#cxpt

[ prompt ] [ inbox ] // @cxpt -> ❝  are you sure you’re alright? ❞ [clint barton]

With the symbiote situation squared away, which taking on a whole underground city under of carnage symbiotes in San Francisco alone had been stress inducing, Clint didn't know what he was feeling. It felt weird to be back in New York.

A call had gone out to Katie to pack up all his stuff and ship it back out to New York. He might as well come home. Settle up back in Bed-Stuy, reclaim his home. The last time he had thought he was coming back to New York, he had been there two days before being whisked away by America Chavez to help Katie on the West Coast. He had ended up staying there.

Now he was settling back in, standing alongside with Captain America and he doesn't know how to saw that they had walked past the bar, this would be a few years ago, where Bruce asked him to kill him. Just seeing the place brought feelings that he had buried like the ghost. Being home felt like there was something inside his skin and he didn't know how to itch it out.

No, he wasn't doing alright. He hadn't seen that bar since the very day that arrowhead was passed into his hands. The years were catching up with him, had started to catch up when he kept his feet in LA for longer than a few weeks. What was going on New York? The mayor election, the symbiotes, it's all panic inducing and the only thing that's been helping him he was nightly beer buzz.

Mask it. Lie. You are fine, there's nothing building inside you, clawing your chest cause something feels wrong.

@cxpt moved from here

Why was it still so hot even after taking all her gear off? She felt like the whole world was sitting on her chest, and she couldn't move it. It made it harder to breathe, and she was struggling to focus on anything but Hunter's voice in her head. The fear in his voice, the fading in and out again, catching clips of what he said. She was too scared to move, and she was struggling to drown out Hunter's voice and listen to Steve's. Her breaths were shaky now, and her hands moved from her lap to pressing against her forehead, trying to stop the feeling like she was overheating. 

Everything felt so distant like she was underwater, and she was trying to pull herself together, but the weight on her chest was so heavy. What was happening? This was not something she'd experienced before. 

She did briefly wonder if this was what Clint heard things like when his aids were off, minus the intense anxiety she was feeling. "Fuck." She mumbled, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, a tsunami of nausea hitting her, drowning her from head to toe. Bobbi curled in on herself, leaning forward, hands still on her face. Not good, not good at all. She felt far from good, and she was trying to logic her way through it.

She was hot because of the extreme stress of being in the field again, and being distracted on a mission which caused lives to be put in danger. She felt the weight in her chest because she knew it was all her fault. The nausea was the body's response to the adrenaline spike, and the weight in her chest combined, making her feel uneasy and sort of out of body. 

lips formed into a grim smile, head nodding slightly. "i have a crew on standby to bus the kids to a safe location." provided they children were well enough to be moved. the widow's sources said the agency in control of this facility had ramped up their experimentation. that caused natalia's stomach to twist in knots.

"i just have to give them a call and they'll be here in five minutes." less, she hoped. a lot could happen in five minutes.

spinning around, the widow eyed the facility, imagining it burned to the ground in her mind's eye. hell was coming. no one was prepared for the black widow and captain america.

without a word, natalia launched herself into action. she bypassed the security fence, tossed knives and shot bullets, felling anyone who stood in her path. none of them saw her coming. she'd been counting on that.

i’m just glad you’re alright. i’m really, really fucking glad. -- @cxpt

Elektra smiled at him, it hurt to move but she reached for him, fingers brushing against the back of his hand. Bullseye was always a tough opponent, and considering she rather fearlessly, and oftentimes effortlessly fight any other enemy. Bullseye got into her head. She remembers dying, even when perhaps she shouldn't.

Despite the fact that he had never managed to beat her a second time. Depsite the fact that she could drag herself up, beaten, bloody, drugged and beat him a third, a fourth, a fifth time was something in and of itself.

The real worry she supposed came from the fact that well, sometimes he beat her to an actual pulp before she pulled herself back to her feet. She was fine now. Or mostly fine. Or would be if she meditated for a bit now that the doctors had patched her back up.

the shooting continued until he had slipped off into the darkness, his shift being almost instantaneous, before he grabbed onto steve's arm. with a yank, he pulled him into the shroud of overgrowth, a series of deep pants coming from him. ❛   ─   now now, captain, don't go getting your golden locks all disheveled. i told you i had this covered.   ❜ he lightly chastised, while lifting his chin slightly, motioning towards the encampment that was anything but silent. and with obviously good reason.

         ❛   ... they've got plans for a weapon, i don't know if these guys are the ones that are supposed to use it, but it seemed interesting enough.   ❜ logan said, putting the page of said plans in between them, to signify that he had gotten what he had been looking for. ❛   ─   that aside, these guys aren't the problem. i mean, sure, they kind of are because they're a bunch of IDIOTS waving around guns, but... they're not the masterminds to whatever plan that's being cooked up.   ❜

with that being said, he looked the super soldier over briefly, a low grunt resonating from him before he pulled back ; needing to retrieve his clothes. sooner rather than later. though, when he turned his back, the obvious signs of an INJURY could be seen on the back of his left shoulder. A BULLET WOUND. blood trickling down from the wound. of course, he knew it was there ( if only vaguely ), but he also knew that given enough time ─ it would heal.

                   ❛   ... if you're going in there. be careful, one of them seems to think they're LEEROY JENKINS, or some shit, and just wildly fires at every angle.   ❜ the wolf added, before disappearing back in the direction he had originally come from. once he saw his mound of clothes, the wolf began pulling them back onto his frame, a hiss coming from him when he FINALLY noted the injury to his shoulder.

@cxpt ─ moved from here.

@cxpt​.

@cxpt​ said:  “ how bad is it this time? ” ╱╱ emotionally intense prompts. ╱╱ accepting

NAIVE  OPTIMISM  HAS  DEPLETED  TOO  LONG  AGO  TO  EVEN  BE  WORTH  AN  HONORABLE  MENTION.  they don’t measure  anything in good or bad anymore, all that remains is bad and worse. maybe it’s for the best —— keeps them honest, at least, keeps them true to the course. because, at the end of it all, all that matters is the impact of one’s existence and not the length of it.

❝ i think both of us have seen worse. not that it’s much of a consolation, i guess. ❞     tip of the thumb absentmindedly traces the outline of a cut marking the curve of her jaw. those things don’t make her wince anymore, pain becomes a dear friend after one too many meetings, after all. they all bring little souvenirs from a battlefield and if they could hold onto scars, natasha’s sure there would be quite a story to tell. prose carved into skin and surrealism painted in red, black and blue on their bodies like it’s a canvas.

                                   but not all stories are worth telling.