#amazingfutzup

[facedadragon]

calling all clints/dannys do any of you guys want to do some clones au things aka orphan black au tbh

[shootingstarlord]

    amazingfutzup

    Night shift at the animal clinic was just as hectic as the day shift, not that Peter had known before tonight. Usually he only worked during the day as a volunteer, since he was now working as an extern vet tech while one of the regular techs was out on maternity leave, he'd been put into the night rotation. 

And he was in no way to prepared to handle the night rush, especially with all the strange cases coming in. They said the full moon marked an increase in emergency room visits, and the same seemed to be true of animal shelters. Their biggest case of the night was a dog, a mixed breed wolf-dog by the size of it, that had been hit by a hunter on one of the dark forested roads leading into town. The dog itself was gorgeous, big blue eyes and a gold and white coat sprinkled with tawny spots like freckles, but given how he'd snapped at the man that had brought him in, it was likely that it would be placed on the list to be put down due to the shelter's policies and lack of room.

Peter absentmindedly pet the soft fur on the side of the dog's neck as he positioned one of the x-ray machines over its side to check his ribs. He wasn't really supposed to be doing this, and he'd have to adopt the dog or find someone else to adopt him immediately and pay for the x-rays himself, but what was he supposed to do? Let it suffer? Not do the things he'd been trained to do to help it?

"I'm warning you, if you snap at me I'm going to use the antiseptic spray that stings when we're done with the x-rays. It was very good of that man to bring you here instead of leaving you on the side of the road," he scolded. After a few more adjustments, he ducked behind the led partition and snapped an x-ray, absently stroking the dog's muzzle as the computer loaded up the image. 

[spartci]

[11:25:40 PM] Clinton F(ucker) Barton: starlord more like slutlord

[facedadragon]

LET'S PLAY THE IS IT DANNY RAND OR CLINT BARTON GAME:

[starkindustrics]

         "Lock, loaded and ready to go." Hunkered down, he is but a mere step away from where Barton crouches, still and nearly unmoving. The fort steadies itself just fine with the sandbags and stacked crates that were filled, but there's no telling how long more they were liable of keeping their heads from under fire. Tony doesn't inherently fear the cacophonous din of battle, but one's ears can only take in so much of pelting bullets and stray-shrieking shrapnel before nerves are being gritted and gnawed against.

         That, and he's nearly pissing his pants without the tech that he is ever so dependent upon on the field. With an electromagnetic pulse rendering circuitry practically redundant anywhere within a five mile radius, his arsenal was just as useful as Medieval chainmail and silver gauntlets. He won't admit to that slight though. The billionaire came prepared, and nobody was about to fault him by claiming otherwise.

       Ammo stash weighing down on both his shoulders, he eases the laden weight of the backpack down by his ankles, leaving for it to slouch by one side while chafed shoulders screech in a sorry looking sore that builds under the fabric of his shirt. "They're radioing for backup, last I heard. We're going to need an extraction team down here before they have us mowed down."

So much for playing dress up and fighting with your words.

                      Since when has that ever turned out right anyway?

[shootingstarlord]

lavender

ASK ME TO DESCRIBE A COLOR WITHOUT USING THAT COLOR

     There's a shirt that Peter finds in his laundry, it doesn't belong to him, but all the same the worn-out cotton feels too good to pass up. He takes to wearing it more often than not when he's not covered up with body armor.

The shirt always smells like coffee, which isn't surprising considering it's former owner.

It's the shirt he wears to do chores, to cook, to dance around the room in a song playing over his speakers while he picks up the awful mess that congregated over the span of the trip.

In the end, it's always the shirt he wears when he visits Earth.

It's the sheet of the bed he falls into, blocking out the rest of the world except for one singular point of light in the universe, bright as any star. 

[ncvaprime]

ff+ Clint Barton

[Send me “ff+” and a character name and my character will react to finding and reading a graphic and sex-filled fanfiction of themselves and that character.]

Now sensory depravation wasn’t a thing Richard had exactly considered before now. But from the words he’d just read, it certainly seemed enjoyable for both parties.

[ncvaprime]

amazingfutzup:

"Given my track record? Yep."

"Well then..."