/o SOMEHOW I MISSED THE NO ENDING WARNING AND NOW I AM ALL OH GOD BUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???????????? shout out to you for making me care so much in like, less than a thousand words.
This one’s actually like, 3000 words. It got away from me. I’ll see if I cant’ give it an ending, but not right now. PROMPTS STILL TO DO. 8)
(Warnings for bad things happening to good kids, physical violence against a child and discussion a history of physical and emotional abuse. Also, it has no ending! You have been warned. APPARENTLY I DO BADLY WITH KIDS)
There was only one rule: Get up.
If he stayed down, it didn’t save him. It didn’t protect him. It just made it easier for the bastards to hurt him. He wasn’t interested in making it easier for anyone.
So Clint Barton had one rule: if someone knocked him down, he was going to get back up.
Someone was crying, one of the little kids, probably, maybe the boy with the huge dark eyes and the blue t-shirt who’d been beside him. Maybe the little girl who didn’t even seem to know how to talk. Clint didn’t know. He didn’t know how he’d ended up here, and neither did anyone else. Kids. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Kids. He didn’t know any of them, he didn’t know where he was or how he got here.
But he knew this guy was a bastard who kicked kids. And Clint hated him.
So when the man backhanded him, knocking him back to the floor, Clint got up again. And again, and again.
The bald man was huge, and threatening, and he knew it, even as he reached down and pulled Clint off of the floor. His fingers wrapped around Clint’s neck, shaking him, and Clint struggled to breathe.
“You,” he growled, “are annoying me, little boy.”
Clint grinned at him. “Good,” he managed with the last of his breath. He wanted to scream for his brother, he wanted to scream for help, but he was pretty sure that if there was help to be found, it would have already come. He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He shouldn’t have gotten between the monster and the little girl he was kicking.
But Clint was dumb. Hadn’t everyone always told him. Clint was dumb.
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i bought a new laptop a few months ago, and went through the same process. except i never got around to finding a microsoft office replacement, so thank you for helping with step 5.
Everything I have posted, bar none, EVERYTHING has been saved by OpenOffice’s auto save feature.
I have a shrine to OpenOffice. ((hugs it so tightly))
The second chapter of “Teenage DJ tries to figure out other people and especially girls” is up now on AO3.
Now back to prompts! 8)
Step 1: Curse Microsoft viciously for trying to browbeat me into making ‘an account.’
Step 2: Open Internet Explorer
Step 3: Download a browser that doesn’t make me want to kill myself every day, all day at work
Step 4: Close IE. Never open it again
Step 5: Download Open Office
Step 6: Move all files from other computer
Step 7: Scream “NO I DON’T WANT TO DOWNLOAD APPS ONTO MY COMPUTER MICROSOFT GOD I HATE YOU.”
Step 8: Commence writing.
Commission for the wonderful Scifigrl47 of her OC!
YAY FOR ARTISTS WHO PUT UP WITH THESE INSANE REQUESTS!
"Please draw someone who exists only in my head." (creepy stare) "Thank you!"
Vylla was super kind about it, please give the artist some love and consider following ze arts blog! 8)
Peter stared at the tree. “I don’t want to come up there. But I will if I have to.” He leaned in. “I am warning you. I will come up there.”
The tree did not respond. Peter wondered if he really wanted to go up there. Again.
The flicker of light, in the corner of his eye, caught his attention a split second before it coalesced into a burst of heat, and then the Human Torch was hovering in the air, just above Peter’s head. “Hey, Webhead. Whatcha doing in the park in the middle of the night?”
“Meditating,” Peter told him. “And I need serenity and solitude to do it right. So you should go now.”
Laughing, Johnny Storm landed, his flames dissipating in a heartbeat. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Go away.”
Johnny looked around. “No. Seriously. What are you doing here?”
“Shoo. Flame on, or whatever it is you do, go.” Peter made a shooing motion with his hands, flipping his fingers in Johnny’s direction. “Away with you. Off you go. So long, farewell, auf widersehen, good-night!” he sang.
“Is there a crime happening that I can’t see?” Johnny held up a hand, flames swirling around his wrist and up his fingers. “I figured there was crime. But no. It’s just you. Talking to a tree.”
“I’m communing with nature,” Peter said. “Need a private moment with the tree.”
“Buddy, if you’re looking for privacy, you shouldn’t wear that outfit. Kinda loud.”
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“You know what I like best about running with Captain America?” Carol Danvers asked.
“No, what do you like best about running with Captain America?” Sam Wilson replied, grinning
“This isn’t going to end well for me, is it?” Steve Rogers said. They both ignored him, which took real effort, because they were running alongside him, Sam on his right and Carol on his left. They had a talent, however, for talking around him. One of these days, he was going to smack their heads together.
It was a pleasant thought. He had it often enough during these early morning runs.
“Having to wait at the corner of every street for the walk signal!” Carol said, glaring at Steve out of the corner of her eyes.
“We’re not running into traffic. It’s dangerous,” Steve pointed out.
“It’s pre-dawn,” Sam said. “What the hell traffic are you seeing here that we’re not, Cap?”
“It’s the law.”
“Jaywalking is the Massachusetts state sport,” Carol said.
“And we’re in New York.”
“Pissing off cabbies is the New York state sport,” Sam pointed out. “It’s got a great motto.”
“Yeah?” Carol asked, grinning. “What would that be?”
“I’m WALKING here!” Sam yelled at the sky.
“I regret introducing you two,” Steve said.
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