Posts tagged fic
Posts tagged fic
Thank you for your patience, one and all! The final chapter of Stories Told With Silence is posted and this particular story is complete. There is a bit about Clint talking about being the adult survivor of physical child abuse. If that is something you are not comfortable with, please skip Clint’s ‘home interview.’ You’ll see it coming.
I’ve updated “Phil Coulson Wasn’t Grown in a Lab” for those who do not like to read fic on Tumblr. 8)
((Haven’t given up, I promise. I am bad at timely things. Previous chapters can be found linked here: My Fic Page This will be updated on AO3 in the next few days))
Bruce wasn’t sure why he stopped. He didn’t know why the girl caught his eye. It was probably because she looked so out of place in the high tech, high shine lobby of Stark Tower. And because she didn’t seem to be aware of just how out of place she was. Bruce felt his steps slow, his body coming to a gradual halt, halfway across the lobby floor, the coffee he’d gone out looking for held up halfway to his mouth.
The girl was gangly and awkward, even from this distance, long legs and long arms, but she hadn’t figured out what to do with them. Her face was mostly hidden by a battered bucket hat, and her feet were propped up on a battered, army surplus backpack that looked like it weighed as much as she did. Her bright turquise Converse canvas shoes clashed with the pink and orange socks that showed above the folded over tops.
As Bruce watched, she lifted up her head, peeking out from under the brim of her hat. Her glasses matched her shoes, narrow rectangles that framed her eyes. She stopped texting on her phone and held it up. She made a face at the phone’s display, sticking her lower jaw out so her teeth poked out from below her upper lip, and crossing her eyes. Giggling, she scrunched back down, her long black jacket rucked up around her hips on the chair.
The word “COULSON” was stenciled in neat letters on the side of the backpack.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Newest chapter of “Stories Told With Silence” is now up. ALL the good now. Promise. If you were holding off on reading the last chapter because of the sad, you can now move on. 8)
Because the Team is on the job. 8)
((someone requested some more minions. Sorry it took me so long to produce something. Slight warning for Drew and Darcy for making fun of each other in the way only truly good friends can, but a little bit of teasing about bisexuals on Drew’s part, and he gets slapped down, as rightly he should. 8) ))
Darcy took a deep breath. “Dreeeeeeeeeeeew,” she whined.
Drew gave her a look. “That is not working to your advantage. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Don’t care.” She leaned forward, bracing her folded arms on the table. “You don’t understand. I am losing my mind. I cannot take another night of sitting around with those people.”
Everyone stared at her. Harris cleared his throat. “By, ‘those people’ you are referring to, you know, the Avengers?”
“You know what?” Darcy told him. “You know what? The mystique of super heroes? It kinda wears off once you see them wandering around in their underwear.”
Shawn cleared his throat. “Uh, which ones? In particular?” Drew choked on a snicker, and Shawn flushed. “What? It’s a legit question!”
“Was it Tony?” Drew asked. Darcy gave him a look. “I wanna know!”
“Drew, anyone with an internet connection and the ability to turn off Google Safe Search can see Tony Stark in his underwear,” Harris said.
“Have you checked this out for yourself?” Darcy asked him. “Do you know this from personal experience?”
“No.” Harris sipped his milk. “Not at all.”
((I wanted to write the minions. I missed the minions. So, enjoy part two of “SHIELD’s Supervillain Response Team” and Tony Stark’s rather over reaction to that concept.))
“This job is worth it for no other reason than this cafeteria. I am not kidding. I would do unreasonable things for this organization if the agreed to continue feeding me.” Drew hunched over his bowl of miso soup, his eyes at half mast, his cheeks flushed. “Unreasonable, possibly illegal things.”
Darcy settled into her chair, setting her tray down in front of her. “We all have our breaking point,” she said. “And yours is pathetically low.”
“Says the woman who flirts with the sushi chef to get the good stuff,” Drew said. He moved his chair to the side, giving Shawn space to set his own tray down. Shawn was always late to lunch, and usually had a file folder or two under his arm. Today, he was balancing his lunch on top of a couple of binders, and it took effort for him to get everything onto the table without losing half of his soup.
“I work with what I have.” Darcy separated her chopsticks with a snap. “And what I have is fantastic.”
“What am I doing here?” Harris asked. He seemed uninterested in the answer; his focus was entirely on his sandwich. “Actually, I was here first. What are all of you doing here?”
“You, sir, are the token straight person at this table,” Drew said. He grinned at Harris. “We have to keep one around or the establishment will figure out our cunning plan.”
“We have a cunning plan?” Shawn asked. He was happily dumping chili oil into his bowl of noodles. “When do I get to find out what it is?”
“Never. You’ll break under questioning.”
((Thanks for your kindness and patience, guys! Because I’m being super slow on a bunch of things, please enjoy the first part of Tony Stark vs. the rest of his team and the forces of SHIELD. I think we all know who’s going to win this one. Trigger warnings for mentions of guns and bombs, albeit ones loaded with paintball loads only. 8) ))
“I would like to once again register my objections to this,” Phil Coulson said to the room at large. He let his eyes play off of every person in the room. “I do not think you’re taking this with the proper amount of seriousness, and amusing ourselves by poking a beehive with a fully loaded and malfunctioning rifle is a very poor choice. The BEST thing that will happen in this situation is that we end up running through the city screaming, ‘bees, bees, so many bees.’ The worst thing that will happen is the rifle will go off and we’ll end up losing a hand. Or an arm.”
He paused. “Or a head.”
Director Nick Fury gave Phil a pitying look. “It’s an exercise, Phil.”
“It’s madness, sir.”
“SHIELD,” Natasha said, “often has trouble telling the difference.”
“Wait, in this analogy, am I the rifle, or the bees nest?” Tony asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked bored. It was a rather thin facade. Phil knew just what that muscle jumping beside his eye meant, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. To any of it.
Tony Stark was in a seriously bad mood.
The second chapter of “Stories Told With Silence” aka Dummy is a Real Boy! is now up on AO3.
DJ nodded, grinning like a loon.
“Wow,” Phil repeated, his head tipping back. DJ did the same, his hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking proud.
Phil cleared his throat. “Wow.”
DJ giggled, and grabbed his hand, towing him forward. Phil stumbled along in his wake, just staring at everything.
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?”