DISCLAIMER: The characters of the Avengers and the Avengers namesake is property of Marvel. I own nothing and make no money off this.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Words and Junk
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .[a collection of avengers fan fiction]
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .VOTED HERO HQ's 2010 BEST AUTHOR OF THE YEAR!
Showdown at Aisle 17
Characters: Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Wasp/Janet Van Dyne
Word Count: 2,100+
Summary: To call it a battle of wits would suggest that Chuck ever had a chance.
Link: Part 1
Treading the Wind and Rain
Characters: Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Mockingbird/Bobbi Morse
Word Count: 11,300+
Summary: Clint and Bobbi drove to the middle of the South Dakota Badlands expecting a man-made monster but found a natural disaster.
Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
[Author Note: Some continuity regarding New Avengers: Reunion but reading it isn't necessary.]
The Woman in Snake Skin Boots
Characters: Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff
Word Count: 1,700+
Summary: During a visit to London, Natasha finds herself being stalked in a winter wonderland.
Link: Part 1
Letter of Marque
Characters: Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Mockingbird/Bobbi Morse
Word Count: --
Summary: Hidden from light she thrives. A city unknown to the world houses an eclectic collection of men and women outcast from society. But that which is hidden is hidden for a reason and unlocking the city's secrets will prove more dangerous than Hawkeye and Mockingbird could prepare for.
Status: In Progress
Link: Story Thread
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff
Characters: Wasp/Janet Van Dyne, Hank Pym, minor Captain America/Steve Rogers, Iron Man/Tony Stark, Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Thor, Mockingbird/Bobbi Morse
Word Count: 1,200+
Summary: The way to a man's heart is through his deodorant.
Link: Part 1
Portrait of a Foxhole Family
Characters: Captain America/Steve Rogers, Iron Man/Tony Stark, Wasp/Janet van Dyne, Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff, Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Mockingbird/Bobbi Morse
Word Count: --
Status: In Progress
Link: Part 1
[9-10-11] First chapter of Portrait of a Foxhole Family has been added!
Let the awesomeness begin...
It looks awesome, Hawk! I'm loving the little details you give about each story. Makes me wanna read em over again which I think I will. :lol:
Showdown at Aisle 17
The yellow smiley face greeted Clint from the cardboard sign designating Pringles potato chips were on sale, two for the price of one. It seemed to mock him with it's all too cheery smile. Almost as if it knew he should be spread out across his bed quietly (or not so quietly if one believed Wanda's claims that he snored) sleeping. But one could never underestimate Janet Van Dyne's persuasion skills and before he could rub the sleep from his eyes she was ushering him along to the store to act as her hired muscle to lift a new television in and out of the car.
Clint turned his head as the squeak of wheels gave away Jan's approach from behind with a newly found shopping cart. He waited for the cart to pass him by and walked alongside her, one hand easing into the front pocket of his jeans.
"I can't believe you woke me up before the sun to buy a TV."
"Eight o'clock isn't that early," Jan said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, "At least not to people that get up before noon."
Clint shrugged, unapologetic of his sleeping habits. "I always figured setting our own hours was one of those little perks of saving the world."
"Tell that to Steve."
When Jan pushed the shopping cart forward rather than veering to the left toward the electronics department Clint grabbed the side to slow them to a stop. He jerked his thumb to the left. "TV's are over there."
"I know. I just want to grab this cute pair of sandals." Jan was quick to reassure him, "It'll take five minutes."
Clint couldn't remember a time when Jan bought anything, let alone shoes, in five minutes. If it took less than twenty minutes he would qualify it as a small miracle. His eyebrows rose as he skeptically repeated, "Five minutes"¦"
"Ten at the most."
"Fine," Jan sighed and dismissed him with a wave, "Go play with your toys and I'll find you when I'm done."
Her submission made him grin. "Take your time."
Cut free from the shoe shopping torture, Clint was quick to head toward the electronics section where he knew there to be a bounty of B-grade movies stockpiled like Cold War rations (and were just as desirable). If Jan hadn't finished in the shoe aisle by the time he tired of browsing through the best movies one dollar could buy he could switch over to whatever video game demos were set up.
It was a good a plan as any for killing time. That plan, however, was quick to crumble when something worthy of his attention and affection caught his eye.
Clint wouldn't normally get a bow from the same store he bought his underwear but there was no harm in checking out the stock while he waited on Janet. She would probably be busy for well past ten minutes anyway, deciding which style of buckle complimented her handbag the best. He would be doing himself a favor with greater entertainment than a pile of bad movies could provide.
His feet were already edging him toward the sporting goods section before his mind had come to a decision. He strode decisively through the tunnel of fishing rods, ignoring the weak sour scent that emanated from a number of the plastic baits. The bows, along with the firearms, were against the back wall behind a sales counter, kept out of the reach of mischievous hands.
Clint approached the counter and rested his arms on it. The selection of bows was small but not bad considering it was just a department store. Many of them were compounds bows which he never cared much for with the use of pulleys and cams that reduced the strength needed to pull back the string. It felt too artificial and automated for his tastes. There were, however, several recurve bows made of wood and fiberglass composites that were closer to his likening.
"'scuse me, can I see that bow," Clint asked the back of blue vested employee and pointed to a bow he had his eye on.
The clerk turned and Clint looked down at the square faced framed by short rusty brown hair. His wide set eyes were matched by a wide smile and thick nose. He placed big hands on the glass counter and leaned forward, the swell of his stomach pressed against the counter. Chuck, as the nametag labeled the clerk, was the spitting image of Paul Bunyan (if Paul had been short and fat). He turned his head to follow Clint's finger to the bow he asked about.
It was a Hunter recurve bow manufactured by Martin Archery. The riser was carved from robust birch wood and the limbs made of hard maple laminations and fiberglass. The fiberglass was painted black and the wood of the riser was dyed a lighter black as not to hide the beautiful wood grain. It was no machine made bow pumped out for mass production. It was hand made by an experienced bowyer and because of that the price tag was over five hundred dollars. A hefty price to pay but Clint thought it was worth it. His own Hunter was a thing of beauty.
"You have a good eye. That's a Martin recurve bow," Chuck said as he got the Hunter from the back peg board. "Do you shoot?"
Clint did his best to ignore Chuck's reference to archery as "˜shooting' as he ran his hands down the length of the Hunter. The surface was smooth without a flaw. He didn't break his eyes away from the bow, replying, "You could say I dabble in it."
"It's a wonderful sport. I'm something of a professional amateur you could say," Chuck boasted, "Yeah, I've won the county archery competition two times."
Clint raised the Hunter and hooked his index and middle fingers behind the bowstring. He eased back the string, the tension being no problem for his back muscles. Clint held the string for a moment then let the tension pull the string back to its normal straight state.
"It's a wonder you haven't broke into the Olympics with those kinds of credentials," Clint said dryly. Chuck's robust laughter momentarily broke his focus from the Hunter.
"Say, why don't I set up a target," Chuck said and gave the counter an enthusiastic smack with his hand. "Let you get a feel for the bow."
Taking his eyes off the Hunter, Clint looked to the left and the right of the aisle. A rack of pink meaty blobs the labels insisted were fishing bait jutted out in the pathway to his right. On his left there was a display stand of packaged golf balls. There wasn't much space to move but what worried Clint the most was customers, especially kids, wandering around and not paying attention.
"Inside," Clint asked, placing the Hunter on the counter.
"Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll help you out with some pointers."
"You wouldn't happen to also have some pointers for treating arrow wounds, wouldja?"
"You're a funny guy," Chuck said, chuckling while he reached for a practice target. "I'll tell you what, I'll shoot first so you can see how's it done."
"You don't have to-," Clint weakly protested.
"Now watch carefully here. You want a nice even stance," Chuck instructed as he got in position. He was as graceful as an ox but his stance wasn't bad. It was a simple even stance with feet spread shoulder width apart though the minimal string clearance wasn't ideal for a barrel chested man like Chuck. "Pull back the arrow and let it fly." The string hit Chuck's arm and skewed the shot, the arrow hitting three inches off center. The arrow wouldn't have hit dead center judging by his arm position though it showed Clint that Chuck wasn't just all talk. "Go on, give it a try."
Clint could already hear the lecture Steve would launch into about responsibility and as a veteran Avenger he was supposed to be an example to the younger members but still the Hunter found its way into his hands. Some things were too good to pass up.
"Okay but I'm not that good."
Rather than taking up the even stance Chuck used, Clint positioned his feet with his left foot angled toward the target and his right heel lined up with the toe of his left in an uneven stance mainly used by expert archers. He notched the arrow and drew back the string to the anchor point on his cheek. He took aim at the target and released the string. The string launched the arrow forward through the air. The arrowhead pierced the target with a soft thump.
"You"¦you hit the center," Chuck said dumbfounded.
Clint grinned and replied nonchalantly, "Beginner's luck."
"Yeah. You're a natural." Chuck regained his previous bravado, adding, "I mean, you're no county champion but you've got potential."
Clint frowned. A dead center shot should have instilled more than five seconds of humility in a bigheaded clerk. It wasn't worth the risk of hitting a bystander. Worst yet, he could get lectured for nothing. He put the Hunter down on the counter. "I think I'll leave the archery to Hawkeye."
"Hawkeye? Forget that guy. All of those Avengers are doughy pretty boys with steroids and surgery. Now you have some real talent."
"Doughy," Clint silently mouthed, hand on his stomach. He would rather stare down the Kree Army than tell Wanda her breasts aren't real or that Natasha isn't a natural redhead. There were some things even he didn't have the courage to say. "Those Avengers saved your butt at least a dozen times in the last year alone. It wouldn't hurt to show a little gratitude."
"Easy big fella. I'm not saying they aren't great but you'd think they'd be able to keep those Doom guys locked up," Chuck didn't skip a beat, adding, "But now you've got some real potential and because of it I'll throw in the arrows for half price."
Clint was about to point out Doctor Doom was Reed's pet project, not the Avengers, among other less tactful arguments when his tirade was interrupted, "Whoa, is that"¦"
The stunned expression painted on Chuck's face was enough to divert Clint's interest away from the insult against the Avengers. He looked over his shoulder to see Jan pushing the squeaky wheels of the shopping cart, a shoe box nestled in the child's seat. So she could buy a pair of sandals in under an hour.
"Janet Van Dyne." A grin returned to Clint's face. He turned back to Chuck, asking, "Do you want me to ask about the plastic surgery or should I?"
"Hey now, wait a second."
"Hey Jan," Clint called, "settle a bet between me and my new pal, Chuck. Did you get the full face lift or just the eyebrows?"
It was a dangerous question to ask. There was no way to guarantee Jan wouldn't throw a tackle box at his head. Clint was banking she would read his face and voice and recognize his intent to torture Chuck opposed to teasing her beauty regiments. Lucky for his head, Jan had caught on even if the skepticism across her face showed her confusion.
Chuck's face had become as white as a ghost. "Mi-Miss Van Dyne, please ignore him. He's just joking."
"Don't get shy now," Clint said, "After all, those Avengers are just, how'd you put it, pretty boys with steroids and surgery."
"You misheard me. That's what I-I said they weren't. The Avengers are heroes. You've saved the world a dozen times in the last year alone."
"They have potential but they aren't two time county archery champs like Chuck here," Clint said. His grin grew as he continued to turn Chuck's words against him.
Jan raised her eyebrows. "Two times?"
Chuck flushed. "It's nothing compared to what you do."
"He's so modest," Clint said and pointed to the target. "Why look at that beautiful shot he took. Only a couple inches off the center."
"I'm no Hawkeye," Chuck said, shaking his head.
Clint's smile turned wry. "Who is."
"Are you done," Jan asked though he had a feeling she wasn't talking about him ogling the archery bows.
"Yeah, I'm done." Unable to resist one last jab, Clint turned to Chuck, saying, "I hope you don't mind if I come back for tips sometime."
"Uh, yeah, sure," Chuck replied and bashfully added, "It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Van Dyne."
Jan nodded and gave Chuck a polite smile. "Likewise."
The cart was turned around and Jan pushed it out of the sports department with Clint walking beside her. Behind them Clint heard the rustling of Chuck putting away the Hunter and the practice target. He looked to Jan, waiting for the reprimand as they moved out of listening distance from Chuck. She didn't say anything immediately. She didn't look angry either.
"Have fun," Jan finally asked.
Clint grinned. "Always do."
Thanks for the compliments, guys! Just give a shout if you have any suggestions or anything.
Cool, I'll have to get to reading more "Junk" soon!
Hawk- My suggestion is that you change Treading the Wind and Rain from "work in progress" to "complete" sometime soon.
@Rogue - Hope ya like it, mate. I'll try to start posting some of Treading the Wind and Rain tonight if my computer doesn't freak out on me.
@Brian - Haha, working on it! I might actually have a new short story done soon. It's something I wrote once when I couldn't sleep but never got around to finishing.