#markmans

[saintsplanet-old]

@markmans : 14 — their love languages. clint and bobbi. otp prompts : accepting.

bobbi thinks the term feels a little too neat for something as messy as what she and clint barton have, love languages almost too perfect for the mess that's always been them. but if she had to put words to it, she’d say this: clint speaks in touch and words of affirmation, while she’s always been acts of service and quality time. clint has this way of needing to be close, even when he won’t say it. he’ll brush his hand against hers in passing, nudge her shoulder when they’re standing side by side, loop an arm around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he needs the reminder that she’s there, real and alive, not another ghost he couldn’t save. and the words, god, clint talks too much sometimes, but when it’s just them, those words mean everything. ❝ you’ve got this, birdie. ❞ ❝ you’re the best partner i’ve ever had. ❞ ❝ i trust you. ❞ she’s learned that’s his way of holding himself steady, if he says it out loud, then maybe the world won’t find a way to take it from him.

her own language is quieter, less obvious. bobbi shows up. she covers him when he’s sloppy with his aim, she double-checks the gear he forgets, she drives him home when he’s too wrecked to admit it. she’ll spend hours on some ridiculous stakeout, sipping cold coffee with him in silence, just so he knows he isn’t alone. she’s not always good with saying the right thing, not when emotions get too close to the surface, but she’ll do the thing, and that’s her way of saying i love you. and then there’s the overlap. the little things they’ve learned from each other. bobbi letting herself curl into his side on the couch after a mission, not fighting the instinct to lean. clint noticing when she’s running herself ragged, pressing a takeout box into her hands and telling her to sit down for once. their love languages don’t always line up perfectly. sometimes they miss each other, sometimes they bruise each other. but at the end of the day, it works. because for clint and bobbi, love has never been about perfect symmetry, it’s about catching each other when they fall, in whatever way they can.

[mockbirds]

❝ hey — i got four out of five of them clint!  ❞       no fair,     he's always bragging about the upper hand when bobbi's the one to land that final kick.    dramatically wiping the sweat from her brow,     she's leaping forward to follow him,  stray arrows in hand.   [  look,  she's a biochemist.  who gives a damn if she can't aim?  ]   another archery lesson on the books,  another moment where she reconsiders if she actually made the right choice marrying him.  the enigmatic clint barton leads her down paths she'd never follow,  but the bloodied scars are mementos of a life and love well lived.    picking up the pace,  she mockingly holds up an arrow.      ❝  gee hawk,    ever think to talk to a girl instead of shooting at her?   ❞

@markmans​

[mocksbird]

the building is half-dark, humming with broken christmas lights and the echo of boots in stairwells, and bobbi finds him leaning against a shattered window like he owns the skyline. she exhales a laugh she shouldn’t have (low, warm, too relieved) and lets her shoulder brush his as she steps beside him. ❝ you know, ❞ she murmurs, eyes catching the distant glow of holiday lights below them, ❝ most people spend christmas eve drinking cocoa, not crawling through ventilation shafts with their ex-husband. ❞ her smirk softens into something almost tender. ❝ but then again… most people aren’t you, clint. ❞ her hand hovers near his, close enough to feel the heat of his pulse. ❝ try not to get shot again, okay? i’m running out of excuses for why i keep coming back for you. ❞ @markmans

[mocksbird]

bobbi notices the man behind them before she notices the quiet between her and clint. she always does, threats register faster than feelings, and it’s easier that way. the street is busy enough to hide intent, but not busy enough to forgive it. someone is watching. someone is waiting. she doesn’t slow down. slowing down would mean thinking. instead, she reaches out and links her arm through clint’s. it’s instinctive. careless. irritating in how right it feels. her body remembers the shape of him long before her mind can argue otherwise, elbow settling in, stride syncing without effort. there was a time when this had been their default, movement as partnership, proximity as safety. she tells herself that memory doesn’t get to mean anything now.

❝ temporary, ❞ she says, because if she doesn’t say it first, he will. they keep walking. that’s the point. walking keeps the world normal, keeps the lie intact. she feels him adjust their pace without being told, feels the shift ripple through them like muscle memory waking up. she hates how easy it is. hates how much harder it would be with anyone else. she tilts her head just enough to catch their reflection in a shop window, still there, still interested. ❝ don’t look, ❞ she murmurs lightly, like she’s commenting on the weather. ❝ but we’ve got company. ❞

she tightens her arm a fraction, not for show, not really, and guides them toward a narrower street, one with warmer lights and less space to linger. it’s subtle, the way she leans in, shoulder brushing his, the way she lets the moment read as familiarity instead of surveillance. anyone watching would see a couple comfortable enough not to perform. that’s always been the danger of them. they don’t have to fake it. they stop at a gelato stand, bright and ridiculous against the night. bobbi keeps her arm linked as she turns them both, angling their bodies just right so the watcher has to choose between waiting or losing interest. ❝ two cones, ❞ she tells the vendor easily. ❝ surprise him. ❞ she feels clint glance at her but doesn’t look back. she doesn’t need to. she already knows the expression, that half-amused, half-something-else look that used to undo her on worse days. the man across the street hesitates. then moves on. threat neutralized.

bobbi pays, takes her cone, and only then does she let go. the absence is immediate. loud. she pretends not to notice. they start walking again, slower now, the urgency gone but the closeness still echoing between them. she focuses on the cold sweetness of the gelato, on the sound of their footsteps, on anything but the fact that for a few minutes there, things had felt uncomplicated. ❝ don’t get ideas, ❞ she says, because silence would let the feeling settle. ❝ i’d do that with anyone if it got the job done. ❞ she bumps her shoulder into his, just enough to keep it light, just enough to keep control of the moment. ❝ besides, ❞ she adds, eyes forward, voice steady, ❝ it worked. ❞ @markmans

[scutlord]

PLAY >> : KNOWHERE , THE EDGE OF THE UNIVERSE

" you sure you can win this , right ? i didn't just talk scut out of my ass and you're actually good at this ? " peter asks through gritted teeth , eyes running through the faces of the aliens that are waiting for a show , his hands not-so-gently massaging clint's shoulders to emphasize his point . or maybe it's a plea and a prayer that this would go smoothly .

because even though the bet was simple enough-- just hit a bulleye on a moving target half a hundred feet into the edge of the universe-- they still need to entertain a crowd . and the prize for not getting it right makes his heart do a little dance . " because these guys ? they don't mess around . if you lose ... we lose our flarking heads . "

@markmans.

[grooveys]

"   OH   TIGER,   YOU   BETTER   UNCOMPLICATE   IT   THEN.   "   you   were   persistent   and   one   who   often   refused   to   take   no   for   an   answer.   life   with   peter,   although   never   regrettable,   a   fault   that   damaged   them   was   the   secrecy.   believing   that   red   couldn't   handle   the   day   -   to   -   day   life   of   the   superhero   business   and   was   too   precious   to   face   the   challenges   it   brought.   [   ...   ]   what   a   joke!   since   the   age   of   infancy,   you'd   been   looking   after   yourself.   last   thing   that   was   needed   in   this   world   was   people   acting   as   if   mary   jane   was   some   weakling.

a   bottle   of   800   mg   ibuprofen   was   placed   in   front   of   him   :   [   this   wasn't   her   first   rodeo!   ]   fingers   run   through   cherry   red   hair,   sighing   in   both   relief   and   annoyance.   this   was   a   pretty   awful   predicament   she   found   herself   in   but,   nevertheless;   here   they   were.   "   ARE   YOU   OKAY   AT   LEAST?   I   MEAN,   ALL   THINGS   CONSIDERING   SINCE   THAT'S   YOUR   NATURAL   FACE.   "

@markmans 🎲 it was all really complicated. i'll tell you all about it someday.

[frekcles]

there is a light breeze that surrounds them from a stygian manhattan skyline. the booming voices of guests and the audible clink of champagne glasses a vibrant backdrop in an otherwise intimate space. it was one of tony’s soirees with the earth’s mightiest heroes, as they were so affectionately called. with each having a dedicated floor for their exclusive use in the mansion. once in a while, or every so often for the case of the iron-clad hero, a party would be thrown after a long, grueling mission. they were all just human, after all. save for the god who could summon thunder from his hammer.

pepper had been leaning on the edge of their balcony. the crisp autumn breeze a gentle wisp to her fiery red locks, curled to perfection for the night’s events. she had on a satin emerald evening dress, tony’s favourite. " why don't you wear this everyday? " he would say. she stared at the horizon with a soft repose. needing a little downtime from the celebration indoors. 

@markmans: life doesn't tend to turn out like you think it will.

rufescent locks cascade on the crevices of her shoulders as she turns her head, having now realized that she wasn’t alone, and was now joined by the archer. she gives him a gentle smile. welcoming, acknowledging, the very same smile that had brought the corporate world to its knees. " oh, hi clint. how is it in there? did you need a breather too? " at the marksman’s remark, pepper exhaled. her thoughts having seemed to be reflected on her face, for him to so easily read them. " right.. do you ever— " she hesitates. shifting her weight from one foot to another before speaking again. " do you ever think about.. i don't know, seven year old you? do you think they’d be proud of who you've become? "

[alphapsi]

mutantkind   is   not   one   to   be   underestimated.   they   are   considered   homo-superior,   whether   they   like   to   acknowledge   it   or   not.   feared   by   the   public   and   often   targets   of   hate   crime.   they   are   sought   to   be   killed.   destroyed.   evolution   of   the   x-gene   refuses   to   allow   that.   they   are   inescapable.   just   as   jean   is   the   phoenix   of   fire   and   life,   inevitable.

"   good   because   if   the   avengers   threaten   my   students   again,   "   she   did   not   take   so   kindly   to   the   thread   of   the   government   intervening   on   their   school.   it   was   not   their   first   attack.   most   likely   not   their   last.   she   often   tried   to   be   a   pacifist   but   the   protection   of   her   students   was   the   utmost   importance.   their   lives   were   in   the   hands   of   her   and   she'd   do   anything   to   make   sure   they   had   a   future!   "   you'll   deal   with   me   instead   of   the   children.   "

@markmans 🔥 oh, i learned my lesson.