Posts tagged WIP
Posts tagged WIP
For those who prefer it in an easier to read format, Sif and Maria’s adventures in dating has been updated on AO3.
Agent Speer’s eyes got very, very large when Maria stepped into the elevator. Maria decided to take that as a good sign. “Good evening, Agent,” she said, shifting the delicate strap of her clutch purse higher on her shoulder. She had her jacket thrown over her arm, and she considered putting it on now.
She regretted agreeing to meet here at SHIELD, but she didn’t know what would’ve been a better option. She wasn’t going to Avengers Tower, she’d prefer to involve her own people than the Avengers in her love life.
Not that she had a love life. She had a date. One date. Her first date in a very long time.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Speer hugged a leather folio against her chest, her short red curls bouncing as her head jerked in Maria’s direction, and then away. She was blushing, her cheeks so pink that her freckles nearly disappeared. “If I might, ma’am, that is an amazing dress.”
Maria bit back a smile. “Thank you, Agent.”
Agent Speer’s shoulder relaxed, and she risked a smile in Maria’s direction. “Whatever you’ve got planned tonight, ma’am, you’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
((So, Gophersaurus requested, of all things, more of the Spiders and the repair crews from Through the Dark Tide of Memory. It caught me off guard how much I realized I enjoyed the thought of returning to these people, but this time without the strain of telling Steve and Tony’s story specifically. There were people and concepts who got left out and left behind due to space and time constraints. So this prompt was especially welcome. There will be more of this, but for the time being, let’s start here. 8) ))
Malibu Shatterdome was bigger than she’d ever expected.
Anya Corazon huddled into her threadbare coat, shivering under the layers of every piece of clothing that she owned. Her backpack was heavy on her shoulders, even as she crept forward. She’d expected gates and guard towers, she’d expected fences and physical barriers between her and safety. But there was next to nothing. Just a long, unguarded expanse of roads along the long, high cliffs.
All the efforts for protection, for holding back the darkness, was set towards the ocean far below, because that was where the darkness came from. The oceans, dark expanses now beneath the full moon, held untold evils now. There was nothing, no threat or evil, that the land could offer that would even come close to what the Kaiju could do.
But it left Anya with a problem that she hadn’t expected to have. She had no idea how to get in.
The massive walls of the Shatterdome rose, up into the night sky, massive, unbroken sheets of metal that towered over her like a medieval castle. There was a door there, a huge gate, closed tight now. She’d expected a guard or a doorbell or something. But there was nothing.
She took a few steps back, her head tilting back, squinting up at the lights that rimmed the metal walls, eight or nine stories above her head. Searchlights and the diffused glow of lesser lamps cast an almost palpable warmth, and she was so desperate that she considered going back to the door and knocking.
"There’s the voice of doom, gotta go." Darcy dropped the phone back into the cradle and pasted her most benign smile on her face as Hill stalked into what passed for Darcy’s office. It was closer to a supply closet with a desk in it, mostly because that’s what Darcy suspected it had been prior to her arrival. She wasn’t complaining. She liked her little closet. It kept her close to her files and kept everyone else out of them. "Hello, AD Hill! What brings you down here to the nest of vipers that is the science department of SHIELD?"
Hill stared at her, that narrow eyed, flinty look that had caused more than one world leader burst into tears. Darcy found it unsettling, but not as bad as her mother’s. “This has your fingerprints all over it,” Hill said.
Darcy tried to look hurt. “Ma’am, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, but I think I’m insulted.”
Hill crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you’re full of shit.”
Darcy gave up on trying to look hurt. It wasn’t her best move, anyway, and if she’d really wanted to go that route, she should’ve gone with a subtler lipstick. “Yes, ma’am, so I’ve been told.”
In which DJ Stark is the most awkward teenager ever. Sorry, buddy, but you’re pretty much doomed based on your upbringing.
((the previous parts of this can now be found in one piece on AO3, or linked here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/fic ))
The interoffice mail envelope was marked private and confidential, but that wasn’t exactly uncommon around SHIELD headquarters. The words “This means you!” printed in a broad tip marker, that was a little more unusual.
Maria weighed the bulky envelope in one hand, and, eyes flicking towards the ceiling, she broke the seal. A book with a cheerful cartoon sort of cover hit her desk with a thump, its pages bulging with post-it note flags poking out in all directions. Maria considered it. “What do you know,” she said out loud. “The damn book actually is titled ‘What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?’ I really thought she made that up.”
There was a note in the envelope, and for a second, she considered sweeping the whole mess into the trash can and pretending that it had never arrived. Instead, she fished the page out. Anna’s writing was surprisingly legible, considering her occupation.
“Just in case you decide to join us,” the note said, “you’ll need a copy of this month’s gem. It’s a fast read, and pretty funny. I’ve marked the hot n’ sexy parts with post-it flags, so you can skip ahead if you get bored.”
Maria looked at the book. There were so many bits of florescent colored paper sticking out of the damn that that it looked like it had exploded. “That’s a lot of hot and sexy bits,” she said, her mouth pursed. “And I honestly don’t know if that makes the concept better, or so much worse.” She went back to the note.
“Your hot n’ sexy mileage may vary, according to personal tastes and orientation, but tell you what, if you suck it up and get through this, I’ll nominate you to choose our next ‘happy sexy funtimes’ book. We do it by picking the most excellent titles we can find off the internet after having a bit too much to drink, then we throw all the names in a hat and choose one at random. This one won out over a book about having sex with a dragon.”
Maria’s head tipped to the side. Then went back the other way. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wrap her mind around that. She was actually happy that she couldn’t. Life had gotten weird over the last few years, but her brain still balked at ‘sex with a dragon.’
As she was one of the few inhabitants of earth with actual access to, well, dragons, that was probably a good thing.
Why, look, it’s June, so of course, I have added the month of March to the Calendar fic.
This month, enjoy as Tony and company enjoy St. Patrick’s Day!
And really regret it the day after.
The second chapter of “Truth Behind Masks,” my weird little identity porn, is up on AO3.
In which Tony makes poor choices and the Avengers are really horrible people.
Steve doesn’t want to be the den mother, it just HAPPENS.
((SPOILERS FOR CAP 2: You know who’s fault this is? It’s Kara’s. It’s Kara's fault. This Kara. Right here. THIS KARA. SHE IS THE WORST. Anyway, we started discussing why Clint didn’t show up in Cap 2. And of course, because KARA IS THE WORST, her immediate explanation was the worst explanation ever. That if Hydra had Loki’s scepter, wouldn’t they want the only controllable victim of that weapon, too? Just how many cages did they have down there, anyway? My Post-Cap 2 fic, still untitled, not part of any of my established verses. Trigger warnings for mentions of physical and mental torture and drugging, but nothing explicit)
She was crying again.
He could barely hear it, most nights. Most days, too. The sound was always faint, muffled by stone and glass and whatever else was in these damn cages. In fact, Clint was surprised he could hear it at all. But somehow, he always did.
Whenever they brought her down, he could hear her crying.
In his more poetic, or drugged moments, he wondered if the sound carried because it so desperately needed to be heard, or if her grief was loud enough to overcome the concept of sound itself. Because she never screamed, or wailed, or howled, the way some caged animals did. She simply cried, but her tears had weight.
He didn’t hear her all that often. They didn’t bring her down all the often. But when they did, she wept.
Yes, I know, I still owe you all March and January, but I finished April. 8)
The latest month in a year in the life of the Avengers.
((Here, have the first small piece of the Identity Porn piece. This will likely not be put on Tumblr, but instead put up in chunks on AO3. It assumes that Tony did take advantage of Coulson’s “Iron Man is a body guard” alibi, and none of the Avengers know that Tony Stark, who owns Avengers Tower where they live and have their headquarters, is also Iron Man, who often fights alongside them. Tony’s Arc Reactor is not public knowledge, and he’s used a variety of methods to give the illusion that Iron Man is a different person. Pepper and Rhodey, of course, know the truth. I like women, so we’re adding some to the ranks. BECAUSE NEEDS MORE LADIES.))
“You are pushing your luck right now. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“What, by calling you while people are shooting at me? That’s, that’s really not a thing, Rhodes, that’s Tuesday in my world.” Tony banked hard to the left, pushing the armor to its absolute limit as he took the corner, repulsors screaming in his wake. Bullets exploded glass windows just a meter or two behind his feet, and he gritted his teeth for a second. Adjusting his trajectory, he dove under a bridge. He cut it so close that he was pretty sure he’d ruined the armor’s paintjob, but it was worth it. Two of the robots went down in explosions that sent shockwaves through the air, knocking him off-kilter.
Tony had to struggle to keep himself on course, and he bounced off a bridge piling before he pulled himself out of it. He was still choking on a curse when his comm unit beeped. Tony rolled, nailing two of his pursuers with a single repulsor blast. “Gimmie a second here, Rhodey, I got another call.”
“Really? You’ve got another-”
Tony switched the feed, without so much as a flinch of guilt. “I’m on it, Cap, I’ve got it.”
“Where ARE you?” Steve snapped. “We are supposed to be-”
“I’ve got this,” Tony repeated, picking off two more before he flipped into a flat dive.
“Hawkeye says you just hit a bridge.”
Phil kept his eyes tightly closed, and tried not to feel the unfamiliar weight of this place pressing down on him.
He could feel his eyes burning, and he didn’t know why, because he absolutely was not going to cry. He was not. Going. To. Cry.
And when that ended up being a lie, too, he scrubbed at his cheeks with the heels of his hands until his cheeks were burning, but dry. Then he took a deep breath, and got out of bed. He was tired, exhausted, so exhausted that he felt sick, but he couldn’t sleep. No matter how long he lay there, how much he tried, every time he thought he might be falling asleep, he’d end up bolt upright, his heart pounding, something like a sob or a scream caught in his throat.
In the bathroom, he washed his face, and ran a glass of water. He took his time drinking it, his feet cold on the bathroom tile. He ignored it, anything to avoid going back to bed. The too big, too strange bed that definitely was not his.
Instead of returning to it, he picked his way across the carpet, making his way in the dim reflected light that spilled from the bathroom. He wished that there were windows, or any way to relieve the sensation of being trapped. He paused, considering the door. He glanced around, and immediately felt stupid. Still, he was breathing a little too hard, a little too fast, as he reached for the doorknob.
There was a soft beep, and Phil’s fingers jerked away from the door.
"I am sorry to startle you, Philip, but you are not supposed to leave this room without supervision."
“Reports are rolling in. There were six ‘paint bombs’ in all, though it appears that the ones sent off-site contained something closer to a powder than paint. Easier clean up, for the most part.” Hill didn’t look up from her tablet. “Stark will have to do some work to smooth feathers when this is over, but the damage is minimal.”
Fury gave a snort, staring out the window at the city below. “He’s not the only one.” He leaned forward, bracing one hand against the window. “We having any luck pinning down how he’s controlling the armors?”
“He cleared out most of our active duty tech support staff,” Hill said. “The few that escaped the original attacks are working on triangulating his location, but the suits appear to be part of a closed circuit system. Which could mean that Stark, or even Jarvis, is controlling them all remotely, or it could mean-”
“That he’s in one.” Fury reached up, rubbing hard at the bridge of his nose. “Take them all out.”
“He’s made no move towards this level again,” she pointed out.
“Rules are, he’s gotta get my name plate in order to win.” Fury turned away from the window, reaching a hand out as he crossed the office. Hill handed over the tablet as he stalked by. “He’ll come. Right now, he’s playing. Let’s make that painful for him.”
Fury collapsed into his chair. “And move with the contingency plan.”
The beat of a pause before Hill said, “Yes, sir,” was almost nonexistent. Anyone who wasn’t intimately familiar with her wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
Phil knew her very, very well.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The first half of “PC Knows Tony Stark’s Super Villain Name” is up on AO3 for easier reading. 8)
“Take a pistol,” Clint said. “We need shooters.”
“That’s a really bad idea,” Darcy told him. “Honestly. I am the usually the first one to be eager for action, Barton, you know this. But honestly. Bad idea.”
“Oh, think I’m not aware of that?” Clint asked, and he pointed across the range. “Get a rifle, Andy Oakley, you can actually shoot.”
Drew snapped a salute, his eyes dancing. “I do so love shooting things,” he chirped, before bouncing away, humming.
“Was that ‘Can’t Get a Man With a Gun?’” Darcy asked Shawn.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it was.”
“Somehow not surprised.”