Posts tagged Fic
Posts tagged Fic
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New fic posted, the continuing adventures of DJ Stark and his father, who never signed up for this, he just wanted a damn helper bot, really, who brought magic into this damn equation?
He is well loved, anyway. 8)
"Through the Dark Tide of Memory" has been completed.
Thank you for your patience!
(The first part of this can be found here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/63934104001/avengers-fic-rescue-missions-and-mistaken-identities )
The boy knew the building. Phil wondered if he’d gotten out before. And if he had, how far he’d gotten before they’d caught him and put him back. On some level, it was reassuring. They hadn’t killed him, or even injured him badly, if he was willing to try again.
Of course, the kid seemed to be fearless.
Phil found himself following the boy through quiet, dimly lit back corridors, and down empty stairwells. Despite his bare feet, the kid moved fast, without pausing. He paused on one landing, glancing up at the evacuation sign.
“What’s your name?” Phil asked. The boy looked at him, his mouth pressed tightly closed. Phil pointed at the sign. “Can you spell your name? Can you point to the letters?”
The boy looked, and his face relaxed. He reached up and tapped a finger against a letter D, and then the letter J. Phil waited, but the boy’s hand went back to his side. “DJ?” Phil asked. The boy nodded, grinning. “Okay,” Phil said, and it was a relief. It was a relief to have a name. Even as he said it, though, he remembered the red-headed woman calling the boy that. Phil wondered if that was his real name.
DJ tapped a spot on the diagram, and Phil leaned in, frowning at the image. “A loading dock?” he asked, and DJ shook his head. Whatever that space was, DJ had set his sights on that particular spot on the map. He grabbed Phil’s hand and dragged him down the stairs, giggling as he hopped down the stairs.
Phil held on tight to his hand, telling himself that it was to protect the smaller boy. But right now, DJ was the only thing he had to hold onto, and he didn’t know if that was for DJ’s benefit, or his own. He wasn’t sure it mattered.
DJ reached the landing, pushed the door open, and stopped short.
The guard blinked down at them. “Hi, DJ,” he said, reaching up to to adjust his cap. “I didn’t think that you were supposed to be-”
DJ slammed the door shut and slammed a hand against the keypad next to the door. He hit a few keys, and there was the sound of a lock engaging with a hollow clunk. Phil stared at the closed panel. “I think we’d better-”
An alarm started to wail.
As I promised my favorite Peggy, the latest chapter of “Through the Dark Tide of Memory” is up and ready to read. 8)
There will be one more chapter after this, sorry! It should be up in about a week. 8)
((and it is done! Thanks for your patience, everyone, I appreciate it! Slight warning for discussion of Steve’s childhood, and the physical trauma and bullying that went along with that.))
It was very, very late before Steve dragged himself back to his bedroom.
It was a very nice apartment, of course. Tony had designed it for him. Had designed it so that Steve would feel comfortable and safe. Tony had given him a very nice place to live, and Steve had been grateful for it. He was still grateful for it, for the moment when he realized that he didn’t have to go back to the empty apartment SHIELD had rented for him. He was grateful for the apartment that Tony had given him.
But Tony’s apartment was what felt like home.
And now, as he stood in another empty apartment, the sensation of being alone was almost enough to choke him. His shoulders slumped, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this, he reminded himself. Once Tony was talking to him again, it would be fine.
They could still go on dates. Still see each other at mealtimes and in the workshop and in the rec room. Still spend time together. Still be lovers. They just couldn’t sleep together. He just couldn’t go to sleep with Tony’s hair against his cheek, and Tony’s legs tangled with his. Couldn’t nuzzle his lips against the nape of Tony’s neck and curl an arm around Tony’s waist as he was waking up. Couldn’t use the soft, even sound of Tony’s breathing to lull himself to sleep.
The thought was so painful that for an instant, it staggered him.
((everything will be fine. I promise. Parts 9 and 10 were published within the last week and can be found on my tumblr, promise promise. I don’t do death fic and I don’t do break up fic, so it’ll be fine. 8) ))
Tony was never so glad to be home in his entire life.
“I will regret skipping that debrief,” he said aloud as he shoved his way through the front door of their suite. “I will regret this very much, and very deeply, I know I will. But let me tell you, right now? I am just so happy to get home.” He headed straight for the bar. “What a fucking nightmare of a couple of days.”
Behind him, Steve pulled the door shut. He’d been quiet the whole way home, his eyes closed, his head back through most of the flight back to the US. He hadn’t been asleep, Tony knew what he looked like when he slept, and though that was a pretty good approximation, it wasn’t the real thing. He knew what Steve looked like when he slept, but he also knew what Steve looked like when he was faking it.
And Steve had been feigning sleep the entire way home.
“That was fucking awful, I will never let Pepper forget this, I will never let her-”
“Was it Pepper’s choice?”
The soft words stilled him, and Tony paused, halfway across their expensive living room, his eye’s finding Steve’s. Steve, who was still standing just inside the door, one hand still on the door knob, his face blank and expressionless. Tony felt his stomach sink, a sickening sensation of nausea twisting through him. He paused, tried to smile. “Yeah. She’s the one who sent me.” Tony turned back towards the bar, wanting a drink, but wanting an escape route even more. He gave the gleaming rows of liquor a wistful look, then headed for the bedroom door. “I need a shower, like, yesterday. You going to join me?”
“Because two international flights, a fight in a factory, a couple of rounds in the suitcase suit, and it’s called the suitcase suit for a reason, it’s like being in a damn suitcase, any of that would require a shower, all of it, and I am absolutely rank, and-”
“What happened to your face?”
Despite Tony’s wishes, they didn’t really get far.
As it turned out, there was still work to be done. Clint and Natasha lead the SHIELD teams that cleared out the last of the AIM personnel, ignoring the shouted promises of revenge and statements about information needing to be free, because they were getting used to that stupidity. For their part, Tony and Coulson and Bruce ended up digging through all of the computer files that they could pull up. Thor paced through the crowds of the employees, chatting and reassuring people, getting his picture taken and signing whatever was thrust in his direction. At one point, he was posed with an elderly dock worker seated neatly on his flexed bicep as the women clapped and cheered.
Steve rather wished there was someone left to punch.
“I hate this job,” Lily muttered. “The uniform requirements are just getting out of control, I swear.” She had to move carefully to keep the ‘borrowed’ yellow jumpsuit from sliding off of her shoulders.
“I am sorry?” Li Wei, the shift supervisor said, his voice worried.
“Sorry,” Lily told him, picking her way through the Mandarin. “I talk to myself.”
He nodded, or she thought he did, these bucket like helmets were so absolutely stupid that it was hard to tell what was happening underneath them.
The blare of the alarm had scared the ever loving wits out of her. It had stopped, as quickly as it started, and still, they were there, waiting. Lily tried not to think about where Tony was, or what was happening. If he’d been caught. If their absence had been noticed. If there were people coming for them, right now.
She took a deep breath, and another. There was no point in panicking. There was no point in letting her imagination run away with her. She was here to make sure that SI money wasn’t resulting in people being abused or exploited. That was her job. That was what she was trained to do.
Of course, standing around with a rifle, impersonating a terrorist, and waiting to get shot hadn’t really been covered in her MBA courses, but there was something to be said for on the job training.
((It’s Kara’s fault. Just saying. ANYWAY. Have some Clint/Phil fic. It does not take place in any of my established verses, and you’ll see why soon enough. Content warning for discussion of prostitution and the sex trade. All sex depicted within the fic will be consensual, but there will be mention of SHIELD’s attempts at breaking up a sex ring involving teenagers.))
After nine straight days of sitting at this table, Phil Coulson had reached a conclusion about his life: he hated this bar.
Life had taken on a familiar, boring pattern. He walked in, he told the bartender he was looking for ‘work,’ he ordered a drink, and he took a seat in the back of the shadowed bar. Then he sat there. For hours. Watching the coming and going of every person who passed through the small, high end bar. There was a steady, unending flow of people, mostly men, who came and went from dusk until the bar closed.
Phil sat, and waited. Hour. After hour. After hour.
((for Paxie, on the advent of her birth. Everyone regrets their prompts to me eventually. Every. Single. Person. Probably not what she had in mind, but hopefully, still acceptable. 8) ))
He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. And yes. He knew what that felt like. Damn sisters.
Groaning, he rolled over, and his face scraped against the ground, and his stomach kept going. For a second, he thought he was going to throw up, and he squeezed his eyes and his mouth shut, breathing through his nose in short, quick bursts. When his stomach reluctantly settled back where it belonged, he risked opening his eyes.
He had no idea where he was.
"Let me get this straight," Logan said, leaning back in his chair. He rested his beer bottle on his knee. Clint had greeted him at the door with a six pack, and he’d downed two before he’d even let anyone speak. "I gotta ride herd on about sixty kids, all of whom live under one roof, and you can cut the damn hormones with a knife. You idiots have one goddamn teenager to keep tabs on-"
"We did not adopt him," Tony pointed out. "He’s not our responsibility." No one paid any attention to him, because he might as well be arguing that he wasn’t responsible for Barton, either, when everyone knew he had a bank account marked ‘Barton- Bail’ just waiting to be used. Or misused.
“Okay, so you have one underage teammate,” Logan said. “That better?”
“Yeah, that’s accurate,” Tony said. “We let a kid onto the team.”
“Except you have no idea where he lives, what he’s doing, or who he is,” Logan said.
“It was our first time adopting a junior member, in our defense,” Clint said, his lips twitching.
"And you fucked it up." Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay. Yeah. Great." He peered at them over the curve of his fingers, his brows drawn low and his eyes sharp. “You really don’t know if this is your kid or not? How do you not know?”
“It’s a good costume,” Natasha said, sipping her tea. “And a very flexible dancer.”
“You are useless,” Tony told Harris.
“Look. I don’t know what you expected us to do, go fingerprint the guy?” Harris said. He was not amused, and ‘not amused’ on Harris was actually pretty amusing. For Tony, at least. “You sent me in there with the worst cover story ever, Stark.”
“Fuck you, I had a great time,” Darcy said. “We told ‘em it was Drew and Shawn’s bachelorette party. Small. Intimate, even.”
“Batchelorette?” Bruce asked.
“They have a package,” Shawn explained.
“I got a TIARA,” Drew said, and he was proud of that. Proud enough to still be wearing the damn thing. It was pretty damn nice, as plastic party ware went.
“I got booze,” Shawn said.
“Aren’t you underage?” Steve asked him, his brow furrowing.
“Tony gave us-”
“Never mind, let’s just move on here,” Tony cut in, before anyone could tell Captain America about the legally questionable ids that had been handed over tonight, because he didn’t want their real names appearing on any records, and this was an undercover mission after all. The fact that the ids bumped their ages up a bit was not a fact that Steve needed to know.
((First part here. Potential triggers for underage individuals working places they ought not to be working and discussion of exotic dancing))
Natasha let out a faint, long-suffering sigh. “Stark, I do not want to break your kneecaps, but I will. Sit your ass down.”
Tony looked at Coulson. “In interests of team unity, is she allowed to talk to me like that?”
Coulson was bent over his computer, and he didn’t even look in Tony’s direction. “In interests of team survival, she is encouraged to speak to you like that.”
“Sit down, Stark,” Coulson said, and Tony sat. “Thank you. We appreciate your co-operation.”
“You’d better,” Tony grumbled. “So. What are we doing about this?”
“Research.” Clint was pacing back and forth, his loose and easy gait measuring of the distance. He was staring down at the tablet in his hands. “Which is taking longer than it should.”
“You have to hear this.” Tony stripped off his jacket, tossing it haphazardly in the general direction of the table. Steve snagged it out of mid air, and hung it neatly over the back of the chair. Tony pretended not to notice. “Hi, by the way.”
Steve was smiling, his eyes warm. “Hi, yourself.” He poured a cup of coffee and held it out, a very effective lure. Of course, so was he, in well-worn sweat pants that clung to his hips and a t-shirt that might as well have been a second skin. Tony wandered over to take the coffee cup, and Steve caught his hand, tugging him in. Their fingers tangled together around the warm cup, and Tony tipped his chin up for a kiss.
Steve tasted like coffee and mint, and his free hand settled easily at the small of Tony’s back, stroking there, just above the waistband of Tony’s pants. “Hi, indeed,” Tony said, against Steve’s lips, making him laugh. Tony pulled back, just enough to see Steve’s eyes, and grinned at the way his hair fell over his forehead. He reached up and flicked the strands away from Steve’s face.
Steve jerked his head away, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. “Stop it,” he said, but the words were full of affection. “Had a few drinks, have we?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell have.” Tony leaned back against his hand, comfortable in Steve’s strong grip. “Wanna take advantage?”
Steve snagged his tie. “No,” he said, dragging him in. “Not at all.” His lips caught and clung on Tony’s, the kiss deepening and his fingers climbing up Tony’s tie until the were snug against Tony’s chest. Tony smiled against Steve’s mouth. “Smug,” Steve whispered, not bothering to raise his head.
“Kinda,” Tony said, dragging Steve against him. “But I’ve got reason to.” His hand slid down to cup Steve’s ass. “Look who I’m in the process of seducing.”
“What, exactly, is that smell?”
Darcy chewed enthusiastically on her lower lip. “One third the best of Stark’s liquor cabinet, one third those really excellent doner kabobs from that place in midtown-”
“These are most excellent!” Sif held up her pita, grinning wide and bright. She licked a bit of sauce off of the inside of her wrist. She was wearing one of Darcy’s exercise outfits, and it was about three sizes too small. She made it work though, even if the yoga pants were at her knees and the tank top bared about six inches of toned, perfect tummy. “A feast fit for any warrior!”
“Yes, they are. And the last third,” Darcy said, leaning back and holding up one half-painted foot. She wiggled her toes. “Is the best nail polish available under current federal standards.” She gave the bottle a quick shake. “You want in on this? We got, uh, Crimson Cowl, Blizzard, Blacklash…” She glanced at Jane. “What do you have over there?”
Jane tucked her feet up under her. Her ragged cut off sweat pant shorts and one of Thor’s t-shirts were both too big and she swam in them, perfectly happy to be lost in a sea of warm, soft boyfriend fabric. The neckline of her shirt slid down over her shoulder as she sorted through the bottles. “Sunset Bain, Firebrand, Grey Gargoyle, Shockwave?”
“These things have stupid names,” Darcy said. She grinned up at Natasha, who was now standing over her, one hand propped on her hip, her hair a perfect wave of red over one brow. “Why do they have such stupid names?”
Natasha picked up a bottle of Crimson Cowl. “Deadlines,” she said with a faint smile. “And likely drugs.” She rotated the bottle in the light, letting the light play over the polish. “It’s a good color, though.”
Darcy held up a hand, where the deep, gleaming red lacquer covered her fingernails. “I think it suits me.” She made claws with her fingers. “Second only to the blood of my enemies!”
Laughing, Natasha patted her lightly on the head. “Well said.” She took a seat with a faint sigh. “Why are are we painting nails and drinking tonight?”
“Because cake is fattening,” Darcy said. “And we don’t have any.”