#and hawkeye suggests that he could do it in to her stocking

[sparxify]

*cough*

[majorbaby]

Please, I need to get this off my chest. Charles has always upset me... he is constantly talking about how much better he is than everyone and sometimes he says white supremacist things :/ and in a deep way because he isn’t just racist towards Klinger! He also thinks he’s better than Radar by calling him a bumpkin. It really annoys me when people ignore that part of him or try to write him as this misunderstood, lonely man

i'm iffy about commenting on how people write characters/ships they wanna write, especially when it comes to less popular ones like Charles because I generally believe in "don't like don't read" buuuut I also think it's so interesting to see what dominant trends emerge from fandom because fandom is a legitimate creative, communal space so we should note our observations and critiques in a respectful way. But anyway, my response is more about the general portrayal of the character and the flaws you've brought up because I think you raise an interesting point, I assume that you made it in good faith, and I’m very into discussions about race and racism in media but particularly wrt MASH. Cut to spare people who aren’t into this and CW for white supremacy and all -isms ingrained in it: 

Winchester is kept in check to some degree by being consistently positioned on the moral low ground, BJ and Hawkeye get the better of him constantly and whenever he makes a prolonged target out of anyone it’s usually Hawkeye and BJ which you could still call classist and how bad it lands depends on what you imagine Hawkeye and BJ’s backgrounds to be. They’re not implied to be from high society themselves but we don’t know much more than that. You’re not supposed to admire the nastier parts of Charles’ sensibilities and the show makes that overwhelmingly clear imo, he’s not a straight villain the way Frank was but he’s still an antagonist. Later on I think Rizzo gets the better of Charles a few times and that’s very satisfying to watch. There’s an interesting inversion of power dynamics when you look at Potter and Winchester. Charles looks down on Potter for his social background and Potter takes a lot of glee in reminding Charles that while he’s in the army he’s to be under Potter’s heel. Which, like, go ahead, eat each other. 

Winchester also gets a lot of moments that (imo, successfully) “humanize” him and it’s fair to feel uncomfortable about that if you perceive Winchester to be a white supremacist which, yeah, I can’t pretend I don’t ever see it – DOS has a remarkably smooth delivery that softens the blow but oof some of the things he says. In Mail Call 3, Margaret is concerned about not being good enough for Donald’s family and she opens up to Charles about it, he makes this comment about eugenics – I think he actually uses the phrase “maintain the integrity of the breed”. And while my brain knows that I’m supposed to empathize with Margaret here and not Charles, I can’t help it if my skin crawls. He calls her good breeding stock and tells her that it’s of utmost importance to the Winchesters and the Penobscotts that they “Maintain the characteristics of the bloodline” like that’s… that’s a white supremacist talking point. So be assured I see where you are coming from. And I have to talk about Klinger: “Klinger whatever happened to your frivolous, pet-like demeanor” yikes. Charles isn’t the first person to say racist things to Klinger, talking down to him for laughs becomes a frequently relied-upon gag in the later years, Potter and Margaret do it a few times. Hawkeye and BJ and even Radar have their iffy moments as well, but it sounds different coming from them than it does from Winchester, in part because he’s made other comments (like the one with Margaret) before that that suggest a much darker belief system – ‘suggest’ might be too weak a word.

We also get glimpses into how the social systems he subscribes to and benefits from actually oppress him too – which is true to life. But how much you care about that sort of thing will depend very much on how you feel about the character in general.

I don’t think Winchester gets a straight “redemption arc”, he’s just portrayed as being a  three-dimensional character, for better or for worse. And look, it sucks to have to think of your political enemies and threats to your existence as three-dimensional people – I know I don’t on a day-to-day basis. I think this was a choice on the part of the showrunners after seeing how things played out with Frank Burns, who some people believe should’ve also been more three-dimensional – you can’t really win with a character like that. I’ve seen people say they prefer Burns to Winchester and I’ve never understood that until this moment lol, because Charles being less cartoonish has allowed me to actually enjoy him. But now I see how one might be more comfortable with a character like Burns because he’s such a butt monkey and he doesn’t get a single redeeming moment that he doesn’t immediately ruin. I guess we know that Burns just ‘wants to be liked’ but I don’t think that garners a terrible amount of pity from anyone – any Frank Burns sympathizers in the audience?? I didn’t have the Burns-Winchester transition on my list of contributing factors to the show’s shift to the political center but you know what, that might actually be a thing: Burns being portrayed as a straight villain vs. Winchester (who is much more well off than Burns it would seem) being portrayed as multifaceted. I’m more or less neutral when it comes to these redeeming moments when they happen between Charles and Margaret, who has her own racism to deal with – and I can’t think of many other occasions aside from the one I described where he was overtly misogynistic to her – although the one example I did give was pretty egregious. Or Charles and Hawkeye or Charles and BJ because as I said about Margaret and them a few days ago, they’re closer to one another on the ladder. It’s really a class issue when it comes to them and that’s not something to be ignored (I don’t care at all for how Charles treats Radar and Rizzo who are both from non-urban, implied to be poor, backgrounds and who are of significantly lower rank in the army) but again, it really depends on how you feel about Hawkeye and BJ’s respective backgrounds and whether or not you think their pranks on him constitute appropriate retribution. I think if you are going to humanize a less-than-savoury character, a good way to do that is to show how their belief systems are to everyone’s detriment, including their own. Charles does go through this a few times: he realizes his discriminating against Honoria’s Italian husband will drive a wedge between him and his sister, similarly his self-imposed separation from the “unworthy” Hawkeye has kept them from perhaps being friends and he calls himself on it in Sons and Bowlers and finally he seems to really be at war with himself over his own lifestyle choices in Foreign Affairs. 

There is also a wrong way to do it – please miss me with his calling Klinger “Max” in Death Takes a Holiday, where the narrative wants me to accept that this is some grand gesture on Charles’ part after he’s been a racist twat to Klinger on multiple occasions and gleefully takes up any opportunity he can to remind him how inferior he thinks Klinger is. This same thing is actually done much more effectively in Sons and Bowlers (...”Hawkeye”) 1) Charles has actually spent the episode doing a lot more for Hawkeye than this single gesture at the end  2) I’m just gonna say it lol, Hawkeye is white so things land differently. Hawkeye is an equal, Klinger is "the help". I’m just pointing these things out, not trying to convince you of how you should or shouldn’t feel about Charles. Ultimately it’s up to each person to decide for themself what they will and won’t condone. I would suggest observing how that plays out when it comes to different characters. Are you uncomfortable with Charles’ notions on the family unit while at the same time being unbothered by BJ’s? Do you forgive the one-off joke from Hawkeye about BJ’s 16-year-old babysitter but get up in arms over Henry In Love? Do you have something to say about Aggie’s pursuit of BJ but nothing about Margaret’s full-fledged relationship with Frank (and btw why do we not keep the same energy for cheating men as we do for the women they are cheating with??).  I’ll end by saying what you let slide vs what you don’t is a deeply personal thing. Mulcahy hits me in a certain way because of the particular chip I have on my shoulder, but at the same time I don’t have any issue with other people’s enjoyment of him. At some point you will have to look the other way on something because no character is perfect and they all uphold some fucked up standard in one way or another. What is important imo is being able to identify what kind of messaging a story intends for you to accept and if you want to take it a step further, consider if there are any harmful ideas it might be perpetuating. 

[castieltrash1]

dangerous territory → clint b.

gif credit (x)

summary → clint stays behind during a mission, leaving you alone with him in the avengers building. seeing him sprawled out on the comfy lounge room couch gives you some naughty ideas -- only adding to the tension your relationship already has.

word count → 6.7k (literally wtf)

warnings → i ignore the entirety of iw/endgame except for clint’s makeover, extreme sexual tension, smut; switch!fem!reader, switch!clint, couch sex, oral (both recieving), fingering, slight overstimulation, dirty talk, praise

a/n → literally idk if i should be ashamed or not but im Horny 4 Hawkeye!!! oopsie !! also there are like .3 smut fics for him on here and im determined to fix that

---

Quiet was not a word you’d use to describe the Avengers Facility.

In fact, with Steve’s loud orders, Bruce’s lab explosions, and Sam’s boisterous laughter -- not to mention the never-ending petty arguments that managed to revert the Avengers to 11th graders in their first debate club -- it was the farthest thing from quiet.

But, now, with zero disagreements and zero distractions, you’d been able to enjoy the building all to yourself. Almost. Of course, the one time you got to avoid a mission, you ended up falling into an even worse situation.

You’d covered for Wanda last mission, and she’d insisted on paying you back for the newest one. It wasn’t high stakes by any means, but the work itself had countless components and everyone who was nearby -- or at least on the planet -- had been called in to fill some role.  

Everyone, of course, except you. And Clint.

Suddenly the idea of being stuck in the Quinjet with everyone’s post-mission moodiness sounded very appealing. You could feel a headache growing as you wandered around the kitchen, doing anything and everything in your power to avoid him. He was not supposed to be here. Hell, he didn’t even like stepping foot in the place unless the world was in immediate danger.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice his odd attitude. Natasha gave him a confused look when he mentioned staying behind, but decidedly hadn’t commented, almost like she’d already pieced together the reason for Clint’s actions. Knowing her, she probably had. But, even Wanda shot a glance that worried you -- though you seemed to be the only one to catch her squinted green gaze before it disappeared. You weren’t sure you wanted to know what she saw in his mind.

Sure, you had a couple of ideas as to why he would choose to isolate himself with you, but you tried to not let those thoughts consume you. The others wouldn’t be back till midday tomorrow -- if all went well -- and you were not about to spend the next 36 hours soaking your panties with stupid fantasies.

Unfortunately, even when ignoring Clint, your mind was still focused on him. When you passed by the gym or shooting range, antsy to get your daily work in, one quick thought of seeing Clint’s arms -- tensed as he loaded his bow, muscles straining and eyes focused on his target -- was enough to have you quickly walking in the opposite direction.

But, now, as you make your way into the lounge to relax, you can’t find it in yourself to care. You have just as much of a right as Clint does to walk around whenever and wherever you please. In all honesty, you feel even more entitled considering you’re the one actually living in the tower (at least most of the time.)

He’s exactly where you expect him to be -- he may be fast and quiet on his feet, but you’ve been keeping tabs on him, for your own sake.

It’s a bit odd seeing a book instead of a bow in his hands, but you’re not entirely sure you should be focused on how his fingers wrap around the thin pages, thumbing the corners so gently--

“Done avoiding me, are you?”

Well, shit.

His gaze remains on his book -- though the very few pages he’s turned assures you he’s not paying attention to whatever riveting story Tony has stocked his shelves with.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. There’s a moment of temptation to take a seat next to him on the couch, as close as possible. To feel his strong arms around you, smell the raw masculine cologne he always wears a bit too much of -- heavy on his neck and sharp jaw that you know your lips could curl around so perfectly if given the chance.

You swallow heavily and take a seat in the chair across from him, sinking into the expensive fabric.

“Tony picks good furniture, right?” Clint sighs, book closing without so much as a dog-ear mark as he leans back.

It’s silent for a second, and you’re entirely sure you’ve missed a part of the conversation during your mini black-out, but Clint doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, waiting patiently for your answer. You consider it a small win and accept the change in topic with an awkward laugh.

“Yeah. Didn’t think price made such a big difference.” There’s a firmness to the chair that keeps you from sinking, and mentally, you consider if it’d be strong enough for other activities. “How much you wanna bet he spent on each of these chairs?” you question, genuinely curious. “I gotta guess at least two grand.”

Clint’s cool eyes glint playfully. “Three,” he challenges with a smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Though, you should really try this couch. Definitely my favorite thing here.”

There’s just a hint of suggestion in his tone -- the kind that you’d miss if you weren’t trained in reading people. It’s not unexpected, though. You’d have to be a fool to not recognize the exact same longing stares, the same lingering touches that Clint offers you. But, that’s what makes it all more intimidating. It’s an unspoken thing, and at this point, that’s what feels most convenient -- even if your lonely nights spent moaning his name are growing far too common for comfort.

Still, you can’t exactly ignore him, and his eyes follow you closely as you make your way to the couch, falling into the comfy cushions with a huff.

“Wow.” You laugh. “No wonder you’ve been spending so much time down here.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. ���So you have been paying me some attention. Interesting.”

If he notices you shift as far to the other end of the couch as possible, he doesn’t mention it.

“Don’t take it personally, Barton,” you huff. “I’m used to keeping an eye on everyone around here.” It’s not entirely a lie, but he manages to see right through the half-truth regardless.

“So you avoid everyone, then?” There’s no hurt or misunderstanding in his voice, not even confusion. He knows what you’re doing, knows why you can’t bear to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back onto the couch.

He just chuckles, a low sound that makes your stomach clench unconsciously. You expect him to keep pressing you, work you up until you spill your guts, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even say a word as you hear the rustling of paper and feel the couch move slightly as he shifts.

You turn your head towards him and open one eye, then both as they go wide. Clint has taken on a whole new level of comfortable, feet perched on the coffee table and one arm resting on the back of the couch while his free hand flips through the same first few pages as before.

In all honesty, you suddenly find yourself happy that Steve and Tony are gone -- otherwise they’d be scolding Clint for his manners, and most definitely not ogling his firm legs in those tight, black jeans.

You drag your gaze back up his body, stopping near the hem of his shirt, where his new position has allowed for the fabric to ride up his stomach. It’s just a sliver of skin but the image is enough to make your heart race. There’s a faint dip in the muscled hip line leading to his jeans, and if you stare extra hard, you can see the light trail of thin hairs disappearing under the fabric.

Swallowing heavily, you quickly look back at Clint’s face, holding back a gasp as he stares back at you.

“So,” you fill the silence before he can, mentally thanking Natasha for her training on keeping your composure. “How’s that book of yours?”

Clint just grins for a second -- you both know he’s caught you. “It’s alright. Not the most interesting thing in the building right now, though.”

You gulp. “Yeah… The place is big. Lots to explore. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room--”

“I have a feeling you know that’s not what I mean,” Clint cuts you off with a chuckle, and you send him a challenging glare.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you scoff.

He hums, before his tongue peeks out to swipe across his bottom lip. “You’re sounding awfully like a broken record today.” His icy, pale eyes return to his book, and you watch as he lifts his thumb to his wet lips, tongue darting out the lick the tip. You can practically feel the action, and almost whine in disappointment when his hand returns to flip the page.

Clint is downright grinning at this point, and you know he’s taking in every breath, shift, and blink of yours. “But, I know you’re not actually confused,” he continues. “In fact, I’d argue you like this game of ours a bit more than you should.”

You know if you brush it off again, he’ll drop it. He’s too nice to make you uncomfortable, and his statement hangs in the air with a heavy weight.

“You know, Barton?” you shift from your spot on the couch, eliminating a good chunk of the space between you and him. “I think you’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” He raises a brow, and you would believe his undisturbed look if you didn’t see his fingers twitch against the spine of the forgotten book.

“Tell Nat that,” he jokes, and you grin. Seeing that little crack in his facade, the way he fills the conversation with a joke, the discreet but heavy swallow he tries to hide -- it’s all enough to power you to move closer, until there are mere centimeters between you two.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ll be telling Natasha anything from this conversation of ours.” Keeping your attention on the slight tense of his jaw, you push the book from his hands, and he immediately drops his feet from the table to discard it in their place.

You pause for a second, glancing at Clint’s lap then back at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab your hip.

“Get over here already,” he groans, both arms wrapping around your waist to situate you in his lap. His hands are warm and firm and everything you could have ever imagined, and you automatically roll your hips down onto him. There’s a pleased moan from you both, and his own hips jolt in a way that sends you even closer to him, until your chests are touching.

He immediately dives for your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he breathes you in deeply. “I gotta admit,” he murmurs, letting his lips graze the bottom of your jaw in the most sinful way, “you look so much better sitting here than standing around in the kitchen.”

You drag your fingers through the long hair on the back of his head, tugging it playfully. “You’ve been watching me, Barton?”

He hums, squeezing you just as teasingly. “I do a lot of staring when it comes to you, babe.”

You pull him from your neck by his hair, and he looks up at you with the most mischievous glint in his eyes. The nickname makes you undeniably flustered, but you force the embarrassment away.

“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s what you call creepy,” you mumble, leaning down so Clint can feel your words against his own lips. He immediately darts forward, but you pull back with a sly grin, watching his eyes darken at the action.

“I think,” he growls, catching you off guard as he pushes you back onto the couch, making you jostle as you try not to fall off the edge. He steadies you with a large hand, and you only jolt again when he uses his free hand to spread your legs, caging you in as his hips drop between your parted thighs. “You’d be a hypocrite for saying that.” He drops back to your neck, and you can feel his smile before his teeth sink into your skin lightly -- just enough to make you gasp.

He continues to litter your neck with kisses, and you watch in awe as his toned arm tenses by the side of your head -- the thick black lines of ink rolling as his muscles flex.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you taunt, back arching as his tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to right below your chin. “You gonna fuck me?”

Clint bites the edge of your jaw in retaliation to your words, before he pulls back just enough to stare at you with a lustful gaze.

“Not yet, baby. Not that easily.” One of his hands trails up the front of your thigh, before it busies itself with the hem of your shirt. You try to hide your disappointment, but Clint notices it, of course, and just shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on letting you leave this couch anytime soon. You’ve made me wait long enough for this… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He finally presses his lips to yours, and you hungrily reach and tug until he’s as close as possible -- until you can feel the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously against your thighs as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. It’s messy and entirely uncalculated, and your nails catch in the wrinkles of the back of his shirt while his own fingers tug impatiently at the bottom of yours.

You part from him for a second, and his own greedy mouth follows yours, only managing to press against the side of your lips. “You act like you’ve made this easy for me,” you retort, and his chest rumbles against yours as he chuckles.

“Oh honey, I think I’ve made it quite obvious I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day you walked in here.”

“Clearly, not obvious enough.”

Clint huffs, warm breath hitting your cheek. “What’d you want me to do? Huh?” He shifts so his words make their way directly to your ear, each syllable accentuated with a puff of hot air. With him this close, neck just below your nose, you can take in the heavy smell of that sharp cologne you love so much.

His calloused fingers dip beneath your shirt, but instead of the obvious trail up, his hand trails down to play with the hem of your shorts. “Tug these little things off in front of everyone? Show them all how worked up you get me wearing these? Is that what you want?”

Your hips lift in a silent plea, and you groan. “They’re comfortable.”

“Maybe for you, but I find myself very uncomfortable when you wear them.” He snickers, and if you weren’t so turned on, you’re sure you’d roll your eyes. Only Clint Barton could make a joke about untimely hard-ons during a time like this.

“Then why don’t you take them off?” you groan, and he shakes his head while muttering something about you being bossy.

Still, his words betray him as he tugs the fabric down your legs, as slowly as possible while his eyes drink in the new area of exposed skin. “What part about taking my time with you did you not understand?” The corner of his lips tug in that mischievous way of his, and you have a sneaking feeling his patience is as fleeting as your own.

Proving your point, Clint tosses your shorts over the back of the couch with a grin, then pushes you further up the cushions. You’re almost sitting, shoulder blades knocking the arm of the sofa while your legs bend at the knee to accompany Clint, who scoots back. It’s the perfect and most disastrous angle to be at as you have to both feel and watch his deft fingers trail up from your knee.

You’re a hundred percent sure the effects of your arousal are extremely obvious, but he doesn’t comment on the wet patch of your panties -- though you see his eyes focus on the area between your legs for a second too long before his gaze flickers back to your thighs.

His calloused fingers trail the edge of fabric around your legs, rough skin providing a type of friction you can’t begin to explain. His touch is fleeting and he changes the amount of pressure with every swipe of his thumb, always pushing just enough to let you know he’s holding you down. That you can’t escape him -- as if you’d even think of trying to do so.

“Your legs are so sexy, you know that?”

You let out some type of pleased whine, a sound that Clint relishes as he tightens his grip on your thighs. “Make the prettiest sounds, too,” he continues, and then his fingers are right there. One hand holds your left leg down, while the other covers your panty-covered core. His thumb rubs into your desperate, throbbing clit, and you use your little amount of freedom to push your hips up, wanting, needing more.

Clint immediately presses you back down, and you watch his tattoos shift just slightly as he adds more weight to his hand on your thigh.

��Please, please.” You revert to begging at your lack of movement, losing all shame in regard to your desire. It’s obvious you need Clint -- any excuses or lies from before long forgotten. You need his movements to speed up, the slow circles of his thumb providing barely enough friction.

He just chuckles, but relents a little and you downright purr as the thin fabric of your underwear drags against your tingling nerve endings. It’s impossible to move under Clint’s weight, but all the muscles in your lower half flex and twitch as they desperately search for release and relief.

“How about…” Clint trails off, fingers moving upward to grab the waistline of your panties, “we get these off?”

You’re sure if you nod any faster you might make yourself dizzy, and Clint just smirks in that knowing way. That way that lets you know he has you right where he wants you. Right where he’s been waiting to have you.

The article of clothing is soon flung behind his shoulder just like your forgotten shorts -- and you can only faintly remind yourself to make sure you grab everything before the others return. Though, at this point, you think anyone could walk in on Clint between your legs and you’d still be begging him to make you cum -- audience or not.

“Fucking Christ,” Clint groans, palms sliding between your thighs to spread them, giving him a full view of your glistening core. “I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” Seeing his flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and greedy fingers, you’re not sure you can reject that statement.

He removes his hands for just a second, but you don’t dare close your legs, and he has the audacity to wink. Before your mind can even process the action, though, he’s pulling his shirt off, arms crossing over his chest as they show off in their full glory. Hips, stomach, chest, arms -- they’re all exposed so quickly and your eyes drink in the features as fast as they can. Clint throws the shirt to the side -- you have a feeling he’s utilizing his perfect aim to create a clothing pile -- but you just stare at his shoulder, where the ink spreads to areas you’ve never had the chance to see before. The olive green accents contrast against his tanned skin, which has gained a light sheen from the sweat of his arousal.

As he leans back down, Ronin’s portrait stares you dead in the eyes -- quite literally. If you didn’t know the deeper meaning, you’re sure you could mistake the skull as a danger warning to the man pressing a kiss against the inside of your knee.

Short hairs chafe your legs as Clint makes himself comfortable, pressing his jaw against you. When his hot breath dances over your center you almost squeeze your thighs together, but he’s there to push them apart with a chuckle.

“No, no…” He pulls away barely, and you take in a deep breath to calm yourself. “You’re gonna give me what I want, ok?” His fingers are gentle, and so are his eyes when he glances up to you. He’s hopeful, pleading almost, but stays respectful. “If that’s ok, of course.”

You almost want to cry, because how could he think any differently, but you just nod. “Please Clint, touch me.”

He sends you a lopsided grin, and then he’s right there, pressing a kiss against your clit. The feeling is completely different from before, lips slick and soft unlike his rough thumb. All the air in your lungs leaves your body as you let out a sigh of relief, body finally relaxing as it gets the touch it needs.

You reach down and your nails scratch his scalp lightly before you grip his hair in a tight hold. He nuzzles against your hand and groans against you, and the feeling of control makes your blood run hot through your veins. One of the most powerful men on Earth is between your legs, sucking softly on your clit like it's the only thing he could ever want.

He traces circles on your thighs with his coarse fingers as he warms you up with gentle licks and the occasional curl of his lips around your most sensitive area. You let him have the satisfaction of your spread thighs, but you periodically tug on his tousled locks to remind him that he’s the one between your legs. It’s the perfect balance of dominance -- the type that makes your head spin and your eyes roll back into your head.

Clint presses another kiss to your clit before traveling lower and the intimacy of the action makes your skin flush. You can tell he’s not going to be holding back for much longer though, if the desperation of his descent is any indication. His fingers join his attack as he spreads your folds, tongue dragging the entirety of your core.

“So good, baby. So fucking good,” he mutters, mouth impatient as he covers as much skin as he can at once. It’s fast and downright dirty as he presses his tongue into you, eliciting a groan from your parted, panting lips. You’re dripping at this point, and he laps up the mix of saliva and arousal with a yearning thirst.

It’s all so overwhelming. His fingers are digging into your skin -- likely to leave faint marks -- and the scruff framing his jaw scrapes and leaves your skin burning, while the softer locks between your fingers are a comfort to steady you.

The heat building in your body is entirely unbelievable, and your back digs into the couch as you arch into Clint, desperate for all he’ll be willing to give you. You press him closer, and he moans at the power in your hands -- the control you have despite him hovering over you. It’s a mental trip for you both, your stomach and pelvic muscles clenching as they react to his generous, eager giving.

“God, Clint, gonna cum.” The words barely feel like they’re coming from your own body, jaw slack as you tremble in his hold. His index finger presses into you slowly, while his thumb replaces his tongue on your clit. The change of stimulation has you reeling, your grip on Clint loosening as you feel his warm words against you.

“Kinda the point, sweetheart.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you know Clint is smirking -- you can practically hear it in his voice.

His finger curls to press against your front wall, and he rubs it gently once, twice, before he lets the digit drag out, sinking in again even slower. The leisurely thrusts continue as his tongue returns to circle your clit, his cocky words from before silenced as he puts his mouth to work. Your breath grows heavier, heart rate increasing with every second. His middle finger joins the first with a steady push, and you clench desperately as they curl and press and rub and reduce you to nothing but putty.

You’re right there and Clint knows it -- somehow he knows it. His fingers move faster, harder, and his lips wrap around your clit with even greater determination. There’s a shift, fingertips grazing the perfect spot as he sucks desperately and it’s over. You’re crying out his name, thighs shaking and you clench and flutter around his never-ceasing fingers. There’s a moment where all senses leave you and all you can feel is Clint, and the spread of warmth between your legs. Your ears ring and your own moans become faint background sounds.

And then, you’re pulling his head back, his tongue still trying to work your sensitive clit. He fights your tug on his hair but you must be begging because he finally relents with a huff. You can hear his breathing, and you feel his shift as he leans back over you, fingers still working you through your high.

“Look at me,” he demands, and his free hand drags down your cheek. “C’mon, open your eyes.” He forcefully grabs your chin, and your eyes open too quickly for your mind to process. It’s all so bright and you have to blink away the splotches of color coating your vision. Clint takes up the entirety of your view, lips wet and eyes dark. “There you go, baby.” He’s grinning and panting and his fingers are still fucking moving.

You whimper and glance down -- as much as his grip on your jaw will allow -- and the view of his tattooed arm between your thighs, veins pulsing as he fingers you is imprinted in your mind permanently. It’s a never-ending high that goes on for a second too long before Clint finally, finally eases his fingers from you. They’re practically dripping with your release, and he wastes no time bringing them to his glossy mouth.

It’s hypnotic to watch as his lips close around his fingers, nostrils flaring as he sucks them eagerly. They come out clean, and his chest rumbles with a groan. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Fuck.”

It takes a second for you to catch your breath, chest heaving and shirt clinging to sweaty skin. But, there’s finally a moment where your legs feel somewhat solid, and you take advantage of the opportunity, bending your leg to put the bottom of your foot on Clint’s bare chest.

He shoots you a confused but intrigued look, and you respond with a lopsided grin as you push him backward, until he’s the one stumbling to find a spot against the arm of the couch. Faintly, you consider the move would be much sexier with a pair of heels digging into his skin, but this will have to suffice for now. Maybe next time -- if there is a next time, of course.

“Now, what are you up to, baby girl?” Clint is practically vibrating with excitement as you gather the strength to push yourself off the couch, ignoring the slight twitch of your exerted thighs.

“Take your pants off,” you say, with little shame. “Now.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone get undressed so quickly and the hastiness of Clint’s actions leave him with very little coordination. It takes him three tries to get his belt undone, and he pokes himself with the metal prong when his eyes return to glance at you.

Raising a brow, you put your hands on your hips, and he speeds up. The button and zipper take him twice as long, but the sound when he finally tosses his belt and jeans off to the side is well worth the wait.

He licks his lips, looking up at you -- waiting, watching. Your earlier thoughts regarding his legs are heightened tenfold as you take in his toned thighs and hard cock in-between. He’s thick, the bulge pressing against his boxer-briefs making your heart skip a beat. The mere idea of him stretching you open has you growing too impatient for what you have planned.

“Keep going.” You swallow and hope your voice doesn’t sound too shaky.

Clint’s quick fingers make work of the fabric, and you focus on finishing yourself off. You pull your shirt off and let it drop to your feet before your hands move to unhook your bra. You’re barely sliding the straps down your arms when you hear Clint huff, and you look back to him.

“I wanted to do that,” he almost whines, chest puffing.

You roll your eyes but laugh, and toss your bra to him. He catches it with a wink, before throwing it behind him. Immediately, his gaze drags over your chest, excruciatingly slow. You know he’s taking in every inch, every natural mark that decorates your torso. Normally, you’d feel odd being examined so closely while still being at a decent distance -- but Clint is observant and his eyes are hungry.

Finally, his dark eyes reconnect with yours. “You gonna come sit or should I just grab you?” His tone is playful and daring, but you hear the hint of arousal that suggests he wouldn’t be opposed to tugging you into his arms. You don’t have time for games anymore, though, so you stand between Clint’s legs, and he pats his thigh playfully.

“Hmm…” You bite your lip and shake your head, eyes glistening with mischief. “Not yet…”

You make your descent to your knees perfectly paced, fluttering your lashes as you look up to Clint from between his thighs. He cusses and his arms fall limply to his side as he resigns himself to the torture he knows you’ll be sure to deliver.

“I thought you wanted to take your time,” you tease, fingers sliding up his thigh. Your nails against his skin have him tensing, muscles quivering.

He groans, and tosses his head back. “That was before I made you cum. Just wanna fuck you now -- make you shake again.”

You pinch him. “Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Barton. You should know that.” But, you still let your palm graze over his hard cock, twitching at your touch. He’s firm and warm, and when your fingers wrap around his length, you realize how deliciously thick he is, filling your grasp fully. The length is there too, just enough to not be intimidating, but the girth has your core throbbing.

“Fuck, Clint,” you groan, giving a slow jerk of your wrist. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He’s pulsing in your hand, skin flushed and precum beginning to drip from the head of his cock. It coats your hand on the second stroke, easing the drag. Soon enough, he’s practically glistening, and your mouth waters. You have to taste him.

He calls your name, voice trembling, as your tongue darts out to flatten against his tip. “Oh God, please.” He’s flushed, from his cheeks to his tensing thighs, and you’d grin if you weren’t taking him deeper into your mouth. Another part of the burning, fervid desire deep in your veins lights up as your lips wrap around him -- tongue greedy for more as it laps everything it can reach. A growl reverberates through his entire body, and the sound makes your thighs clench.

You spare him a glance, and he looks destroyed. Sweat gathers on his forehead and the veins in his arm pulse as he grips the cushions to stay steady. Sane. Calm.

His knuckles are white and you relieve them by grabbing his left hand in your own, thumb rubbing over the back of his palm. He’s squeezing you like you’re his lifeline, and you reward him with your free hand around his base.

“Fuck fuck, I’ll cum too fast with you doing that,” Clint grunts, and you watch his chest heave as he tries to steady his breathing.

You pull off him with a line of spit, breaking it with your hand as you use the saliva to glide your fingers. He’s still throbbing, and you trace his underside vein with your wet thumb. “I thought that was the point, right?” You repeat his words from earlier with a grin, pressing a kiss against his thigh as your hand speeds up. He’s so close and he needs it so badly, but he finally pulls his hand from yours to grab your moving wrist.

“Not until I fuck you.” He pants, and begrudgingly removes your hold from his cock. “And a couple times, at the very least.”

Your heart races at the mere thought of as many rounds as you can handle, with Clint making you cum again and again. Still, you stand slowly, silently hoping he’ll push you back to your knees and cum down your throat.

But he doesn’t. He watches closely as you straighten out, and you quickly move to straddle him. “Fine, but you’ll let me ride you, understood?” Your thighs brush over him with the lightest touch, and with just one solid movement, you could have him sinking into you. But, you wait. You watch as he swallows heavily, eyes hooded.

Clint gives you a lopsided smile. “No complaints here, babe.” And with that, you reach down to hold his length, pressing the tip against your clenching, wet, core. He gasps, but you shift just slightly, until he bumps your clit. It’s too much and too little all at once, and you let out a soft cry as he jerks upward, precum coating the swollen nub. You reward yourself with one more drag down from your clit before letting the head of his cock push into you.

You’re immediately clenching around his length, and Clint’s calloused fingertips dig into your hips as he helps steady you. It only takes a couple breaths and a slow spread of your thighs to take him fully, arousal coating his cock quickly. He barely holds himself back from rutting into you right away, but you rock your hips and grip his shoulders regardless.

“Fuck,” he half-groans, half-whimpers. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Your nails dig into his skin as you roll again, letting out an incoherent babble of his name as your clit gains friction from his own warm body. You can feel your own wetness dripping down your thigh onto his, and it has you shuddering. It’s so dirty and your fingers move to Clint’s hair, desperately clinging at the long strands. His forehead presses to yours, and he smells like the most dangerous concoction of sweat, cologne, and mint toothpaste you’ve ever had the honor of inhaling.

You join in an almost-kiss that’s all teeth, but he brushes his tongue against your cupid’s bow in a much gentler way, and you know he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine in reaction. He squeezes your hip gently in reassurance, and then his grip on you tightens. It doesn’t hurt, but you can feel the years of arm workouts, and you know there’s no way to escape -- as if you’d ever want to.

Clint’s knee jerks and then he’s thrusting up into you with such force it leaves you breathless. He holds you down and all you can do is gasp and hold him tighter as he pushes into you harder and faster. Every shift provides a new angle and friction as his tip stimulates your sensitive walls.

Your thighs shake desperately and you can hear the wet slap each of his movements provide as you coat his cock in warm slick. He grins at the sight, one hand drifting from your hip until it reaches your throbbing clit.

“Look at you,” he coos and punctuates the words with a rough circle of his thumb.

Your chest heaves as you gasp, but the lack of Clint’s hold gives you a second to grind against him. He grunts as you do, and you chuckle breathlessly against his parted lips.

“And look at you.”

He retorts by way of another rub against your clit, and your laughter quickly turns to a drawn-out moan.

“You look so pretty when you’re about to cum.” He pants between every word, but he’s determined to deliver the compliment that makes your face too warm. You’re not sure how he knows you’re so close -- it must be way more embarrassingly obvious than you thought -- but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he’s letting his cock drag inside you slowly, with a hard thrust every few seconds. Not when the pressure on your clit is changing so rapidly you can’t breathe.

When you do cum, with a broken cry and shaking torso, Clint doesn’t let up. He goes faster, harder. It’s a never-ending high that turns your brain to mush, and your body into even less. Your thighs burn and your toes curl but all you can feel is the delicious length buried deep inside you.

It’s only during the beginning of the cool down that you tug a little harder on Clint’s hair, and roll your hips a little more. “C’mon, Clint, please. Please fill me up.” His chest rumbles against yours with a throaty growl, and you continue to ride out your orgasm as he fucks into you with a few more desperate, shaky thrusts.

He cums in you thick and warm, with a groan of your name. It tumbles from his lips sinfully, and you commit the sound to memory. The rasp of his tone and the sight of his wet, swollen lips.

It’s not until he eases out of you slowly, and you feel the drip down your thigh that you’re grounded and reminded of exactly where you are. On a multi-thousand dollar couch. Owned by Tony Stark.

“Oh my god, Clint.”

His eyes are closed and you’re sure he’s about three seconds from sleeping for eighteen hours, but he manages a tired smirk. “I know. That was good.”

“No! I mean yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He half-opens one eye. “What?”

“I think we stained the couch.” A quick glance between Clint’s thighs all but confirms it, and you’re not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the very large wet spot staining the blended fabric.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now. After everything that just happened.”

You playfully slap his shoulder as you roll onto the cushion next to him with a huff. He nudges you back with his arm before clearing his throat, and letting out a butchered impression of your voice. “Oh Clint! Your dick was just so amazing!-”

“Oh my god!” You cover your face but nothing stops the laughter that rumbles through your chest -- even if he’s got your tone completely wrong. He just chuckles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side with a sigh.

“How much do you think we’ll owe Tony by the end of the day?” He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

He rolls his eyes, but presses a chaste kiss to your hair. “C’mon, you don’t think I haven’t planned out every surface we still need to fuck on before they get back?”

“Clint!”

“See, you keep screaming my name but for all the wrong reasons.” Now you can feel his grin against the top of your head, and it comes into view as he stands with you still in his grasp. You’re not sure how he maneuvers it, but he’s got you in his arms before you can even blink, and the look he sends you tells you not to complain or even question it. He’s not even out of breath -- all things considered -- and when you glance in the direction he’s heading, your eyes widen.

“You have got to be joking…” You squirm in his arms as he sets you down on the table used for almost every meeting, and the mere thought of defiling it forever makes you squeeze your legs together shyly.

But, Clint is quick to spread them, all with a cocky grin and a far too confident tone.

“I don’t know about you…” He begins, as his fingers trail up your thigh. “But I think we could reach ten thousand by midnight.”

If you distantly hear FRIDAY warn adamantly against it -- neither of you mention it.

“Better get started then, Barton.”

---

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #244: "AND THE ROCKET'S RED GLARE!"

June, 1984

The Wraiths walk among us!

Actually, the Dire Wraiths would be a good answer for what the imposters in Among Us are. They're imposters, they can shapeshift, and they have deadly tongues.

I think I've cracked this case wide open.

Anyway, we go straight from Secret Wars into another event, although this is a crossover called Wraith War and mostly a story arc in the ROM book but with tie-ins to Avengers, X-Men, and Fantastic Four. In fairness, we were told the Avengers would be getting involved with the Dire Wraiths before Secret Wars went on sale.

That's the life of a superhero. One day, getting raptured to a toy commercial and the next, fighting alien shapeshifters who aren't Skrulls or Space Phantoms.

Last time: half the Avengers were involved in the Secret Wars, the other Avengers hung around and had small adventures. Then the first half of the Avengers returned. And Wasp quit as chairperson so Vision could take over with his big plans like establishing a second Avengers team.

This time: a nice boat.

The nice boat is chilling on the Banana River outside the John F. Kennedy Space Center when a ball of light swoops down on it.

But with Captain Marvel on the Avengers, sometimes a ball of light is her and not the Beyonder bodyjacking people.

Monica returns from patrol to report no suspicious activity at the space center and also to compliment this sweet boat.

Remember how she was in the market for a boat as part of whatever new job she’s cooking up for when she’s not Avengersing.

Well, this is Wasp’s yacht and it’s real nice.

Vision pops up through the deck to tell the two to join everyone else below for a strategy sesh.

It’s kind of a casual strategy session. Half the Avengers are dressed down.

Wasp is in a bathing suit with a neckerchief around her neck. Wanda took off the body stocking part of her costume so looks like she’s wearing a swimsuit despite the boots. And Starfox decides when in Rome and takes his shirt off.

Wasp isn’t even chairperson anymore and she’s still telling some men to undress and this time its Steve Rogers. She only gets him to take off the civilian clothes that he’s wearing above his costume though.

And only as a concession to the heat. They’re in FLORIDA and he’s dressed in layers. I live in Florida and sometimes one layer is too many layers.

Also, Steve America muses on how they were only back from Secret Wars a few hours when Wasp stepped down as chairperson in favor of Vision but he describes Secret Wars as “our confrontation with that... that Beyonder” which is technically accurate but not really how I would describe Secret Wars.

But that’s the hazard of writing about something in the past that hasn’t come out yet. Can’t really have Steve say “that confrontation with the most recent time Doom swallowed an energy field bigger than his head” because that would spoil the game and also maybe that plot point didn’t exist yet. Although the seeds are there from the start.

I would have just had Steve say “back from that Secret War TM” or “back from being kidnapped by the Beyonder.” Go with what’s clear and obvious from issue 1.

New Chairman The Vision summarizes the plot.

New Chairman The Vision: “All right, Avengers... just as a review, we’ll be meeting at the cape with General Bridges within the hour to discuss a number of supposed accidents... Accidents which Washington suspects may be sabotage caused by alien creatures known as Dire Wraiths. The government has managed to suppress information of most wraith activities -- but the space center is too much in the public eye. Eventually, word will leak out. We must do something!”

Captain America: “You’re right on that count, Vision! If an alien life-form attacked the space-center, there could be worldwide panic!”

And as soon as he says this, there’s an explosion on the test-pad.

Talk about timing!

The Avengers leap immediately into action!

Wasp just heads into action in her swimsuit because its not the first time she’s had an adventure in her swimsuit. Her powers are entirely internalized by this point. But its impressive for Wanda because she puts the bodysuit part of her outfit back on without seemingly taking off the leotard part.

Chaos magic? Chaos magic.

Also, they leave Wanda to anchor the yacht and then follow in a skiff so its not like she needed to get dressed magically between panels. She just decided to.

When the Avengers arrive there’s a massive cloud of smoke covering the launchpad and they spot some men dashing into the smoke instead of away from it.

Captain Marvel returns from scouting and mentions that the damage is confined to the test-pad gantries and that there’s not all that much damage.

But then there’s a loud KROOM second explosion which takes down the main supports. The rocket booster on the test-pad starts tipping over so Starfox, Captain Marvel, and Vision rush to try to stop it.

One of the attackers, the Rocketeers, says a few more mini missiles will take the launch-pad out of commission but exposition isn’t a free action and he gets WHUNK’d by Captain America’s mighty shield.

And if that weren’t enough to make him yield, Wasp shoots him in the nipple.

Wasp: “Let’s have no complaints out of you! I can make my Wasp-stings a lot nastier than that!”

Yeah, that guy is lucky she didn’t use one of her patented ‘can blow up a small house’ Wasp-stings. His nipple would never have been the same.

Vision and Starfox catch the rocket booster before it smashes into the ground but Captain Marvel zips around it and spots major fuel leaks.

Since it’s going to explode even if they gently set it down, the two huck it into the Atlantic.

Then the three start lifting rubble and rescuing those injured from any of the mini-missile explosions.

Over at Cap(tain America) and Wasp, they’ve beaten up all the Rocketeers but one. Good job you two! By some accounts the two least powerful among the Avengers present and yet you’ve kicked some ass.

The Last Rocketeer: “You may have stopped my buddies, but you won’t stop me!”

Wasp: “Oh, brother! If you only knew how many times we’ve heard those words -- !”

Captain America: “Don’t embarrass the man, Wasp! He’s in enough trouble as it is!”

Wow, if its not enough that they’ve beaten up all his friends and are about to beat him up, they just burned him so bad that I don’t know if he’ll survive.

The guy throws a lawn dart bomb at Cap and the Wasp. Cap tells Wasp to get behind his shield but the bomblet sharply veers up with a ninety degree turn.

Wow, how improbable!

If you guessed that Wanda showed up after parking the yacht, you guessed right.

And then Wasp shoots the Last Rocketeer in the eyes. His goggles did nothing.

Even though the Rocketeers were wrapped up pretty easily, Vision suggests that they had help since they knew exactly when and where to strike.

But a Dire Wraith shaped silhouette watching this fight from afar reflects that the Avengers are skilled and decides to unleash THE MISTS OF THE DARK NEBULA.

Which is a thick fog. But wait! There’s more! The fog is like a mind-numbing gas and makes the Avengers slow to respond, even Vision who only breathes out of social obligation. And it rouses the Rocketeers who escape into the fog.

Vision follows after them, less affected than the others, but he gets bowled over by the Rocketeers taking off with their rocket packs which presumably given them their names.

As soon as the Rocketeers escape, the fog conveniently disperses.

The Avengers go around making sure they’re all alright but when Cap(tain America) asks Vision, he claims that he is a lot more resilient than “an organic man” and tells Cap not to waste concern on him when there are injured people to be helped.

Wasp, in her thoughts: “Sounds like the only thing wounded was his pride!”

While the Avengers carry injured people to arrived ambulances, Vision castigates himself for the failure.

Vision: “We failed! My first official battle as Avengers leader, and the enemy got away! I suppose I should find solace in the knowledge that the sabotage was cut short and lives were saved... but I cannot!”

“I must not allow myself to be satisfied by anything less than total victory... Not if my long-range plans are to succeed! The Avengers must ferret out the power behind the Rocketeers and bring it down! The trust of the world could depend on it!”

That’s a completely non-ominous thing to think, Vizh.

Also, maybe you could help?

Meanwhile, over at Los Angeles International Airport, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrive traveling as a perfectly normal couple. Hawkeye wanted to bring his arrows on as carry-on but yeah. Hard to explain that to the TSA.

... Wait, did the Avengers not have a spare Quinjet to send Hawkeye in?

Anyway, Bill Foster meets them at the airport. He’s local to LA and has been checking out some real estate leads for the West Coast Avengers base.

WEST COAST AVENGERS!

It continues to be approaching.

Are we going to get Bill Foster on the team? We haven’t seen him in Avengers for what feels like ever.

But enough of West Coast Avengers, there’s more Dire Wraiths plot to do.

Back at the Cape of Canaveral, General Bridges introduces the Avengers to the very high-strung Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist.

Cather flips out on seeing the Avengers and asks why they’re here. I guess nobody debrief him on all the explosions.

General Bridges has a slideshow for just this instance and activates a projector to show everyone a Dire Wraith.

The ROM Space Knight and Dire Wraiths plot has been going on for about fifty issues in ROM’s own book by this point so there’s some amount of exposition that just shotgunned in one page.

The Dire Wraiths are an offshoot of the Skrulls, apparently. Except instead of just shapeshifting they have a more predatory method of camouflage. They attack a victim with a drill-like tongue, eat their brains, and assume their forms while the original person is reduced to ashes.

At least, that’s how female Dire Wraiths work.

The Dire Wraiths are like the Badoon in having some truly wild sexual dimorphism and a high degree of hostility between the sexes. The female Dire Wraiths prefer sorcery and the males SCIENCE. Except there was a war of the sexes over differences in their plans for conquering Earth and the women Wraiths won and became the dominant Wraiths.

The Rocketeers that attacked the launchpad today are similar to a group of male SCIENCE Wraiths who also called themselves Rocketeers and attacked Clairton, West Virginia.

So Vision suspects that a group of male Wraiths survived the war of the sexes and are up to Something.

General Bridges isn’t really concerned with the nuances of who and how people are attacking the launch site. He just wants it all to stop.

Dr. Cather is leading the ion-drive project and its already in trouble because most funds have been diverted to the space shuttle program.

General Bridges doesn’t think the ion drive is a target, OR worth attacking (ouch), because none of the sabotage has struck it yet. Bridges thinks the Space Shuttle should get priority attention and decides he’ll call a full battalion to help the Avengers guard it.

Vision disagrees.

He pulls rank and forbids calling in any backup.

Captain America: “You’ll have to excuse us, gentlemen! Our chairman... has plans of his own!”

I BET HE DOES!

Meanwhile, continuing the Quicksilver subplot, it’s Quicksilver.

He Lockjaws down to Transia, Earth to go recruit Bova to be nursemaid for his baby but to his startlement he finds that her cabin has been destroyed.

Big mystery for Quicksilver but followers of this going-slightly-above-and-beyond liveblog will know that Magneto trashed it while interrogating Bova for information about his children.

Wanda and Pietro already rejected Magneto as their dad for being a jerk plus the jerky way he’s treated them. I imagine learning he terrorized a poor cow woman won’t soften their hearts to him.

Anyway, back to the Dire Wraiths plot.

The Rocketeer Dire Wraiths are sitting around and complaining about how the Avengers kicked their butts and they didn’t know humans could be so strong. But what they’re really concerned about is the Dark Nebula Mist.

That’s clearly the sign of the Dire Wraith sisterhood but why would they help the science Wraiths if not some weird mind game to flush them out.

One of the Rocketeers declares that the sisterhood’s intervention gives them a chance to complete their work. Sure, overt sabotage will be hard with the Avengers hanging around like they don’t have anything better to do. And sure, they’ll set up detection equipment. But the Avengers won’t suspect that the Rocketeers will have jamming watches that’ll let them avoid detection.

That’s why Science Wraithing is so rad.

The next morning, the Avengers are spread out throughout the Space Center.

Captain Marvel is standing sentry on top of the vehicle assembly building. Starfox is at launch complex 39A thinking patronizing thoughts about the Space Shuttle.

Starfox: “They call this a space ship? Charming.”

And Wasp watches over the ion-drive rocket.

Meanwhile, Vision, Captain America, and Scarlet Witch are in the security command post watching the cameras with the special detection systems.

If I remember Linkara’s Romtrospective, the special detection systems are probably based on Rom’s Analyzer, which he let SHIELD examine.

Anyway, Scarlet Witch switches to a random monitor to demonstrate that so far so good, pointing at monitor three and its entirely unsuspicious group of technicians.

Vision: “No problem?!? There’s a very big problem!! Can’t you see?!”

Turns out that Vision has better vision, hah, than a human. And with his special eyes he sees that those four technicians are NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.

He immediately grabs the microphone to the PA and announces DANGEROUS INTRUDERS and for everyone to evacuate the area immediately.

The four intruders make a mad dash to the ion-drive ship but Starfox does them a drive by punching.

Starfox: “Good morning, gentlemen! Since you aren’t evacuating the premises, might I assume that you’re our intruders? Hmmm?”

I’ll reveal a cursed secret. If it weren’t for Starfox’s special pleasure beam powers, I wouldn’t have a problem with him. He can be pretty fun sometimes.

Captain Marvel also zips over in light form and then re-assumes her meat form.

One of the Dire Wraiths: “Strike while she is helpless in her corporeal form!”

Captain Marvel: “Helpless?”

Never assume Captain Monica Marvel is helpless just because she’s made of meat. She was a boat cop, dammit.

Its a well known fact that all boat cops that get superpowers and join the Avengers, know how to flip a jerk.

Anyway, Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist, also runs towards the ion-drive rocket despite the evacuation order.

Dr. Woodrow Cather, the highest ranking civilian scientist: No need to worry soldier! I won’t be long at all... Once I’ve cut my ship off from ground control! I’m glad I returned to the test bunker last night. Otherwise, I might have been found like that the others! Their sabotage missions brought them to a bad end, just as I’d hoped! Now, their capture should be all the diversion I need -- to get away scot free!

Gasp! Dr. Woodrow Cather, the guy who was alarmed to see the Avengers involved is one of the Dire Wraiths and he’s dicking over his alien invader associates!

Is there no honor among alien invaders?

Scarlet Witch and Cap(tain America) arrive in Jeep to where Starfox and Cap(tain Marvel) are kicking the Dire Wraith ass. Scarlet Witch uses her do-anything powers to force the Dire Wraiths to assume their natural lumpy orange forms.

But then Dr. Woodrow Cather blasts off in the ion-drive rocket, luckily managing not to either blind nor burn to death anyone on the ground.

Captain Marvel zips after the rocket because speed of rocket is still way slower than the speed of light.

God, I love Monica’s powers.

The Dire Wraiths start bemoaning how they’ve been abandoned and betrayed but worse than that DOOOOOOOMED.

Cap(tain America) is like ‘come again?’

The Dire Wraiths explain that the ion-drive is actually a secret star-drive, that they cobbled together using whatever ‘backward technology’ they could get and sometimes just steal from other projects (I guess thats what the sabotage was? Covering the thefts?). But uh the red glow from the not-ion-drive exhaust is a bad sign.

It means that the engine is unstable and could explode like an anti-matter bomb at any time.

And to complete the hat trick of ‘rocket stolen’ and ‘rocket gonna explode and destroy a chunk of Earth’, Wasp was watching the rocket and is now trapped inside the command module, squashed against the bulkhead from the acceleration.

THE WORLD IS IN DANGER BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, THE WASP IS!

DAMN YOU DR. WOODROW CATHER, IF THATS YOUR REAL NAME!

Follow @essential-avengers​ because we like Wasp here. Wasp should be in more stuff in modern comics. Like and reblog as well but only if you think that the post is likeable and slash or rebloggable.

[jbhoneydew]

My first attempt at writing something M*A*S*H related, or writing anything in years. Please message me if you have any suggestions! I might post this to AO3 later.

The 4077th is faced with another cold, winter night and BJ isn’t handling the cold-snap too well. Hawkeye is there to help him out. (2.2K words)

(References to Baby Its Cold Outside (7x10) & Mail Call (2x23) )

__________________________________________________________

“Attention all personnel! Bundle up and grab some coffee in the mess while it lasts. It’s going to be a cold one tonight, folks!”

The bitter wind whipped in the air that would send a strong shiver down one’s spine. It seemed like yesterday the camp was soaking in the rays of the warm summer sun, but those days were long gone.

Time flies when you waste your days doing meatball surgery on wounded men and boys from the front lines - hoping they’ll live to see another day.

It was now the middle of November and the 4077th mobile hospital in Uijeongbu, South Korea was faced with a premature winter storm. The forecast called for flurries, strong winds, and below freezing temperatures that were not welcomed by the unit.

It was the second winter blast of the week and supplies were now low in stock. Extra blankets were non-existent in the supply room. They were either wrapped around patients in post-op or wrapped around the personnel like mummies. Firewood was also scarce due to the last storm. This left the unit scrambling to find supplies they would need to keep themselves warm. 

The unlucky personnel would have to find other means of warmth.

____________________________________________________________

Hawkeye sprinted across the compound towards the Swamp. He just finished his evening post-op shift and Charles had finally arrived to relieve him after being 20 minutes late. Hawk was bundled up from head to toe with his arms wrapped tightly around himself to preserve body head as he ran, a few curse words escaping his lips. The cold air was biting at his exposed face and all he wanted to do was curl up next to the furnace and sleep. 

He finally made it to the Swamp and swung the door open, practically throwing himself inside. 

“Hawk, the door!” His bunk-mate BJ greeted him from his own cot, trying to shield himself away from the bitter cold wind Hawkeye let in by burrowing deeper into his blanket.

“I got it, Beej. Cool it.” he muttered as he slammed the door shut. 

“Mother Nature beat me to it.” muttered BJ as he adjusted the army-issued toque on his head. His teeth chattering in the process. The winter storm was making him miserable. He wasn’t used to the sub-zero temperatures in Korea. It was a new concept.

Before being drafted, he spent his entire life living in California and rarely had to worry about being cold. Living in Korea for the past year  reminded him that not everywhere was sunny and warm like California. He knew it would be cold - but the draft board didn’t tell him it would be this cold.

Hawk wrapped the blanket on his cot around himself and crouched down in the middle of the tent where the gas stove usually was. He raised his hands out in front of it, expecting it to warm his cold and tired body.

He raised an eyebrow when he realized no heat emitted from the unit. He then realized the gas stove was missing. 

“Don’t tell me i’m going crazy. Could’ve sworn we had a gas stove in here. ” Hawk said in confusion. 

“We did, until about 10 minutes ago. Radar took it. He said post-op needs all the gas stoves they can find to keep the patients warm.” explained BJ as he shivered in his bunk. “The last time he did it, I hid his glasses in the meat-loaf. I think i’ll hide them in the latrine this time.” 

“This is just perfect.” Hawk said sarcastically. He stood up and paced around the tent in an attempt to keep himself warm without the gas stove.

“I’m already frozen from my head down to my toes and our good friend, Chuckles, is now sitting in post-op probably bathing in the warmth of OUR gas stove. Now we’re stuck here to freeze our butts off in this flimsy tent!” Hawkeye ranted. “He could’ve at least left his ugly polar suit or gloves to keep us warm! That little-” 

Hawk stopped himself when his eyes landed on BJ for a second time, noticing something different.

“Wait a minute….Is that my sweater?” 

“Mhm.” BJ mumbled as he lifted the collar of the sweater up to keep his neck warm.

The navy blue wool sweater his dad sent him last year was currently wrapped around BJ’s semi-slim frame, the collar of the fabric peeking out from under his olive green coat.

“First you steal my socks, and now my sweater. What’s next? My pants?”

“I was cold and I found it under your cot. You can have it back if you want if you want.” BJ replied as he began to undo the top buttons of the sweater.

“No, no.” Hawk replied as he placed a hand on BJ’s shoulder. “Keep it. I’m just kidding.”

“You sure?” BJ paused. 

“Yeah...it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes. Not just my socks this time.” 

“Good. Because it’s very warm. Tell your dad I said thanks.”

“Your regards will be in my next letter to Crabapple Cove. Dad will appreciate it.”

“You know..I wish Peg thought of sending me a sweater. Instead she sent more rum cookies instead of something warm to wear. This is Korea we’re talking about. It’s freezing.” BJ half-joked.

“Keep it, Beej. I mean it. Besides, you look really good in my sweater.” 

BJ raised an eyebrow at him. “How can you tell?” 

“Just trust me. You look good.” he winked. 

Hawk laid down on his cot, pulling the thin army-issued blanket over his body to block out the frigid air with little success. He was cold, tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep. 

Hawk turned onto his side towards BJ. He was now sitting up in his bunk, his legs pulled towards his chest with his blanket wrapped around himself. He felt sympathetic for his younger bunk mate. He knew BJ wasn’t experienced in handling cold snaps unlike himself; who grew up in Maine and experienced cold snaps like this every winter.

He watched BJ pick up his most recent letter from Peg that sat on his footlocker and read it for what seemed like the fifth time this week. 

“Can’t get enough of that letter, huh?” Hawk asked, letting out a yawn. 

“Huh? Oh yeah. Keeps my mind off the cold.” BJ replied as he shivered again. 

“What’s new in Mill Valley?”

“She says that they had six warm days in a row. In fact, it was so nice she and my parents took Erin to San Francisco for the day. It says that Erin’s favorite part of the trip was seeing the Golden Gate Bridge. It says ‘I wish you were here to see it, BJ. Her eyes lit up like she was handed the moon. It was the cutest thing i’ve seen.’ Damn. I should’ve been there to see it too. I miss the warmth of San Francisco but instead I'm here about to catch hypothermia.”

“You will be there, Beej. We’ll get out of this dump. It won’t last forever.”

“The peace talks say otherwise.”

“Listen to me.” Hawk said as he raised his head from his pillow. “I will personally march myself up to MacArthur’s doorstep to personally stop this war if I have too. Just for you. You’ll make it out of here in one piece and you’ll see your wife and kid again. You’ll be back in sunny California in no time, and then you can come visit me in Crabapple Cove anytime you wish.”

“Who says i’ll visit?” he teased. 

“Says me. It’s only been a year but we’ve been through hell and back together. This isn’t a bond that can be thrown away once this war is over and we all go home. Trapper left without saying goodbye before you showed up and I haven’t heard a word from him since. I’m not letting you do the same. Besides, how am I supposed to live without Peg’s baking? It’s to die for.” he explained. He knew he was rambling on to BJ but he didn’t care - he needed a distraction from the cold.

“It’s a deal, Hawk.” BJ smiled, placing the letter back on his footlocker. He was lucky to have met Hawkeye, even in one of the worst circumstances possible. It was the only luck he seemed to have since he was drafted.

BJ laid down on his cot again and curled up onto his side.“I have post-op in the morning, see ya then, if we survive the night.” he said as he closed his eyes.

“Night BJ, don’t let the frost-bite get ya.”

BJ grinned. “Yes mom. Goodnight, Hawk.”

____________________________________________________________________________

A particularly strong gust of wind blew against the tent, waking Hawkeye in the process. It felt like the temperature dropped another ten degrees in the matter of hours. He was about to tug his blanket over his head when he heard someone’s teeth chattering. Hawk lifted his head up and noticed BJ visibly shiver in his cot. 

“Beej? You alright?” he half-whispered to him, wondering if he was awake or not.

He didn’t get a response for a few moments until BJ popped his head out from under his blanket. 

“Yeah. Just cold. Go back to sleep.” he mumbled as his teeth chattered more.

Hawk shook his head. Sleep was now a lost cause for Hawk at this point. The cold temperature and howling wind now made it nearly impossible.

Hawk was concerned for his friend who was shivering on the other side of the tent. He knew that he was having a tough time dealing with the frigid cold. It would’ve been a lot easier if the gas stove was here, but they sacrificed it for the patients.

Suddenly, he had an idea to help both of them. 

Hawk wrapped his blanket around himself and made his way over to BJ’s cot.

“Move over, Beej.” Hawk mumbled to the younger man, who moved over as much as he could without a complaint.

Hawk settled himself half on top of BJ and wrapped his arms around the younger man, their legs becoming entangled in one another. He then threw his blanket over top both of them.

“What’re you doin’?” BJ mumbled half-asleep, his teeth chattering once again.

“You’re shivering, so I’m keeping you warm. Damn it, BJ. You’re like an icicle.”

“Mmm. And you’re like a personal body heater”

“Glad I can be useful,” he smiled. “Come here.”

Hawk pulled BJ even closer to him, if it was even possible, and rubbed his arm gently in an attempt to warm him up.

They laid in silence for a while. They eventually rolled onto their sides and had their arms wrapped tightly around each other. BJ rested his forehead against Hawkeye’s shoulder, who had his chin rested on top of BJ’s head. They both fit perfectly in eachothers arms. Hawk smiled when he noticed BJ’s shivering had died down.

“Hawk?”

“Mhm?”

“Thanks for this. Feeling warmer already.”

“No problem, Beej. I’m here for you. No matter what. We’ll get through this.” 

They both fell asleep moments later, the storm already long forgotten as they curled up in eachothers arms.

—————————————————-------------------------------------------------

“Captain Pierce! Captain Hunnicutt! You in there?”

The swamp door creaked open, allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate the tent, and Radar timidly stepped inside the tent.

“Oh good. There you are, sirs.”

He found Hawkeye and BJ cuddled up together on one cot in the back right corner of the tent. BJ was snoring softly, dead to the world. His arms were wrapped tightly around Hawkeye like an octopus and his cheek was resting against his shoulder.

“Radar? What is it?” Hawkeye suddenly asked, startling the young corporel. 

“I’m sorry sirs but Winchester told me to tell you that he wants Captain Hunnicutt in post-op right away. He’s supposed to cover for him and he’s already 10 minutes late.”

“Hmm. Five more minutes.” 

“But sir-“

“I said five more minutes, Radar. I’ll make it an order if I have too.” 

Radar stared at them with his mouth opened slightly and huffed.

“Oh boy. You’re gonna owe Winchester for this. He’s already on my back as it is and I'm not the one who's late!” 

“Go, Radar. We’ll be there soon. I’ll leave last month’s volleyball nudes under your door for you if you tell Winchester to wait a few more minutes.” Hawk smiled.

“Yes sir!” and Radar was gone seconds later.

Hawk then turned his attention back to BJ. He didn’t have the heart to wake him up. He looked so peaceful curled up in his arms and honestly - it felt nice. 

Sure, Hawk spent the night with many of the nurses on the compound and girls back in his hometown but BJ was different. There was something about another man laying against him, seeking comfort that Hawk was more than willing to provide. He realized that he liked taking care of BJ. 

Hawk ran a hand through BJ’s hair and sighed happily. He could get used to this. For the first time in his life, he wished for more wintery cold nights like this. 

[failedartwhore]

Universal Warning: Chapter 3

“everyday the contents of the universe scream and scream, and sometimes, when it becomes truly unbearable, the universe screams back”

Pairing: Bucky/OC

Warnings: Blood/mentions of torture, medical, abuse, (let me know if there’s more to tag), questionable grammar

The second time she woke up was much more controlled, with the sedation being slowly lifted with Wanda with Bucky at her side; Wanda wasn’t on a mission and it was decided that her soft spoken, calm mannerisms would help prevent the panic of the first time. It was a gradual process, the drugs taking a while to exit her system, so even when she opened her eyes there was a heavy fog settled over her mind, the lights blurring together so she could only see were shapes. One thing she could see was blue; piercing, cutting through the fog, identifying the larger of the dark blurs as the man that had found her. She felt his hand, cradling hers like it was made of glass and might break at any minute. It was grounding, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. When Bucky had noticed she’d began to wake he’d exchanged a quick look with Wanda, trying to convey some of the worry he was feeling, unsure how she’d react to exchanging one clinical space for another. This time there wasn’t a struggle, just the slight flop of her hand as she tried to grip his hand tighter, her bright green eyes unblinking as she opened her mouth, as if to talk. “Here, drink this.” Wanda said holding a cup of water up to the girls mouth, coaxing the straw up to her lips which she willingly accepted; it had been a long time since she’d had the luxury of water. “I’m Wanda, this is Bucky, he was one of the ones that found you.” “Blue.” it was a statement, not a question, her wide eyes boring into Bucky's clear blue ones. “I’m Tal.” the words were gravelly, a combination of dehydration and lack of use – her vocal chords had been removed by the Hydra scientists as a way to keep her quiet, only they would know the last time she was able to push words out of her mouth. She remained mainly silent after this, nodding her and there to signal she was listening as Wanda softly explained things she didn’t fully understand – like where she was – but also mentioning names and information about people that lived in this strange compound, slowly lifting the tension she felt all over her body; the people that had held her before had never talked to her like she was a person, she was just a subject to them. “So I’m going to help you get out of that hospital gown, Bucky if you could step out -” “NO” Tal interrupted, jumping up and clinging on to his hand as if her life depended on it; in her eyes, it did. Bucky’s eyes softened, moving so both his hands engulfed hers; he knew what she was going through all too well – when he first moved into the compound he stuck to Steve’s side like glue. “Hey, sweetheart it’s ok, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right outside the door waiting, then we can get you to somewhere nicer, maybe some fresh air?” She seemed to perk up at the idea of leaving the medbay, slowly releasing the vice like grip she had on his hand – if he wasn’t a super soldier he was sure that it’d bruise. Wanda was starting to help Tal up, in order to get her changed into the stock grey sweatpants that they always had on hand, so Bucky took that as his cue to leave. Turning away from her, he felt all the air leave his lungs as he flashed a smile over his shoulder, momentarily meeting her green stare before the door shut and suddenly he could breathe again. Sliding down the wall until he felt himself hit the floor, he cradled his head in his hands, pushing the long strands of hair out of his face as he took deep breaths; this shouldn’t be taking this much out of him. Sure, there was an uncomfortable parallel between his time in Hydra and hers – they were both experimented on for the amusement of the scientists - but he couldn’t understand the gut deep pull he had towards her. It was a connection he hadn’t felt before, besides the one he had with Steve, and he’d helped a lot of Hydra victims in the time he’d been with the Avengers. This was almost instinctual, like he had to take care of her. It was unnerving – he valued himself on having control over his mind since Wakanda – so this pull towards her, that he couldn’t quite put his finger, had him rattled. Red mist opening the door next to him had him hurrying to his feet, fixing up his hair and plastering, what he considers, a gentle smile on his face as her wide darting eyes fixed on his. Wanda started pushing her wheelchair at a steady pace - though she was awake and moving, her muscles hadn’t fully formed yet - taking the long route to the residential floor in order to point out most frequented areas; both the gyms, the hangar, cafeteria, social rooms - it was hard for Tal to take in so much new information after such along with little, to no stimulation, but she gave a small smile, the odd nod, to show that she was at least hearing what Wanda was saying, even if she wasn’t properly processing it. “Ok so this next bit is Avengers only, only certain people can get in these areas” Wanda explained, walking them through the doors that had automatically opened, into an open living area. “Safe?” Tal asked, eyes darting quickly, taking in as much of the space as possible. Bucky realised she was canvasing exits, but also potential hiding spots, something he used to do obsessively when he first left Hydra. “Yes, safe.” he reassured, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, wincing internally as she flinched, but then allowed the contact. He should have known she’d be jumpy at his touch - they had no idea how long she’d been Hyrda’s plaything for - but he did it almost on instinct. “Birdbrains!” Bucky exclaimed loudly, after noticing Sam and Clint watching something in the lounge area; not quite a shout, to avoid startling Tal, but somehow loud enough for Clint to fall off the back of the sofa. “Oh um hey.” the lean blonde greeted, picking himself up from the floor and walking towards them, offering a wave “I’m Clint, may know me as Hawkeye?” “Tal, um Hawkeye?” she appeared confused at the monica. “She doesn’t know who we are dummy” the slightly larger, dark skinned man said, giving him a playful cuff over the head as he approached her wheelchair “I’m Sam, glad you’re finally up and about.” he went to offer her his hand, but her widened eyes and a subtle head shake from Bucky had him turn it into swooping wave. “Not a toucher, I get it, shoulda seen this guy when he first got here” The playful nudge accompanying his statement had Bucky rolling his eyes and muttering “jerk” but there was no malice in the action. He turned his attention back towards Tal, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, picking at the hem of the grey SHIELD jumper Wanda had put her in. The feeling of clothes was strange to her after so long without, and even then they were nothing like what she was used to, the fibres were slightly constrictive and irritating on her skin. “Did you still want to go outside or did you want to go rest up?” Bucky asked her softly, bending down a little so she could hear. She was taken aback at the question, she was used to having things done to her, without anyone caring what she wanted. “Outside?” she answered quietly, slightly unsure in case it was a test. Sam watched on, clearly amused with how soft and careful Bucky was being with her, compared to the gruff and bristly persona he was used to Bucky having, with everyone except Steve. “Sure doll, lets go.” he said whilst intercepting the handles of her wheelchair from Wanda, leading her away from the group that had begun, thanks to Clint, arguing on about what take outs the group was ordering for dinner. The large, floor length windows split down the middle as they approached, revealing a deck overlooking what could possibly pass as garden connecting the other buildings in the compound. A peaceful expression crossed over her face, the least tense Bucky had seen her since they woke her up, as she tilted her head to feel the sun and take in her surroundings. “I haven’t seen the sun in over 70 years,” she began, speaking softly as she reached out her hand and gave his a soft squeeze. “thank you Mr Bucky.” Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe how Bucky felt upon hearing this, mixed with disgust and anger towards the people that look decades of not just her life, but his as well. He could feel the tension in his jaw, as he ground his teeth together, turning his head and feigning interest in the landing pad so she couldn’t see. He partially blamed himself; he had been in Hydra for around 70 years, yet none of his recovered memories had even suggested at her existence - had he know they could’ve got to her a lot sooner. Maybe that was why he was drawn to her, guilt mixed with their similar circumstances. He was so caught up in these thoughts, his guilt, that he didn’t notice her struggling until it was too late; she had managed to shove herself out of the wheelchair. With almost lightning fast reflexes he managed to catch her before she hit the floor, slowly lowering her into the grass with a concerned look. “Doll you’ve gotta -” the words ��be careful’ died in his throat at the sight before him. The pale pallor had left her skin, leaving behind a healthy glow, a glow that seemed to radiate off her body, seeping into the grass around her. A lyrical, song like giggle broke from her lips as the air seemed to swirl around, picking up her hair and making it dance around her face. The grass, previously a yellowish green from the summer heat, was now a lush green, with small flowers like daisies and clovers appearing before his very eyes, surrounding her body like a silhouette. “What the fuck.” Clint's voice cut through, making him turn away from the spectacle in front of him to see Clint, Wanda and Sam all gawking at Tal and the weird nature show going on around her. Any other comments that he was about to say got shushed with a death promising glare from Bucky, as they all watched on in both awe and confusion. The air hummed, a palpable static in the air, causing all their hair to stand on end as the wind sped up, whipping around as leaves and debris flew up into their faces; Clint and Sam exchanged concerned glances, wondering if they were going to have to intervene somehow. Bright, almost blinding light clouded their vision, glinting off Bucky’s metal arm as shielded his face from it. The light was accompanied by a loud crashing, thunder rolling away from the landing pad to reveal a familiar hunched figure. Tal shot up right like a dart, turning an intense gaze towards him and whispered. “Thor?” “Lillesøster?!?”

A/n

I don’t know if I’ll manage to update on time, I’m working 60hour weeks atm and it’s honestly exhausting

Taglist:  @chipilerendi  @purplekitten30

[writing-royza]

Two Hundred and Fifty-five - Infectious Crying, 3.0

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! It’s been lovely weather this weekend; I enjoyed a beautiful walk through the autumn scenery this morning, just me and my music. It was awesome.

So for this week’s chapter, I know it’s a shortened version of what a military trial should be. Hence why it’s just a hearing, with the two of them having been put in custody to prevent them going on the run. But without writing a full-on novel about it, this is about the closest I can get. At least for now. :P

I do not own FMA.

Two Hundred and Fifty-five - Infectious Crying, 3.0

It was by sheer dumb luck, he knew, that he hadn’t been with her when they came for him. For two weeks following their release from the hospital after the Promised Day, they had each slept alone, knowing that eyes were on them. But for two days, the feeling of those eyes had begun to fade, and Roy had just begun to hope that they could go back to their comfortable, cozy relationship.

The men who arrived at his door after ten o’clock at night, two weeks and three days after his release, had put that hope on hold.

Sitting here in this cell, his hands locked into the wooden stocks commonplace in incarcerating alchemists, it gave him far too much time to think. There were far too many people who could be implicated in this, and he had dragged all of them into what should, by rights, be his mess alone. Breda, Fuery, Catalina, Havoc, Ross, the entirety of his old squad from Ishval, and last, but nowhere near the least… Riza.

Pushing to his feet, he paced agitatedly, teeth gritted and stomach turning backflips out of worry. The squad were probably fine; they had gone to ground the second the dust had settled. With relative anonymity on their side, they would only be found if someone else named names. Havoc was so far removed from the situation when it happened — literally, far — that there was no concrete evidence linking him or his family. Roy took a second to thank the other man for his foresight to use in alias in moving the arms shipments.

Catalina’s records had been fixed to say she was in East City at the time; her face wasn’t known in Central at all, either, so she would be fine. Ross could always flee back to Xing, or hide behind Armstrong’s massive figure, along with her Sergeant. Breda and Fuery were in a little more danger — they were deserters in addition to coup conspirators and combatants. But Riza….

He had heard the military police radios during the scuffle. Both he and Riza — The Flame Alchemist, and the Hawk’s Eye — had been specifically named. And knowing that, he was going to have to spin a very carefully-worded web if he wanted at least her to make it out of this.

---------------

The second he saw her outside the courthouse, his heart soared… but only for an instant. Her hair was loose, the fall of it hiding the back of her neck and the edge of the tattoo that would be visible from the loose prison-issue shirt. And those clothes sent his moment of elation plummeting down into the dust at his feet.

...Not her, too….

Riza had time for only a brief second of meeting his gaze – her brown eyes wide with surprise and instantly worried – before the guard at either of her elbows turned her toward the door and ushered her through.

The instant they were close enough to speak without too many people overhearing, Roy wasted no time. “Trying out a Spirits’ Night costume already, Lieutenant?”

“Only on the suggestion of the military police, sir.” Her tone was cool and unperturbed, though her eyes moved watchfully from place to place. “Though for this party, your outfit and mine match. We’ll both have to change.”

The casually concealed optimism nearly made him smile; she believed they would both come out of this. Hopefully she was right.

The courtroom they were shown to was not overly full, but very few of the faces were unfamiliar. Armstrong sat near the front, uniformed and paying close attention, with his sister in the row behind him. Behind her were the four men of Roy’s staff, all either staring in shock at their leaders in prison uniforms and shackles, or blank-faced as they kept their emotions under rigid control.

They did not have to wait long before the bailiff called for the entrance of the judge.

“Be seated,” the lean, beak-nosed man said, settling behind the bench. “Let’s not waste time here. The purpose of this hearing is to determine whether Colonel Roy Mustang and First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye should stand trial for the actions they took during the Battle of Central City two weeks ago.” He looked up over his spectacles at the pair standing in the defendant’s box. “Have you been told what the charges against you are?”

“No, sir,” Roy answered. In his peripheral, he saw Riza shake her head.

“As it stands, the charges being brought toward you today are as follows.” He consulted a short list. “Assault, assault with a deadly weapon, resisting arrest, destruction of government property, kidnapping, conspiracy to commit treason, and treason.” He looked up. “How do you plead?”

This time, Riza was the first to speak. “Not guilty, by reason of preserving national security.”

Muttering broke out in the gallery, but not enough for the judge to use his gavel. Eyebrows lowered over the spectacles as he stared hard at her for a moment. “Your plea is an unfamiliar one, Lieutenant. I’ll have to ask you to clarify.”

“Of course, sir. What I mean to say is that, depending on the charge, we may or may not have committed the alleged action in defense of national security, against a threat posed by a malevolent force.”

Roy had to consciously clamp down on a smile. Trust Riza to explain herself without truly explaining herself. It was a piece of double-talk worthy of the Madame herself; and of course, she had been the one to instruct Riza in just such an art.

With a sigh, the judge removed his glasses and sat back in his chair. “I can see we’re going to need to go through this very carefully. Let’s start with the assault charges: where do you stand in those?”

“At the time we we attacked,” Roy explained, “we had received intelligence that the Central City forces were under the command of a corrupt High Council, as you will recall, was testified by Major-General Armstrong at her hearing last week. Any attack made on them by myself, the Lieutenant, or our team was either in defense or pacification.” He made sure to meet the judge’s gaze. “No man attacked by team was killed, even if he was declared an enemy.”

After a moment of jotting down a brief note, the judge nodded. “Very well. And the charge of resisting arrest?”

Riza frowned. “Pardon my ignorance, Your Honour, but this is for defying the men who attempted to assassinate our group along with First Lady Bradley?”

The judge’s mouth twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile. “I will count that as your explanation, Lieutenant. While you’re on the topic, would you care to address the charge of kidnapping in relation to First Lady Bradley?”

“The alleged kidnapping was protective custody,” Riza stated clearly, standing just a little straighter. “We didn’t know how close the security detail was to the conspirators against the Presidency, and so we incapacitated them and took over her protective detail ourselves. Unfortunately, for her own safety, we had to keep her in the dark on the situation a good amount of the time.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, continuing to take notes, the judge didn’t look up. “To the charge of destruction of government property?”

“Collateral damage in the battle that followed.” Roy hesitated only briefly before adding “And if I may be so bold, Your Honour, considering the vast amount of damage caused by the entity known as ‘Father,’ who can tell what we destroyed among everything else?

Again, there was just a hint of a smile. “A fair point, I’ll grant you, Colonel.” Any trace of humour. “Last, but certainly not least, is the Court to assume, on the treason-related charges, that you were working to expose and bring down the alleged corruption in the military High Command?”

The answer of “Yes, Your Honour” from both soldiers echoed in the sudden silence of the courtroom.

Reviewing his notes for a moment, the judge removed his glasses, setting the on the bench. “Ordinarily, on such serious charges as this, I would have no recourse to but to give you both the most severe sentence possible. But I think we can all agree that the circumstances surrounding this hearing are by no means ordinary.”

Looking up, he folded his hands on the bench, looking from Colonel to Lieutenant and back again. “In light of the recent acquittal of Major-General Olivier Armstrong, who, I might add, faced a few more serious charges than the two of you, I feel I must take your explanations of your actions to heart and factor them into my judgement.

“Colonel Roy Mustang; First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye: on all charges being brought against you at this time, the National Court of Amestris finds you both not guilty, by reason of the preservation of national security.”

The bang of a gavel made it so.

---------------

They were placed in a courthouse holding cell, awaiting transfer back to jail for processing out and collecting their effects. Leaning back against the wall, Riza sank down to a seat on the floor, breathing a literal sigh of relief. “Never in a million years,” she murmured, eyes closing, “did I think I’d be going home today.”

Roy smiled. “Really? You seemed pretty confident just before the hearing started.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

He opened his mouth to make a smart remark… and closed it again as he saw the pair of tears seep from under her closed eyelids to fall down her cheeks. “...Hey….” He moved to crouch in front of her, unable to give her a comforting hug because his bindings. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s all right; we’re cleared.”

“I know.” Her eyes opened, and she smiled despite the moisture still brimming at the edges. “I just…. I kept  thinking what I would do if we weren’t exonerated…. If I was….” Her lips silently mouthed the words ‘without you.’

Roy grinned, the smile he knew could out her most at ease. ‘Not a chance,’ he mouthed back.

At last, Riza’s smile was genuine. She leaned forward, her own shackles preventing her from hugging him, but content just to lean her forehead against his shoulder. “Time to get back to normal, I guess,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. About time, too.”

He didn’t let her see the single tear of relief that rolled down the side of his face. Relief that, for the first time in far too long, they were both as free as they were ever likely to be again.

[writemarvelousthings]

Ride With Me (Part 12)

PAIRING: readerxbuckybarnes au

WORD COUNT: 2.0K

WARNINGS: swearing, 

*The arrival of Commander Coulson to pull apart the butting gangs unravels secrets unknown to (Y/N) that change everything, completely.  

Previous Chapter 

Well, this has taken me a while, sorry about that. Life got a bit crazy then I have writer's block for a while. But I pushed on through and decided to finish this chapter because I needed a good distraction from today. 

Gif Not Mine 

Friday nights were the busiest nights for Hawkeyes and add onto the little fact that it was St Patrick’s Day it was all hands on deck behind the bar. Even though you had been working flat out for four hours and your feet could do with a good hot soak you were happy for the distraction. Not to mention your friends had claimed the end of the bar as their own so you could listen to their conversation and chip in with your own thoughts.

“I never knew you had Irish roots Steve” Wanda laughed as she cleared away their dirty glasses, you and Sharon were busy stocking up the bar with new bottles of spirits while Luis, Clint, and Darcy were busy serving the ever coming on slaughter of customers.  

“They are faint but Ma’s family are all still over here, St Patrick’s Day is always a big celebration” Steve grinned holding up his beer glass.

“I think Clint could have toned it down with the decorations” you wafted the stray green paper streamer out of your way as you collected the empty spirit bottles to discard in the bin.

“Not a fan of the color green?” Natasha smirked at you as you tore away a cardboard cut out of a leprechaun blocking the bin.

“Not really, it always reminds me of being angry” you screw your nose up slightly.

“I thought that was the color red?” Sharon looked confused at you as she handed Sam another whiskey.

“No, not red. Red’s my favorite colour...reminds me of lust” you grin cheekily to Bucky as Sam and Steve's wolf whistles.

“Damn (Y/N) as if we need another thing to boost his ego” Sam chortled throwing an arm over Natasha who laughed along with him. You shook your head still giggling as you moved up the bar slightly. There seemed to be a lull in customers ordering drinks so you took this small opportunity to wipe down the slightly sticking counter surface.

“Red equals lust huh doll?” Bucky slid up to you grinning slightly. You pursed your lips in amusement.

“Please, like you didn’t already know” you flicked him with the damp cloth slightly earning a surprised yelp.

“You never fail to surprise me (Y/N)” Bucky chuckled as you threw the rag into the sink behind you. Turning back around you caught him looking down at a certain part of you.

“Enjoying yourself there Buck?” you raised an eyebrow as he smiled shamelessly.

“Can’t a guy just enjoy the view his is given” Bucky grinned wolfishly as he leaned across the bar; you smirked shifting your weight onto your toes as you drew your face closer to his.

“I think you more than enjoyed the view last night” you both smirked at the memory of him waking you up in the middle of the night for a snack. Even though he never set foot in the kitchen at all.

“Get a room you two” Sam hollered.

“Bite me, Wilson,” you snapped earning a few cat calls from other bar patriots

“No that’s Bucky’s job” Natasha grinned wickedly at you as her comment earned a louder uproar.

“And here I thought we were going to have civil company tonight” the cool deep accented voice chilled your bones as you looked over to Schmitt, he stood with the strength of his crew behind him.

“Such hostile faces on such a night of festivities” Schmitt tutted softly as Hela winked at you from behind him.

“I thought I made myself clear the last time you were here you bastard” Bucky growled standing up to face Schmitt.

“Back off Bucky” Hela spat, she reminded you of a snappy little terrier protecting its master. You swore you heard Bucky emit a deep growl at the woman.

“Don’t get me started with you, don’t think I haven’t forgotten what you did you (Y/N) and Wanda’s place”

“Oh you can hardly pin that on her love, it could have been someone completely different” Amora’s smooth voice purred from next to Sam, who looked down at her like he had stepped in something he shouldn’t have.  

“I think it was pretty fucking obvious to me” you seethed marched around the bar, ready to fight tooth and nail if you had to. Bucky shot out his arm before you could get any further. The tension had raised sky high between the two gangs, each of eyeing off the other waiting for the signal to pounce.

“Let’s everyone just calm down, such things should not be said frivolously.” Schmitt stared down at you hard but you refused to look away.

“Let’s get one thing straight Schmitt, I don’t have time for your little rats running under my feet. I will stomp out every single one until your scurrying back the damp dark shit hole from where you came.  

“Is that any way to speak to an old friend Barnes” you couldn’t stop yourself from looking up at the back of Bucky’s head. Or noticing the feelings between the two groups shift significantly. Before you could question him the bar doors opened storming in Peggy with two unfamiliar men.

“Commander Coulson, Lieutenant Carter. Sergeant Ward what a pleasure it is” Schmitt smiled at them like old friends.

“Cut the crap Schmitt, you’re lucky we’re not throwing you in jail right this second” The older man strolled up to the German; as if he was oblivious to the dangerous situation he was walking into.  

“Calling back up Barton, how weak” Rumlow sneered at the blonde, leaning against his office doorframe.

“I didn’t want to redecorate again, sue me,” Clint snapped crossing his arms over his chest.

“Gentleman that’s enough” Peggy cut through them.

“Everyone clear out now, Order of NYC Police force.” The younger man ordered everyone in the bar, their attention now focused on the two bike groups stood head to head at the bar. You stood frozen behind Bucky, your heart beating fast as your stomach churned. Something wasn’t right you could feel it.  Soon only the gang members were left in the bar along with the three police members, you could only image there were more stood just outside the bar.

“So are you here to arrest us Coulson?” the older man, Coulson just smiled slightly.

“Unfortunately not today, you and your friends better clear out of here before I let my partner here show you what good clean punishment really looks like” Schmitt’s eyes flicked towards Peggy who all but smirked at the man. With a subtle raise of the brow, the Red Skulls backed off, not before Hela sent you a mock kiss. You felt your body fill with rage at the smug look on her face. The rest of your friends were left to watch as The Red Skulls sauntered off out of Hawkeyes.

“You better have a good reason for this Coulson” Bucky growled at the older man.

“I suggested you stand down Barnes, were not here for you this time” Coulson gave Bucky a stare that could rival his own.

“I’m sorry Bucky, but it’s (Y/N)” you felt your stomach drop at the soft tone of Peggy’s voice.

“No” Bucky’s voice was final, he shifted in front of you. Placing his entire body before your blocking you from Coulson.

“We don’t have a choice Barnes, orders from above” Ward moved a step closer towards the pair of you.

“If you even think about touching her” Bucky’s voice was deep and laced with danger.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. You always knew this was coming” Peggy walked calmly towards the pair of you. You could feel your heart racing in your chest what did the police want with you. Why was Bucky so adamant that you shouldn’t go with them. The thoughts spun through your head like a carousel, you watched as Bucky turned to you. Crouching down slightly he whispered faintly in your ear.

“Whatever they tell you, whatever they show you. Remember I love you (Y/N)” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, you could barely look back at him as Peggy whisked you away and into the police car outside to register the back that Bucky had told you he loved you for the first time. You were halfway down the road when you realized the look of fear and pure terror in his eyes as he watched you be pulled from him.

“How well do you know Mr. Barnes” you swallowed the urge to scream at Coulson. You have been trapped in the interrogation room for what seemed like hours now. Peggy had stayed with you until the movement Coulson pulled you into the dark cramped room.

“Pretty well considering we live together” you watched Coulson and Ward share a look.

“Did you know he use to date Helena Laufeyson” Ward started to sift through the files before him.

“I did, she trashed my home not three days ago.”

“She did?” Ward’s interest perked at this as you scowled at him.

“Look I’m sorry but I don’t understand why I’m here? I don’t know anything about the Red Skulls” You shifted in your seat eager to get back to Bucky.

“Really because I think you use to know one of them quite well” Coulson gently placed a photograph in front of you. The sharp tingling sensation ran through your body as the blood rushed to your ears. It was Jeremy.

“You honestly didn’t know?” Ward gave you a suspicious look, you were sure all color had drained from your cheeks as the urge to be sick churned in your stomach.

“He never really talked about it, I knew it must have been something dodgy but never….” you trailed off, your fingers brushing the smooth paper. He was straddling his motorbike, the one he would take you on away on day trips. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat as he was photographed with Amora and Rumlow. Rumlow looked like he was in the middle of slapping him on the back in a very friendly and familiar way as Amora laughed. Her blonde hair catching the sunlight.

“Miss (Y/L/N) I know this must be very difficult to process…”

“But it seems like you know more than one ex-member of The Red Skulls” Ward cut Coulson off throwing another photo in front of you. It was like someone had pulled the chair right out from underneath you.

“No” you felt your throat tighten at the familiar faces, the two men were stood side by side. The photograph was obviously taken at a distance by you identified the two men instantly, Jeremy… and Bucky.

“Before he was known as Bucky, he used to go by the name James Buchanan Barnes. I think you’ll find the name familiar” blinking through the tears you looked down at the sheet of paper before you. It was a list, a list of witnesses to attend a court hearing for the investigation of suspected murder of Jeremy (Y/N/L). With the first character witness being a Mr. James Buchanan Barnes, listed as failing to attend court.

“There was no evidence he was even there when your brother was killed, his death was declared an accident….as you are aware of” Coulson cleared his throat awkwardly. That’s why the name Barnes was familiar; you had seen it two years ago when you were sitting in that courtroom. Before you ran away to Chicago, that’s why Clint was so concerned as to your return. Why Hela had more than just a jealous ex-girlfriend vendetta towards you. Schmitt’s comment in the bar…

“Is that any way to speak to an old friend Barnes”

You could feel the rage pouring out from you, at everyone keeping this from you. At yourself for not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. This whole time James or Bucky, or whoever the fuck he called himself had been playing you like a damn fool.

Next Chapter

Tag List: @assembletheimagines @capsbuchanan @cassandras-musings @loricameback @ho-ne-y @diving-down-to-wonderland @jasura @cry-me-a-fkin-river @fanfic-for-days @wolfgamzee @tired-alpaca @hamil-scribbles @siobhanrebecca @tft-imagines @the-craziestone @urwarriorangel @bemself123 @seninjakitey @coley0823 @courtneychicken @the-amaranthine @sub-miss-me @skeletoresinthebasement  @amrita31199 @flodderien @tatortot2701

[surviveuk]

New Post has been published on https://www.surviveuk.com/survival-blog/beginners-guide-to-bow-sports/

Beginners Guide To Bow Sports

Beginners Guide To Bow Sports

*This article was submitted as a guest publication by an outside source.*

So before I start this article I have to confess, I’m not a true prepper, I don’t have a plan for when the SHTF, I don’t have a survival cache, bug-out-bag or anything like that, I’ve not planned and prepared for what may come. So why have I been invited to write this article you ask? Well, I like to shoot, I’m a keen archer and I’ve several bows lying around my house and if you’re the kind of person I think you are and you want to be prepared to defend yourself and survive in the event of a serious societal collapse, I’m going to tell you why you should think about joining an archery club and learning how to use a bow.

  There’s a lot you can do with the bow that you probably didn’t realise. It’s a great tool for sport but also survival. Over in the US bow-hunting is a big thing, not so much in the UK since the practice was prohibited in 1965 but nevertheless the US following shows the effectiveness of a bow as a tool for hunting, from small rodents to and larger game and even fish. Bows can be fitted with bow fishing reels and arrows with barbed points and used to catch fish should you find clear enough water to line up a shot. Besides those things though, one of the most important things I think you can do with a bows and arrows for survival is make then! If I lost my bow or was out of ammunition, given time I could make replacements myself without any complex infrastructure to support me.

  Bowsports are also family friendly, when my son grows up I’m going to take him to the local archery club and teach him how to shoot a bow. I can probably start doing this when he’s about 3 or 4, I’m hoping he enjoys the experience and thinks it’s cool but you just never know with children, although boys tend to like swords and guns and all sorts of weapons and there are male and female hollywood role models who use a bow (Hawkeye, Katniss Everdeen etc) so I’m hopeful. I aim to give him a skill that he can take through life that I think is more useful than just being a sport he does. Also take my wife, she doesn’t currently shoot, but she isn’t as averse to me and won’t be frightened of her son shooting a bow regularly, but I’m sure she would think differently if we were off learning to knife fight or flying to Budapest to shoot pistols and semi-automatics at a range.

  Now you know why I think bows are a good choice, I could give you more reasons but that could turn into a whole article in itself, instead let’s go through the types of bows you can find on offer today. If you want to know more about the different types and styles of bows available take a look at this article on bow types.

  Traditional Bows

D-shaped bows include old english longbows, american flatbows, these are normally bows made from one piece of wood that don’t have stabilisers or sights. They’re the type of bow you’d make yourself from raw materials. You wouldn’t normally learn with something like this as they are not so widely available and customizable as the next choice.

  Recurve Bow

Recurve bows are the bows that should interest you as a novice, this type of bow is the one they shoot at the Olympics. It curves round in the usual D shape but then re-curves back away from the archer at the tips which is how it gets the name. Recurve bows can be broken down into to pieces (takedown bows) and carried in a case or rucksack. Maybe not THE most portable bow in the world but certainly not the least.

  Survival Bows

A survival bow is a light, compact, usually folding version of usually a D-shaped bow. Survival bows sometimes come with collapsible arrows and always are made to be easily portable and quick to assemble and modern engineering ensures they can also be pretty powerful. This as the name suggests is a the bow designed for a prepper or survivalist. But if I didn’t know how to shoot I’d still start with a recurve first and learn my technique.

  Compound Bow

A compound bow is a bow with wheels or ‘cams’ at either end of the limbs, these cams compound the force of the string on the arrow when you release (hence the name) and a compound bow allows you to hold and aim for longer than a recurve. You might only be pulling back and holding 20 lbs, but when you release you’d get the power of 30-40 lbs acting on the arrow. Compound bows are great and a modern upgrade to the recurve, however as a prepper I wouldn’t have one as my first choice. They are bulkier, harder to maintain, harder to string and don’t normally breakdown for easy storage and transport.

  Crossbow / Compound Crossbow / Pistol Crossbow

Everyone who’s watched the walking dead has seen Daryl and his crossbow, and I’m sure you know that a crossbow is just a bow mounted on a stock with a mechanism for holding back the string which is released with a trigger to shoot the bolt (it’s not an arrow in the crossbow world). You shoot a crossbow like a rifle, you can get compound versions and non-compound versions and you can even get pistol crossbows which are designed to be held and shot with one hand. If anything ever goes wrong with Daryl’s crossbow I don’t see how he’s going to maintain it very easily, he’s certainly not going to make himself another and there’s less skill and fun to be had in shooting one of these than with a recurve if you ask me. There are models of folding survival crossbows, but they don’t fold down as compactly as a survival bow.

  When you look into bow sports you’d be surprised at how many different disciplines are on offer. There’s field archery, 3D archery, flight, clout, ski, run, even a martial art dedicated to the bow (Kyudo). Lots of choice and variety, but you nearly always start with Target archery, either indoors or outdoors which is the discipline that everyone knows. Standing and shooting at a target with a yellow bulls eye, it’s what the Olympians do.

  Here’s a very quick introduction to all those types. Field archery is target archery practised on a course with different elevations and distances involved, 3D is similar to field with targets that resemble animals like Deer or Rabbit. Flight archery is the skill of shooting an arrow as far as possible. Clout is basically golf for archers where the aim of the game is to land your arrow as close to the flag as possible. Ski and run are basically forms of the biathlon with bows instead of guns. Outdoor Olympic archery is ONLY the recurve bow and they shoot at a target 70m away. Indoor competitive archery on the other hand is shot at a target only 18m away.

  That’s a brief introduction to the sport, different bows and their disciplines. There are also many different types of arrows to support those bows and disciplines, but in the next article I’ll take you through some more practical information on actually purchasing a bow and what bits and bobs you need.

  *This article was submitted as a guest publication by an outside source.*

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #222: A Gathering of Evil!

August, 1982

You know, I haven’t really thought about how long its been since the Avengers have dealt with the Masters of Evil.

The Masters are the Avengers’ evil opposite team. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants to their X-Men. The Legion of Doom to their Justice League. The Revengers to their Avengers.

But the Avengers haven’t had to deal with the Masters of Evil since Avengers #83. And in that appearance, they took a backseat to the real master of evil. FEMINISM.

At least according to Roy Thomas.

But yeah. Its been a while without the Masters of Evil. And, uh, any team with Whirlwind has a long way to climb for credibility. Yeah, I said it. He doesn’t wear a shirt.

Also, they put She-Hulk in her at-the-time Iconic She-Hulk Outfit. This is another case of the cover lying. The reality is, somehow, even more embarrassing for her.

Last time: the Avengers had a membership drive because you can only be a kooky quartet for so long. She-Hulk and Hawkeye were recruited and took an instant dislike to each other.

Because She-Hulk cut off Hawkeye in traffic and Hawkeye proportionately responded by breaking her car.

Fun!

So lets get to it.

We start with She-Hulk trying to fix her car.

Annnnd she’s throwing random pieces out of the hood. I don’t think she knows much about auto-repair.

When the electrical system zaps her, she gets so angry that she smashes the car flat like she’s a Street Fighter. Then she jams the wreckage into a public trashcan - also flattening that.

Alas, She-Hulk’s pink Cadillac. You graced our lives for far too short a time. And were taken from us by that heinous bowman Hawkeye. This is the sin which I will always hold against him.

Wasp rolls into the scene, tsking about She-Hulk’s behavior being bad for the Avengers’ image. And hey, yeah! I do like that She-Hulk trying to fix a car in front of the mansion before getting fed-up and breaking it is a good indication that she’s not going to be your typical Avenger.

But despite the tsk she’s not too serious about the admonishment. She even congratulates She-Hulk on getting rid of the car, as it clashed with her skin color.

Reasonably enough, She-Hulk asks who made Wasp the expert.

Except, Wasp did. Wasp made Wasp an expert. She’s literally a professional fashion designer. But relatedly, she’s designed a whole new wardrobe for She-Hulk and can’t wait to dress her up.

I kind of wonder if Wasp views new female teammates as potential canvasses.

Later on, in the Busiek run, she’ll design a new outfit for Firestar pretty much without any input from Firestar herself. And it had an incredibly plunging neckline that Firestar was very uncomfortable with.

If Wasp offers to fashion design for you, feel flattered and a little bit afraid.

Anyway, She-Hulk decides well might be nice to try on a bunch of new clothes.

Y’know, She-Hulk is a bit of a fashion person herself. In her original solo book she started the ‘oops I flexed and my sleeves fell off’ fashion.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Tony Stark at Stark International.

Big boss himself came down to the Long Island office because one of his programmers has asked for time off.

Brenner’s son is sick and he needs to pick him up from school. BUT: he’s in the middle of a complicated computer project!

Like the idealized fictional caring billionaire that he is, Tony is completely understanding.

Tony Stark, what a guy: “Well, your son is more important than any computer program, take the rest of the day off -- with pay.”

If you end up stuck in the Marvel universe somehow, see about swinging a job with Tony Stark. Tony Stark makes you feel/he’s the cool exec with the heart of steel.

Tony decides he’ll get Ordinary Electrical Engineer Scott Lang to finish the programming work.

Ordinary Electrical Engineer Scott Lang is happy to pick up the project but since Tony Stark is in the room anyway, Scott asks if Iron Man has mentioned any news of Hank Pym.

For you see, although you might think that this Scott Lang is an Ordinary Electrical Engineer, he is actually the new Ant-Man so he feels indebted to Hank Pym.

Tony responds that there hasn’t been any news since Hank Pym went to jail so Scott asks why the Avengers haven’t done anything for him. Tony claims that there’s not a lot that the Avengers can do for him until his case comes to trial.

You could hire him a good lawyer? Or pay for that therapy that you thought he needed?

I guess I don’t know that Tony isn’t doing these things off-screen, to be fair.

Tony further claims that Hank will do fiiiine in jail, because he’s tough. Scott remains dubious since he’s actually been to jail and knows what its like. But there’s only so much you can contradict the boss, even if he’s idealized fictional caring billionaire Tony Stark.

And anyway, Tony has other things on his mind. He’s more worried about Jan than he is about Hank. She’s way too well-adjusted for having gotten divorced after her marriage turned miserable. According to Tony Stark anyway.

Of course, his major misunderstanding is that he thinks “she had [Hank] to lean on for so many years” when it was more the other way around. The Jan he thought he knew was actually playing the role of the Hank Pym Hype Squad.

Meanwhile, we check in on Steve Rogers.

One thing I appreciate about this run of Avengers is that we have more of a sense of what the Avengers are doing when not Avengersing. The Avengers book feels a lot more keyed into the rest of the related Marvel universe.

For example, Steve actually got some art jobs! It looks like comics book actually! And he does art for advertisements too!

And he’s living that glamorous artist life of staying up all night to finish pages and then going ‘oh shit my day job’ when his alarm rings for the Avengers meeting.

Although he’s actually looking forward to getting the costume on and getting away from dealing with ad executives and art editors for a while.A good ol’ several hours in the Avengers gym will help work out the art desk bad posture knots out of his shoulders.

And elsewhere in Chicago, Illinois, where Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake has moved to attempt to make a life for himself separate from Thor. He’s doubtful whether he actually can.

I sorta wonder what the status quo in the Thor books is like because usually when Dr. Donald Blake shows up in the Avengers book, he’s been like a wandering expert doctor, just passing through. Showing up to do the tough medical jobs. He’s settling down in Chicago now.

But at least the thousand mile commute to the weekly Avengers meeting is no problem for THOR!

Now that Hawkeye is on the Avengers again, he’s part of the round of checking in. He’s clocking out of the security chief job at Cross Technological Enterprises. His colleagues all envying how he gets to set his own hours.

He takes a train from Yonkers to his new Central Park West apartment. I don’t know if you remember his living conditions before he got the job at Cross Technological but it was a bit suck. He’s definitely put his steady paycheck to use improving his digs.

Old (from issue #189):

New (from issue #this issue):

Although maybe too much. Because when he gets home he realizes that he has almost no food in his apartment and also no money until payday.

Hawkeye: “Where the heck does $1200 a week go, anyway? I don’t play Pac-Man that much! There was more change in my pocket in the old carny days!”

Psst, Hawkeye. Definitely sign up for the stipend check from Stark.

Another thousand a week will go a long way to keeping you living the can afford food standard of living you’re accustomed to.

He manages to find a bag of potato chips to snack on but decides he’ll have to see if he can find an actual square meal at Avengers Mansion.

Likely. Jarvis seems the sort to keep the fridge well-stocked and heck he’d probably make something if asked.

Anyway, Hawkeye being Hawkeye, he’s not going to take the elevator or stairs. He’s definitely going to fire a cable arrow so he can swing down from his balcony. Because, of course he is. He’s Hawkeye.

And he lands right in front of a taxi, the driver of which calls him a nut

Hawkeye: “You want a star in your cab or not?”

Turns out? No. Hawkeye has to walk to Avengers Mansion and arrives late because the cabbie won’t give him a free ride.

Meanwhile at Avengers Mansion (which fails to elicit the same kneejerk emotional response as ‘meanwhile at the HALL of JUSTICE’ from me), the She-Hulk clothing montage has occurred off-screen.

For shaaaame, James Shooter. And also Steven Grant.

She-Hulk isn’t so sure about the outfit Wasp put together for her.

Wasp: “I call it Arabian Night -- a blend of suppleness, strength and sensitivity to highlight your true nature!”

She-Hulk: “Don’t you think it’s a little... unusual?”

Wasp: “You’re an unusual woman, Jennifer! Your clothes should say that! We want a complete image that’ll drive me wild at the sight of you!”

She-Hulk: “Got anything that’ll drive that jerk Hawkeye one way to oblivion?”

I don’t know if fashion can do that but if anyone could design that, Wasp could. Her or Giger.

Wasp tries to defend Hawkeye but can only manage “he’s okay, just a little... um, well, you know!” but suggests that She-Hulk just be nice to Hawkeye to throw him off.

Which. Sounds like a funny idea.

Anyway, I like the outfit. The colors work for her. And maybe it’s because there are a couple Dragon Ball outfits like this but it feels appropriate for her. Because of the punching.

Iron Man comes in and goes ga-ga multiple punctuation over She-Hulk’s new look, which I guess proves that Wasp hit where she was aiming.

Wasp: “Oh, more flattery! More! I love it! And this is just the beginning. Wait until you see the fighting togs I’m designing for her!”

So I guess that this is just an outfit to look good in and Wasp is still working on the superhero outfit. Can’t wait to see it.

Captain America and Thor come in and Thor too praises She-Hulk’s new look.

Thor: “By Odin’s beard! What emerald beauty stands before us?”

They date later. Its one of those ‘wow expected this to happen way sooner than 2018 honestly’ things.

And then Hawkeye comes in.

He also loses his shit over She-Hulk’s new look. But in more of a Hawkeye way.

Hawkeye: “Waitaminit! Is it Cheryl Tiegs? Loni Anderson? No! It’s the new fashion plate -- the Savage She-Hulk! Talk about trying to get silk purses from sow’s ears!”

You’re a rude, Hawkeye.

She-Hulk storms towards him, offended, and just lifts him bodily.

And kisses him.

Then drops his ass on the ground.

I guessss remembering and putting her own spin on Wasp’s suggestion?

People need to stop kissing each other for spite and revenge reasons, honestly.

I do get a laugh at Hawkwye demanding a rematch. Can’t imagine what form that’d take. But its funny.

I kind of have a problem with the scene, beyond the people kissing each other for spite and revenge thing. Prior to joining the Avengers, the issue where She-Hulk got her pink Cadillac was Marvel Two-In-One #88 where she spent nearly the entire issue hitting on the Thing to his discomfort. And the joke was Ha Ha Sexually Assertive Women.

I really hope that we do not have that again.

Anyway, the other Avengers get some yuks over She-Hulk’s method of shutting up Hawkeye.

Iron Man even suggests that Hawkeye and She-Hulk have just had their first date to Hawkeye’s dismay.

Seriously, someone write an Avengers code of conduct and then create an HR department.

MEANWHILE, CHANGING THE TOPIC AND THE SCENE

In Egghead’s secret Manhattan laboratory.

Egghead: “No, it’s not fair! All I ever wanted was to rule the world -- is that so much to ask? I’m 52. That doesn’t give me many years left -- that idiot Henry Pym blew what may have been my last chance!”

Hah at Egghead having a baby tantrum over being thwarted. And I guess good to know that Hank screwing up the plan by calling the Avengers did screw over more than Hank Pym.

Hank may have saved the world, actually. Good job, Hank.

Egghead laments that he wishes he had another good plan but kind of put all the eggs, hah, in the unstoppable adamantium robots basket.

And then his sexy maid Anna chimes in with a suggestion.

Wait, why does Egghead of all villains have a sexy maid? Who seems to have a crush on him? Why is this a thing? Who in or out of universe looks at Egghead and thinks ‘yes this man is a sexual dynamo’?

Eh, whatever.

Anna: “Vhy don’t choo just buy the vorld, darlkink?”

Egghead: “Anna! Vhat... er, what did you say?”

Anna: “You should make a lot ov money und buy the vorld!”

Egghead: “Work?! Disgusting!”

This is probably the only time I will ever be able to say this but I agree with Egghead.

Anna: “No, no, no! Just invent somethink that everyvun vants -- a cure for baldness, mebbe... or eternal youth!”

Egghead: “That’s silly, Anna! Or is it?”

IT IN FACT WASN’T!

Egghead suddenly stands up, dumping sexy maid Anna to the floor, as he realizes that she’s right! If Egghead could invent cell rejuvenation to give people eternal youth, the world would be his oyster! People would give anything for it!

Granted, he has no idea how to invent cell rejuvenation but that’s tomorrow’s problem. Today’s problem is the logistics. He’ll need research, money, equipment and most importantly of all lackeys to steal all that stuff for him so he won’t have to Effort!

So moments later, Egghead signals a robot spy capsule that he has monitoring Atlantis at all times just because.

Egghead’s spy capsule launches a guided missile at an Atlantean prison, busting out someone mysterious unless you happened to glance at the cover.

And we go from one prison to another prison to pop in on Hank Pym at Ryker’s Island.

Ryker’s is apparently the go-to supervillain prison.

And whoops Hank Pym is one now, at least according to the law. What with being caught with all that stolen adamantium and the mind control prosthetic arm.

Hank Pym: “It just doesn’t make sense! All I tried to do was redeem myself, but things just got out of control! Egghead’s responsible for this! He committed the crime I’m accused of -- and made sure I can’t prove it! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

Probably because you did do the crime and were caught in the act and you wouldn’t explain yourself fully afterward. Just saying.

Hank Pym: “Jan! That’s where it all went wrong! If I could get her back, everything would work out! I know it!”

Hank Hank Hank... You’re suddenly a romantic.

A guard yells at Hank that its food time and then further yells that his son had looked up to Hank, which causes Hank to reflect whoops he let down more than just Jan and the Avengers.

When Hank sits down to eat prison chow, he’s accosted by Dave Cannon aka WHIRLWIND aka I guess Hank’s backup archnemesis?

Hank isn’t really spoiled for choice with good archnemeses so he either has Egghead or spin around real fast man.

At least Dave Cannon aka Whirlwind is trying to go for the personal lowblow. That’s a decent, if gross, archnemesis move.

He insinuates that hey if Jan divorced Hank that means Dave has a chance with her and he’s going to visit her as soon as he jailbreaks out of here today.

I’m sure he does have a chance. Like a snowball’s in hell, maybe.

Hank tells Dave to shut up because shut up, Dave.

But Dave ups the ante by suggesting that after Hank Pym gets out of jail in maybe ten or twenty years, he and Jan will hire Hank to be their chauffeur.

So Hank smashes a tray of food in Dave’s face because shut up, Dave.

He also starts punching him because in for a penny.

And because Hank totally started that ‘fight’ the guards haul Hank off for a month in solitary.

You wouldn’t think Hank’s life could get worse in every issue he appears in but you would be wrong.

And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as Hank is out of the room, the jailbreak starts without him.

He doesn’t even get to participate in activities now! Geez, Dave Cannon! You’re ruining prison for Hank.

Anyway, the mysterious figure from the Atlantis jailbreak scene is now jailbreaking Ryker’s and iiiiiits TIGER SHARK!

A guy I know almost nothing about!

-google- Ah, Namor foe. That explains him being a shark man.

He used to be an Olympic swimmer who injured his spinal cord when he rescued a drowning man. So a pretty good guy, starting off. Then to heal his spine he participated in an experimental procedure where Namor and tiger shark DNA was blended with his own and he became a shark man and an asshole.

I think that’s the Namor DNA personally. It makes people into jerks. And Namor is 100% Namor DNA so you can imagine what a jerk he is.

I’ve gotten lost in the weeds.

Tiger Shark busts in through a supposedly impregnable prison wall. The guards try to shoot him with ‘special weapons’ but Tiger Shark thwarts them with a special weapon of his own.

A TABLE!

Which he uses to block the shots and then hit them with.

They were fools to put their faith in high-falutin’ technology when they could have been investing in low-falutin’ carpentry.

That’s right, they should have gotten wooden guns.

With the guards tabled for now, Tiger Shark collects Scorpion and Whirlwind.

That’s two supervillains on his shopping list but there’s one more to get.

So the three detour over down to the women’s wing while the jailbreak of everyone else keeps the guards very busy.

And they find Dr. Karla Sofen, Ordinary Criminal Psychologist who got superpower from a space rock. Y’know, a Moonstone.

She has a few follow-up questions before she throws in with these goons but Tiger Shark isn’t a good conversationalist.

Tiger Shark: “You wanna get snuffed right here, lady?! Move! Negotiations are closed!”

She grudgingly accepts these terms. The caption box says so.

The four supervillains take a remote controlled escape boat and escape on a boat.

Later, in a safehouse on Long Island Sound, the four supervillains are all costumed up and already feeling cooped up with each other. It is a small house and they are all big personalities.

Tiger Shark and Whirlwind even get into a fight when Tiger Shark complains about waiting and about suburbia and Whirlwind tells him to shut up. And by fight I mean Tiger Shark smacks Whirlwind in the head. Because its Whirlwind.

Ant-Man’s backup archnemesis. And Tiger Shark fights Namor. Its a mismatch.

But its enough of a ‘fight’ to cause a stir.

Egghead: “Stop your silly squabbling! Fighting among yourselves won’t further my plans!”

Moonstone: “Wha -- ?! Egghead?!”

Tiger Shark: “What’s an Egghead?”

Hah.

I don’t know why this exchange amuses me so much.

Egghead is perfectly happy to introduce himself slash ramble on and on with words words words. He is PERHAPS the world’s greatest genius (hahahahah noooo) but says he may find a cure to Tiger Shark’s “repugnant amphibious condition.”

Egghead: “If you all follow me without question, you’ll share in my forthcoming power and wealth! In addition to being bodyguards, you’ll perform various tasks for me -- beginning tonight, when you loot a certain Manhattan medical research center to obtain data and supplies! Cross me -- and no one will ever hear from you again!”

I’ll make fun of Egghead any day of the week but I’ll give him this. He evidently delivers this speech with such conviction that ‘shark man who fights Namor’ just nods and apparently thinks yes this sounds legit.

And lets be honest, between Whirlwind, Scorpion, Moonstone, and Tiger Shark none of them look at this eggheaded guy threatening them and think about trying something.

Egghead appoints Moonstone his deputy and team leader. Because, he says, she’s such a well-trained follower.

Okay, okay, okay. Okay.

So, Dr. Karla Sofen first appeared as a henchwoman to Dr. Faustus.

But then she tricked the original Moonstone into giving the moonstone to her and became the new Moonstone. And here I didn’t even know there was an original Moonstone.

My point being, yes, early on you might look at Moonstone’s history and think ‘yes she’s definitely a subordinate person who won’t give me trouble’ but from a modern perspective?

I know Modern Moonstone for basically being the Starscream of whatever team she’s on. Starting from Thunderbolts at least, she’s never the boss, she’s happy being the deputy but she’s always scheming and manipulating and undermining her boss.

I really want this to be a hilariously bad judge of character Egghead has made. I really do.

Meanwhile, Whirlwind thinks that he’ll play along with Egghead’s plans. Until he gets bored.

And then I guess he gets bored like five seconds later because he decides that since the job Egghead wants them to do isn’t until evening, he can go visit Wasp.

And yeah. We scene transition to Avengers Mansion and Whirlwind is just lurking in the bushes spying on Wasp’s limo.

Inside the mansion, with the Avengers’ meeting over, the Avengers all get ready to go about the rest of their business.

Hawkeye saying he has to get home gets She-Hulk to start musing on how she hasn’t had a real home since she left Los Angeles.

Which she did for... reasons? She seemed like she was going to stay in LA at the end of her original Savage She-Hulk book. She probably did it so she could do crossovers. That makes sense.

Wasp tells She-Hulk that since Tony doesn’t charge rent, She-Hulk can just stay at Avengers Mansion for a while. And in a couple days, she’ll take She-Hulk apartment hunting.

Wasp is a good friend.

She heads out to her limo and tells Mr. Carrothers to take her to her Manhattan apartment.

BUT WHOOPS iiiiiiiiiits Whirlwind!

He knocked out Mr. Carrothers over the head and stashed him in the bushes. Wow, being Wasp’s chauffeur is very eventful.

Whirlwind: “Forget him. I’m the man in your life now! I figure with your ex in the slammer, you’re gonna need an understanding shoulder to lean on -- .”

And then Wasp shrinks down and shoots Whirlwind in the face.

Wasp: “That’s awfully considerate of you. But next time send flowers first, okay? By the way, have you ever met me bio-electric sting?”

Get rekt, Whirlwind.

This has been a really good span of issues for Wasp. I’m boggling a little. My standards weren’t super high to be honest but this has been good.

I mean, aside from her wearing her Avengers #194-196 costume again. The one with only one pant leg. Of all your costumes to wear under normal clothes, why this one, Jan?

Outside the limo, Hawkeye is trying to sneak back into the mansion to raid the pantry and hoping everyone else has gone.

Because he doesn’t want them to know that two-jobs Hawkeye is having money trouble, I guess? But dude, just confide in Jarvis. He’s a good guy.

Anyway, point being, because of Hawkeye’s hungry little tummy, he sneaks back to the mansion in time to see flashes of energy from inside Jan’s limo.

Hawkeye runs to Jan’s rescue and instantly gets blasted by Moonstone who has just arrived to yell at Whirlwind for taking off without her permission.

Whirlwind says he doesn’t have to answer to Moonstone and a presumably very frustrated Moonstone answers yes he does, that is the very thing he has agreed to when he joined the new Masters of Evil!

I feel maybe announcing loudly that you are the new Masters of Evil right in front of the Avengers is kind of jumping the gun.

Not to mention having the whole time show up to pose like a team just to pull Whirlwind’s butt out of the fire but like I said, this isn’t a very impressive seeming iteration of the Masters.

They do have this much, at least. Hawkeye recognizes each one of these bozos (muffled foghorns from Titan Up the Defense way) and recognizes that he and Wasp are outpowered in addition to being outnumbered.

Reinforced by Tiger Shark just smacking Wasp out of the air.

I think her one legged outfit is slowing her down.

So Hawkeye fires a flare arrow to try to summon help.

Remember when the Avengers had radio rings? That’d probably be a less obvious way to signal for help. Because Moonstone sees Hawkeye shoot a flare arrow that LIGHTS UP THE AREA and shoots him for sending up a signal.

And then she turns to the others and goes “Why didn’t you blunderers stop him?”

Its a good point. Tiger Shark points out though that she didn’t stop him either.

Again: not a very impressive iteration of the team.

Whirlwind, trying to put on the pragmatic hat way too late, says that they should kill Hawkeye and skedaddle because fighting in front of Avengers Mansion makes him nervous.

But he’s still Whirlwind so he’s still gross so he thinks to himself that he wants to grab Wasp before they go.

And what, dude? You gonna keep her under your bed? WHATS YOUR CREEPY ENDGAME?

On second thought, I don’t want to know. Geez, this is awful but I’m glad that Wasp died in Ultimate comics before an exceptionally creepy Ultimate Whirlwind could show up and keep her in a well or something.

Hey, maybe if we tell Whirlwind that Living Laser is also obsessed with Wasp, the two will fight to the death and I won’t have to deal with either one!

Anyway. Off-track. Anyway.

With a sound of thunder, a Perfectly Ordinary Uru Hammer THOOMs by smacking every villain before returning to Thor’s hand.

Yeah, fighting in front of Avengers Mansion? Really dumb!

Thor: “Stand back, perfidious mortals, or face the wrath of Thor!”

Wasp: “Huh? Thor! I always thought you were handsome -- but you never looked better than you do now!”

Thor: “Fair Wasp, thou art safe in my hands!”

Wasp: (Mmmm! Don’t I wish!)

Well, you’re free to play the field now, Wasp. Go for it.

Meanwhile, over in Avengers Mansion, She-Hulk hears the racket and gets up from her nap to see a supervillain battle taking place on the street in front of the Mansion and just kind of sighs about New York being like this.

Again again: fighting in front of Avengers Mansion? REALLY DUMB!

Moonstone even realizes it.

Moonstone: “This is insane -- wasting our energy battling the Avengers for nothing!  We’ve got to end this fight and escape!”

She tells Scorpion to take Thor which either shows a high esteem of him or a very low regard. Either way, Scorpion is happy to try, tail-whipping Thor through the air.

Inside the mansion, She-Hulk decides that the only way to get some peace and quiet is to throw hands. Side benefit: she’ll also get to prove herself to the Avengers.

But I like that the primary reason is that she just wants to have a dang nap and this nonsense is preventing it.

So she OH YEAHs through the window because heck Tony Stark will pay to fix it and runs towards the battle.

Haha look at that tiny alarmed Jarvis in the window. I love that kind of background detail. Amazing.

Wasp takes a break from, I dunno fantasizing about Thor, to fly over in a panic.

Wasp: “Oh, no! That outfit is an original! Tear it -- and I’ll never speak to you again!”

She sure has her priorities. I think maybe she doesn’t think these new Masters of Evil are all that threatening.

Maybe she shouldn’t be so worried though. She-Hulk just jumped through a glass window and the outfit looks untouched.

She-Hulk: “You can’t be serious?! You are. Ohhh... fudge! This is ridiculous!”

She definitely had to stop herself from saying an f-bomb.

So She-Hulk stops running to help Thor and sits down to start pulling the Van Dyne Original outfit off so Wasp won’t friend break up with her.

I’m sure Thor is doing fine though.

Ha ha, just kidding.

Moondragon is keeping him pinned down with her laser blasts and Tiger Shark hits him with something almost as powerful as TABLE.

A CAR.

Tiger Shark: “That Avenger creep thinks he’s the strongest there is. Me, I can withstand the pressures of the ocean’s floor without breathing hard. So when you’re talking strength -- you’re talking Tiger Shark!”

Hey, cool! Its the same thing writers use to argue Aquaman Strong Actually. I wonder if this actually predates that. It’d be funny if Tiger Shark preempted Aquaman in anything.

Wasp (while blasting Scorpion in his Scorpion neck) asks Thor if he’s okay but I think Thor is more annoyed than endangered by being ganged up on by the villains.

Thor: “Aye, the villain’s cowardly attack availed him naught against the might of Thor! I would see this battle ended!”

Tiger Shark basically says ‘nuh uh’ or “Together we can turn him into hamburger!” but then someone punches Tiger Shark from behind and knocks him out.

Scorpion: “Who in -- ? Some chick from Frederick’s of Hollywood?”

She-Hulk: “Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am! I don’t want to hear it!”

So, yeah, She-Hulk has arrived. In her underwear. So she doesn’t offend Wasp.

I guess after the Moondragon arc, Wasp is paying forward the wardrobe embarrassments.

Very rude, Jan.

Hawkeye is also up and raring to arrow. And he nails Whirlwind with said shock arrow annnd knocks him out.

Yup, this is the part of the book where we’re running out of pages so the villains start going down really easy.

Next, Wasp shoots Moonstone and She-Hulk multi-tasks by punching Moonstone into Scorpion and knocking both of them out.

Which means that She-Hulk is MVP of this fight. She arrives the latest but knocks out the most people. Good job, She-Hulk. Even Hawkeye admits that she did pretty good (qualified with “for a beginner!” which She-Hulk just laughs off.)

Meanwhile, in his hidden laboratory, Egghead is thinking that you can’t get good help these days.

Egghead: “Fools! We would have destroyed the Avengers eventually! There was no need to upset my timetable!”

But its only a minor setback and he considers that this stomp may leave them more willing to see that his ideas are best ideas.

I really hope that everyone pins the blame on Whirlwind when Egghead inevitably has to break them out of prison again to assemble his Masters of Evil again.

Hm, and I didn’t wonder this before but why Masters of Evil as a team name? He has no connection with any of the previous iterations, I don’t think. Weird.

Back at the mansion, the Avengers stand around being pretty pleased with themselves for beating up a bunch of people who attacked them for no reason and sucked at it.

The only sour note is that Wasp lost yet another limo (to Tiger Shark’s deadly CAR attack) but even then she says she was ready to trade it in on a DeLorean anyway.

Wait, aren’t DeLoreans known for having disappointing performance for a car and adequate performance as a time machine? Wasp, why are you getting a DeLorean, you kook!

She-Hulk, who sold her dignity to keep Jan’s friendship, suggests that the two of them go looking for new cars together.

OH RIGHT. Issue started with She-Hulk’s poor lamented pink Cadillac being junked. That’s bookends, it is. They’re the Sisterhood of the Broken Cars now.

So a very decent story!

Stuff is being setup with Egghead, the Hank Pym plot thread is still going, and we’ve got a new Avengers roster to settle into.

Although. Between the Moondragon arc and this, I’m wondering if clothing mishaps is going to be a running joke going forward and I hope not. Or at least let the guys in on it. Let Thor get locked out of the house in his underwear. It is only fair.

To the readers, if not the characters.

Although, I guess that is kind of what happened in the Molecule Man story. Tony Stark stuck in only his underwear and had to wear Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake’s jacket around his waist.

Not much more to say about this. Its a solid issue.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Because: reasons. Also like and reblog. Because: similar but different reasons. Selling myself is hard.

[writing-royza]

Two Hundred and Thirty-eight - Mischief, 3.0

A/N: Happy Monday, everyone; sorry I’m late. Internet trouble yesterday and now an entire chapter of Snap Shots got deleted from the file, so I have to rewrite it... It’s a banner week lol. But I can push through this, no problem. Please enjoy. :)

I do not own FMA.

Two Hundred and Thirty-eight - Mischief, 3.0

Riza stood in front of the bulletin board, idly reading as she waited. Not much was especially interesting amid the general notices of office changes, upcoming events for the months, duty rosters, except for the flyer announcing General Grumman's annual Spirits' Night party.

"Please tell me you're dressing up this year," Roy's voice murmured in her ear. "And that it's at least half again as tempting as that fortuneteller outfit from last time?"

Smothering a smile, she didn't turn. "Hard to say," she answered cryptically. "My visions have said nothing so far, sir."

He snorted quietly, moving off along the hall. "Come on. We've got work to do." He waited until she caught up and fell into step behind him before speaking again. "Grumman mentioned that the rumour mill has been pretty active the last few days. Heard anything interesting?"

"Only that Havoc's ideas for Spirits' Night costumes range from the strange to the ridiculous to the downright questionable." She frowned, thinking back. "And I think I remember hearing that Breda caught on to a plan by some enlisted men to go ghost-hunting at the local cemetery. He made sure they know better than to try."

"Good. I'd bet it was just some slightly drunken barracks talk, but better safe than sorry." He shook his head. "Not that they'd find anything to hunt, but I'd rather not see their arresting paperwork come across my desk."

"I would think if they went on Spirits' Night, it would be like open season for ghosts." Her face was serious, but her tone belied the joke.

"Hard to hunt something that doesn't exist," Roy shot back good-naturedly. "Science doesn't lie, Lieutenant. If human transmutation isn't possible, then neither is the concept of ghosts."

He closed the door behind himself, still smiling faintly, his head still slowly spinning from alcohol and the fervent kiss goodbye Riza had given him when she dropped him off. Shrugging out of his coat, he hung it from the the hook on the back of the door, wishing she could have followed him in… but she had needed to go home. Home to Hayate, home to take off that costume herself instead of letting him do it….

Roy shook his head at that, smiling to himself as he flicked on the lights and moved deeper into the tiny apartment. Trust Riza to dress up as something —rather, someone — that was guaranteed to simultaneously annoy him and make him laugh. He'd always said she and Edward could pass for siblings; he hadn't expected her to try and pass for the boy himself. Even now, the memory replayed in his mind.

She had pulled him aside at the party, a few blonde strands already escaping the braid down her back, smiling at the way he had stared for a good five seconds before starting to laugh. "It's pretty good now," she'd said, "but I need one last touch put on that I'm hoping you can help with."

"Since when does Fullmetal ask for my help?" he'd teased. "What is it?"

Shrugging out of the red jacket, she had set it front-down on a nearby table, smoothing the back out. "I wasn't able to get the flamel on in time." She tapped his hand with one finger. "I was hoping you could take care of it. Just change the colour in the right pattern?"

"Sure…." His eyes had glinted with private mischief. "But it's going to cost you…."

Dropping onto his back on the couch, not bothering to change his clothes just yet, Roy smiled again, eyes closing. Tomorrow, when they were alone, maybe she would —

A faint crackle, just at the edge of his hearing, brought his eyes snapping open and his train of through jerking to a stop. He held still, gaze on the ceiling as he listened intently… and there it was again. Just faintly, like radio static in a distant room; one of his neighbours, maybe? Probably.

Eyes falling shut again, he took a deep breath to dispel the adrenaline that had built up. Heightened sensations brought on by his own daydreams were nothing new. He just had to calm himself and —

"Can you hear me?" the voice whispered.

He was sitting bolt upright in a matter of seconds, eyes searching the dim room for the voice, and finding nothing. Getting stealthily to his feet, he eased toward the desk, in the direction it had come from. The thought nagged at him this was probably just an overheard telephone conversation from a neighbouring apartment, but —

A quiet giggle split the silence. "You're not going to find me over there." He froze in place instantly, before it spoke again. "Do you want to play a game? If it'll help you find me?"

Roy didn't answer, not past the chill running up his spine or the dread building in his chest as he kept slowly scanning the room. There was another giggle, sounding uncomfortably like Elicia, before the voice said "I'll give you a hint. You're cold right now, but if you start walking, you might get warmer."

His eyes still moved warily from place to place in the apartment, watching. "Say I play along," he said aloud. "Will you at least tell me who you are?"

The voice turned silky sweet."You can stop looking for me when I don't want to be seen, Mr. Mustang. Don't you know you can't see ghosts unless they want you to?"

In an instant, he was thinking of anyone who might be willing to play such a bizarre prank. A Homonculus they'd missed... or Selim regaining the memory of who he had been... Edward trying to make him flinch... Somehow, the last one seemed the most plausible. He had seen the boy only an hour ago at the party; like as not, this was some kind of payback for all the teasing he'd given him as a subordinate.

He relaxed. No such thing as ghosts. Think of the science. "All right." He took a pair of steps back toward the couch. "Am I warmer now?"

"Warmer." He took another step. "Waaaaaarmer..."

He made it all the way to the radiator on the opposite wall before the voice giggled again. "Ooooooh, you're red-hot!"

Puzzled, he looked around but saw nothing. "...You're supposed to be the ghost of the heating system?" Another laugh was the only answer. Still, it wouldn't have led him here if there wasn't something he was supposed to find... Dropping to one knee, he looked underneath the radiator... and reached past the pipes to withdraw a small, handmade doll.

"Pretty, isn't she?" the voice asked, gleefully.

Turning it over in his hands, Roy felt his stomach drop. Yellow yarn for hair, pinned up in the back, blue clothes, black boots... brown eyes. "...Is this supposed to be Hawkeye?"

"Very good!"

It took three steps to get him to the telephone to call her, to make sure she was all right, but when he lifted the receiver to his ear, he was met with silence. Heart beginning to thud, muscles re-tensing, he slowly placed it back in the cradle. "All right, you have my attention," he said, careful to keep his voice under control. "Now what?"

There was one last, fading laugh... and then a final crackle of static. Roy waited, listening... and started violently at a crash behind him. Whirling on the spot, he stopped just in time to see a stack of books and papers still settling from their fall to the floor from his desk.

And as he stood there, trying to figure out how they had managed to fall, the apartment went dark around him.

A chill ran down his spine despite himself, one hand instinctively going for the gloves in his pocket. Perhaps they weren't entirely useful against a spirit, but to have them on was a comfort. Turning slowly on the spot, he waited for the next occurrence...

A noise from behind made him turn, to find moonlight and cold autumn wind coming through a window that hadn't been open when he turned his back. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he took a cautious, silent step toward it... and froze, looking to his right as a tap sounded from the other, still shut window.

A ping! sent him looking toward the tiny kitchen area. Physical noise; that was something he could deal with. Edging in that direction, fingers held ready to snap, he kept his eyes moving for the source of the noise.

Another ping! and, as he stopped to search out the source, something lightweight hit the back of his head. Spinning on the spot, still seeing nothing, he growled low in his chest out of annoyance. Someone or something was toying with him, and even Edward wouldn't work this fast. But who?

Silence held for a full three minutes, in which he stood stock-still. Listening. And suddenly, it was shattered. Roy snatched up the ringing phone, one hand still ready to snap at a second's notice. "What?" he bit out, not caring whom he might be speaking to.

"...I - I was just calling to -" Riza's voice faltered, and she started over. "Sir, are you all right?"

He could have melted through the floor in relief. "Oh. Lieutenant, it's you. I'm sorry, I thought -" He stopped himself; unwilling to try and explain what had been happening. "I thought you were someone else. What can I -" He broke off again as laughter - not belonging to Riza - came over the line. At least three or four different voices.

And then, as the lights came back on, he got it.

Leaning back against the rear of the couch, he shook his head. "Why do I get the feeling I've just been had?"

Riza's voice was slightly wavered as she struggled to contain her own humour. "Probably because you have been, sir. Look out your south window."

Carrying the telephone with him, he did as instructed, and immediately spotted the small group standing around the payphone on the street corner below. "I thought perhaps it was too much for one person to manage on their own," he said, unable to keep from smiling. "But I suspected that at least Fullmetal would be involved."

"He was, to an extent," Riza explained. "Most of these suggestions were his. We were just the ones who carried them out."

"I see. And who did what, exactly?"

"I was the voice on the radio that Fuery hid inside your apartment. I was also the one firing paper pellets at your pots and pans from the open window." There was no mistaking the subtle pride in her voice at what the little group had accomplished. "Fuery ran communications, and temporarily cut the power and phone connection. Breda ran fishing line through the same window to topple the books, and Falman got Major Armstrong to alchemically make that little doll and took care of placing it before he arrived at the party tonight."

He lifted an eyebrow, knowing her keen eyes would see it even from the street. "And Havoc?"

"Check the rooftop directly across the street." He looked up, finding the blond man grinning from behind a chimney. "He kept us apprised of your movements, so we could organize better."

"I see. Well, it was very well planned out; I would commend all of you... if I weren't so pissed off." He grinned. "Do you have any idea of how bad this is going to come back to haunt you?"

"With all due respect, sir?" The challenge in her smile was visible even at this distance, brown eyes burning with that mischievous fire he loved so well. "Bring it on."

[surviveuk]

New Post has been published on https://www.surviveuk.com/survival-blog/beginners-guide-to-bow-sports/

Beginners Guide To Bow Sports

Beginners Guide To Bow Sports

*This article was submitted as a guest publication by an outside source.*

So before I start this article I have to confess, I’m not a true prepper, I don’t have a plan for when the SHTF, I don’t have a survival cache, bug-out-bag or anything like that, I’ve not planned and prepared for what may come. So why have I been invited to write this article you ask? Well, I like to shoot, I’m a keen archer and I’ve several bows lying around my house and if you’re the kind of person I think you are and you want to be prepared to defend yourself and survive in the event of a serious societal collapse, I’m going to tell you why you should think about joining an archery club and learning how to use a bow.

  There’s a lot you can do with the bow that you probably didn’t realise. It’s a great tool for sport but also survival. Over in the US bow-hunting is a big thing, not so much in the UK since the practice was prohibited in 1965 but nevertheless the US following shows the effectiveness of a bow as a tool for hunting, from small rodents to and larger game and even fish. Bows can be fitted with bow fishing reels and arrows with barbed points and used to catch fish should you find clear enough water to line up a shot. Besides those things though, one of the most important things I think you can do with a bows and arrows for survival is make then! If I lost my bow or was out of ammunition, given time I could make replacements myself without any complex infrastructure to support me.

  Bowsports are also family friendly, when my son grows up I’m going to take him to the local archery club and teach him how to shoot a bow. I can probably start doing this when he’s about 3 or 4, I’m hoping he enjoys the experience and thinks it’s cool but you just never know with children, although boys tend to like swords and guns and all sorts of weapons and there are male and female hollywood role models who use a bow (Hawkeye, Katniss Everdeen etc) so I’m hopeful. I aim to give him a skill that he can take through life that I think is more useful than just being a sport he does. Also take my wife, she doesn’t currently shoot, but she isn’t as averse to me and won’t be frightened of her son shooting a bow regularly, but I’m sure she would think differently if we were off learning to knife fight or flying to Budapest to shoot pistols and semi-automatics at a range.

  Now you know why I think bows are a good choice, I could give you more reasons but that could turn into a whole article in itself, instead let’s go through the types of bows you can find on offer today. If you want to know more about the different types and styles of bows available take a look at this article on bow types.

  Traditional Bows

D-shaped bows include old english longbows, american flatbows, these are normally bows made from one piece of wood that don’t have stabilisers or sights. They’re the type of bow you’d make yourself from raw materials. You wouldn’t normally learn with something like this as they are not so widely available and customizable as the next choice.

  Recurve Bow

Recurve bows are the bows that should interest you as a novice, this type of bow is the one they shoot at the Olympics. It curves round in the usual D shape but then re-curves back away from the archer at the tips which is how it gets the name. Recurve bows can be broken down into to pieces (takedown bows) and carried in a case or rucksack. Maybe not THE most portable bow in the world but certainly not the least.

  Survival Bows

A survival bow is a light, compact, usually folding version of usually a D-shaped bow. Survival bows sometimes come with collapsible arrows and always are made to be easily portable and quick to assemble and modern engineering ensures they can also be pretty powerful. This as the name suggests is a the bow designed for a prepper or survivalist. But if I didn’t know how to shoot I’d still start with a recurve first and learn my technique.

  Compound Bow

A compound bow is a bow with wheels or ‘cams’ at either end of the limbs, these cams compound the force of the string on the arrow when you release (hence the name) and a compound bow allows you to hold and aim for longer than a recurve. You might only be pulling back and holding 20 lbs, but when you release you’d get the power of 30-40 lbs acting on the arrow. Compound bows are great and a modern upgrade to the recurve, however as a prepper I wouldn’t have one as my first choice. They are bulkier, harder to maintain, harder to string and don’t normally breakdown for easy storage and transport.

  Crossbow / Compound Crossbow / Pistol Crossbow

Everyone who’s watched the walking dead has seen Daryl and his crossbow, and I’m sure you know that a crossbow is just a bow mounted on a stock with a mechanism for holding back the string which is released with a trigger to shoot the bolt (it’s not an arrow in the crossbow world). You shoot a crossbow like a rifle, you can get compound versions and non-compound versions and you can even get pistol crossbows which are designed to be held and shot with one hand. If anything ever goes wrong with Daryl’s crossbow I don’t see how he’s going to maintain it very easily, he’s certainly not going to make himself another and there’s less skill and fun to be had in shooting one of these than with a recurve if you ask me. There are models of folding survival crossbows, but they don’t fold down as compactly as a survival bow.

  When you look into bow sports you’d be surprised at how many different disciplines are on offer. There’s field archery, 3D archery, flight, clout, ski, run, even a martial art dedicated to the bow (Kyudo). Lots of choice and variety, but you nearly always start with Target archery, either indoors or outdoors which is the discipline that everyone knows. Standing and shooting at a target with a yellow bulls eye, it’s what the Olympians do.

  Here’s a very quick introduction to all those types. Field archery is target archery practised on a course with different elevations and distances involved, 3D is similar to field with targets that resemble animals like Deer or Rabbit. Flight archery is the skill of shooting an arrow as far as possible. Clout is basically golf for archers where the aim of the game is to land your arrow as close to the flag as possible. Ski and run are basically forms of the biathlon with bows instead of guns. Outdoor Olympic archery is ONLY the recurve bow and they shoot at a target 70m away. Indoor competitive archery on the other hand is shot at a target only 18m away.

  That’s a brief introduction to the sport, different bows and their disciplines. There are also many different types of arrows to support those bows and disciplines, but in the next article I’ll take you through some more practical information on actually purchasing a bow and what bits and bobs you need.

  *This article was submitted as a guest publication by an outside source.*