every so often it would pop back up and he would have lay low for a bit. His thoughts were elsewhere when the fingers ran through his hair to take a firm handful and yank his head backwards with a harsh grunt. Blue eyes quickly came to narrow on the face above of the asshole standing above him. "Unless you want your hand shoved so far up your ass that you can bit your fingernails, I would suggest you let me go. Now."

Clints steely blue gaze is met by midnight glass. Reflecting the mortals own appearance back at himself. Below them, a cold calculating smile is worn by a deceptively handsome face.

The Corinthian's golden digits remain tightly bound in the missing Avengers locks, despite the graphic threat. A low rumble of sultry humour purring in the Nightmare's chest when he dares to crane Clints neck back just a little farther.

"Hush, doll. You don't want to alarm the bartender." Casting an idle glance back towards the tv that Clint had been staring at moments prior, the Nightmare purses his lips.

"You've spent far too long disappearing to ruin all that effort. Now, finish your drink, and you and me are gonna head out for a little chat." The fingers in his hair loosen, roughly letting go of the Avengers head to step to the side and wait patiently for Clint to get out of his seat and make a move for the door.

[argentarrogance]

Hawkeye.

@defectivexfragmented || cont.

Unfortunately for Clint, it was a man traveling ups and downs at high velocities, born from devil's white fang who's voice trailed like scarf of lustrous fibre. By no means he planned to play detective but wind whispered Barton's activity has been spotty, thought to check on him was born spontaneously. Man caves into hard training when he wants to improve or escape, he wondered which one was marksman's case ... Maybe he could investigate a bit whether there was externally existing pattern ( or it was typically Stark's demonstration of cockyness ) that brinked today's nerve.

'' Well, I do have it now, but I'm willing to give it back if --, '' with arrow still in his possession enthusiasm misted when side-gaze under lashes spiderly-snow once sectioned new spot of focus, then his stride paced until stopping in front of Clint's bullseye, '' -- you manage to hit my hairtip. '' Finger flicks across side of his left strands.

[hegrudges]

a   bullet   comes   from   across   the   field,   catching   him   in   the   chest.      a   gasp   ,   and   then   merc   is   prodding   at   his   own   bullet   wound.      gaze   lifting   to   peer   at   @defectivexfragmented.         ❝         am   i   see   through   ?   or   do   you   think   the   bullet   got   caught   ?         ❞   

[1batch2batch]

cont. from here

@defectivexfragmented

Castle was mid-rant about the reckless stunt Clint had just pulled, but he went dead silent at the comment. He'd waited until they got to safety to unleash that temper. The worst part was that it was exactly the kind of thing Frank wouldn't hesitate to do himself, but seeing Clint put himself in that kind of danger had him practically shaking with a mix of anger and fear. That was the problem with fucking his Sergeant. He cared too much. It affected his judgment, and that pissed him off too, that he couldn’t trust himself to be objective about Clint anymore. His own goddamn fault, nobody else's. When he turned, it was to level a finger at Russo, his voice scarily quiet. "Get the fuck out." It wasn't a conversation for an audience.

[xbullseye]

@defectivexfragmented

Dex knew his moral compass didn't exactly point due north. When his therapist encouraged him to find a role model, of sorts, someone whose goodness he could strive to emulate, he knew she'd meant an ordinary person like a first responder or a suicide hotline operator, and that had worked fine for him for years. She probably hadn't meant an actual superhero, but after the attack on New York, of course he'd latched onto the Avenger who couldn't miss.

He'd followed the stories about Hawkeye obsessively (the only way he knew how to have an interest in something, really), and letting the hero guide his actions had worked better than anything else ever had. He'd hesitated to dig deeper into Clint Barton's life. For some reason, it had seemed important to keep a distinction between the Avenger and the man, like it might jinx it if he ever met his hero or came to see him as a real person. Most people just weren't that good. He didn’t want to lose that trust he had in Hawkeye's goodness.

That had come crashing down around him when he'd seen Clint on a tour of an apartment building. Dex hated the whole process of moving. It disrupted the careful order he needed to keep his mind quiet and his darker impulses in check, but it was a necessary evil. He hadn’t even been positive the man in the hooded sweatshirt had been Clint Barton at first. He’d tried to talk himself out of the notion. Then he'd broken the rule about prying into his personal life, done some digging, and found out that Barton did, in fact, own the building.

And that was the problem with breaking a rule. It led to breaking another, and another, and another, until he was in so deep he couldn't stop himself. He’d called the building manager and signed a lease the next day. Within a week, he was moving in, and then he'd gone on a deep dive of Clint Barton's entire life. He’d even been in his apartment a couple times while he was out, rifling through his things like they would help him get to know the man. 

He wanted, badly, to actually speak to him, but it was frustratingly hard to run into him. Dex's work schedule for the FBI was rigid and often demanding, which was exactly what he needed. By comparison, Clint’s seemed sporadic, and he hadn’t been able to nail down any specific times he came or went. It was always swiftly and with something to keep him from being noticed, a hood or sunglasses. It didn’t take a genius to realize the other tenants didn't know who he was, and Clint didn’t want them to.

After weeks of failing to run into him by accident, he’d been forced to come up with a different plan. It caused him almost physical pain to deliberately shut his keys behind a locked door-- Dex, who hated a crooked picture on the wall or a train that was a minute late. They were neighbors though; it made sense to knock on this door over any other, on a day when he was sure Clint was home and the building manager wasn't. He offered a slightly sheepish smile when the door opened. "How good are you at breaking and entering? I, uh… just locked myself out."

[vvaywardhunter]

@defectivexfragmented

Time was strange inside the mansion. Dean didn't have any concept of how long he'd been there or even how he'd gotten there in the first place. He didn't remember the Impala parked and hidden in the overgrown brush a few blocks away. He remembered very little about himself at all, in fact, except for his name, and he couldn't have said why that was the thing he got to keep. No, most of his knowledge was about this house. It was an evil place. Few who set foot in here left alive. He couldn't remember if he thought he'd be the exception to that rule, or if he'd been caught unawares.

He was pretty sure he was dead.

He was far from the only ghost to haunt these halls, but none of them were friends. Some, like the original owner, had always been wicked, but he knew it wasn't true for all of them. Others were simply trapped in endless torment, reliving their deaths over and over again. He thought those might have been here the longest. There was little left of them other than those final, awful moments. Others did his bidding, the owner's. Dean thought he might have known his name once, but names were powerful. Names could help end this, and so of course the knowledge had been taken from him. He also knew, without knowing how he knew, that all ghosts ended that way eventually. The longer they were dead, the more their memories and personalities eroded, until they became vengeful. He didn't want to be a vengeful spirit, but he couldn't leave.

None of them could.

The ghosts were in a stir today because someone new had walked through those grand front doors. Someone alive. He wouldn't be for long if they had their way. Dean had been trying in vain all day to get his attention, to warn him, but manifesting took energy, and he didn't think (although he couldn't be sure) that he'd had a lot of practice at it. He'd tried appearing in mirrors or moving his things, but at most he could only manage to nudge them an inch or two. He thought he'd made the flames in the hearth flare higher once, but maybe they were going to do that anyway.

Night had fallen early with the storm clouds rolling in, and it was in full glory now, rain lashing the windows, thunder and lightning clashing. Dean doubted he could get the man to leave in this weather, even if he could make himself heard, but now that he'd chosen a bedroom for the night, he had another idea. He'd perched on the edge of his bed, not sure why he should feel nervous. It wasn't like the man could see him yet, let alone hurt him. Slowly, he reached out to rest his hand on his arm. He could almost feel it, warm and solid beneath his hand, and beneath that the tug of life. He pulled tentatively on that energy, warmth flooding his fingers as he leeched it from the man's body. In contrast, the temperature in the room dropped dramatically, until Dean could see the fog of the living man's breath. "Wake up."

[mightiestxheroes]

“Hey Bucky, what is a guaranteed way for the elderly to have a smoking hot body? Cremation.”

“Good to know that your jokes, like your taste, are nothing but ash.”

@defectivexfragmented

[scribedhorror]

ship tag drop

@deafandstoned : [ kiss me beneath the milky twilight bill/spencer; deafandstoned ]

@depictedblue : [ i hesitate to say the ocean could hold a candle to your eyes bill/cassie; depictedblue ]

@painofhumanity : [ my heart is yours to fill or burst bill/ben; painofhumanity ]

@cruelprincae : [ and i've missed your soul forever bill/cardan; cruelprincae ]

@hearsthephone : [ you took the breath out of my lungs bill/finn; hearsthephone ]

@defectivexfragmented : [ if i should be so bold i'd ask you to hold my heart in your hand bill/matt; defectivexfragmented ] [ we should just kiss like real people do bill/clint; defectivexfragmented ]

@untamedlobo : [ if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose i'd set fire to the wood so you wouldn't have to bury me too bill/peter; untamedlobo ]

[frightnightx]

🩸 @defectivexfragmented liked for a starter

Humans didn't often capture his attention, which was probably for the best. It rarely ended well for the human. Once, he hadn't been that particular about who he turned when he wanted a family. There was strength in numbers, and most of them were just cannon fodder, but the world wasn't made for that anymore. Now, he turned one if he turned any, spent years or even decades with them, and then left them to their own devices. Every fledgling went off on their own eventually, and Jerry didn't fight it. It was the natural order of things. He checked in on them now and then, or they dropped in on him, and that was enough.

It had been some years since he'd had a companion, and he was starting to get… he wouldn't have called it lonely. Bored, restless, tired. Unfortunately for Clint, the archer had caught his attention. Jerry could never say exactly what it was that drew him to a specific human. Perhaps it was something different every time. Vampires as a whole tended to be drawn to beauty and talent, things they didn't have, and Clint had both. What he'd initially thought could be a problem--close neighbors had been a problem for him in the past--had turned into an entertaining diversion.

It was obvious Clint didn't believe in vampires, and it had almost become a game to Jerry now, seeing what it would take for him to notice and put the pieces together. Garlic, mirrors, running water, holy items-- all myths. He couldn't turn into a bat or a wolf either. (Pity.) Sunlight, on the other hand, was very real, and so was silver, at least in large quantities. Shoot him with a silver bullet, and it would burn like fuck, but it wouldn't kill him if he was already at full strength. A wooden stake would be more dangerous to him, but those were damn hard to aim. Had to destroy the heart completely. Invitations were also real, and he'd enjoyed himself a time or two leaning in Clint's doorway to see if he'd ask him in, finding veiled excuses to leave if he didn't.

Even Jerry got bored with games after a while though, and he was about to take this one to the next level. He knew Clint was following him--no matter how quiet, there was no masking his heartbeat--and he'd deliberately taken a turn into a more posh neighborhood. Knowing full well that Clint would have a clear view of him, he leapt a high fence faster than a human would have been able to and vanished into the shadows around the back of an empty house. He could smell that the home had been empty for days, but the in-ground pool was well-kept, the landscaping carefully maintained.

[taintedbloodlines]

( @defectivexfragmented liked for a starter from Elijah Mikaelson )

"Your reputation proceeds you of course, Mr. Barton," he began, his head tilting as he took in the man there were countless stories about. He looked nothing out of the ordinary but then again, Elijah knew that appearances could be deceiving. "I do hope that your appearance here is not a sign that trouble will follow."

[taintedbloodlines]

Meredith was hard a work, engrossed in stitching a rather nasty head wound. She had wondered just what the hell happened to him when they brought him in but one look told her that he wasn't exactly going to share. She had seen people like him before and if she was a betting woman, she figured he would end up in her ER again. This was not his first rodeo --- it wasn't just the look on his face that told her that. It was also the traces of scars that she could see on his skin. When he spoke, pulling her out of her work mode, she sighed. Then she gave him a look. " --- out of the two of us, I am the one of the med degree. I get final say on whether or not it is that bad." There was an air of authority in her voice. "Besides, I am 99% certain you got yourself a concussion."

@taintedbloodlines liked for a starter with Frank!

Hospitals had never been his thing but after his pickup ended up in a ditch on the edge of town, Frank unwillingly found himself in the emergency room waiting on the results of the x-rays on his wrist and to get his head stitched up. It was unnecessary. He had patched up far worse injuries on himself with duct tape and super glue but it wasn't something he could exactly say to the police officer who had found him or the doctor seemingly determined to keep him there.

"Hey doc, anyway we can speed this up? All this ain't that bad."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@defectivexfragmented {{xx}}

"You should see wha' I can do to a body." It isn't a threat, not with the smile that starts to overtake almost the entirety of her face. One of the things Clint has learned over the course of the last few months is that Beth rarely boasts about anything. She demures when others mention one of a dozen things about her, and she doesn't dominate conversation with the life she left behind in New York. If anything, she has told him little to nothing, always finding a way to change the subject. Usually back to him and Talia. Who is currently dozing off on the couch after a whirl-wind day of going to the pumpkin patch, picking out several varieties, shopping for a costume, and then heading over to the apple grove for cider, donuts, and picking up a bushel to make caramel and candied ones for her class mates. Next week will be the start of the carnivals and hay-rides. Then the corn-mazes and haunted houses. All counting down to the big night. She removes the top of the pumpkin having set the night aside. It isn't much different than removing the top of a skull. Her speciality had been neurosurgery before she'd given it up to be a nurse. "An' people wen stay cut up chunks of beef an' serve wi' raw egg atop. Call it tartare. Not gonna lie. Kinda make me sick t' my stomach. So I get you. F'I'm gonna shower, does dat mean I'm stayin' hear or should I expect a long hot ba'd at my place?"

[snkts]

Fuck me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist right? (Clint)

HIT ON LOGAN

"Nice try, bub, but you and me are gonna take a trip to the Savage Lands."

[1batch2batch]

💬 Frank, rumor has it you are sleeping with Clint Barton from the Avengers

@defectivexfragmented

"Better check your sources. I never met anyone named Clint Barton, and I doubt you'll catch an Avenger slummin' it with the Punisher."