#featuring: clint barton's exploding arrow

[captainjimothycarter]

I spun the whump wheel and your prompt is: Shot (arrow).

Who pissed off Clint this time? 😂

I have no idea where this came from. I mean it just came out of nowhere with poor Clint.

--

Weight Of The World On His Shoulders

Kate asks Clint a question he can't avoid and he relives one of the worst moments of his life.

"The arrow is a tool, remember that, Kate. You always use it as a tool, an extension of you. You must pay attention to the environment around you. Every little thing works against you." Clint glanced at his partner, seeing her nod in agreement with his statement. Her eyes were keenly on him, watching his every move. She wasn't the only one, he was fully aware that Bucky was watching them from the loft above. He could feel their eyes on him, watching, waiting. "You keep your eyes on the target, don't look away until you're sure it's struck." He nocked the arrow and kept his eyes on the target before him, listening to the gears crank as the target moved around. A feature that he insisted they needed in the archery room. "Breathe, focus, let go." He released the arrow, still holding his breath. It cut through the air and landed with a solid thunk in the middle of his whirling target. For a moment, nothing happened and then it exploded with a handful of foul-smelling goo that coated the target and the gears. Bucky's impressed whistle and Kate's impressed look went straight to his ego. "Hey, Clint." He knew that tone, Kate had a question that had been weighing on her mind for a while. He also knew that look, the slight knit between her eyes. She was trying to figure out how to word the question that wouldn't offend him. "Yeah, Katie-Kate? You got a question?" "Hundreds but..." Kate paused with a trick arrow twirling between her fingers. "Just the one for now. Have you...ever..." She struggled to find the right words, curiosity pulling on her. No, it was more than just curiosity. There was something about the way that Clint acted during these lessons, the way that his eyes looked and how he gripped some arrows tighter than others. Subtle actions that always struck her as odd. "Have you ever shot anyone and killed them?" The question was jumbled and rushed, said in all one breath like she had to force it out of her system before it got stuck again. Clint knew the question was coming, it was always asked by curious fans or nosey journalists when they were forced to do those press conferences. He could easily brush them off, make some joke, deflect them, or depend on his teammates to deflect it for him. Yet with Katie, he couldn't avoid the question, he couldn't use the Barton Charm to deflect it. She knew she could read him like a book and dissect him. She had more rights than others to ask that question, considering all they've gone through together.

Death - @avengersbingo, Free Space - @fandombingo, Free Space - @hurtcomfort-bingo, Skeletons In The Closet - @marvelrarepairbingo

Whump Wheel: Send Me A Prompt

[a-dakhtar]

i gots you a prompt: teen wolf/avengers. Laura & Derek Hale being in new york when the chitauri invade. gO!

i hate you and the horse you rode in on, @multistarks, so here; everything you absolutely did not want with your precious Derek Hale.

< previous prompt (dark souls/avengers)

> next prompt

prompt #2: fenrisúlfr

Three years after the Hale fire, three years after the death of his family, after each and every member save but two and a half burnt to death on a cold, wintry evening, Derek Hale thinks: I wonder what Kate thinks about this?

It’s the first time he’s ever actually thought of her name in his head, the first time he’s thought of her, on purpose, without flinching and shoving the thought away to the back of his mind with everything else he’s repressing.

He can’t help it though; the almost dark humour of what she and her ilk must be thinking, of how they’re reacting with the sudden knowledge that werewolves aren’t the only things out there.

Because aliens.

Naturally.

He has no idea where Laura is - they didn’t keep track off each other like that, not really - but he can find her easily enough. The bond between them is simple, that of an Alpha and her Beta, nothing less and certainly nothing more. It used to be stronger, wilder, thrumming with tension and loyalty and constant irritation - it used to be a bond of siblings, one older and the other younger, an overbearing older sister and a younger brother tripping through puberty.

Not anymore. He doesn’t deserve any more.

But it’ll tell him where his Alpha is, at the very least. And with aliens everywhere and people running and screaming and the heavy dust of debris, Derek needs it, because Laura’s not picking up her damn phone.

It doesn’t take long for the streets to grow empty, for people to have already escaped and left everything and each other behind in the search for safety. Laura’s somewhere further ahead, right towards Stark Tower, which is stupid and ridiculous because that’s where the aliens are coming from. And of course she’d be around there the one day the world gets attacked by aliens. Of course.

He growls, irritation lighting up his throat with rumbles, and trudges on. He finds a working motorcycle, ignores the stab of grief at the memory of Uncle Peter and his ridiculous motorcycle that would’ve been in the garage, ignores the further stab of agony from that pack bond, frayed and withered and half burnt and dead.

He rides it. Takes it to the heart of Manhattan. Gets off.

And immediately realises the mistake he’s made.

Everywhere around him are aliens. Everywhere around him is chaos. The bond is going crazy, pinging from every direction possible and not giving him anything to work with. Laura’s still not picking up the phone, the air is full of a whine that’s painful to his werewolf hearing and-

Derek ducks. A car goes flying past.

Holy shit, he should’ve just stayed at the apartment.

But he’s here now, and if he can’t find Laura, he’s going to make himself useful. There’s a woman and her toddler behind a counter of a destroyed coffee shop. Derek hustles them over to another building, and then to another, and on and on till he finds a police officer to hand them over to. He jumps over ruined yellow cab’s and ducks under alien laser guns, ripping the arm of one when it’s too close to just dodge and not caring if he gets captured on screen.

What would it matter anyway? If the world found out about werewolves? Even humans wouldn’t be dumb enough to get distracted from aliens.

On and on he goes, pausing only once when he comes across a guy with a gun protecting two teenage girls. The guy reeks of wolfsbane and silver, and Derek snarls even as he fights off the persistent alien refusing to die already.

Hunter guy looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, gun hand steady. Derek glares back.

“Well, fuck,” hunter guy says, lips pouting into a disgruntled moue, “You gonna try and rip my throat out? Cus if not, I’m gonna take these two and leave the rest to you.”

And then the hunter guy does just that.

Derek snarls, irritation rising in him as he swipes at aliens trying to take potshots at the retreating humans. The hunter shouts back a thanks but doesn’t stop, leaving Derek behind like the piece of shit he is.

Hunters. And they called werewolves monsters.

Above him, an arrow goes whistling across the air, exploding a minute later in the grasp of a man with a strange, horned helmet. The man falls, making a crater on the cement as if he weighed a ton, and somehow staggers back up to his feet.

Not human. A quick inhale through his nose confirms it; herbs and old magic crackling with the scent of fire, threatening to burn Derek whole.

He takes a step back, instincts screaming at him to run, to get the hell away from the man, and he turns to do just that, to leave, screw Laura, screw everythi-

-A hand, around his neck.

Derek stutters, suddenly unable to breathe.

A hand, squeezing around his neck.

His hands scrabble uselessly against it, against the iron grip crushing his windpipe. His feet struggle to remain on ground, to have something to weight bear against that isn’t the five fingered grip on his throat, and-

He whines, soft and animalistic, scared, scared in a way he’s never been, scared in a way even Kate never made him scared and-

“Fascinating,” the dark, slithering voice croons, magic weaving through the letters, sliding into the cracks of his mind. “To think Midgard would have you.”

And somewhere, somewhere far away, something tugs, worry and panic and alpha calling out for him, calling him home, and Derek-

“Oh no, no,” the man croons, holding him aloft with one hand. “Can’t have that,” and the bond sizzles and snaps and Derek howls, pained and anguished, mind splintering under the pressure of his last link breaking. “I think I’ll make you mine,” the being, the creature, the monster, purrs, “As it was meant to be, as it was foretold, as it shall be, yes, yes, mine.”

And something blue, something sharp and humming and wrong, a glow he’d never noticed, descends and-

#

“I have an army.”

“We have the Hulk.”

A low laugh, ensnaring for all the wrong reasons, and-

“I have Fenrir.”

And he howls, a battle cry that sharply splits the air, a split second warning for the thunder god that dares to face him, him who shall hail the death of the nine realms and bring Odin to his feet.

He howls, for the oncoming winter of three lengths, for the brethren he knows lurks within the core of this realm, for the sister who rules all of death.

He howls in the face of the terrified human, of the sharp goatee and sharper brown eyes, in the face of all the humans that dared faced it before (flash of blonde hair, of red lips, of softly whispered words of fondness and the sharpness of a knife sticking behind his back), he shall rend them (her) flesh from flesh and-

#

“Brother-!”

“I am not your brother!”

“-What have you done?”

A low laugh, vicious and cruel yet broken, rising high until it cracks and turns to wheezes, to gasps and shuttered sobs. “Only what I was born for, brother.”

“No,” says the Thunderer, horrified realisation crossing his face. “No.”

But it is too late.

Fenrir’s wolf has awoken.

And now it hungers.

[vjestyca]

@bokketo​ sent:  If they had a kid meme for Clint & Wanda?

name: zoe edith barton aka strix. named after: zoe from zoja which wanda initially wanted to name her, edith for clint’s mother, strix as in the mythological owl tied to ill omens and witchcraft. nicknames: zo, zoja. gender: cis female. general appearance: takes after wanda for the most part but with distinctive touches of clint in features like the slope of her nose or the shape of her jaw. surprisingly, gets brown eyes instead of clint’s blue or wanda’s singular green. curly brown hair, solidly dark without wanda’s henna red tone. wears heaps of jewellery, especially rings and necklaces. short like her mama. personality: sarcasm to the max, dramatic, smart ass. doesn’t know how to shut up and will argue with anyone. ‘i’ll respect my elders when they earn it’. only eats spicy food and can’t stand sour food. animal lover to the point of bringing home every even slightly injured animal home. swears a lot.  special talents: we know all of wanda’s kids get their parents powers/abilities but mashed together (looking at you talia-josephine my love), so zoe has energy manipulation and is a pretty expert marksman. she manipulates the energy onto arrows that reacts similar to wanda’s hexbolts, just chaotic energy bursts exploding wherever they hit. she can also create small pocket dimensions that she usually just stores her bow and other weapons in, similar to h.ermione or r.amona flowers’ bags. clint insisted on zoe learning hand-to-hand combat so she doesn’t depend solely on her gifts. who they like better: its 50/50. who they take after more: probs clint. personal headcanon: she’s a lesbian. we know the magnet fam doesn’t have straight people but there’s not a single (canon) lesbian yet, so it’s zoe. also she’s big into the occult and tarot; despite not having her mother’s level of magic, she is minorly tapped into it. since i gave a different wanda fanchild a violet purple colour scheme, zoe gets a plum tone scheme (it’s a red-purple mix, it’s fitting!). face claim: taisiya schumacher.

[blindtaleteller]

PROMPT: OOC Interview with [X] Clint ‘Cuyler’ Barton

" Been a while since we did one of these.. but. You know the drill man! This is your first interview, yeah? Want to explain why and where you’re from? “

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) Besides trolling the hell out of tags with Viedimadr? *grins* Ah, mostly that’s keeping the core element I guess. Most Bartons are the quintessential superhero, at least in the range of having that alter-ego. Might not wear a mask ‘til Ronin in the MCU? But --and especially with how my character works pre-Avengers; sharing past the job isn’t exactly any of our fortes? We have a family to protect, and if you do the math of how old the kids are even in Ultron: that family has been a thing since before we take the higher ground up out of the paid-SHIELD-killer status I’m in that Nat does mention in the original Avengers. Also usually save it up between the pages and occasional poke into tags and skits here on the dash.

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) As for where I’m from! *he leans back and hooks his hands behind his head* We’re Universe Fourteen; two doors on the left down the connecting Vestibule from Lisan’s Universe, and one to right of the Ego-centrics with Grey Knight and Leadsprite. Ours starts out different in the respect that, Fury ends up getting the Scepter tap instead of me; and the resulting conflict goes very differently.

“ Such as? “

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) We never even hit New York; Fury tries to snag me in, and under the Stone’s influence that means trying to at best grab my kids since he’s one of the only two people attached who know about them. Loki ends up breaking form and getting in the middle of that. Yanks us off world and out of Fury’s sight, with the goods. That’s where we picked up with our first published bit ‘The Warming Stone’ anyways.

” Speaking of.. what do you think about the split from the original timeline? “

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) I’m having a lot of fun with it myself. And I’m pretty sure Laura is somewhere outside the room clapping in agreement; she’s quieter than most but a constant presence and; she and Lo get along real well. Anyway. End up dealing with that whole ‘the city is flying, we’re fighting an army of robots; and I have a bow and arrow’ overwhelmed mentality a lot sooner because of it? I like the existential twists that come with the Dark Fairy Tale elements and whatnot that get thrown out there and right into our faces pretty much immediately, what with running face-first, on foot, into Jotunheim of all places through that doorway in Illinois. We did some collabs with the other guys that run through there, on top of the research and expanded on some of the wildlife ourselves to manage that? So that was some actual fun. This side of the pool I can absolutely admit us Bartons are a bit masochistic? *laughs* I am pretty sure we enjoy exploring those bits and how we’d react to them. I’m no different in that respect. I mean.. how would you react to being a dinner sized meal for labrador-to-great-dane sized snow-caterpillars with the elongated teeth of freakin shark? Or finding out the hard way there’s giant predator owls flying around about the size of a plane that eat those, just as an example? Never mind trolls, or frost giants, or anything else that manages to survive in that kind of insane climate and might decide to try and eat you just to see if you taste good.

” Probably stay inside forever if I was going to be honest? XD Anyway, Is there anything you’d change about your current story? “

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) Considering we’re still building back there? Not yet. I mean, too much fun so far. I mean we’ve done what.. four parts at this point? All during what we’re currently calling the Traveler Phase from Earth to Asgard through the doors between Illinois, Jotunheim, and Vanaheim. Which is interesting in itself. I mean whole other world, and things are shaken up before we even get there and (in part because of the fact that) we end up dependent on our Loki pretty fast. I think maybe my only change there would be in maybe doing another part for Extras that includes ‘Ogre’ .. who hasn’t even shown yet at that point in the story. He’s our Bruce Banner; or more specifically our Hulk? Thing is finding a space that won’t interfere too heavily with the book when we do it though. We could excuse the bits in the Traveler Phase because we intended to shorten it when we got there anyway; maybe cut straight to Asgard with that as a supplemental extra; a lot like the GROUNDED kids did with their out-takes featured in the same platovember series.

“ I imagine messing with Universe Three’s next installment’s been helping that along? “

    Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:)  Oh yeah, definitely. That mirror of Bruce’s is pretty similar in mindset and approach.

” That said, do I have to ask if there’s anyone in particular you like to watch or get into reading over their shoulder when they’re at it? “

    Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) Oh definitely The Bean right now, for sure? But there’s a list.. *grins* GROUNDED and DREAMS being woven together finally, especially with  some of the inter-universal roles being brought up is a big one. Looking forward to whipping out that sword.. heh. Though, watching the ESCAPE kids from the other forming Vestibule has been an interesting ride now that they’re not entirely cloistered in Tuscon, or their hotel room. I know what’s up there outside of Traverse too, which helps. And there’s Josh. I think everyone’s been waiting for that fireball to explode across the page? The fact Tony, Lo and Fury managed to somehow make that nutcase all on their own with just a few lines still makes me laugh. Walsh is a character and a half. I’m looking forward to getting my chance at screwing with his mirror in our Door. Leigh is a weird bit of fun too, but Josh is definitely one of those at the top of the list, and who you chose for a face in close rep, is interesting. Maybe Vix too as far as characters go? But he’d a little lower down for me at the moment.

“ Stab, stab pull..? Heh. Which is your favorite upcoming group from the books/portions of Mixology aka the Lokiverse at large? And which are you most curious about? “

     Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:)  Ha! yeah; stab-stab, pull. Loxley’s got an interesting bunch next door. *rubs his hands up over the top of his head and back down* Honestly, MONSTERS and ASHES. Ah, that’s Door and or Universes Three and Twelve for those that don’t know. Three has a similar bonding mechanic between Bruce and Lo I’ve been interested in, while ASHES hits on other things, including a rockier relationship and overall dynamic between his Bartons and Redbird (that’s his Quill) that tends to go dark in the personal aspects a lot. I guess I like that struggle between them, personally. Loxley brushes something similar going on post-Ronin with his family dynamic with his internals and his Lo’s concerns for that; but I think Lili and his crew hit that at a whole other angle from around five years prior on? With, a whole other take on the family dynamic that Laura and I have with Lo by the time we leave Asgard. And that’s curious to me.

” I put you guys through a lot of shit in the name of storytelling. Any parts you have complaints about? “ 

   Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) None, planned or otherwise.

“ ..that was fast. “

   Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:)  What can I say? I enjoy the twisty shit, at least on this end of the pool. Ignoring the reservations, and dealing with the danger-fear of getting hurt in ways that can’t be fixed with stitches or band-aids, of accepting that kind of bond knowing how it started and risking the idea that finding out why might not make that danger less or that person better or more relatable than perceived to be able to accept them farther even after that investment?

  Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:) The contradiction of pride and ego versus conscience and the guilt when it belongs there getting in the way -and even dealing with when it should be toned down that results in having one,  even if it’s just a sliver in places and playing that out along with dipping into places mostly ignored or washed over in the Universes; is interesting and fun to me. Danger included. I have a little less guilt than my mirrors in a lot of directions that gets placed elsewhere after we come back to Earth; and I enjoy that dynamic and what we’re trying to explore there. That whole; ‘what if he was loyal, without he stone’s influence’ aspect, in our own flavor is a LOT of fun to play with. It’s a very different Universe, but holds hints and background pieces, and similarities enough, as well as the core; that it’s a feasable alternative to the canon line. Which is extra fun, for the personal aspects or ‘humanity’ we manage in the process? So no.. no complaints. Not yet anyways.. heh. We’ll see how I feel when you start actually touching actual, hands-on Gagnarok fixes and alternates though. Outside of that Cosmic-FrostIron bitty from a few doors down anyway. That’s gonna be a mess.

  “ Whee.. yeah. MONSTERS gets that honor first, most likely.. “

  Cuyler (Clint Barton D14:)  Good. Bean can handle that best, I think... or maybe worst. Either way it’s gonna be entertaining for me..

For those interested, Cuyler’s published stories are found below in chronological order (they were posted out of order in part because of the prompts themselves and some parts were planned ahead to take certain slots.) The title names are the links to each part.

The Warming Stone (part 1)

Fathers (part 4)

The Hart (part 2)

Between the Reds (part 3)

[fadedsepiascribbles]

19, Clintasha, optional post-apocalyptic?

Prompt: Natasha knew something was not burnt out there. (19)Requester: @shatteredhourglassRating: GParing: Natasha Romanov/Clint BartonParameters: Clintasha (success), optional post-apocalyptic (kinda? post mission)

Fic is posted below or read it and the others on AO3.

If you want to prompt me, prompts are here and ask box is here!

↞ | ↞ | ↠ | ↠

It was Clint’s muttering that woke her up, startling Natasha out of her pain-tinged doze.

“Aww… kettle, no…”

She shifted from her position on the sofa, bracing against the wall once she was upright and hobbling toward the garage door. “Clint?”

“Shit! Sorry- Sorry, ‘Tasha. I’m fine.” His tone told her he was anything but.

Clint had been acting strangely all day. Not strangely for a civilian, or even strangely for a spy; not strangely for being stuck in a bombed-out war zone. Strangely for Clint Barton. Strangely for a man that was always armed, but usually half-dressed. A man that was just as comfortable on her arm at a white tie gala as he was eating pizza he’d fished back out of his own bin. A man who – after re-rechecking the hand-made splint on Natasha’s leg – had been locked in what had once been this home’s garage for… almost five hours?!

Natasha hadn’t meant to sleep that long. Clint wasn’t supposed to have let her sleep that long. It might have just been sweet if it was less… concerning. Natasha tested the garage door and found it locked. “Barton, what’s happening in there?”

“It’s- uh… You can’t come out right now! Something’s – Fuck! –” She could hear a tumble, a familiar ‘Oof!’ and the impact of skin on concrete; Clint had fallen from or over something, probably a chair. There was a subsequent wooden knocking and a scrape across the floor; definitely a chair, then. “Uh… Something’s burnt out here, Nat!”

Natasha knew something was not burnt out there. Even injured, she could force the door easily enough. “I’m coming out there, and if you’re on fire-” Again.

“I’m not! Just… just wait… Just- Five minutes, ‘Tasha. Okay?” The door unlocked and swung open so quickly she would have fallen if Clint hadn’t caught her. He blocked most of the doorway, blinking down at her with a panicked, nervous smile that left Natasha hard-pressed not to just push past him. “Please? Five minutes?”

“Five minutes.” She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “Then you’re going to explain why you’ve been locked in there longer than a Kubrick double feature.”

“Two Thousand One followed by The Shining would give me another eight minutes, but it’s a surprise, and…” Clint ducked his head, backing into the garage and closing the door with an embarrassed shrug. “Five minutes.”

The banging might have subsided, but Natasha could still make out soft mutterings as Clint continued whatever he’d spent the better part of the day working on behind the door. It left her unsettled; Clint rarely kept secrets from her, and those times usually ended up with him hurt. Natasha looked down at her watch.

Two minutes, forty-six seconds.

Clint’s surprises weren’t always that much better than his secrets. The last had been a surprise stab wound that he’d forgotten to get treated before heading back to his on base quarters. Getting back from a mission to a groggy, bleeding Barton had been a sort of surprise, but not a fun one.

One minute, eighteen seconds.

It probably wouldn’t explode. Clint might be reckless about his own health and safety at home, but her partner was a professional. Hawkeye wouldn’t do anything to put them at risk. That only made this whole thing more confusing. They were a team in the field; a unit. A matched pair that should have been working together. She might be down a leg, but Natasha wouldn’t have expected Clint to refuse her help, even if it was limited.

Thirty-two seconds.

Clint opened the door with an accomplished sigh. He smiled at her, then looked back over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. Clint offered her his arm and a grin. “All done. You ready?”

“For what?” Words aside, Natasha sidled next to him, looping her arm around his neck so that he could hold her around the waist. It didn’t make for the easiest walking position, but it left her with one hand free to draw a weapon. Just in case.

“For your surprise.” Her partner opened the door with the flourish only a trained performer could and walked them carefully out into the garage.

Without electricity, they’d been using it for their kitchen since they could make a fire without incinerating part of the floor. Clint had cooked dinner – boiling water to pour into their MREs counted as cooking for both of them – and set the table for two. Clint’s quiver stood upright on the table, holding a few newspaper flowers attached to the ends of arrows; looking up, Natasha could see lines of them strung across the ceiling. There were two reclaimed soup-cans filled with tactical glowsticks placed in front of the quiver, looking almost like pillar candles. If she squinted.

“Ta-dah.” Clint looked down, gauging her reaction.

“It’s not my birthday?”

“No.”

“It’s not your birthday, either, so…” Natasha gestured to the table and decorations with a little wave, not wanting to over balance as she turned to look up at Clint. “So I’m surprised, but also pretty confused right now.”

“It’s our anniversary, Tasha.” He deflated as she kept staring, teeth sinking into his lower lip with a sigh. Clint tugged at his shirt collar, pulling it to the left, and exposing the faint scar just above his collar bone. “Ten years since you gave me this.”

“You…” Natasha blinked. She surveilled the room – the food, the decorations – then turned back to the man beside her. He wasn’t wrong, but… This was so much; here, and over something like that. Natasha couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “You remembered the anniversary of the first time I shot you?”

“I remember the day we met, but – yeah – that was the first time you shot me.” With her still leaning on him to stay upright, Clint had no trouble pulling her into a hug. “Straight through the heart.”

She had been aiming for the centre of his torso that day, but Hawkeye had been more agile than his bulky frame had led her to believe. Natasha chuckled, glad to have been wrong about Clint, for the first time of many over the years. “You’d have been dead in that case.”

“You got close enough.” He bent down, forehead resting on hers. “I’m trying to be sweet.”

“You are being sweet. It’s just…” Natasha tipped forward until she could rest her head under his chin, fingers tracing along the ridge over his clavicle. “It’s sweet.”

“You deserve sweet, ‘Tasha.” Clint’s lips pressed to her forehead, holding her carefully, fingers stroking her hair.

[thcjackpot]

Cold Blooded | MJ & Baclath (Kate?)

Summary: Baclath attempts to replace MJ and it does not go according to plan to the Skrull’s plan.  Featuring: Baclath @futzyou Triggers: Violence

Having the Young Avengers once more a team, fortuitously re-formed only hours before Kate Bishop was replaced, presented several unique opportunities. Reconnaissance on the younger heroes of the city was made suddenly simple. She could gather information on their strengths and weakness, slip bad-habits into their training exercises, and manipulate their naive little minds. They trusted Kate Bishop, and why wouldn’t they? There was no way to expect the wolf hiding amongst the sheep, and certainly no way to find her. No way to stop her from leading these youthful idiots to the slaughter.

They patrolled quite often as a group -- and ran into several other heroes along the way. This city had quite the population of cape-wearers. It became clear to Baclath that a replacement crew would not be able to defeat all the Young Avengers at once, not when they could so easily call on allies if need be. Not with near the amount of secrecy it would require to keep the ruse alive. No, she would have to be patient. She remembered Caden’s lessons, and she would make her mentor proud.

So she waited. Sussed out which member to replace first. Eventually, she decided to target MJ Watson, also known as Spinneret. A stupid name for a stupid Terran. The girl was not remarkable in any way other than influence. Personal assistant to Tony Stark, Young Avenger, well-trained, dating the speedy blue one of the Avengers. It would relieve some of the burden on Veranke as well, as MJ was close to the Drew-host. Eager to please her queen and her mentor, Baclath set her trap, and then made her way to a nearby rooftop.

On Kate Bishop’s phone, she dialed the number. “Spinneret!” she hissed, because Kate Bishop insisted on using these insipid names while they were ‘working.’ “Got a situation, abandoned warehouse at 354 Canal street. I think these guys have gotten their hands on some Syndicate gas -- ya know, that stuff that takes powers away? I figure you and I are blessedly powerless, so it’s probably best to handle this ourselves. What do ya say, Spin?”

Ever since Pietro’s confession and Franklin Storm’s appearance, MJ was unfortunately off her game. As a Young Avenger, she was supposed to be better than this, she was officially a member of a team, an important one, and here she was, more upset about her boyfriend telling her he loved her, and her best friend’s father coming back into his life (despite what he wanted). Regardless, she was doing her goddamn best. Systematically, she patrolled streets, intervening whenever she could, and battled whatever idiotic robber crossed her path. It paled in comparison to the work she did with the Young Avengers, but Kate hadn’t called, and Tony hadn’t mentioned any major changes to the Skrull threat. Because of that, she was going to pray that everything was going as best it could under the circumstances.

Apparently jinxing herself, MJ flinched when her phone vibrated in her pocket, and immediately picked up when she saw Kate’s name on the screen. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she promised. If it really was the gas the Syndicate used, they needed to get a handle on this immediately. The heroes would suffer irreparable if they allowed it to continue, and the gas to spread across the city. Wasting no time to linger on personal problems, she quickly changed into the Spinneret suit, and swung across New York to Canal Street.

When she arrived at the address Kate gave her, MJ immediately entered the alleyway, and saw Hawkeye standing there. “Let’s catch up later, and kick ass now,” she suggested, touching Kate’s shoulder gently. With that, trusting Kate was directly behind her, MJ kicked open the doors and immediately spun a web to take her to the rafters. She was always deadlier when she got a little momentum going, and it gave her a better vantage point. Gas began spreading throughout the building immediately, although it was nothing like the gas the Syndicate used. Her eyes began watering, and she choked on the fumes. Deadly as she was from up high, the soldiers in question seemed to know that, and shots were fired onto the rafters. Coughing, MJ swung back down into the centre of the action, and tried dodging the blows dealt. Their opponents had gas masks, shielding their vision, and she quick as MJ was, she was already outmatched.

The gas was not a complete lie. The Skrulled soldiers waiting for them in disguise were equipped with a very potent toxin, one that she could tell was already having an effect on MJ Watson. Good, she thought, though she kept the grin off her face. Kate Bishop was supposed to be her friend, it wouldn’t do to drop her disguise now. Even if MJ Watson would only be a threat for a few moments more.

In that spirit, Baclath fired a few shots towards the soldiers. Her aim was not as good as Kate Bishop’s, but that was for the better. She didn’t truly wish to wound her own men, after all. They did not wish to harm her either, but they had to keep up the ruse for a little while longer. So she found herself dodging shots, and firing the ridiculous amount of arrows that Kate Bishop had in her pack. She grabbed one at random, and fired it towards the men -- only to discover that it was not, as she had assumed, a normal arrow. No, this one exploded when it hit the ground.

The soldiers were thrown backwards, and only then did Baclath recall that Clint Barton (very possibly the most irritating human on this entire irritating planet) liked to create his own specialized arrows and give them to his protege. Dammit. She had grabbed one by mistake, and the gas they were employing was flammable. The sparks were already starting to ignite.

Her men were down, though some were starting to rouse themselves. The building they were in, though not in use, very possibly held more explosive materials inside. Baclath lowered Kate Bishop’s bow, coughing on the smoke as she assessed the situation.

It was not going well, that was for sure. “Retreat,” she murmured. She clenched her jaw, beyond furious that her plan had gone so poorly. “Retreat!” she yelled, more for her soldiers’ benefit than Watson’s. Where was she? In all the chaos, she had lost track of where her target was. Caden would be ashamed, and so was Baclath.

Luckily, the soldiers seemed to be focusing more on MJ than Kate. Considering they were all adept at hand-to-hand and she was the one in their immediate vicinity, it was the logical strategy. As tears streamed furiously down her cheeks, she gagged once more on the gas, but continued attempting to dodge blows. Judging from the pain spreading across her body, completely killing the speed she relied on moments ago, MJ knew it was useless. The villains were winning this fight, and she couldn’t evenx see enough to use her webs for emergency aid.

Quickly, one of the soldier’s hands shot out, grasping her wrist, and wrenched it backwards. MJ bit down on her lip to keep from shouting out, refusing to give them the satisfaction. Her leg shot out, attempting a kick to the groin — it was a sound strategy! — but he responded by dodging, and threw her to the ground. Her head throbbed, and her vision ducked in and out for a moment. When her eyes finally focused, sparks were flying, caused by the smoke, and thank god, Kate’s arrow.

Hazily, MJ noted several barrels across from her, and the hazy shapes of the soldiers. Without thinking, she lifted her hand — the one that wasn’t lying at a peculiar angle — and shot a web out towards the barrels. She yanked one froward, and watched as the contents spilled over, and immediately caused the sparks to evolve into furious flames. “That’s bad,” she murmured, trying to muster the energy to move. The flames were moving quickly, and their heat was already scalding her skin. Christ, everything was throbbed, and her vision was unfocused.

“Kate?” She called out frantically. Think, Watson, goddammit, she chided herself. Where had the arrow come from? Could she move her wrist? Could she move at all?

There was a loud crash and a splintering sound -- Baclath turned her head just in time to see a barrel come tumbling down, breaking open against the floor. Whatever was inside erupted into flames. Anything coated in the gas or the contents of the barrel was on fire. And if the flames hit the rest of those barrels, the entire building could go up.

She saw Watson, in the middle of the floor, near some of the fallen soldiers. Those who had heard Baclath’s cry were already heading for the exits, but Watson was just laying there. Dazed, her wrist at an odd angle, shouting her name -- her host’s name. Did that mean that Watson saw her too? Even if she hadn’t, Baclath couldn’t let a valuable resource like this die. There would be other opportunities to replace the Watson girl, but only if she managed to get them both out of here.

Grabbing another one of Barton’s ridiculous arrows, this one marked ‘tether,’ in tiny letters on the tape, Baclath shot into the wall right above a window, and swung down, landing next to Watson, one hand still holding the rope. “I’m here,” she said, voice clipped. Surely not even Bishop would be chipper during a battle going this poorly. “But we gotta get the futz out of here. Can you hold onto me?” She tugged on the tether -- still secure. “I know I’m not an official spider or anything, but I’ve always wanted to try and swing out a window. Say that one, right there,” she said, pointing to the broken glass just below her tether.

Kate was still alive, although she sounded far away. Squinting against the flames, she tried to search for her friend, but her vision was still blurred, and she was moving in slow motion. Idly, she wondered if that was how Pietro felt during the power swap, like he was struggling underwater. Hesitantly, MJ struggled to sit up, her wrist, bruises, burns and head made that difficult, but she had never been a quitter. No matter how dire the situation seemed, she was determined to live through it. Philip had been the first test, the Syndicate the next, and this was apparently going to be the third. As she moved, she groaned loudly, and her entire body protested the movement.

In true heroic fashion, Kate appeared right in her line of vision. She had a rope tied securely to an arrow, MJ was guessing, and she was in way better shape than she was. That was a relief, it was one small thing that she hadn’t fucked up in the past week. “Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll hold onto you.” Even if it seemed nearly impossible, in order to live, MJ would make it work. With her good hand, she held tightly onto the rope, knowing full well that it was no metaphorical lifeline. “Swing out that window and get us out of here,” she requested.

Baclath was taking no chances. Too much had already gone wrong, and if she let Watson die here, it would muddle up her plans. It was lucky that Kate Bishop’s tether was not made of regular rope, but a specialized material, apparently flame retardant. (She would not give credit or say Barton’s invention was impressive -- it was merely lucky.) She reached over and looped the end of the rope around MJ’s waist, tied it securely just in case, and then attached the end to her belt. The window wasn’t far above them, but they would need momentum.

There was no time to think. The flames were spread out all around them, catching on old cardboard boxes, licking at the heels of outdated machinery. Baclath had to focus. She surveyed her environment, the way Caden had taught her. A Skrull always found something to use to their advantage. She just had to think. What was here?

Heat prickling at my skin. Boxes. Machines. The mix of smoke and gas strange and heavy in the air. Arrows. Webs. Flames. Many flames, licking at our heels. A series of catwalks stretching up to each level…

An idea came into her mind, a dangerous one, but she was out of time to decide. “Hey, so, web yourself to me if you have to,” she said, drawing a very specific arrow from Kate Bishop’s quiver. “Because I’m catching us a ride.”

With that, she fired the explosive arrow into the collection of gas and flames. It shot them upward, she kicked off as hard as she could at the same time, and let the tether be her guide through the thick haze. Cold metal slapped against her skin as she hit the catwalk, just below the window. “Holy futz!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet, reaching down to pull Watson up as well. “I didn’t expect that to work!”

Though of course, she had. She had more confidence and more skill than Kate Bishop. Below them now, the remaining barrels were starting to splinter and crackle, so Baclath wasted no more time on foolishness. She hoisted herself up onto the window sill, and checked the tether once more. All they had to do now was climb down before those barrels blew.

Jessica’s lessons never extended to what to do when your vision was blurred, your skin was burnt, and your wrist was potentially broken. Strangely, while her mentor thought of lesson plans, mostly focused on offence and defence, that scenario had never come to mind. Christ, that was hysterical. She was going to die, Johnny would never know he was her best friend, no matter what happened, Pietro was never going to know she definitely loved him, Tony wouldn’t know how greatly he influenced her, and she couldn’t think of anything heartfelt to say to Kate given the opportunity. She was pathetic, a complete failure, and her vision darted out once more. At least that gave her something else to focus on.

It wasn’t that MJ didn’t trust Kate to save her life. Part of being on a team as tight knit as the Young Avengers ensured that she did. If anyone was capable of getting them out of this, it was going to be Hawkeye, but even if she did survive, the injuries she sustained were bad — worse than she’d experienced in the past. There were burns, bruises, oh god, she was going to look hideous. Her head began throbbing once more, and just like that, all focus went out the window (unlike her fucking body). “You got it,” she mumbled. Obediently, she webbed herself to Kate, unable to aim very well. Hopefully it’d be sufficient.

MJ was only semi-lucid when Kate propelled them forward, but she definitely realized the second her body slammed into the cold metal catwalk. She hissed in pain, and her arm defensively wrapped around her torso, like it could take away the throbbing on impact. Kate pulled her up, and she stood unsurely on her feet. Her own bodyweight felt like several hundred tonnes, but she’d faced worse, and now they had a shot at survival. Nothing could stop her from taking it. “You did great,” she said, offering her a tense smile.

Their time was undoubtedly limited, and MJ only had one half-formulated plan in mind. “I can web us down from here, it isn’t that high up.” Granted, her idea of heights was skewed in comparison to most people’s. “The tether will work both ways, and we’re already webbed together. You trust me?” Given her nausea and severe lack of balance, she wouldn’t be offended if Kate said no, but they were running out of time.

Watson was still in one piece, despite her dangerously dangling wrist. If there was any victory to be had tonight, it was in that alone. Baclath was already imagining ways to spin this night -- she could not tell Caden or Veranke the truth. She had failed. She was more shameful than her foolish, idiot brother. She was a disgrace to all Skrullkind. And if she did not fully intend to make up for this mistake, she would surrender herself for execution.

But no. She was far too valuable to this invasion, even if she was stuck in a pathetic wimp of a host. She would blame the men. The replacement crew that should’ve been able to subdue Watson much quicker, before everything got out of hand. Only a handful had managed to flee, the rest were still inside. It would mean hunting down those who had escaped, but that was simple enough. Their death was already a bygone conclusion in her mind. Tonight would be full of casualties indeed, but these Skrulls were obviously weak and worthless, or they would’ve found a way to survive. Just as she was, right now.

She was thinking of all this, distracting herself from her inner rage (which burned hotter in this moment than the fire at their backs). So intently, that when Watson spoke, she had to blink and refocus. Trust? No wonder these humans were such a pathetic species. She had just risked life and limb to keep this girl alive, while she pathetically cried out about her wrist and her burns, and Baclath was supposed to trust her?

But in this form, it wasn’t about what she would do. It was about what the host would do. And she knew without even looking into Kate Bishop’s mind, what the answer would be. “Of course I do,” she said firmly, wrapping an arm around MJ’s waist.

Kate did trust her as it turned out, even if MJ privately wondered whether that was a good choice or not. Web slinging took focus, and most of all, it took precision, neither of which she currently had in spades. Unfortunately, the rest of the barrels were seconds from blowing, and wasting time would mean dooming them both. With Kate’s arm securely around her waist, MJ lead them towards the window, and then slung a web across to the other building, as promised. With her vision ducking in an out, and her mind spinning, she couldn’t gauge the exact distance, but intuition told that she would have to release that one, and rely on her bad hand. Halfway across, she did just that, and ignored the blinding pain. Life or death, she reminded herself, and then she clumsily landed on the ground.

Behind them was the burning building, and distantly, she could hear sirens. “We’re alive,” she said gleefully, wrapping a single arm around her friend. As the sirens rapidly approached, MJ ducked into the alleyway, knowing Kate would understand exactly why. Unsteadily, she leaned against the bricks, and began the painstaking process of tearing her Spinneret suit away from her scalded flesh. It was gruesome, but in order to maintain her identity, it was very, very necessary. “I think I gotta go to a hospital,” she muttered as the wooziness set in, worsening by the second. Finally, she was free of the spandex, and she only pulled a (thankfully) long shirt overtop of herself. Stark would definitely understand why after catching sight of her.

“Yeah, I gotta — ” she cut off mid-sentence, heaving for breath. People witnessing her injured had always left her panicked, though her thoughts were far from clear enough to remind herself of that fact. She pulled her phone out with one hand and dialled Pepper’s number, knowing she would be at their location in minutes, and prepare the necessary medical staff. At least she had insurance now. Once the text was sent, MJ’s eyes flitted closed, and she leaned her head against the bricks.

Baclath had only been half-listening to Watson when she mumbled out her plan, so when the girl shot out the web and swung them far, far from the warehouse, she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was not fear, merely surprise. She corrected herself quickly, forced a grin of triumph onto Kate Bishop’s face. For her, something as paltry as just getting away with their lives would be considered a victory.

The tether arrow snapped halfway through their escape, but MJ had already swung again, this time with her bad wrist. Her pain was both amusing, and irritating. What if that wrist was permanently damaged? It could affect her standing with the Young Avengers, turn her from valuable asset to damaged goods.

When they finally landed, Baclath snapped the bow to its harness across her back, and turned to Kate Bishop’s friend. She too slung an arm across the other girl’s shoulders, though the casual touch made her want to vomit even more than the gas-smoke mixture had. But it was MJ who broke the contact first, leaning against the building, stripping away her charred costume. Baclath had to keep her face carefully blank, but the injuries did not look good. Burns. Lacerations. The dazed look in her unfocused eyes. That wrist. All of it added up to trouble.

And it would be up to her to fix it. To make matters worse, it seemed that physical injuries were not the extent of Watson’s problems. Why was she breathing like that, as if she were terrified? The danger was passed, they were alive. A mental health issue, perhaps then. It was difficult to say, and even more difficult for her to figure out what to do. The first step was simple enough -- she reached over and plucked the phone out of MJ’s hands once she saw who was being called, and spoke for her. “We need a pick-up at 354 canal. Well, near there,” she said, breathing heavily herself now. Mostly out of irritation, though it might be construed as fatigue. “And a medical staff on standby, please Pep?” The overly-concerned woman on the other end assured her that the Iron Legion was already on its way to pick them up, and that she’d call in a doctor.

That taken care of, Baclath hung up the phone and pocketed it, guiding MJ down to sit on the ground. ��Just relax,” she said, biting her lip. “Help’s on the way, and you’re way too pretty to die like this, MJ.” This was the annoying part. Because clearly, Watson would be more comfortable alone, but Kate Bishop would never abandon her friend in a moment like this. No matter how much she wanted to go, she had to at least keep her disguise intact. Especially if she was going to make up for this mess. But how the hell was she supposed to provide comfort for a pathetic creature who had ruined her best plans? “Just relax, MJ. I got you, okay? I got you.” Not yet, she thought secretly. But someday I will.