#arrowedavenger

    ❝ You want a cup, Clint? You look exhausted. ❞

           Feet up on the arm of the couch, her body stretched out across it, Natasha looked very much at home on Clint’s furniture. Liho and Ponchik had gone a step further, rolling around on Lucky’s bed and batting at his toys. When the bathroom door opened, though, both of them dashed towards it, Ponchik letting out excited chirps. Aside from Natasha, Clint was the only one they would seek out like this – hell, Liho still would run from Isaiah. She suspected they were given a lot of treats behind her back.

           They threaded through Clint’s ankles, giving pitiful, desperate meows, looking up at him with huge eyes, painting a very convincing picture of neglected, starved animals.

Clint didn’t even mind very much when Peter found himself asleep on the ceiling which was good because Peter had minded very much. Spider powers were weeeeeird. 

“Cliiiint!” Peter yelled, from the ceiling- again. Maybe this is what would get him kicked out, it wasn’t like Clint was a foster parent or his Aunt or Uncle, he was just a guy who’d helped a kid off the streets. “Clint I’m stuck again!” 

@arrowedavenger​​ sent... “ you didn’t have to come ya know? i’m glad you did though. ” accepting... shippy memes.

there are minimal examples of positive influences in his life.  he supposes the few friends he has that have undoubtedly been invaluable forces would be happy, pepper, and rhodey.  it’s why he’s been so reluctant to accept life as an avenger.  as part of a collective of talented individuals who band together every so often to beat up some bad guys.  tony knows they all fight for the same cause— at least when together— but it doesn’t mean that he’s fond of them.  not entirely, not at first.  he’s hostile, he’s arrogant, he’s annoying.  he knows.  it’s not his finest traits, nor his finest moments in life.

thing is, time will either soften or harden him with his experiences.  in this case, he’s loosened up around them.  they may not all stay at the tower, but he finds that he enjoys their company, usually.  he’s willing to lend a helping hand where he can when it comes to tech and funding, but he knows that money doesn’t buy over friendship.  tony’s bad at keeping in touch, mostly because he forgets time is a thing, but whenever one of them needs help, he’s willing to help.

so when clint calls?  tony’s on his way.

USER :// @arrowedavenger​ INQUIRY ://  ‘ i was always your second choice! ’ public string { exclamatory } ; accepting

           there’s so much passion in clint’s words that steve finds himself physically taking a step back.  a sting resonates on his cheek as if he’d actually been slapped and his heart pounds in that way it does when a battle first starts.  defenses are kicking in to gear.  the soldier has to remind himself how illogical that was because this is clint.  how could clint thing he was second?  when all steve had ever tried to do was protect him first.

          “ what? “  is not the most eloquent response but his eyebrows pinch together nonetheless.  steve tries to reclaim that step he’d taken by pushing forward.  instead of reaching out, though, he raises his arms so they could cross over his chest like a metaphorical shield.

          the soldier’s mind starts to race, scanning over everything in recent memory to see if maybe he’d missed something.  had he said something to make clint think he was anything other than important?  done something?  there was no doubt in his mind something was there because he had the tendency to get so caught up in missions and paperwork.  one could even say he buried himself in it.  demons still haunted him and ghosts still followed his every move.  whatever his heart felt did not change the fear his mind tried to hold on to.

@arrowedavenger​ said:  🤕

🤕  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  is  patching  up  your  muse’s  injuries.

It was---uncommon, but now and again she exchanged favors for favors. Maybe not jobs that needed to be done to help someone, but jobs that would get her something useful in return. And occasionally--not always--those would lead to some less than legal activities. But not ones that hurt anyone. What harm was there in a little spying on some mortal guy? It wasn’t like she was invested in what the non-witches were up to.

She limped down the dark alley in the direction of the man’s scent. Everything hurt, but she supposed that had been the point of letting herself get roughed up for the gig. Her pitch black fur hid the stain of blood, but her leg was pretty obviously broken as she struggled toward the light of a side door.