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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND SIXTEEN WILL OPEN ON TUESDAY THE 25TH.
ROUND FIFTEEN
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DISCUSSION POST
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!
LIST OF REQUIRED WARNINGS: ableism, abuse, bestiality, bullying, ( Read more... )
"Keep your head down!" Clint shouted back. Phil shot him a grin and clipped onto a line as it trailed past him, speeding up into the air with his hand high on the line, like he was superman taking off or something.
"What the fuck?" Peter muttered as the helicopter disappeared out of sight, with his boring paper-pushing Dad disappearing into the hold. He flinched as Clint shot him a look. It was going to take some getting used to, having Clint be able to hear him when he wasn't looking. Not that *that* was the biggest thing he needed to get used to right now.
"Alright," Clint said firmly, scanning the suddenly-empty street. There was still traffic on the other carriageway barging out of town, but it was moving now and there were less horns. Around them, a ring of abandoned cars had formed, all the drivers having taken cover. Peter couldn't decide whether it was lucky or unlucky the alien had landed on their car - Clint seemed to know what he was doing, and Phil had even...
He shook his head. He really had no idea what the hell had just happened, other than Phil was apparently a super-spy as well as being a pencil-pusher, and Clint was way better with his bow than his 'trainee coach' position deserved. And also... aliens.
"Peter," Clint's voice was tense, like he'd had to call more than once to get his attention.
"I'm fine," he blurted, taking his eyes off the bug and meeting Clint's frown - his mind came back to four arrows and two wet-looking holes in its exoskeleton without him having to look again. "Are you sure it's dead?" he asked, focusing on speaking directly at Clint. The familiarity was helpful, he found immediately.
Clint glanced back at it, as if to remind himself. "I'd say so, but if you hear something I don't see, make sure you let me know, alright?"
A gust of wind caught a filmy wing and the bug twitched in his peripheral vision. In the near distance, a huddle of onlookers screamed as one. Peter was plenty glad that Clint jumped as much as he did, an arrow already to his bowstring by the time they'd worked out what had happened and relaxed. They chuckled tensely at one another.
"Okay, great," Clint shook his head. He did another careful scan of the area, and then one of the crowd that was slowly becoming braver, filtering through the cars to the edge of the impromptu barrier. "Okay..." Clint repeated. "Petey, there's a cap and sunglasses in the car, in the glove box. Go put both on for me, and then come stand this side of the car."
The passenger door was still open despite the helicopter's best attempts to blow it shut, and Peter carefully poked through the glass at the glove box catch. He pulled out the sunglasses and fished through documents and CDs for the cap, which was wedged at the back. It had a tatty Yankees logo on the front, and was too big on him when he put it on his head. He swung the door shut and flinched as it didn't quite close - the chassis obviously more buckled than it had originally seemed.
Clint had moved to lean against the driver's side of the car. Peter moved to stand opposite him, realising something was missing as he looked up into the sky. "Where's the mothership gone?" The returning rush of adrenaline had his hands shaking as he pushed the sunglasses on. Clint had a grin on his face, periodically scanning their surroundings and not looking back at where the mothership had taken up most of the skyline. "Clint, what's going on?"
"Looks like another invasion," he offered, still grinning.
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