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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND SEVENTEEN WILL OPEN ON SUNDAY THE 17TH.
ROUND SIXTEEN
closing at 5000 comments
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DISCUSSION POST
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!
LIST OF REQUIRED WARNINGS: ableism, abuse, bestiality, bullying, ( Read more... )
Inspired by this creepy-pasta:
"It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not wake up. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to wake up was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and please wake up."
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Oh, shit. Wake Up. You could totally play everything from the 'recalibration' (wake up) on as his fantasy, and....
Hmmm. Okay. I have ideas, but also a WIP To Do list (you need to-) longer than [insert obvious penis related pun here].
I would adore (you need to wake up) someone filling the OP's request, but I may also be working on something.
WAKE UP.
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OP here, that idea is deliciously twisted. I love it.
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"I've been here a bit long for hazing, don't you think?" Clint asks, over the top of the folder, giving Phil an amused-annoyed-curious look. Phil looks up from the form he's filing out and gives him his own version of the look, but with an extra ounce of question thrown in.
"What?" he says, pen still, hovering over the small stack of papers in front of him. His face is full of don't waste my time, Barton. He should be in a fucking acting class. Or at least in undercover ops ( ... )
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Where he finds a note on his desk, Wake up scrawled across the paper in scratchy letters, like the pen was going dry.
It had to be Nat. She's the only one with easy access to his room. The only one whose break-in he wouldn't report like that. Clint frowns and picks it up, about to ask Nat if she was worried about him or in cahoots with Phil. About to say, I was almost really hurt you know, to make her--and maybe Coulson--feel just a little bit bad for messing with him, but when he turns she's already gone.
"It doesn't make you mysterious just 'cause you do that," Clint tells the empty doorway, "There's not much mystery after I've seen you naked."
"Creeper!" someone yells from the hall. Clint slams his door.
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Please wake up, he finds in his locker, on a folded piece of yellow paper. A corner of torn-off legal pad.
"I think I have a stalker," he tells Natasha, who pff-s and says, "You wish ( ... )
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He finds himself twitching when he tries to go to sleep, fingers jerking as if they were trying to handle arrows.
The next mission is still a wash. He misses twice.
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"Have a fuck-up balloon to go with your fuck-up balloon," Parrish says, leaning in his doorway and on a crutch, batting the thing into the room with his free hand. Clint blink blearily and rubs his head. It hurts like fuck.
"Well," he says, grumpy and slurring a little, "I did miss twice."
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Phil hands him a file, and Clint opens it slowly. Cautiously. Phil gives him a funny look, but there's nothing inside it but the usual typed-up version of his report and a space for him to add corrections and sign off on it. The usual post-it says sign here. Clint doesn't really need the direction, but paperwork makes him nervous, so Phil's continued adding it.
"Three out of three crap-ups," Clint says, relieved at the lack of disturbing missives, and draws a line through the space marked additions/corrections, "We have a fuck-up hattrick ( ... )
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"You missed," Phil tells him, pushing a folder across the table.
"I know," Clint says wearily, "I screwed up."
Phil hands him a pen, smiling crookedly, "It's not about ability, Clint. We know you have ability. You're an exceptional agent, but you can't fight everything. Maybe you just need a break."
"I'll consider it," Clint says, and flips open the file. Signs his name, same as always.
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Wake up is multiplying on the inside of his closer door. There's another set of three now, set at a different angle, messier, like it was done in even more of a hurry. Clint tries not to hyperventilate.
Instead, he takes all of his clothes out and hangs them over a chair. Then he locks the closet and sets the chair against it.
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After that, wake up moves to his locker door and adds a please. It's also in all-caps. PLEASE WAKE UP. Clint scrubs at it, but it has no effect. Worse, when he gives up and just lets the door swing open as he grabs his things, no one seems to notice the message ( ... )
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Mission. Fuck up. Fuck-up balloon.
Parrish says, "Thanks a lot, Barton."
Clint's head hurts. He feels like he's been slammed through a wall, cranium first. "I shot you twice," he says.
"Well," Parrish says, chill as always, "only in the leg."
"Are you dead?" Clint asks.
Parrish snorts, "Wake up, Barton. It was just my leg."
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Clint brings his balloon to Phil. Phil says, again, "It's a bit late for balloons, Clint, don't you think?"
He looks amused. It's not funny.
"Don't worry," Phil says, when he sees the look on his face, "It's not your fault."
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The inside of his closet door is blank again, just about. Only the single wake up written on it, at eye-level. Tidy and no nonsense. Clint sits on the end of his bed and considers it.
'Seriously weird' covers a lot of things that go on at SHIELD, but not this. He wishes he'd kept notes, but all he has are the mission report copies. He pulls them out from the mess of his desk drawer and lays them over the bed.
The first starts, Was watching Selvig, tesseract ( ... )
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Mission. Disaster. Everything is blue.
Natasha says, "Clint?" He can't move his arms.
"Clint, you're gonna be alright," she says. The room is small, with metal walls and helicarrier sparse. Everything is blue, and then it's not, and then everything slams back.
The tesseract activating. Shooting Fury, but sort-of missing. By Hawkeye standards of missing.
Going to sleep.
Being put to sleep.
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"Thanks" he tells Phil's grave, later. Much later, when it's all over. "For the. You know. The post-it. For starting it."
"You woke up," Natasha tells him, from somewhere behind him, giving his space, "on your own ( ... )
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I hope you write your idea. It sounds really interesting. (And I would have nicked it--haha--except I'm rubbish at retelling canon events. I think I ended up with an inception-like "time moves slower in the dream world" time frame.)
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Also glad to hear the OC worked. It always feels like a risk to have re-appearing named OCs.
Thank you for your comment :D
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