i aim to please

(✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): investigate me all you want, baby! i got nothing to hide. (✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): plus, have you seen his face? try to say no to him, kate. it is literally impossible and likely illegal. (✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): it is very pretentious!  (✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): nooo don’t sell my pretentious rich guy clothes :( :( :( (✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): i was kidding! jokes! it cost uh […. lots of typing as the rich idiot googles ‘how much do shirts for regular people cost’ …] (✉️ ➡️ rich bitch): $8! i bought it at the wal mart. 

(✉ → she never misses🏹): tell me about it. being self-employed doesn’t have all the perks sometimes. (✉ → she never misses🏹): kara never did tell me exactly what you do… (✉ → she never misses🏹): well, that is just unacceptable. who owns generic bandaids?

His heart broke for her. She didn’t say a word, didn’t even have to. She just gave him the look. The one he knew only too well. Nat wore it on the streets of Tokyo. Tony, on the other side of the bars. His mother had it almost every day, right up to the day she died, but especially when Clint opened his mouth in front of his dad. Laura and the kids, they all shared it, the day he’d said goodbye. After missing them for so long, he wore it himself when he looked in the mirror. 

Disappointment. 

The kind that became a root and a vine tangled around your heart. Dragging you down into the dirt and you didn’t fight because it was where you belonged. That’s how it felt, on the other side of that look. Clint didn’t know who she was, but he was already so sorry. Because he had let her down. He was the wrong Clint. Every Clint Barton, he was coming to find out, was definitely cursed, but he was convinced he was the most cursed of them all. 

Lucky, at least, could put a smile back on he rface. At least for a moment. Her words were sharp, arrowheads hitting every bullseye. Clint was good at taking a hit though. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and shrugged. “Wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he said carefully, holding her gaze steadily. “Is… being from another universe a good explanation? Because that’s – that’s all I got here.” 

Kate had missed a lot of things. She’d missed snow and pizza and Levain Bakery cookies and the haunted temple hiding in the back of the Met and the way the subway shook the ground under her feet. She’d missed the angry pigeons and oversized rats and the knockoff costumed characters flooding Times Square. She’d missed Clint and his poorly-written soap opera of a life and getting to be a part of something bigger than herself again. Part of a team. And she’d really, really missed this dog.

Lucky licked her face, his tail wagging ceaselessly against her legs. She could have been wrong, but she was pretty sure he was giving Clint a judgemental look, too. This big, slobbery, one-eyed dog was probably braver than anyone she knew. Clint had told her the stories--how he’d been rescued, stitched up, survived against all odds, how he’d been taken in by a man who needed a companion more than anything. It was an old cliche, man saves dog, dog saves man, but Lucky needed Clint, and Clint had left him, too. As much as this felt like a (stilted) homecoming for Kate, she imagined it must have felt like one for Lucky.

Or maybe she was just projecting onto the dog.

“Down, boy,” she said, scratching between his ears as he settled into her lap, and looked up at Clint. Another universe. Jesus Christ. Sure, why not. It topped evil twin, evil clone, living on the lam in Bermuda, and brainwashed by an evil spy conglomerate, but it also meant there were other universes. The multiverse stuff she’d mostly ignored in high school science, whispered around the edges of every third Hawkeye-related crisis she’d had to face. Rumors, but no proof. She had every reason not to believe him, but she wanted to. Clint had always been a terrible liar, and she didn’t want to think he’d lie about something like this. She didn’t want to think he’d voluntarily leave her. She wanted it to be some kind of cosmic clusterfutz, because blaming multiverse-scale forces felt better than having to blame herself. So she exhaled.

“Maybe? Keep talking. I’m gonna need some elaboration on that.”

(✉ → has my name??): a fool, thats who (✉ → has my name??): ehh, im pretty lucky to have this many in the first place. im not about to mess with that!  (✉ → has my name??): since you asked so nicely…. no (✉ → has my name??): you want me to get a TRAMP STAMP with your name on it? yeah, i KNOW what a tramp stamp is! (✉ → has my name??): you literally wear spandex and you’re calling sweatpants confinement?? (✉ → has my name??): i cant decide whether to be insulted or proud. prou-sulted?

(✉ → she never misses🏹): three bags? sounds like something serious. (✉ → she never misses🏹): tell me… are they hello kitty bandaids? 

avengers & co + onion headlines 

@hawknotguy· “happy”

(✉ → kate bishop): Kate! It’s Wanda. I do not know if you know me in this universe, but I am hopeful. I used a little magic to get your number. (✉ → kate bishop): Either way, I am hoping we can get a coffee soon? You always seem to know the best coffee places, and I want to celebrate!

Laura straightened up when Kate spoke, her brows, once again furrowed. She wasn’t sure if Kate was playing with her… or if the question was a serious one. After a moment of consideration, Laura settled on it being a joke. Kate was playful and it was still something that Laura had difficulty understanding. “I’ve lived.” Laura decided to argue. Her nose wrinkling as she tipped her head to the side. “And I have been clubbing. And to bars before.” But never with people her own age. Never for fun. And as much as she tried to imitate the actions of others, certain things were harder than others. And the drunk girl who danced on tables? Laura wasn’t sure she’d ever be that girl. That girl could let loose — and Laura didn’t know who she was. (And she didn’t know who she’d be drunk either.) 

Shrugging Laura forced her posture to relax. Her shoulders relaxing and slumping her posture before she spoke. “The saying I heard was — that sucks for you but I’m different.” But then there was a small smile at the corner of her lips. A real one. “And superhuman strength. No cross would be heavy.” 

Sometimes she forgot that pure unadulterated sass wasn’t everyone’s vocabulary, that not everyone could tell apart the jokes and the truth. She couldn’t either most days, so she just kept going. If she hurled enough wisecracks at the wall, maybe a few would stick. Maybe she could finally figure out whatever was going on in her head. Maybe. In the meantime, poor Laura was caught in the crossfire. “Teach Laura humor” was number two on Kate’s to-do list; they’d get there eventually, but, for now, she’d just get defensive, apparently. Kate laughed and nodded in concession. “Sounds fake, but okay.” 

Both of them deserved a chance to be normal for a minute, to dress up in skimpy outfits and wait too long in lines for overloud clubs and overpriced drinks. They deserved to take stupid selfies and punch the boys who got too close. Kate had chosen this life, and she didn’t regret it, but she hadn’t known all of its costs. You didn’t pay to become a superhero upfront, a one-and-done fee; it took pieces from you over time, until you’d forgotten what you’d agreed to give away in the first place. Laura hadn’t even had that choice. 

But that--was that... a joke? Sass? Was Laura learning? Kate couldn’t even be offended by the insult, she was too proud of the comeback. “You know what?” she said. “That’s valid. Please remind me and my noodle arms to never doubt you again.” 

@hawknotguy sent [ drunk ]

It was still getting cold at night. It had never meant much to Kara, who wore her sweaters and scarfs for show more than necessity, but it meant something to humans. They were fragile like that. Or perhaps Kara was simply too much, and everything else was normal – she knew which one, she’d always known which one. Her breath rose in a fog in front of her, and she knew if she could see it, then Kate could feel it. Should feel it, rather. It seemed to be low on her list of priorities, considering she was leaned back against the cool brick of the alley outside the bar. Kara had long since given up her coat, wrapping it around her shoulders in an attempt to put something between Kate and the early spring chill.

This wasn’t how Kara thought her night would go. Kate had still been an ‘unknown’ in her cell phone, someone who she knew but didn’t know. The drunk text and location drop had been unexpected. It didn’t stop her from flying there, landing with a dull thud in an adjacent alley in glasses only to find her ‘Unknown’ drunk and oh. Maybe she knew more about Kate than she’d thought. Abandonment issues, absentee role models, more than enough reasons to get near blackout drunk at two in the morning.

“Hey, it’s alright. Let’s um– whoa, let’s not beat anyone up.” Who was Clint? Whoever he was, Kate seemed determined. “I’m all for this crusade, yeah, screw him! But maybe let’s get warmed up first, some water, possibly. Is there anywhere we can go, or…I mean there’s my place, if you’d rather.”

Kate hadn’t meant to text Kara. She barely knew her--a few encouraging texts, a friendly wrong number, a good hot chocolate recipe. She also hadn’t meant to get this drunk, but here they were. The magical fear hellscape had done something to her, and she hadn’t been able to sleep for days. That implied she ever slept, which was wishful thinking at best, but this had been worse than usual. Nightmares of her mother and father, of Clint, of Cassie. Waking up at three in the morning in cold sweats. Watching Netflix until the sun came up just to ward off the memories. 

Tonight she’d opted to go to a bar for a drink or two or three or four and taken a walk to clear her head. If she took a weapon with her, that was fine, right? That wasn’t dangerous at all, that was completely rational, not even slightly self-destructive behavior. Maybe she could walk to Clint’s, even though he lived deep in the quagmire of Brooklyn. Maybe he’d know what to do. Maybe petting Lucky would make her feel better. Maybe things would be back to normal. Maybe--maybe.

But when she stepped outside, and the cold night air hit her in a shivery gust, she realized that maybe this wasn’t her best idea. The ground was spinning a little bit, and Clint’s apartment building was pretty far away, and a few men had started looking at her funny from across the street. She had a pocket knife in her bag, but she’d left her bow at home at risk of being a public safety hazard. She’d learned the hard way men in this city didn’t like armed women in bars, who’d have thought? She ducked into the alley around back and leaned against the wall to call Clint, ready to admit that maybe she had made a few mistakes but could really use a ride, please. It rang through to voicemail, so she texted him her and what was supposed to say CLINT SOS HAWKEYE EMERGENCY FUTZFACE but probably came out a garbled stream of nonsense and waited.

Not long later, she heard footsteps and saw an unfamiliar face and snapped upright, ready to fight. “I can take ‘em,” she said. “And you. And Clint--futz Clint, he’s useless in an emergency. Or ever. Ugh. Men.” But Kara wasn’t there to fight. She wrapped Kate in a jacket and offered her water, and Kate softened. “Yeah, my apartment’s not-- it’s not far. Few blocks that way, I think?” Which way was that way? The street signs all looked the same.

(✉ → has my name??): lucky is much more trustworthy than most humans. besides, ‘angry shooty girls’ is like 90% of my friends, i cant keep them all out (✉ → has my name??): :(( now i want a harold. no one has candy for me  (✉ → has my name??): too late, im getting it tattooed ‘kate bishop thinks im brilliant’ (✉ → has my name??): you know what, youre right. screw pants, screw society! but sweatpants are really comfy and im gonna keep wearing mine  (✉ → has my name??): cleanish, yep that’s definitely a hawkeye trait 

(✉ → she never misses🏹): i’m no ax murderer, but i can be quite the hunter. 😏 (✉ → she never misses🏹): is this convincing enough?

(✉ → has my name??): i have one. he’s got one eye, a tail, and i can pay him in pizza! (✉ → has my name??): i can never tell if you liked him or hated him, you know. that’s par for the course for a barton, but still (✉ → has my name??): im not the one calling people brilliant and then taking them back! that’s asshole behavior (✉ → has my name??): im just saying, if you show up without pants, it’s gonna look /really/ weird for me. 

Kate – the name meant nothing to him, but the hesitance in her voice made it clear that it should. Bishop he recognized in that vaguely-famous sort of way, the sort of name that was on business cards and buildings. But that last one. Hawkeye. 

He was just a kid when his parents died. When he and Barney were shipped off to that group home, where they refused to admit that Clint had a hearing problem and instead just called him a ‘problem.’ (When they weren’t calling him stupid.) Two kids that ran away and joined the circus, and surprisingly, had a little bit of talent. He still remembered, how it felt the first time the ring leader told him he’d get his own act. You need a name, Kid. Something that’ll draw in the crowds and make ‘em listen! 

It was Barney who came up with Hawkeye in the end. After Clint spent two days agonizing. The Incredible Hawkeye, the man who never missed. He took the name with him when he left everything else, it was a part of him. A part he buried for too long, a part that maybe he didn’t deserve anymore. All this time, he had thought this universe was his second chance to get it right, but maybe this universe had already given up on him. 

“A lot,” he murmured, gaze faltering for a moment. He couldn’t keep eye contact with her. “I think… I think you should come inside,” he said softly, stepping back to open up the door further. “It’s – we have a lot to talk about.” 

He didn’t know her. All that worrying, the years they’d spent together, the months of radio silence, and he didn’t know her. She might have been an amateur private investigator, but she was good enough to know the hollow look of a stranger who really had no idea who you were. Kate knew Clint well enough, or so she’d thought she had, to know that he couldn’t fake this, and that he wouldn’t lie about something like this even if he could. He was stupid and reckless, but he wasn’t cruel. 

Which meant that the Clint Barton who had taken her on, who had been her mentor, her partner, her best friend, was really gone. This man was a stranger wearing his face.

Wordlessly, Kate nodded and pushed her way inside. She hadn’t been in this apartment in--how long? Months, at least. Since before she’d moved. It was surreal to be standing inside of it now, when it seemed so very much the same but everything was so very different. She used to spend much too much time here. Days flopped on the couch restringing bows to the tune of Kate, you drank all the coffee again and don’t you have your own place, Katie? You’re rich, right? It had felt so much more like home than the glossy Upper East Side apartment she’d grown up in. At least Clint’s place didn’t have her father and his ghosts lurking around the corners. It had had an awful lot of old takeout containers and overflowing trash cans, but it had also had an endless supply of bandages and frozen peas, one very good dog, and one very good man. She couldn’t have asked for much more.

Without looking back at him, she tossed her bow on the kitchen counter. From somewhere in the loft, Lucky barked, and, suddenly, he was in front of her, tail wagging, single eye wide. Kate grinned and knelt down to smoosh her face into his. “Hey, buddy,” she said, muffled in his fur, before sitting back, cross-legged, dog in her arms. “You remember me, don’t you?” 

It wasn’t pointed, necessarily, but it also wasn’t not pointed. Without letting go of Lucky, Kate finally looked up at Clint. “You better have a futzing good explanation for this, Barton, or I’m stealing your dog and moving back to California.”

(✉ → has my name??): anything less than 7 is a good day  (✉ → has my name??): i still have to pay to /fix/ it (✉ → has my name??): it’s kind of… not mine, after all (✉ → has my name??): AGREED. verdict accepted (✉ → has my name??): did you just call me /brilliant?/  (✉ → has my name??): probably a good idea, yeah 

lucky the dog’s instagram profile, 

co-run by kate & @roninorhawkeye​, mostly actually run by kate, featuring liho

captions:

she’s plotting my death! (@liho.the.cat)

not pictured: me eating this collar 3 minutes later

adventuring with @hawkeye; both of us need a shower

@hawkguys took me to the river! i almost threw us both in!

thinking serious thoughts bout pizza.

(✉ → cooler hawkeye): Hell yeah we are! Same page, Bishop! Same goddamn page! […] (✉ → cooler hawkeye): Oh thank God. (✉ → cooler hawkeye): I thought I was going to have to bluff it for a solid two weeks, and then for the rest of our lives. (✉ → cooler hawkeye): Vodka on a bonfire? (✉ → cooler hawkeye): Vodka on a bonfire sounds good. (✉ → cooler hawkeye): Wait, can you even drink? (✉ → cooler hawkeye): You’re like, 12.