I looked it up.

I'm an orphan raised by carnies fighting with a stick and string from the paleolithic era. So when I say "this looks bad?" I promise you it feels worse. [ Indie selective RP blog. ]

[cirquepaleolithique]

fcrrous:

“ — you missed a spot. Right there. ”

    “No I didn’t. ‘S fine.”

[dontdierobb]

i forgot to repost my mans here. the hawkeye comic is 5 years old… damn

[cirquepaleolithique]

[ it's the purple loser's birthday. that is all. ]

[cirquepaleolithique]

dontcallmerupert:

       “Beat me? What is this– middle school?” he smirks, humor in his tone. “Boy, I will lay you on your back.”

     “ ---- so many promises, Rhodes.”

Wait. Has he gotten distracted? He’s gotten distracted. 

                   “I’d like to see you try. You don’t train on the regular with Nat without learning how to run away. Real quick.”

[cirquepaleolithique]

fcrrous:

“ Yeah, that’s called murder, Clint. ” First names now, nixing the nicknames — things get that little bit more serious, that little bit heated at the mention of a primary energy source. He tries for a look, all narrowed eyes and crossed arms coupled with the defiance in how he raises his chin and turns ever so slight. 

It won’t last long, he knows it. But he’ll drag it out as long as he can. 

“ Augh, what— “

Tony feigns disgust, buries the rumble and bubble of laughter that wants to spill from lips deep within as he places a hand on Clint to push, and rubs his now wet cheek with the other whilst keeping a fixed look on the culprit. It’s then and there he decides that a simple push isn’t good enough. No, Tony Stark means business, and from where he sits, he moves to chase. 

   “ -- you’re welcome.”

There’s a smugness to his amusement that quickly fades as he glances over his shoulder, registers Tony’s swift rise from his chair. He’s by no means slow -- advantage lent by long legs and by rope-taut muscle, hard-earned and maintained. But what Tony lacks in the height department, he more than makes up for in speed.

Clint doesn’t get much of a head start, and that head start that he does get is abruptly lost when he trips right over his own gymbag, left right where he’d dropped it. He goes down like two-hundred-ten pounds of bricks, all arms and legs, already scrabbling to try and regain his footing.

Feet tangle in bat strap, attempt to kick it into Tony’s path as distraction as he makes it to his knees, pushes himself up and forward.

         “Don’t you dare --- I don’t deserve this ---”

[cirquepaleolithique]

fcrrous:

Always something with the rich folk. Almost as if he’s got a vendetta against them. How rude. 

“ Jokes on you, honey bird, I don’t sleep. ” Surprise beneath the surface, where the steadiness of his voice and the ease and flow of words had been something unexpected ( distraction a part of Clint’s skill set, perfected with close proximity and the introduction of touch ). He allows himself a deep breath in, before exhaling deeply. 

Hands never leave his face. 

“ Why are you doing this? ” He asks, fingers curling slightly where the want to respond, react and touch — allow his hands to drag and settle on top of Clint’s, is difficult to resist. He won’t let the man win, not yet, anyway. A small grumble, and the tiny peep, hands pull down, just so his eyes can open and he can turn to the side to look at him accusingly. 

“You would if i stole all your coffee.”

True enough that Tony can’t really seem to function without it, but neither can he. What’s the saying? Cutting off your nose to spite your face. Still, the threat is a good one, for all its lack of credibility. If he’s a honey bird -- name he’d resent from any other lips -- than Tony is a coffee bear. A grumpy one.

“Because I like to see you suffer?” he suggests, all innocence to his tone contradicted by the wicked smile, the huff of laughter against the side of Tony’s head. “Or maybe it’s just the way I am. Can’t help it. In my blood.” 

And then, he turns his face, just a fraction, the implication that lips will meet Tony’s temple, a mocking show affection. At the last moment, childishness rears up, and instead ---- he licks a stripe up the other boy’s face, even as he darts away in anticipation of retaliation.

[hrimhvat-a]

diagnonsins:

doing risky shit because you lowkey wanna die

[cirquepaleolithique]

dontcallmerupert:

     “Oh, me? No, sure– let me just… scoot on over and let you do your thing, Danny.”

   “I changed my mind.”

          “I’m gonna beat you instead.”

[aasterisms]

This was supposed to be a quick warmup lmao

[ootcs]

That’s okay, Rhodey, there are others who do!

[cirquepaleolithique]

dontcallmerupert:

     “Wait– you’re not Iron Fist?!”

    “So this is it. This is what betrayal really feels like.                               ----do you mind? You’re sort of interrupting my staring mournfully into the middle distance.”

[cirquepaleolithique]

@dontcallmerupert

  “ --- just once, you know? I’m not asking for a parade. But if one more person asks if I’m the Iron Fist, I might end up punching ‘em. I’m cool aren’t I? I’m pretty cool. I’d recognise me.”

[klaine03]

starling-girl asked you: Hey! I absolutely love your art, it’s all fantastic :) If you ever find the time or inclination, could you do some ironhawk? Maybe cuddles in Tony’s workshop?

thank you, and i hope you find this fantastic too ^.^

[erebusodora-deactivated20190104]

Okay. Once again: you made me do it. And, well, I didn’t resist much. All for the anatomy studies xD

P.S.: Le Soundtrack, oui ;3

[immaculate-contraception]

Anyone who would give up a little usability for a little aesthetic would deserve neither, and lose both. – Ben Franklin, probably.

[thoseofonen-a]

((Please make your writing-based blogs legible and accessible))

[dxctordisco-deactivated20210511]

@ofbrochtuarach

[the-wordbutler-deactivated20230]

Clint.

Clint, no.

[why-i-love-comics]

Hawkeye: Blind Spot #1 - “Sight Unseen” (2011)

written by Jim McCann art by Paco Diaz