cheesy salsa

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Zootopia One Shot #1: Perspective

Oh hi there! Welcome to the realm of my insanity!

Can you tell I’m excited for this movie!?

Unedited and unashamed. Written in about 15 minutes.

For those who don’t know the plot to Zootopia let me just lay it on you real quick. A Fox and a Bunny go on a magical adventure to beat the realms of the food chain while also becoming friends and kick the asses of every cop in their tracks. This is merely a series of one shots depicting said two animals on said food chain fighting said odds. Buddy cop movie style.

Yes, this is as pathetically cheesy as it sounds.

I typically only post Strange Magic fanfiction up here (link to all included), but I have been having major writers block and so I decided, with the new trailers out, why not give this a try?

Also seen on Archive of our Own!

No salsa. Just some guac. (See salsa scale for reference!)

Enjoy!


Nick Wilde had never had much reason to change his perspective.

In his mind, perspective was the shift of an area around him, and he’d always been good at adapting. One never changed to fit what was around them. One merely moved on when it became inconvenient and found another place to call their own. That was life; simple and clean cut, black and white, easy and neat and clean.

Con or no con, at the end of a day of causing chaos, it was order that he found the most comfort in.

Nick Wilde had never needed to change his perspective.

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Fic: Weekend at Bartons, pt. 2

“Do you have your instructions?”

“Dear God, what TIME is it?”

Tony snapped his fingers in front of Clint’s nose. This won him one partially opened eye. He considered it a victory. “Instructions,” Tony repeated, drawing the word out. “Do you have them?”

“He has them,” Steve said, sounding too amused for Tony’s peace of mind. He set the suitcases down on the floor by the elevator. “It’s fine.”

“Not fine,” Tony said. “Clint. Focus. Instructions.”

“Why am I awake?” Clint mumbled, squinting at nothing. He shoved a hand through the tangled rats nest of his hair. His pajama pants slipped low on his hips, and he dragged them back up with a yawn.

Tony threw his hands in the air, and Steve ducked his head to try and hide a smile. “Because you’re going to be responsible for DJ in about fifteen minutes,” he said. Clint turned his squint in Steve’s direction, his face a mask of confusion, and Steve patted him on the shoulder. “Let me get you some coffee.”

“I don’t think coffee’s going to do it, I don’t think a brain transplant would do it,” Tony pointed out.

“It’ll be fine!” Steve said, heading back up the hall.

“Not fine,” Tony groused under his breath. “Absolutely not fine.” He leaned in. “Clint. I am trusting you right now.”

“Well, that’s your fucking mistake, isn’t it?” Clint asked, stretching, and nearly lost his pants again.

“Those things come with a drawstring, don’t they?” Tony asked.

“Broke,” Clint said.

Tony stared at him, nonplussed. “How do you keep them up normally?”

Clint shrugged. “I tuck the waistband into the top of my underwear.” Tony stared at him. Clint stared back. “What?” he asked, hitching his pants up.

“I suppose I should be thankful that you’re wearing underwear,” Tony said.

“Living the dream,” Clint agreed. He scratched idly at the plane of his stomach. “Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”

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