Three things:
ONE - My best David Aja is err well I tried. Aha?
TWO - (See what I did there?)
THREE - If you think of a joke and need HOURS to draw it because you suck at inking? Trust me, it will not be funny anymore. AH WELL.
Oooh, I need this arrow. In my mouth. Right now.
Oh WOW, LOVING the details in this piece. Gorgeous job!
I love the details. I mean, yeah, I love the main point of the pic, but I keep checking out the background and taking in stuff. Look at that floor. Look at the arrow detailing. Look at the crinkles around Phil’s eye. PRETTY.
I realised I never finished that wedding picture I started :D So I’m uploading this wip, because it’s not getting finished anytime soon :)
I am making the stupidest, this-makes-me-so-happy face. They both just look so happy.
Fanart, Anyone?
I did some sketches of a 1940s, Film Noir Avengers AU, like, 3 months ago. I was sitting at home watching a movie tonight, and made this little installation into the series (does it count as a series if there are only two pieces in it?)
In my universe, Hawkeye is the the 1930s “Boxer” archetype. Hard-edged, disconnected, a little desperate but loyal.
Damn it, I should have put him in high-waisted pants and suspenders.
Udontease was actually nice enough to send me a note on this, and it’s BEAUTIFUL. God, Hawkeye would absolutely be the boxer type. I love his look and the shading on his arms. It’s just really, really pretty.
Phil really hates it when Clint throws those puppy eyes at him.
“No,” Phil says as he catches sight of Clint’s face.
“Yes,” Clint says. Puppy eyes going up a notch. “Please,” he adds.
“I’m still recuperating.”
“It’s your welcome-back-from-the-dead party,” Clint says. “We’ll stay for half an hour, then come back here and watch Project Runway on Netflix.”
“Everyone’s going to ask how I am.”
“No, they won’t.” Clint sits next to Phil and slides his hand up under Phil’s t-shirt, fingers stopping just short of Phil’s scar. He knows it still hurts a little, even with the stitches out. “I told them you’re fine and that asking if you really are means shaving cream in their shoes and lockers and helmets.”
Phil smiles. Clint’s not giving him puppy eyes anymore, he’s just looking at Phil with warmth and care. “I don’t want them seeing me like this,” he admits. “I’m scruffy.”
“I like you scruffy.”
“I’m down twenty pounds. Nothing fits.”
“There’s gonna be piles of empty calories there. You can fatten up.” Clint smiles when Phil lifts an arm and wraps it around Clint’s thighs. “Thirty minutes,” he says. “And we’ll go back into hiding until you’re back to impeccable.”
“I want to shave first,” Phil says.
“We can do that.” Clint presses his cheek against Phil’s and chuckles when Phil deliberately drags his face along Clint’s stubble. “Any other demands?”
“Stay put for a second,” Phil says. He brings his other hand up to cup the back of Clint’s head, and he closes his eyes and feels Clint breathe.
“Tell me when to move,” Clint says.
“I will.”
Nest making is … complicated. This inspired by scifigrl47 and her post here lol
The bird jokes will never, ever get old. Ever. I love them so much.
(o⌒．⌒o) ♡
“Phil Coulson. I’ll be your new handler.”
He still has that card. The edges started getting worn, so he had it laminated. It fits in an inside pocket of his uniform pants, on the small of his back, so he always has Phil with him even when he doesn’t.
Phil finds it one day as he’s peeling off Clint’s clothes and kissing the dimples on his back. “That’s my old number,” is all he says.
“That’s who you were when I met you,” Clint replies.
“And who was that?” Phil asks.
“The first person in a long time I knew I could trust.”
Phil splays his hands on Clint’s back and tries to remember how to breathe.
“Barton, be careful,” Phil says, and Clint meets his eyes for a moment before starting to climb the fire escape to find his position. The same as he’s done every other time Phil’s said it since he got cleared for field work three weeks ago.
“He is never fucking talking to you again,” Sitwell says on comm.
“Shut up,” Coulson replies.
“You will die with the bluest balls in the world,” Sitwell continues. “This is why you don’t fake your death, asshole.”
“You were in on it!” Coulson snaps.
“Yup,” Sitwell agrees, completely unrepentant.
“Damnit,” Coulson replies.
“I gotta tell you,” Stark cuts in, “I love these SHIELD domestics you all have. So much fun to have in my ear as I’m trying to take down a dragon.”
“It’s not a dragon,” Coulson replies. “Dragon’s breathe fire.”
“Acid counts as fire,” Stark replies.
“Stark, just blast the damned thing.”
Tony does, but it only singes the thing. It’s an arrow to the neck and a blast of lightning that finally take it down.
“Meet at the perimeter,” Coulson says. He hears a clatter behind him and turns to watch Clint jump the last few feet to the ground. “Good job, Barton,” he says. Clint barely looks at him. He’d said nothing over comms during the whole op.
Coulson wonders how much more time he’s got to give Clint before Clint gives him another chance. Clint walks over and looks at him from very close up. “Yes?” Coulson asks.
Clint reaches out a hand and touches Phil’s bare forearm. Phil’s jacket was a victim of one of the acid-spitting moments, and he’d rolled up his sleeves out of habit.
“Yes?” Phil asks again.
Clint stares at him, swaying towards him just a little.
“Come here,” Phil says, and he tucks a thumb into one of Clint’s belt loops and pulls him forward, kissing him for just a moment, relieved beyond all thought when Clint kisses him back.
“Adorable,” Sitwell says over comms. “You know we’ve got media watching, right?”
“Hope they got my good side,” Clint says as he pulls away, his fingers curling around Phil’s bicep, a warm smile on his face.
“Hi,” Coulson says.
“Hey,” Clint responds.
Post-mission napping.
Goddamn, I love how comfortable they both look. Like, they actually look relaxed even though you can tell exactly how much they’ve been through. It’s wonderful.
For some reason the idea of Barton whining at Coulson during an op just strikes me as really adorable….
submitted by youareillogical
Love this. Like, god, I could write this whole op. It’s such a clusterfuck, this op, you don’t even know, and BARTON I SAID SHUT UP.
