Posts tagged fic
Posts tagged fic
((I know. It’s so overdue that it’s embarrassing. I’m TRYING, okay? Previous parts are linked here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/fic ))
“You do realize that we live in the most exciting city in the Western world,” Phil said. “New York. The Big Apple. The city of cities.” He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a faint half smile on his face. “I love my city. Best city in the world.”
“I don’t know,” Shirley said, her lips pursed. “I’ve always liked Paris.”
“I like Paris,” Clint said. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of his legs, his body canted forward. “I really like Paris.”
“Phil speaks French,” Shirley said.
“Fluently,” Clint agreed. “Why do you think I like Paris?”
Phil glanced in their direction just in time to see them exchange a smile. “Yes, well,” he said, not sure just how worried he should be about this new partnership, “we live in New York. People all over the world flock to New York. Culture, history, entertainment, everything you could want.”
“Is there a point to this, Phil?” his mother asked.
“Why are we in the basement playing with the vacuum cleaner?” Phil glared at Mr. Fantastic, who was hovering in what he considered a threatening manner directly in front of him.
“We might be overreacting,” Steve said, reluctant to say it, but knowing it had to be said. “We have to acknowledge that there is a possibility that we are overreacting.”
“Probably.” Natasha tossed her bag to the side and slid into place next to him. “But we are very, very good at that. Professionals, even.”
“Professional overreactors?” Bruce asked, ducking into his seat. He reached for his seat belt, checking the straps with his usual care. “I don’t really think that’s something you should admit to.”
“Admit to? It’s on my damn resume. Featured prominently.” Clint grinned as he started the checks. “Besides, it’s not really like we can hide the fact, Doc. We’re stealing the Quinjet to fly to China to make sure that Tony Stark isn’t up to no good. When we’re all pretty much sure that he’s up to no good.”
“In that this is his natural state, yes.” Natasha stowed a couple of silver cases beneath the seats. “And we aren’t stealing it. Technically, we left Tony a note.”
“I like falling on the right side of ‘technically,’” Clint said. “It’s so comforting.”
((Okay, here’s the thing. Boston is my spiritual home, and I am a Massachusetts girl. Because I am in need of a love letter to my home, I’m going to put up the first chapter of my College AU. It is AU, Tony is underage, as I will be following the canon that he graduated MIT at 17. If this bothers you, this story is not going to be for you. It may be a long time before you see the next part of this. But I need some Boston, so bear with me.
For more info about this fic, see this post: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/29335275218/i-make-such-frickin-poor-choices ))
The last train was the last hope, and it was the last place that he wanted to be.
Steve Rogers hadn’t been in Boston for very long, but he’d quickly learned that particular inescapable truth: the last train of the night was to be avoided. And the last train running on the MBTA’s Green Line was the one he’d do anything to avoid. The Green Line trolleys were small and cramped, too hot in summer and too cold in the winter, every stop cracking the doors to circulate the stale air, never letting the passengers cool off or warm up, and every stop made things worse. There were a lot of stops on the Green Line, especially on the B line, the one that ran through Boston University.
The one he took to get back to his small, empty apartment.
Usually, the problem was that it was filled to overflowing, too many people in a too small space, boisterous college students and drunks with something to prove and exhausted workers scrambling to catch the T before the service ended and they were left with an expensive cab ride home. Steve, who took up entirely too much space at the best of times and the last train was never the best of times, hated the last train, hated how obvious and clumsy and out of place he felt as the trolley rattled through the city streets.
Tonight, he as he fought his way through the crowd at the front of the train, heading for the back, he was shocked to find himself mostly alone on the rear trolley car.
Bruce’s Mugshot
((For my Christmas present, the esteemed Kara drew me the Avengers’ mug shots. I am tasked with coming up with a story for each one. The art is hers, the interpretation is mine. The “read more” does not work on this, if you are seeing this on my blog, please click through to read the entire story))
Mug Shots: Bruce
Maybe someday he’d get used to waking up naked in a hole, covered in debris. Maybe someday it would be something he could cope with, without flinching, without a creeping sense of horror. Maybe someday he could open his eyes and know that whatever happened, it was for the better.
Today was not that day.
Bruce struggled toward consciousness, acutely aware of the wail of sirens, and the sound of screams, the taste of blood and iron in the back of his throat, the jagged edges of stone beneath his bare skin. He tried to push himself up, and it hurt, everything hurt, bits of stone and metal and glass digging into his palms. He sucked in a breath and coughed, gagged, there was smoke in the air, smoke and dust and-
A little girl was blinking up at him.
Steve wasn’t sure what had happened, but he was pretty sure he was in SHIELD medical. There was no way he could be in this much pain and not be in medical, and he could not remember why. He took a deep breath, and immediately regretted it when pain exploded behind his temples, making him moan.
“Don’t open your eyes.”
The voice was soft, very soft, and still Steve flinched. “What-”
A warm hand closed over his eyes, and Steve relaxed. Tony’s hand, big and warm and calloused, was as familiar as his own by this point. “Trust me,” Tony whispered. “Just don’t open your eyes yet. Let your stomach settle.” A hand cupped Steve’s wrist, stroking a thumb over his pulse point, pressing down in the center of his palm. “Breathe through your nose.”
“I’m okay,” Steve said, and he regretted it as soon as he said it because this was nice. The contact, the sensation, this was nice. “What happened? Did we win?”
((The conclusion of the Valentine’s Day piece, because I’m slow this month. Sorry, all, it’s only ten days late, right? 8)
The first part is here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/43126849550/avengers-fic-hearts-and-flowers-pt-1
“Delivery,” Natasha said from the door way of the lab.
Bruce looked up from his microscope. “Hi,” he said, giving her a smile, and she returned it.
“Evening, Doc,” she said, setting a box on the counter. “Stark, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Tony was staring down at a chemical breakdown, scribbling notes in the margins as his eyes flicked over the data. “Uh-huh,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “One… One sec, I gotta-”
“It’s six,” Natasha said.
“Fuck,” Tony said, jerking up right. “Okay, all right, just-” He stabbed a finger in Bruce’s direction. “Just leave that, I’ll get it recalibrated tomorrow, there’s no way we’re getting that kind of a result, there’s gotta be a mechanical issue here, I’ll-”
“Tick-tock,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Harpy,” Tony said, making Natasha grin as she angled her head in his direction.
“Be glad it’s me and not Steve, looking sad.” She reached into the box. “Catch.” She flipped the package to Tony, who caught it one-handed. “From Clint.”
Tony glanced at the long underwear. “Barton isn’t nearly as funny as he thinks he is.”
((Trigger warning: This story involves people under the influence of alcohol in sexual situations, and are therefore unable to give reasoned consent. All parties involved in these situations are in committed relationships, and would likely be getting it on with or without the influence of alcohol, but please take care in relation to your own limits))
“Knave,” Fandral said, his eyes narrowed. “Best you watch your actions.”
Hogun gave him a faint, tight smile. “Defend yourself, if you have the skill.”
For a long, tense moment, they just stared each other down, eyes narrowed, hands out and loose. Fandral moved first, snagging the dice from the table and shaking them between his cupped palms. With a wicked grin, he gave them a toss.
They hit the table and rolled, rattling to a stop. Fandral let out a hoot, pumping a fist in the air. “Aye, a twelve!” he said, smirking at Hogun. “Best that, if it can!”
Hogun nodded, picked up the dice, weighing them in his palm. Without any warning, he flicked one at Fandral, hitting him square in the forehead. “Ow!” Indignant, Fandral clutched his head, sputtering at Hogun. “You cheat!”
Hogun shrugged. “Not against the rules,” he said. He flicked the second one, and Fandral ducked.
“It’s not IN the rules, either!”
“We require a ruling from the field,” Natasha said. She pointed a finger in Tony’s direction. “What says the ruling body?”
They all looked at Tony, who arched an eyebrow, and gave the matter due consideration. “It was hysterical, so I’m going to allow it.” Hogun smirked at Fandral, who threw up his hands, collapsing back against the couch. “Hey, you roll the dice, you take your chances.” Tony took a sip of his coffee, his free hand carding through Steve’s hair. Steve reclined in his lap, head comfortably balanced on Tony’s knees. He was wearing one of Tony’s oversized MIT sweatshirts, and pleased about it. Steve was doing his best to eat from a take-out container, and that wasn’t going well. Luckily, judging by the empty cartons scattered around them, he had to be getting full.
“Why would you allow that?” Sif asked, smiling at Tony. She was sitting cross legged on the floor as Darcy painted her fingernails a fiery orange.
“Sif, we’re playing ‘Mystery Date,’ I have the right to do whatever is possible to maintain my sanity. A better question might be, why are we playing ‘Mystery Date?’”
((Warnings: This story involves people under the influence of alcohol in sexual situations, and are therefore unable to give reasoned consent. All parties involved in these situations are in committed relationships, and would likely be getting it on with or without the influence of alcohol, but please take care in relation to your own limits. ))
“Call,” Steve said, and his voice was unaccountably triumphant.
Tony tossed his cards out, and watched as Steve studied them, his face scrunched up in concentration. He looked at the cards in his hands, then back at Tony’s cards. Tony leaned back and let this play out. It was a nice view, since he’d managed to win most of Steve’s clothes off of him.
Of course, he was missing far more of his own clothes than he’d anticipated, because despite his drunken state, Steve was a damn good poker player. If he could concentrate on not discarding the wrong cards for more than a hand at a time, he’d be a force to reckon with.
As it was, he mostly naked and having a hard time sitting up.
((Warning: This story will contain sexual situations involving individuals under the influence of alcohol, and thus are not capable of full informed consent. All sexual situations will involve established partners who would likely be getting it on with or without the alcohol, but please use caution with respect to your own comfort level. Also, this story will be very silly. I need silly right now.
The first parts can be found here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/39391191226/avengers-fic-the-best-of-life-and-asgard-pt-1 and http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/41659478814/avengers-fic-the-best-of-life-and-asgard-pt-2 ))
“That was unpleasant,” Tony said.
“Aye,” Sif said, the word flat. “That it was.” She shifted, hefting a sleeping Jane a little higher on her back. Jane snored against Sif’s hair, her arms draped limply over Sif’s shoulders. Most of her skirt was gone, and Darcy was balancing one of Jane’s shoes on her head, but Sif had convinced Natasha to stop juggling her throwing knives, so that was a plus. Darcy was wearing a tablecloth like a toga, and was carrying a loaf of bread in her arms, cradling it like a baby. Sif looked at Darcy. “Where are your rooms?”
“Please,” Darcy said, her nose in the air. Jane’s shoe fell off her head, and Natasha snagged it out of mid-air. She almost fell over doing it, but no one else seemed to notice. “I don’t put out on the first date.”
“’Tis fine,” Sif said, her eyes dancing. “As this is not a date.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “Ooooooh,” she said after a second. “OOOOOH! Great! This way.” She bounced off, and laughing, Sif carried Jane after her. Natasha swayed after them, and managed not to run into any walls. More than that, she managed to look sexy while barely keeping herself upright.
“I think I need a shower,” Clint said. He held up his hands, considering them. His blinking white eyes were stark against his soot-covered face. “I think maybe I should do that.”
“You look like an nineteenth century chimney sweep,” Tony said, trying not to wince at the jet black footprints Clint was leaving on his rugs. “You don’t need a shower. You need a fire hose.” Clint sneezed, and that was unpleasant. “Or a waterfall. Do me a favor, try not to touch anything.”
Clint nodded. Took one step forward, and tripped over the end table. Soot went in all directions.
((Okay, guys, it was a long day, and it didn’t go the way I’d planned, but then again, when does it? So have half of a Valentine’s Day story, while it’s still Valentine’s Day. 8) ))
“At what point does looking someone up on Facebook become stalking?”
Tony hummed into his coffee cup. “Okay,” he said at last, eyes narrowed, “that question assumes A. that I have a Facebook account that I, personally, have some interaction with, which is a false assumption, and B. that I would resort to looking at someone’s public FACEBOOK page to gain information on them.”
Bruce considered him, a half-eaten triangle of toast hanging forgotten in his hand. “You are not the proper person to ask about this,” he said at last.
“I am SO not the proper person to ask about this,” Tony agreed, grinning. “Barton? Facebook stalking seems more your speed.”
“Yeah, you take stalking to whole new levels of crazy,” Clint agreed. He leaned over, considering the oven with narrowed eyes. As Bruce watched, he punched something into the timer before he straightened up. Wiping his hands on a tea towel, he added, “How have you not gotten arrested yet?”
“I’m rich. And smarter than you,” Tony said. He pointed a finger in Clint’s direction. “Also, I would have to care about an ex enough to go stalking.”
“I’m pretty sure you have a dedicated satellite that exists only to track Steve at this point,” Clint shot back, arms crossed over his chest. He smirked in Tony’s direction.
“That is not an ex,” Tony said, trying and failing to approach dignity.
((Okay, everyone! Happy Femslash February! I’m going to try to do this, and do this well, wish me luck. I apologize for my first attempt at Femslash, I doubt it will be very good, but it’ll be a chance to play with some characters who often don’t get much time on the playing field in my fic. Bear with me, please! For those of you who don’t remember her, Dr. Anna Garza is a creation of mine introduced here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/29091412546/avengers-fic-a-singular-remedy-pt-1 She is not part of the shippy set, for those who despise OCs gettin’ it on with canon characters, have no fear. 8) ))
“So, a six inch laceration on your left arm, badly bruised shoulder, bruised tailbone, lacerations on both fists, strained wrist, mild head injury, a dandy little case of frostnip, which isn’t nearly as adorable as it sounds, exhaustion and dehydration. Did I miss anything?”
Maria Hill stared at the ceiling of medical. There was a picture of a grumpy looking cat taped there, with a word bubble that read, “For God’s sake, stop getting hurt!” It was far more amusing than it should’ve been.
“I think,” she said after a moment of careful consideration, “that I need to get laid.”
Dr. Anna Garza paused, one dark eyebrow arching. “Okay,” she said at last. “I will admit, I missed that one. In my defense, we haven’t yet come up with a definitive medical test for that particular ailment, so, I’m not feeling too bad about it. I can add it to your chart, if you’d like, but it’ll be for informational purposes only.”
First Mugshot pic of the awesome collab I’m doing with Scifigrl47!
“You know it doesn’t exist.”
Tony Stark arched his eyebrows. “Actually, no, I know just the opposite. I’ve seen it. Held it. Hell, I own it, Agent Coulson, so I can say, with all sincerity, that it exists.”
Phil gave him a look. “It’s a fake.”
“Well, of course it’s a fake, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Depending on which one it is, it’s going to range from a horrific fake to a hysterical fake to a half-way plausible fake.” He spread his hands wide, nearly knocking his coffee cup over with the pure expansiveness of the gesture. “Of COURSE it’s a fake. But it exists.”
“I’m not sure why we’re concerned that a fake exists, when everyone knows it’s a fake.” Phil went back to his coffee, and his paperwork.
“It’s the Holy Grail.” Tony leaned forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the table. “This is the fucking Holy Grail, Phil, you know it is. You’ve heard the rumors, read the stories, I know you have. But I can confirm, these things exist.”
“Everyone knows they are fake.” Coulson shook his head. “It’s a waste of money, Stark.”
Tony’s teeth flashed. “Most things I do are a waste of money. This? This is not a waste of money. This is not a waste of time, effort or money. But I will admit, I’ll give you, that if I show up to pick this thing up, the price is going to triple, and at that point? It’s a waste of money.” He stood, heading for the coffee pot. “Which is where you come in!” He snagged the pot and headed back to the table. “You show up and make the buy, and no one blinks twice. I get another one of these things off the market, you get to SEE one, some idiot who’s selling some fake his grandfather bought in 1973 gets a bit of cash.”
He tossed himself back into his chair. “Everyone wins! Why do you have such hatred for universal victory, Phil?”
((Warning: This story will contain sexual situations involving individuals under the influence of alcohol, and thus are not capable of full informed consent. All sexual situations will involve established partners who would likely be getting it on with or without the alcohol, but please use caution with respect to your own comfort level. Also, this story will be very silly. I need silly right now.
The first part can be found here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/39391191226/avengers-fic-the-best-of-life-and-asgard-pt-1 ))
“Okay, the important thing is that we all remain calm,” Tony said. He paused. “Mostly me. It’s important that I remain calm.”
There was a moment of silence. “Your attempts appear to be less than successful,” Thor pointed out.
“I would like you to not call attention to that.” Tony choked on a yelp as Steve’s arms closed tight around his waist, lifting him bodily from the floor. “Or this. Don’t call attention to this, either.”
“As you wish,” Thor said, grinning at him. “It is hard to miss, however.”
Tony tried to glare at him, but it wasn’t particularly effective. It was hard to be intimidating when he couldn’t quite manage to get his feet back on the ground. Or when he was pretty damn sure that Steve was sniffing his hair. When Steve sobered up, the two of them were going to have a discussion about this.
“Have we a plan?” Lady Sif asked, because she was a practical sort of lady. Practical and cheerful and with a core of steel that Tony respected. It was she who had made their excuses to their hosts while Thor collected the Warriors Three and gathered everyone here.
She hadn’t so much as blinked at the tableau they’d presented. Tony was impressed by that. Between Clint and Phil canoodling on the couch, Hulk snoring away on the floor, Jane and Darcy doing a cancan style dance with Natasha singing in off-key French, and Steve attempting to get what remained of Tony’s clothes off, it was clear that the situation was completely out of control. Sif had merely arched an eyebrow and hiked up her skirt with one hand, stepping delicately over Hulk’s limp arm and catching a vase that Darcy had decided to throw across the room.
Tony liked Sif. A lot.
“Not to be rude, but are you the victim of a magical curse, an alien ray of any sort, or a shift in reality?” Phil asked. “Because those things fall within the range of my work duties, at least often enough that I know what to do with them.” He took a sip of his coffee. ”So, if that’s the case, I might be able to help.”
The tiny black and white kitten set its teeth on his shoelace and tugged.
“I don’t know if that’s a yes or a no, but let’s stop doing that.” Setting his cup down on the park bench next to him, Coulson reached down and scooped the cat up with one hand. He held it up at eye level. ”Are you, or have you ever been, a human being caught up in circumstances beyond your control?” he asked.
The kitten bit his thumb.
“I think you’re just a cat,” Phil said. He paused. ”But if you’re a cat, why are you following me around?”
((A new quick piece for New Years! It is going to be silly. This is going to be RIDICULOUSLY SILLY. I don’t want to hear it if you think it’s just that. 8)
Further warnings: There is some alcohol use here! This will result in some impaired judgement and potentially sexy times! All sexy times will be between established partners who would likely have been participating in sexy times with or without the alcohol (shut up, Clint, you would so), but this is impaired judgement. Please use caution if such things bother you!))
“Is this sparkling cider?”
Tony Stark stared suspiciously at his glass, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. The glass had no answers to bestow, so he switched his gaze to Thor, who gave him a shrug. He seemed apologetic, but there was amusement glinting in his eyes. “Of a sort,” he said. “Tis tasty.”
“Tis non-alcoholic,” Tony said. “Tasty is one thing. Non-alcoholic is the anti-tasty. Let’s, let’s not do this.” He held the crystal goblet towards Thor, the stem pinched between his thumb and his forefinger. “You spend about half of your waking hours bragging about Asgardian booze, and you give me apple juice with bubbles? Why would you give me the kiddie drink?”
“It is not a drink for children,” Thor said, his brows drawing tight together as he took the glass..
“Well, I should-”
“Our children drink wine,” Thor said, and Tony decided that he was done with this conversation.
