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2tired2study · 3 years

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hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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The Eternal and Unseen (1 of 3)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David.

For @cssns

a/n: Thanks to @spartanguard and @optomisticgirl for the prompts that planted the seeds of this idea and to my TERRACE-mates @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub, without whom I might never have found the right way to encourage them to grow, and of course INCOHERENT GIBBERING NOISES OF DELIGHT to @carpedzem for the absolutely stunning art about which I cannot possibly say enough good things. Please zoom all the way in and appreciate the perfection of all the little details she included. The tiny wee fronds on the plant! The shape of the light! Emma’s feather earrings! Her red cloak! Her hat! (the hat you guys, the hat!!). Everything about it is so, so gorgeous and Nat is so talented and creative and such a joy to work with ❤️❤️❤️.

On AO3 Rating: M Words: 3.9k (first chapter)

CHAPTER ONE:

David Nolan was always surprised by people’s reactions when they learned he was the Resident Assistant for H.C. Andersen Hall at Misthaven University. Sure, it was the oldest dorm on the campus, built of dark stone in a high Gothic style, with tall towers and pointed arches, way back when Misthaven and her people still believed in magic. And sure, the heavy wooden doors had a way of creaking on their iron hinges and the windows rattled in their frames when the wind was high... sometimes even when it didn’t blow at all. But this was merely rust and weather and David was a practical man, not one to be troubled by such things as can be plausibly explained away.

And yes, Andersen did have that reputation, though David was certain it could be no more than simple silly student gossip. As an upperclassmen dorm its occupancy was by request only, and over the years it had come to be known as the place where some of the more… unique students tended to convene. But that was surely no reason for people to give that startled twitch or to take a wary step back from him when he told them about his job. Or for the other candidates to look so relieved when they learned it was he and not they who’d be taking over from the last RA, a guy called Walsh who had, in the words of one, “Still not recovered from the trau—er, the experience. But hey, good luck, man.”

A thousand years ago when it was known by another name, Andersen alone had been the university, a haven for scholars of every kith and creed and a place where learning took precedence over any rivalry, however ancient. The building had both schooled and housed them, fed them in its great dining hall with food cooked in the basement kitchen, tutored them in the tower classrooms with books procured from the vast library. When lessons were completed the scholars found repose in the common room, a comfortable space with an enormous fireplace, large, overstuffed chairs, and carved wooden tables where lively debates were had each night until the fire died and they withdrew to their rooms to sleep. (Rooms which, David observed to his delight, were twice the size of those in the other dorms and always single occupancy—no roommate squabbles for him to contend with.) As the university grew and newer dorms were built, as the ancient covenants were forgotten and magic faded from the land, fewer and fewer students chose to reside in the newly christened Andersen Hall. At present there were only eight, plus David, who despite the strange reactions he encountered was thrilled to be the RA there. Eight residents, and all upperclassmen, he thought to himself. Andersen had to be the easiest gig on campus. How odd that no one else had seemed to want it.

The hall itself stood just at the edge of the modern campus, tucked against the so-called enchanted forest that marked the border of Misthaven on three sides. It was an ancient forest, whether enchanted or not—a forest of twisted trees and clinging moss and the shrouding mist that gave their country its name. Very little sunlight survived to reach its floor and thus such things as grew there fed on decay, most digging their roots deep into the soil to wrench what nutrients they could from it and barely peeking the tips of their grey-green leaves above the ground. Other valiant species reached out for whatever light could penetrate the dense canopy, stretching upward into vines that curled around the trunks and branches of the gnarled trees to unfurl their broad leaves hopefully as close as they could to the sky. And so it was of course these very leaves and vines and branches that crept up Andersen’s stone walls and scraped against its windows, and cast deep and shifting shadows that fell both outside the hall and in.

So yeah, David reflected, Andersen Hall was old. And dark. And with each successive year it sank a bit more deeply into the forest’s embrace—a perfectly benign embrace, most of the time, although perhaps not ideal when you found yourself alone in your dorm with the music in your headphones never quite as loud as the branches across your windows, or the distant howls of wolves, or the much less distant scrabblings of other creatures to which it was not always wise to put a name. So, yeah, there was that.

And the students who chose to live in Andersen were characters, that was for sure. Even David had to admit that he’d never met anyone quite like them before. But, he reminded himself, at the end of the day they were just students. Just kids like all the others, despite the sometimes unnerving focus of their attention and the surprising depth to their eyes. Just college kids discovering themselves, exploring their quirks and hobbies and interests.

Take Emma, for example. Emma Swan, as graceful as her name implied and even more beautiful, with her warm smile and wry humour and the spark of mischief in her green eyes. One of the nicest girls David had ever met, tough and smart but with a kind and generous heart and a tender vulnerability that made him wish it were still fashionable to slay dragons. He’d gladly slay one for her—or anything else that might threaten her. His urge to protect Emma at all costs—though from what dangers it was never quite clear—surprised him with its persistent and overwhelming strength.

Also surprising was Emma’s choice of dorm-room decor; the space in her room not occupied by the bed, desk, television, and mini-fridge that were standard even in Andersen rooms, she had filled entirely with plants. Plants the like of which David was certain he had never before seen, long and twisted vines that clung and crept across the stone walls, broad leaves and pointed ones and flowers in unexpected colours. He’d examined them with a frown the day she moved in, mildly unnerved by how comfortably they already seemed to inhabit the space but convinced by Emma’s soothing reassurances and the evidence of his own eyes that none of them were anything college kids might wish to dry and smoke. And while keeping what was essentially a greenhouse in a dorm room may be a bit unorthodox it wasn’t strictly against the rules—David had even made a special visit to the Chancellor to ensure Emma wouldn’t run into any difficulty later on, if another student made a complaint, for example. The Chancellor’s eyes had widened to an alarming size, but he’d confirmed that yes, students were allowed plants in their rooms, and there wasn’t technically a limit on their number, then hustled David from his office with the rather thin excuse of a dentist appointment he suddenly remembered he had.

And as for Emma’s habit of chatting to her plants as though they understood her words, or chuckling to herself as she did so, or singing as she watered them—a low and haunting tune in a language David felt he really ought to recognise—all while wearing a pointed hat made of green straw with flowers round the brim which she called her ‘special gardening hat’… well, she wasn’t bothering anyone and David really didn’t think it was his place to judge.

And actually, Emma’s plants weren’t even the most unusual things that could be found in the rooms of his residents. Victor Whale, a slender, pale young man who gave the impression of feeding off his own nervous energy, had what looked to David’s admittedly untrained eye like an entire laboratory set up in his room—tall shelves lined with specimen jars and long tables loaded with Bunsen burners under simmering beakers of… substances in which David felt it might be wisest not to invest too much careful thought. He had not spoken to the Chancellor about those burners and didn’t intend to, both because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them and because Victor with his wild hair and wilder eyes, the sardonic smirk he nearly always wore and the barbed comments he loved to make, did not rouse quite the same protective instincts in David as Emma did.

That, and he wasn’t entirely certain the Chancellor would agree to meet with him again.

Of all his residents, the one David felt he could relate to most was Graham. They shared a similar taste for plaid shirts and brown leather jackets, and a similar appreciation for the simple joys that could be had in the great outdoors. Graham had an deep, instinctual understanding of nature that David envied; several times he’d caught the younger man in conversation with the dogs he met on the walks he liked to take or the squirrels who paused to chatter at him from the branches of trees, even the deer and other creatures that crept out from the forest to scratch at his window, serious conversation that did not appear one-sided. Graham spoke to animals as Emma did to plants—in the manner of folk to their brethren—but the connection went deeper even than that. Every few weeks he went out to spend all night in the woods, generally, David couldn’t help noticing, around the time of the full moon—and when David inquired why Graham simply replied “The animals need me.”

If animals of the furry variety had need of Graham, the feathered kind flocked, quite literally, to Snow. There never seemed to be a time when she wasn't accompanied by some feathered friend or other, and her dorm window was always open so they could come and go as they pleased. She kept bowls of seeds on her shelves and handfuls of them in her pockets and had been delighted when Emma gave her a tree so the birds would have somewhere in her room to nest—a tree that within a week had overgrown its pot and sunk roots into the stone floor of Snow’s room in a way David again found himself opting not to examine. He himself passed many a pleasant afternoon with Snow in that room, listening to her talk about—and to—her birds. It amazed him now how little attention he’d paid to birds before. They were astounding, beautiful creatures, and the sound of Snow’s voice, melodic and soothing as she stroked their feathered heads, was… well, it was… it was something he sometimes felt he could listen to forever.

Snow’s best friend in the dorm was Ruby and though David liked Ruby perfectly well he had to admit he was a bit baffled by how close the two were. They didn’t seem to have a whole lot in common. All but the bravest of Snow’s birds fled when Ruby approached, and the ones that stayed eyed her warily and stuck close to Snow as she flashed them a grin and licked her chops. Er, her lips. She licked her lips and it made the birds nervous, and… and at any rate, Ruby was bold and charming but just a bit wild. She liked to party and to stay out late, often not returning to her room until the early hours of the morning. Andersen had no curfew so David said nothing, though he couldn’t help noticing that in sharp contrast to Ruby’s habits Snow was usually in bed by 10 o’clock. Not that he paid her or her sleeping habits any particular attention, certainly not, just that he happened to notice she always left her room at around 9.45 to go wash her face, always wearing such cute pajamas and trailed by a flock of bluebirds—and it wasn’t like he made a point of being out in the common room when he knew she’d be walking by, he just… well, he happened to be there sometimes. That was all.

Yet despite these differences Snow and Ruby were the best of friends, and while Emma was more solitary and a bit distant until you got to know her, she also got along well with them. Ruby got along with just about everybody, including Belle, who David sometimes forgot was even among his residents. Belle had an unnerving way of appearing very suddenly where she was least expected and of disappearing without warning from places she’d been moments before. She was a quiet, studious young woman who moved as though her feet didn’t quite touch the floor and was so pale he sometimes fancied he could see through her. She was hardly ever in her room or even the common room, preferring to spend her time in the library.

“You might say she haunts the place,” August had remarked with a wry note in his voice that David imagined was significant, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Feeling at something of a loss, he had simply nodded. “She certainly does spend a lot of time there,” he’d agreed, then frowned when August laughed.

August was a bit of an odd one, the only person in the dorm whom Ruby actively disliked, so much that she actually snarled at him whenever their paths crossed. He took only evening classes and was never anywhere to be found during the day. At least once a week he returned from his classes accompanied by a young woman—always beautiful and rarely the same one twice—and David observed that while August preferred to sleep the day away those women would stumble from his room quite early the next morning and looking awful—pale and drawn and thoroughly exhausted. Before leaving they all would go to Emma’s door, knock three times slowly then three times fast, and when it opened they all smiled the same sheepish smile and stuttered the same apologies as they slipped into her room. When they emerged from it they were as new women—pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, glowing with health and quite pleased with themselves, wreathed in satisfied smiles.

David felt uncomfortably as though he ought to do something about this, though he had no idea what. The women always seemed so thrilled when they arrived—clinging to August’s arm and chattering brightly as he smiled at them with a peculiar sort of fond disinterest—and so contented when they left, after they’d seen Emma, at least, and as no formal complaints were ever lodged David was left with nothing more to go on than a feeling of vague discomfort.

He’d attempted to broach the subject once with Emma but she had simply shrugged and said “Groupies. What can you do?” and so he’d let it go.

So those were his residents. Four women—Emma, Snow, Ruby, and Belle, and four men—Graham, Victor, August… and Killian.

Ah, yes. Killian.

David liked Killian, he truly did. It was a point of pride with him to find something to like about every one of his residents, though he had to admit that finding that thing for Killian posed something of a challenge. It wasn’t just that Killian preferred his leather black or opted for dark button-downs or obscure band t-shirts instead of plaid. It wasn’t even that he was mouthy and arrogant, smarter than most everyone he met and not afraid to let them know it. No, the challenge for David when it came to liking Killian was Emma. Or more specifically, the way Killian looked at Emma. And the way she very much looked back.

“I suppose that’s one way to ‘guard’ her,” Victor remarked one evening as they sat around the fire in the common room, Emma laughing with Graham in one corner while Killian glowered darkly at the pair of them from the other. “Very dramatic, you know. Very Charlotte Brontë. Or is it Emily, I always get them mixed up.”

“Piss off,” Killian snarled, returning his attention to his textbooks just in time to miss the glance Emma shot him from the corner of her eye.

“‘Course I suppose she doesn’t make it easy for you—” Victor began, then smirked when Killian slammed his book shut and got up. “I’m going to bed,” he declared and stalked from the room, Emma’s eyes following his every move as he went.

“Enemies to lovers slow burn, 100k,” Belle whispered to Ruby on another occasion, a rare instance when she left the library to join them for breakfast. Ruby nodded sagely and both of them sat back, observing Emma and Killian’s heated argument about the best way to make a cup of tea with all apparent enjoyment. David wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, or that he liked the way his residents seemed to find the pair’s squabbles so entertaining. He knew only that if Emma and Killian really thought anyone believed they hated each other the way they both so loudly and frequently proclaimed, they were seriously deluding themselves. Their little snarky comments and defiant challenges were some of the most obvious flirtation David had ever seen, especially when combined with those damned looks. Looks that all but screamed how much they would prefer to resolve their differences with physical action than with words, and that they had already imagined how those physical dispute resolutions might go—frequently and in great detail.

David did not approve of those looks.

Nor did he approve, as the summer heat faded into the cooler air of autumn and the green leaves of the forest’s trees took on brighter hues, of the way Emma and Killian’s snappish words began to lose the battle with that oh-so-evident longing to touch. Slowly at first and tentatively, small brushes of arms and fingers that before long began to linger… In principle he supposed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, or with the budding feelings they continued to deny. He would be one hundred percent in support of it, in fact, were it not so damned blatant—those sparks of tension that turned the air electric, the raw hunger in Killian’s eyes as he watched her, the answering ache in hers when she watched him—David had come to think of Emma as he would a little sister and he did not appreciate being slapped in the face, so to speak, by the evidence of her active sexual interest in a man whom David was not at all convinced was good enough for her. It annoyed him so much that he almost—almost—found himself agreeing with Victor, who had taken to rolling his eyes and muttering “I wish they’d just fuck already” a bit too loudly whenever Emma and Killian got into one of their ‘disputes.’

He would have been able to officially disapprove the night he caught them doing tequila slammers in her dorm room—alcohol was discouraged in the dorms, even for students of legal drinking age—except that had turned out to be nothing but a very bizarre dream… although… had it been a dream? It must have been, though it had seemed so real at the time… but he remembered only catching sight of them through her slightly open door and reaching up to knock… the next thing he knew he was groaning as he woke in his own room, his head aching and feeling full of cotton wool, Emma sitting by his bedside with her ‘world famous hangover cure’ in one of Victor’s beakers explaining that he was the one who’d overindulged... “So unlike you, David, I’m really very shocked,” she’d said with that glint in her eye… and when David confronted Killian about the incident he’d merely scoffed and said “Tequila, mate? You were definitely dreaming. You know I only drink rum, and that in the company of ladies more… amenable than Swan.”

Of course, on the late October afternoon when David accompanied Graham on his walk and they stumbled upon Emma and Killian beneath a tree in the forest, wrapped around each other and kissing so deeply that he wondered how they could also be breathing—well, that was most definitely not a dream. It was also not in the dorm and therefore not technically within his jurisdiction, so he simply caught Graham by the arm and turned back the way they came.

The energy had shifted between Emma and Killian, he realised with a curious sort of bittersweet thrum in his chest. An unmistakable shift yet hard to define, as though they were hovering just on the cusp of something both nebulous and truly extraordinary. And despite them being right out in public—seriously, right off the footpath—the way they’d held each other was so intensely intimate that interrupting them, even to ask them to move to a more appropriate location, would have felt like the worst kind of intrusion. Plus of course there was no telling what uncomfortable circumstances David might find himself waking up in if he dared to cock-block Emma Swan.

Now where in hell had that thought come from?

A few hours later Emma and Killian returned to the dorm, flushed and mussed and with leaves in their hair, buzzing with that newly shifted energy—and holding hands, though they let go both reluctantly and immediately upon realising they were being eagerly observed.

“Well well well,” smirked Victor, elbowing David in the ribs. “Looks like August owes me twenty. I should probably thank you, Jones.”

“Bugger off, mate,” muttered Killian, entirely without his usual snarl, and then with a defiant glare and a flush high on his cheekbones, he sauntered after Emma into her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Well, I think I’ll go put on some very loud music,” Victor remarked, and retreated into his own room, leaving David alone in the common room feeling vaguely unsettled.

The next morning Killian and Emma arrived at breakfast together, radiating happiness and unable to stop touching, and, David would swear to it, with actual stars in their eyes. They left for their morning classes with their arms around each other, returning in the afternoon in the same manner, and when Victor and August tried to mock him about it Killian just laughed.

“We’ve worked out our differences, mates,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m certain you know what I mean.”

“It’s sweet, really,” August observed one evening a week or so later, in that dry, supercilious tone of his that grated on David’s nerves. “Though possibly not the wisest move, sleeping with the woman under his protection. I’ve seen the vows they have to take, you know, and they are intense. It could literally be the death of him.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Ruby snapped, baring her teeth as Snow placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’re right of course,” August agreed, his eyes flashing red in the firelight. “What would I know about love and loss, I’m only three hundr—”

“Well, I think it’s great they’ve finally gotten together,” said Snow loudly, glaring first at August then Ruby then August again. “I hope they’ll be happy.”

David hoped so too, genuinely. Even he could see how good the two of them were for each other. She smoothed his rough edges and he drew her out from her shell, and the dangerous sparks of their attraction settled down into the far gentler flame of new love. It was sweet, and he did approve, and yet—still he felt unsettled, a vague sensation of unease twisting deep in his gut. He’d call it a premonition, if he believed in such things. But he was a sensible man, a man of science and the twenty-first century, and so he firmly ignored it.

Two days later Emma Swan disappeared.

___

#cssns20 #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #witch!emma #captain swan #college au #sort of #there's a university #and magic #and a sword #that's magic #and a creepy forest #because of course there is #there has to be #where else would the magical battles take place #the eternal and unseen #profdanglaisstuff

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jbbuckybarnes · 4 years

Text

Distant Connection - 2/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: a bit of angst, a lot of domestic fluff Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

Harmony was about to see the student area of the Stark Tower for the first time. Tony provided all the kids with wifi, laptops, food, medical help and tutoring there. She overheard it in a few conversations and she really wanted to draw in an environment like this again and also learn more about her witchcraft.

As she walked in she could see a lot of concentrated students sitting on laptops and others sitting together talking. She walked into the little laptop area with all the desks to see Steve sitting there drawing concentrated. There weren’t a lot of students in there and most of them had headphones on so she sat down beside him with a “Looks beautiful.” His head went up and he gave her a soft smile back “Thanks. Still trying to get into all the new markers from this time.” He had drawn a pink Starbucks drink with alcohol markers, the page he was currently working on was a view of a NYC street and he was painting with gouache. “Can I join your little art session?” she asked pulling out a watercolor sketchbook and watercolor from her backpack. “Of course. What’s your art project today?” he asked after finishing another window. “You…...that sounded like I was flirting. I was not. Just need to get better at watercoloring humans.” she chuckled. They both looked down and worked on their little projects for a while. “I heard you called me big energy ball?” he said and couldn’t take himself serious. “Yup, the outside finally fits the mindset.” she giggled with him. “You changed something in James’ mind?” he asked a bit softer about the thing he overheard. “I tried to bring more positive memories in the main focus again. You were doing a lot of dumb shit in the 30s and 40s” she smiled at him because he had stopped to listen to her. “I was...I can’t even lie about the fact that I wasn’t much different back then. A little less mature, but now I’m just that with the actual body fitting to the mind of a tiny human taking on the world alone.” he laughed about himself. “I saw some of the memories. They were hilarious.” she was thankful that it was way easier to talk to him than she expected.

“Can you...do that with me too?” he asked curious. “Yes, but that means I see everything you saved into your long term memory.” she said a little more awkward. “Oh please don’t tell me you saw all of the assassin stuff...please…” he was concerned for her and looking at her frowning. “I did...that was my first try. It was a spontaneous thing.” she went back into shy mode but he pulled her onto his lap to give her a big hug. “Don’t do it with Nat, Sam or Tony. They are good people but that would hurt you more than you could probably take.” he mumbled against her forehead. “Do you still want me to do it?” she looked up at him. “Only if you’re comfortable with it...why does this sound like we’re talking about something different.” he realized all of a sudden and both started laughing. “Something’s still off about the painting.” he said pointing towards it trying to change the subject. “I think you just need to feel out the colors better. Darker gouache tends to dry lighter and lighter gouache tends to dry darker. Should’ve done a color test. But I think you need to correct the glass reflection on the ground floor here a little bit.” she gave him advice still sitting on his lap. “Would you stand up, or?” he gestured at her initial seat. She reseated. “Hmpf, was so comfortable for once,” she said with a fake pout and got a chuckle back.

After correcting his painting in silence he put down his brush and looked over at Harmony doing her second painting which made the first one fully visible to him. “Simple but I can definitely see it’s me.” he said smiling at it. “Just the first layer. Needs another one or two.” she smiled while painting her flower. “You wanna draw something into my notebook?” he asked a little bit more shy. “Like a notebook switch? Sure.” she said finishing her last petal before turning to him and interchanging the notebooks. He grabbed some normal pencils and an eraser before leaning over the next page while she grabbed some of his alcohol markers to start drawing one of the memories she saw in James’ mind of young and small Steve. There was a comfortable silence between them and the only thing audible were the laptops of some of the students around them and the kids laughing outside of the computer room. He made sure she couldn’t see what he drew with his pencils and was way too concentrated to look over at her beautiful 40s painting.

After about 30 minutes both of them finished their drawings almost in sync and looked up at each other. They put both of them between each other and held their breath for a second. “You drew me? Wow. That’s...so detailed.” she said in awe before reading the little note below “for the small energy ball, from the big energy ball ❤” “This is the cutest thing ever.” she said while giving him a hug and he was so concentrated on her liking it that he looked at her drawing just now over her shoulder while breaking the hug again. “You drew me from Bucky’s eyes?” he was in awe, this was a gift so rare that he couldn't grasp it. Seeing through someone else’s eyes was almost impossible but she put it into a drawing. “When I went through his mind this is one of the memories I made clearer for him again. I think it’s very you.” she said soft and with her guard up. “Wow. I remember that day. We got in big trouble for spending all our money on unhealthy stuff but the whole day was so much fun.” he smiled down at his notebook with the most genuine smile in weeks. “You have such an unique bond. I wanted to put that into a drawing.” she said fidgeting with her fingers. “You two also have a very different connection. I’ve never seen him protect someone like that.” he tried to look into her eyes but they stayed on her hands. “I feel like he’s the only person that can relate to how I feel and also keep me save, you know?” she said very vulnerable. He grabbed her hands and made her look up at him, “I might not be able to relate but I would definitely keep you save too.” A weak smile formed on her lips and a slight nod gave him an answer.

“Can I see the rest of your sketchbook?” she ask shyly again and he grabbed it and put it on her lap with a smile. She grabbed it and slowly went from page to page. There were a lot of 40s related paintings but also a lot of new ones. He drew James and Natasha a lot, sometimes the whole team, there was a little sketch with all of them sitting at the kitchen table laughing, a drawing of her and James when they sat in the corner of the common room, food with recipe notes, a page filled with uniform designs, a sketch of Peggy Carter, a watercolor painting of Grand Central Station, two hands holding each other, a bruised Thor and a closeup of his hammer, a street in Brooklyn back in the day. He didn’t seem to use the notebook chronological and just opened a page and started creating. Meanwhile he looked at her notebook. The outside was filled with stickers of potions, black cats and flowers. She was into witchcraft before she knew she was gifted.

There were a lot of watercolor and marker drawings, her mom, the campus of Syracuse University, a stranger in a coffee shop, part of what looked like her room, two people kissing, fashion sketches, crystals and moons, braided hair, two people hugging, a collage of the different parts of her outfit, sneakers, a sketch of the library in the compound, a sketch of James, an unfinished sketch of what happened to her mother, a sketch of sleeping James, a detailed painting of hands doing blue magic, a painting of James with black eyes and a smile, a sketch of the common area, the flower she just painted, the first layer of the painting she made of him and the sketch he made of her. She was very organized in the way she drew.

She looked at his concentrated face and noticed he finished going through the sketches but showed him the last page of the notebook. There was a big sticker of his shield on the little pocket in the back of the book that held little nicnacs. He looked at her with a smile and a little bit of pride “Was that always there?” he asked. “Yeah.” she said smiling back at him, taking her sketchbook back. The moment was interrupted with a 10th grader coming into the room looking straight at them. “Could you help us with world war stuff? We’ve been sitting here trying to get it into our heads and…” Steve smiled and nodded.

He left his stuff with Harmony which started doodling little things onto another page. A little shield, a bit of magical stuff, hearts, stars, moons, dots and a little note. *Always prefered you over Stark. Thought you wanted to know. Guess I have a soft spot for old grandpa Avengers. -small energy ball* After looking around at the concentrated students she picked up her brush again and started doing the second layer of her painting of him.

“Harmony?” she heard from a computer voice above. “Yeah?” she said a bit weirded out. She still wasn’t used to FRIDAY at all. “Captain Rogers has been called to the compound for a mission and asks if you could bring his belongings with you back to the compound.” the voice asked. “Sure. Tell him to stay safe.” she said with a little smile. “I will make sure to do so, Harmony.” the voice stopped. Once of the students had took his headphones out to listen to the interaction and got a shy smile from Harmony. “You are allowed to take his things with you?” she asked in awe. “I’m just bringing them back where they belong, I guess.” Harmony answered softly. “Can I ask you something?” the girl, probably around 16, asked. “Uuuh, sure.” she smiled. “Is he really as serious as everyone thinks. He seemed to be very childish and funny with you.” she asked with a nervous voice and a shy smile. “Nooo, he is a total dork but he knows when to be serious. If you ever have a problem with anything just ask him. He’s super nice and wants everyone to feel comfortable.” a smile came across the lips of both females. Harmony continued to put his sketchbook and art supplies into her bag, stood up and grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of chips from the food shelves behind her before turning around. “See you around?” she asked the girl and got a smile and a nod back before she walked out of the room and made her way back to the compound.

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 43 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: Finally figured out how to fix a bit here that was bugging me. Now if only that focus would extend to editing the next chapter…

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There was a rather noticeable tension between Steve and Natasha when they returned from their SHIELD mission, but it seemed to evaporate the moment they were told about the attempt on Edith’s life. Natasha immediately began interrogating Loki, at least until Edith cut in to ask about whatever had her and Steve at odds. Steve seemed reluctant to talk about it, but Natasha explained it as a disagreement about compartmentalisation of orders, something that earned her a glare from the Captain.

“This isn’t about the orders; I need to know I can count on you.”

“You’re a big boy, Steve; you can handle yourself just fine. If you’d needed me, I would’ve been there, but you didn’t.”

Steve went to respond, but Edith stood between them. “Guys; come on. How about we don’t fight, yeah? I think we have enough to worry about.”

“Yeah, like who’s taking shots at you,” Natasha redirected.

“You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is, but sure! If that’s what it takes.”

“‘A bigger deal’, Edie?” Clint said incredulously, “The guy used a bullet strong enough to actually hurt Loki, who’s practically bulletproof in case you’ve forgotten; if he hadn’t been there, you’d be dead.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a serious attempt, but seriously, guys, it’s not the first time someone tries to have me killed! Maybe chill a little.”

“Oh, I’ll chill, alright; just as soon as I stick whoever gave the order full of arrows.”

“Assuming you get to them first,” Loki said half under his breath, trying very hard to keep the shred of calm he’d managed to attain since the attack and the subsequent argument with Edith. He turned to address Steve and Natasha, “Might your mission shed any light on SHIELD’s problem?”

“Not sure yet,” Natasha replied, “Fury will need to look over the intel I got.”

“Which he’ll then share with us, because he’s generous like that,” Tony said sarcastically.

“I’m sure you’d have no problem finding a way to get it.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“So, what do we do now?” Edith asked before they could get off target again.

“I’ll go follow up on the investigation of the shooter,” Natasha replied, beginning to move towards the elevator.

“You just got back!” Edith called after her, causing her to stop and turn back to her with a raised eyebrow as if to ask ‘your point?’, “Clint can do that; he’s occasionally a SHIELD agent, too.”

“Hey, come on,” Clint complained as the others chuckled. “Like I’m not busting my ass on the other side of the planet half the time,” he grumbled partly to himself as he walked towards the elevator, “Edie’s right, though; I’ll go bother whoever’s in charge of the investigation, you… do whatever it is you do post-mission.”

“It’s called a shower, Clint; you might have heard of it,” Natasha replied as the elevator opened and he got in.

“Yeah, that’s the thing with the soap, right?” he said as the doors closed.

Edith turned back to Tony. “Have you and Steve made any progress on your end?”

“Annoyingly little,” Tony replied with a frown, “Whoever’s behind this is smart, and adapting to what I’ve thrown at them so far. I’ll get ’em, though; they are not smarter than me.”

“I love how sure you are about that,” Edith couldn’t help but tease, earning a mock glare.

“We’ll keep digging,” Steve said. “I don’t suppose there’s any point asking you to stay in the tower for a couple days?” That earned him a real glare and he raised his hands in surrender. “Just making sure.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were,” Edith retorted, crossing her arms at her chest, “Guys, I appreciate the concern, but I am every bit the fighter you are; stop trying to treat me like a kid just because someone shot at me for the – oh, I don’t know – thousandth time?”

“It’s one thing for you to be shot at in the middle of a fight, quite another for someone to specifically target you for assassination,” Natasha countered, raising a finger to forestall Edith’s argument, “It’s not the first time that happens, but it’s the first they almost succeeded; can you really blame us?”

Edith frowned then let out a deep sigh. “No. No, I can’t.” She pointed a finger in their direction, eyeing Loki for a second longer than the rest of them, “But you are not keeping me in a bubble.”

“Of course not,” Steve agreed easily, “Knowing you, you’d find a way to blow your way out.”

****

Edith made her way through her vocal exercises as she stared at the lit candle before her, the familiar rising and falling notes and the swaying of the flame carrying away all conscious thought, which was her aim. Now that she was alone, events began to catch up with her, and she’d be lying to say none of it bothered her. She was used to being in danger – on the field, not returning from a shopping trip/date. It had been quite some time since threats to her came from anything other than her being an Avenger; she had forgotten how unsettling it was. Part of her was annoyed at how it still affected her at all and how absurdly grateful she was that Loki had been there; she was hardly a child anymore, and the mere thought of coming to rely on her boyfriend for safety chaffed, particularly with how he’d reacted to the situation.

She hadn’t yet talked to him, not sure she could without ending up yelling, but his actions had hurt. She understood where he was coming from, of course she did; that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t trusted her to back him up. He claimed to see her as a capable fighter, and yet he had completely side-lined her without a thought. That was not the action of someone who respected her and her abilities. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t just stand back and let him treat her as though she were a porcelain doll. She didn’t think her sanity, or their relationship, could take that.

As the thoughts began to creep back, she transitioned from her warm up into an improvised rendition of Meyerbeer’s ‘Ombre légère qui suis mes pas’, forcing her mind to clear again but for the words needed. It was perhaps, she considered, not the most practical of ways to deal with things, but she wasn’t about to stop. She could consider her coping mechanisms and looming mortality later.

A knock on her door interrupted the beginnings of another song, and she blew out the candle and called for Steve to enter, turning towards the door almost warily, causing him to laugh softly. “Relax, Edie; I’m not here to lecture you or anything.” He walked over to her and set down a few pages he’d pulled out of his sketchbook on the corner of the desk. “Just came to drop these off.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied, taking up the pages and looking at the pictures drawn on them. It was their unspoken agreement; Steve didn’t complain (much) about Edith’s penchant for buying him art supplies with her own money as long as she didn’t go overboard (again), and in return she said nothing when he used them to draw things for her to colour in.

“At the risk of pissing you off,” he began, earning a sidelong glance, “We don’t worry because we don’t think you can handle yourself. Of course we know you can, especially Nat and me, we trained you. But we agreed to let you become an Avenger, we agreed to let you go out there with us; you can argue all you want, but ultimately every single one of us feels that you’re our responsibility. And I know that annoys you, believe me I do, but we don’t exactly do it on purpose. It kinda just,” he shrugged a bit helplessly, “Happens.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “God, you’re all such moms.” He laughed. “I guess I can understand that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it. Especially since that’s apparently all I can do.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” he conceded with a nod. He thought about it for a moment before asking, “Everything okay with you and Loki? You seemed a bit… off.”

“No, everything is not okay, but we haven’t talked about it yet, so.”

“Fair enough.”

****

Alexander Pierce fought the urge to roll his eyes as he took his seat; the man across from him was almost fidgeting in nervousness, and if he didn’t need him, he’d be tempted to shoot him just to get him to be still. “So, your shooter failed. I warned you it wouldn’t be that easy.”

“He was a sniper; he wasn’t supposed to be noticed before the first shot!” the man defended, “That… thing. That alien complicated things.”

“Yeah, they seem to do that.”

“What about Virginia Potts? Why not target her instead? Stark genuinely cares about her, by all accounts.”

Pierce scoffed. “He cares about her, sure, but this is Tony Stark we’re talking about; killing her would mostly just piss him off. But sweet little Edith? She’s his goddaughter, his responsibility, and he takes that very seriously. Her death will break him.”

“Why not just kill him? If he’s such a problem?”

“Kill Iron Man?” Pierce replied with a raised eyebrow, “If you can manage that; I’ll buy you a drink myself. There’s a lot of people who want him dead, but until our project is up and running, he’s untouchable. Miss Matthews, however, is stubborn and reckless; ergo, she’s a… slightly easier target. And once she’s gone? Well, maybe – just maybe – he gives us fewer problems.”

“That still leaves the matter of how to take her out. With that partner of hers, we’d never get close.”

“He is proving to be a nuisance. After today, I doubt he’ll leave her side very long. Might be time to up our game to match.”

“You mean…?” Pierce nodded. “But isn’t that a risk? It’s not just the alien; the rest of them will be more alert.”

“But they won’t be with her all the time…”

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #wedded bliss #chapter 43 #malicemanaged

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doctortreklock · 5 years

Text

Drawing with the Dead - September 25, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: "Do you believe in ghosts?" (x)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Words: 1610

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"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Clint's head jerked up from where he had been bent over his sketchpad. He hastily pulled the headphones off his ears and looked to his left to see a man sitting on the short wall next to him watching him sketch. "Uh, I'm sorry?" he tried.

The man smiled. It was a nice smile, Clint noted absently. "I was asking if you believe in ghosts," he repeated.

"Not so much," Clint told him with a easy grin. "I have a hard enough time believing in what's in front of me sometimes."

The man hummed and looked like he was giving Clint's off-the-cuff answer serious thought.

"What about you?" Clint asked quickly. It didn't seem like the man was going to be leaving soon, and if Clint were being honest, he didn't mind the company. It seemed like this end of campus got pretty dead after nine o'clock and he could use the break from sketching.

"I've found that at a certain point, believing becomes unavoidable," the man told him slowly, as if picking his words carefully.

Clint scoffed playfully and adjusted the shading on his rendition of the abstract sculpture in the middle of the art building's atrium. "Seen a lot of ghosts, then?" he asked, sliding his gaze back over to the man.

He couldn't really help it. The man sitting by him was plain, almost the dictionary definition of "unassuming," but there was something about him that Clint liked. Maybe it was the confident, quiet way he held himself, his kind blue eyes, or the well-fitted - if slightly old-fashioned - suit he was wearing. Or maybe it was just the way his lightly lined face and receding hairline played into Clint's predilection for handsome older men.

The smile that played around the man's lips twisted wryly. "Something like that, yes," he said.

"So," Clint drawled, waggling his eyebrows outrageously. "Come here often?" If he asked as ridiculously as possible, he could brush it off as a joke if need be.

From the smirk that tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, Clint didn't think he'd have to downplay the question. "Would you believe me," he asked, "if I told you I didn't get out much and that this was the only place I'd been in a very long time?"

For a moment, Clint wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but the upturned corner of the man's mouth was enough to convince him that it had just been very, very dry humor.

Clint snorted and the other man seemed pleased that he had recognized it as a joke.

"I'm Clint," Clint said, twisting in his seat so he could offer the man his right hand and a dazzling smile. "Clint Barton. Do you want to get a drink with me?" What the hell, might as well, right?

"Phil Coulson," the man said politely, making no move to take Clint's hand. "And I'm afraid I can't, as much as I would like to. Unfortunately, incorporeality does have its drawbacks." He sounded honest-to-god regretful about it.

Well that had stung a bit more than anticipated. Clint drew back quickly and used his outstretched hand to rub the back of his neck. "Ouch," he half-joked. "That's a new one." He glanced over at the sculpture in the center of the atrium again and tried to focus on the lines he'd been sketching.

"Excuse me?" The man - Phil - sounded baffled, but Clint didn't look over to see if his expression matched his tone.

"It's just that usually when a guy doesn't want to go out with me, he just says no." The curve at the top was actually a little rounder than he'd drawn in his sketchbook, Clint noted absently. "He doesn't pretend he's a ghost."

Phil didn't say anything for a moment, so Clint brought his pencil back up with his left hand to gently correct the shape. He'd barely started, though, when a movement caught the corner of his eye. Phil had leaned in and placed one hand gently on Clint's elbow.

Normally, that wouldn't be cause for alarm. However, normally, Clint would have sensed someone leaning into his personal space. And normally, he'd be able to feel where Phil's hand rested on his arm.

Clint stared at the place where his eyes were telling him Phil Coulson was touching him and his arm was telling him Phil damn well was not. His lifted his right hand hesitantly and placed it over Phil's fingers. If Phil were a tangible, physical person, Clint would be clutching at his hand like an Austen heroine. As it was, his fingers hovered over space his eyes were insisting shouldn't be empty before he laid his fingers flat on his own arm.

Immediately, a cold tingle rushed through his hand, instantly putting it to sleep, pins and needles and all.

Clint swore and pulled his hand back abruptly. Phil flinched away as well. Clint shook his hand a few times and swore again as the pins and needles played havoc with his pain perception. "Sorry," he managed, flexing his hand twice to try and dispel the sharp tingling.

"No need to apologize," Phil said. "It's hardly the first time."

He sounded sad. Clint looked over at him to find Phil inspecting his own hand. There was a slump to his shoulders that he could have sworn hadn't been there a few minutes earlier.

"Hey," Clint said softly, his own fading pain forgotten. If Phil had been physical, Clint would have bumped shoulders with him. (Then again, if Phil had been physical, Clint wouldn't have needed to.) "You okay?"

Phil straightened up. "Of course." He straightened his cuffs, carefully not looking in Clint's direction.

Clint had just opened his mouth to say something reassuring (what, he had no idea), when his phone buzzed. Since there were only a few people who might have been texting him this late at night, he pulled his phone out and glanced at it. It was an SOS from Nat.

Before he could have a heart attack (and, boy, wasn't that joke less funny with apparently an honest-to-god ghost sitting right next to him), a second text came through. Apparently she and Bucky had just entered one of the "off" phases of their on-and-off relationship and his presence was required.

Clint sighed and muttered, "Great timing there, Nat." He shot her a quick acknowledgement and looked back over at Phil, who seemed to be attempting to memorize the abstract sculpture if the intensity of his gaze was any indication. His shoulders were stiff.

"Sorry," Clint apologized, closing his notebook and starting to put his drawing supplies back in his backpack. "My best friend just broke up with her boyfriend again and could use some help practicing her knife throwing."

Now Phil just looked concerned. "Are you sure that's the safest..." He trailed off.

Clint didn't notice; he was half-bent-over, trying to squeeze the sketchpad into his backpack. "Nah, it's fine. I was in the circus and I think she was a Russian assassin in a previous life, so we've got it covered." He straightened up and stood, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Anyway, I should really be heading out." He hesitated. "Will I see you again?"

Phil was staring at the backpack slug over one shoulder. "You're a student?" he asked faintly.

"Uh, yeah," Clint frowned. "Just started a couple weeks ago." Phil's expression was becoming increasingly dismayed. Clint hitched his bag higher and tried not to let it get to him.

"I usually only talk to the professors," Phil explained. "I thought you were older. An artist-in-residence at the very least." He looked distressed.

Clint had the sinking feeling that now Phil wouldn't want to get a drink with him even if he were physically capable of it. "It's cool," he lied. "I know I'm a bit older than the typical freshman. It was the circus," he added, desperate to explain. "They weren't big on traditional schooling and I had to take some extra time to get caught up." Clint focused on the floor of the atrium and hoped his face wasn't as warm as it felt. Did he really try to reassure the handsome ghost haunting the art building that he wasn't too young to hang out with because he'd been too stupid to get into college at 18?

"Clint."

Clint glanced up again and Phil looked uncomfortable. Before he could say anything, the phone in his hand buzzed again.

"I've got to go," Clint said. "Apparently Nat needs Rocky Road to go with her target practice." He tried to give Phil a smile, but he was pretty sure it came out sad and wonky. "Anyway," he added unnecessarily.

Phil didn't say anything, so Clint took that as his cue to go.

"Clint," Phil said again.

Clint turned back to see him standing next to the low wall where the pair had been sitting. He looked decisive. "Yeah?"

"I can't get a drink with you," the ghost of Phil Coulson told him. "But I would enjoy talking to you again, if that's something you would like." He held Clint's gaze steadily, but Clint could have sworn he saw a hint of a blush on the top of his cheeks.

Clint gave Phil another smile, this one wider and more sincere. "I'd like that."

They looked at each other across the atrium for a moment before Clint threw a hand in the air in a jaunty wave and turned to go. "See you around, Phil," he called.

He didn't look back, but Clint could have sworn he heard an affectionate sigh behind him.

#Resolution19 #Marvel #MCU #C/C #Phlint #College AU #Ghost!Coulson #Ghost!Phil #man I thought verb phrases as a title style would have been more fun #but next month!!!#excited for next month's titles!!!#I'm bringing back a previous style XD #not sure why I worry about length though #this was 330 words #and i was trying and trying to get to 400 #and then this happend #and it's over 1600 #*sigh*

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imaginetonyandbucky · 6 years

Text

Worst Case

Read it on AO3

Chapter 3

"Don't try to concentrate on this thing, try to concentrate on your own arm."

Bucky groaned. The 'thing' Tony was talking about was a makeshift robotic hand propped up in front of Bucky. It was a simplistic model, reminding Bucky of the wooden articulated hand Steve once had for drawing references that was probably long lost to the ether. Except this hand had all kinds of cables connecting it to the machine and looked like it came straight out of a science fiction movie that Tony had 'just thrown together' last night.

The task was to move any digit on the hand. Simple really.

"What do you think I am doing?"

"Not that, because then it would be working, you're thinking too complicated and if you keep staring at it like you can move it via the Force it's never going to work."

Bucky gave up and leaned back in the chair, it's been over half an hour and he hadn't been able to move the thing, not a single millimeter. If it wasn't for Tony's constant reassurance Bucky would have despaired a long time ago.

"How about we take a break, order some Thai and we'll try it later again? Come on, I'll disconnect you." Tony rolled over with his chair and put a comforting hand on Bucky's thigh.

"No. Let me try again, please, Tony. I can do it."

"I know you can, Buckeroo, but you don't have to do it on the first try. Don't overexert yourself."

"Please let me do this, Tony. I need to do it. You've done all the work so far, let me get my part right." Bucky looked at Tony imploringly. "Please."

(More after the break!)

Tony gave Bucky's thigh a light squeeze and nodded. "Alright, but we have to do a break at some point or Pepper is going to have my ass."

"Wouldn't want anything to happen to that piece of art, would we?" Bucky pointed out, being dead serious.

"Have you been checking out my behind, Mr. Barnes? I am shocked!" Tony gasped overly fake and put a hand over his heart.

Bucky shrugged then grinned mischievously. "I'd like to do more than just checking out if you know what I mean." He made a grabbing motion with his hand and wiggled his fingers suggestively and a sudden noise made them both perk up. "What was that?" Bucky asked. It had sounded mechanical.

Tony scooted over to the mechanical hand on the table, suddenly excited. "Do it again." He gestured at Bucky to hurry up.

"What? You don't think that thing just moved, do you? I didn't even think about it."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just do it, exactly what you just did." He grabbed the table with both hands and stared at the hand like he was the one trying to move it with just his thoughts.

Bucky opened and closed his right hand a couple of times and nothing happened.

"No, not like that. Exactly what you just did, no thinking, just doing."

Bucky wanted to protest again but seeing Tony's serious face made him relent, he had wanted to try again after all. He closed his eyes.

No thinking. He blended out the hand on the table and thought back to the moment when he had been teasing Tony. Just a spontaneous movement.

"Don't think, Buckeroo." Tony's voice smoothed away the last doubts in Bucky's mind.

No thinking...

Bucky lifted his right hand and -

The mechanical hand on the table whirred to life at the same time as he closed his right hand. Bucky's eyes shot open and the first thing he saw was Tony's bright and winning smile as he presented a half-closed hand on the table.

"You did it, Sunshine! You did it!"

"I did it! Oh my god... It worked!"

Bucky fought back tears. He couldn't believe it. All the hard work over the last months had finally paid off, he had done it. He wasn't a failure. He had done it, he would get a prosthesis with Tony's help. He would get back his left arm. The realization hit him hard and he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. He buried his face in his hand and sobbed with joy.

He had done it!

Tony walked over and stroked his back in comfort. Bucky grabbed for something to hold onto, getting a hold of Tony's shirt after a few tries and buried his face against Tony's chest.

"Thank you, Tony, thank you!"

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and held him. "That was all you, Bucky, you alone."

They stayed like that for several minutes until Bucky was able to control his tears and looked up again, a big smile on his face.

Tony ruffled his hair. "I can't believe lewd thoughts about my butt made you finally do it."

Bucky's cheeks flushed deep red and he buried his face in his hand. "Oh god, don't put that in my file or anything. I swear I was just joking."

Tony winked. "No worries, your secret is safe with me."

They ordered in after that and used the waiting time for some practice. After the initial breakthrough, it was easy for Bucky to recall the sensations for moving the metal hand and it came to him easier and easier. After only five minutes he could open and close the hand without much problem, albeit still somewhat jerky, though Tony assured him that would go away with time and with an upgraded hand. The basic model didn't have as many options for moving it and in the coming weeks they would move on to more advanced models with finer motor control and a bigger range of movements until finally, Bucky would be able to move the whole arm without a problem.

The next couple of days Bucky continued to practice with the hand while Tony made adjustments to it. He continued to configure the apparatus that was translating Bucky's nerve signals to the hand until he was satisfied with Bucky's abilities to control it. Their progress was eventually halted when the basic hand was just not good enough anymore and Tony needed a few days to build a new model. They advanced slowly as Tony didn't want to overtax Bucky or his nerves with too much stimulus at once. Bucky was the first to test out the technology and he had no gauge on how fast the severed nerves would recuperate and heal with this method.

Bucky savored every minute he could practice with the model of the arm and be with Tony. Tony's flirting game was as strong as ever, stronger maybe now that Bucky's confidence grew with each week of progress and he finally reciprocated the advances. Bucky opened up more and more and they laughed, bantered, flirted every day. Tony even went so far to send him pictures of the new arm during the days they didn't meet up.

-----

James (6:18 pm) "I think I'm in love."

Nat (6:19 pm) "You only realize that now?"

James (6:19 pm) "...." "I'm going to ask him out" "After this is done"

Nat (6:20 pm) "Why not ask him right now?"

James (6:21 pm) "I'm technically still his patient" "Would be weird"

-------

Bucky knew the end of the program was nearing when one day during a normal practice session - he was doing bicep curls with the propped up arm on the table - a young black woman came into their room and Tony introduced her as one of the top prothesis technicians who was going to model the shoulder socket for his arm. She took rigorous measurements of his upper torso and finally made a mold of his shoulder with a white gooey substance that she then covered in plaster strips for stabilization.

After she left again Tony turned to him with a grin. "Guess it's time to schedule the surgery."

"Surgery?" Bucky's eyes went wide, there had never been any talk about surgery, he hadn't agreed to that. Flashes of hospital lights flying overhead crowded his vision, doctors yelling and his own screams filled his ears and he suddenly doubled over, pain shooting through his left side. Tony's hands were on him in an instant and held him up.

"Breath, Bucky, come on buddy, breath!" Tony's voice broke through the noise in Bucky's ears and he gasped for air. His breathing was ragged as his eyes started to focus again and Tony's concerned face came into view.

"Flashback?" Tony asked softly, not letting go of him.

Bucky nodded jerkily. "No surgery. I can't..."

"I should have specified. It's nothing that you have to go under for." Tony explained. "It's local anesthetic, we can do it right here, no operation theater."

That made Bucky glance up, he might be able to deal with that. Tony continued when Bucky nodded to affirm him that it wouldn't trigger him further.

"It's to install implants just under your skin, it's a few small cuts on your shoulder, not worse than getting a piercing. Maybe even less so, since the area will be numbed."

"What are the implants for?"

Tony smiled. "They're basically these things." He poked one of the electrodes glued to Bucky's shoulder. "Except you won't have to worry about gluing them on every time you want to use your prosthesis."

Bucky nodded, he had gotten his breathing under control again and sat back up in the chair. Tony pulled back when he didn't need the support anymore and Bucky instantly wished he hadn't done that. "Are you going to do it?"

Tony shook his head. "No, but I'll be there with you if you want me too."

A week later when the technician had finished the socket and the final position of the implants was determined, Tony sat with Bucky and held his hand. The doctor who had first examined Bucky months ago was doing the procedure and Bucky wondered why Tony wasn't doing it. It would have put him more at ease, but with Tony at his side, he was mostly calm while the doctor was working on his shoulder.

The implants were small flat discs not bigger than a penny and the whole procedure didn't take longer than half an hour, the doctor prescribed him some painkillers for when the numbing wore off and then it was over. Bucky had to take a two-week break until he was fully healed, which put him in a foul mood for most of it. The only good thing that came from being forced to sit idly was that Tony would be able to finish his prosthesis and the next time he came in he would be practicing with the arm actually attached to him instead of it sitting on a table. It always made Bucky feel like his arm was somehow 2 meters long when he watched it move on the table, even if he couldn't feel it. It would make everything worth it and Bucky couldn't wait to properly ask Tony out.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #no powers au #amputee bucky #pepper potts #natasha romanov #prompts #james prince

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hazelandglasz · 7 years

Text

Memes and Hot Chocolate Therapy - A Sam Wilson Birthday Bang Fic

Memes and Hot Cocoa Therapy

Fic by @hazelandglasz

Art by @daisyridlay

Pairings : Sam Wilson / Steve Rogers / James “Bucky” Barnes, Sam Wilson & Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Sam Wilson loves his blog, his corner of life hacks, recipes, and DIY. He also loves to follow blogs about puppies, recipes, and memes. When he finds a blog that manages to dig up ancient relics, he can't help but be curious and sends an ask to the blogger--more accurately, bloggers. Aka this is the fic where Sam, Steve, and Bucky are ridiculous bloggers who fall in love without even meeting because of how ridiculous and sarcastic they can be. When they meet, sparks fly.

Written for @samwilsonbirthdaybang !!

Sam closes his eyes and rests his head against his apartment door. Working at the VA is rewarding, and much needed for Sam’s own balance, don’t get him wrong. That being said, some days are tougher than others, and today calls for some serious blogging to make him feel better.

He’s tired, exhausted even, but the low purr of the old laptop coming back to life is already like a siren song, a balm on his frayed nerves. While Sam’s computer slowly lights up, he goes to his kitchen to fix himself a serious “pick-me up”, Wilson style.

On his kitchen windowsill, a couple of pigeons coo at him and Sam brings them a handful of chopped up edamame beans--he always keeps a bowl of them for his friends with feathers. He smiles at the birds before pulling out a pan from a drawer. Next, Sam gets all the ingredients he needs: milk, cocoa powder--the good stuff, not the one he puts on top of his tiramisu--, cinnamon, grated coconut, vanilla (beans, no extract--seriously taxing days call for serious hot cocoa), and the honey.

Sam is about to pour the milk into the pan when he stops and thinks. What better post to make on “Sam’s Guide to DIY” than his mama’s cocoa? He takes his phone out of his pocket and gets to work.

One of the best things about his apartment is clearly the kitchen space: great appliances, lots of tabletop space, but more importantly, wonderful natural lighting.

It allows him, even at dusk, to take pictures of the pan and the different ingredients in a way that will barely require any adjustment. Twelve minutes later, his cocoa is ready, the pictures are ready to be posted, and now , Sam can finally indulge.

His blog is his pride and joy, a melting pot of life hacks and feel-good selfies, Sam’s harbour from the storm that life can be when years of war are breathing down one’s neck, carefully crafted and fed with tasteful posts. But the rest of Tumblr? That’s his chance to put said life away, if only for a couple of hours.

Sam follows many different blogs, and he has no shame about it. Puppy owners’ accounts, recipe and body positivity blogs--they all constitute Sam’s dashboard.

And there’s another kind.

The Meme Blogs.

Sam has spent many sleepless nights finding an improbable escape within the ridiculous yet hilarious waves of memes.

In his opinion, none of them are beneath him; sure, sometimes Sam comes to the conclusion that he is, in fact, too old for this shit because what exactly is funny about goats and minerals? He certainly doesn’t know, but you know what, you do you.

It’s always entertaining, that’s for sure.

And in the sea of blogs dedicated to memes, one in particular never fails to capture Sam’s attention, if only because its author seems just as puzzled as he is by the velocity of the meme life cycle.

“Memetymology”.

It’s a blog dedicated to finding the origins and multiple evolutions of a meme, through charts and surprisingly sarcastic commentaries.

Sam has so much love in his heart for whomever runs it, it’s bordering on a crush at this point.

The Memetymologist is funny, witty, and Sam cannot help but be intrigued by one of the blog’s specific goals.

He can’t help but wonder why, but more importantly how , the blog always seems to find the oldest of memes, their source, and how they came to rise from the Internet’s underbelly.

He’s talking relics, here-- prehistoric memes that are at the very source of meme culture.

Truth be told, Sam is fascinated by the Memetymologist’s focus in this matter.

So far, he has kept his admiration (and growing crush) to himself, simply reblogging what he considers to be the best analysis for his followers.

But this time, he cannot contain himself. Sam has to send the blogger a message to express his admiration.

Finding a parallel--documented and argumented--between the Mother of all Memes, Kilroy was here , and Shia Labeouf’s inspirational speech meme was a stroke of genius that Sam has to salute.

“That analysis was amazing, but how on Earth do you find these relics is even more remarkable”, he types. “Thank you for bringing back Kilroy too--as a vet, it was a sign that we were not as alone as we felt.”

He hits send, hoping nothing.

This blog easily has thousands of followers; they must get hundreds of asks every day.

His message is merely a congratulatory one--it doesn’t call for a reply of any kind.

That being said, without even bringing up memes, talking about the sense of belonging most soldiers find in seeing the little graffiti, even today, would be a good subject for his next meeting at the VC.

Thank you, Memetymologist, Sam thinks as he opens a Word document to start preparing his speech.

---

A message awaits him the next morning.

“From two vets to another, our pleasure. Care to share that cocoa?”

---

There is a bounce in Sam’s steps throughout the whole day, even as he enters the Center and does his “rounds” with the recovering soldiers. Whether it’s physical or mental, war leaves its scars on every person it touches.

“We have newbies,” Natasha whispers to him as he gets ready for his reunion.

Natasha’s past in the army is a bit blurry, to say the least, but her dry sense of humor is often the buoy Sam needs to keep on going.

That, and she is a remarkable sparring/cuddling partner.

“Newbies?”

“Back row, near the exit.”

“Hm--the brunet and the blond?”

“Spot on. Though I would have called them Summer and Winter Treats.”

“Nat …”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Sam wishes he could tell her that she is wrong, but words fail him as he looks at the two newcomers.

Both are tall and buff--though the blond one is definitely taller-- with that look in their eyes that speaks of horrors Sam knows only too well.

A look that says that they will never be the same, but they won’t let their past take them down, darn it.

A vulnerable strength, so to speak, and if Sam is already turning into a poet over them from a distance, he’s capital S Screwed.

Blond and Tall looks towards the podium with a slightly questioning look before turning to his companion, reaching for him. Dark and Buff has his eyes downcast, hunched forward in his seat. Even from his vantage point, Sam can see that his left hand is a prosthetic, and he winces in sympathy.

Not all wounds are visible, and every person in the room has had to rebuild their lives around something they lost on the battlefield, find a way to feel complete--it’s part of their common experience, something they can help each other with.

Showtime.

Sam moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he goes--his own little ritual to get in “mentor” mode. “Good afternoon,” he says, sending his voice across the room as he usually does. “Welcome back for our regulars, I hope the show won’t disappoint, and welcome to the newbies. Promise there won’t be any hazing … from me.”

Some vets relax at his words, even Gabe who’s always so tense. Sam winks at Misty, who just happens to be sitting in front of BT and DB, and she shakes her head at him with a fond smile on her face.

BT raises one eyebrow at Sam before discreetly elbowing his companion who looks up in interest.

Two pairs of very different shades of blue are directed at him, and Sam barely manages to keep himself from humming some Johnny Cash.

Oh, no I never got over those blues eyes I see them everywhere I miss those arms that held me When all the love was there

Yes please .

“Ahem.”

Trust Natasha to keep Sam from getting lost in his own little fantasy.

Spoilsport.

“Today’s show will be about this little guy we’ve all probably seen somewhere,” he continues, launching his projector with the Kilroy graffiti. “I remember seeing it drawn in chalk on a wall when I was in Afghanistan,” he adds, reaching into his own experience to free the speech of those around him. “Though the situation was not ideal,” he says with a pointed look that sends a wave of nods in his audience, “seeing it made me realize that this … nightmare, was not our first time fighting, and that I too could survive this. I, too, could say that I was here and helped my fellow soldiers keep their hopes up.”

Someone--Sam is fairly sure that it’s Old Nick in the back--starts whistling the country’s anthem, and people laugh. Sure, it’s shaky and awkward, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies benevolently, “I thought you guys were used to my rousing speeches by now.”

This time around, the laughter is a little more opened, a little less embarrassed, and even Natasha smiles.

“Now, this is my experience,” he continues, more serious, “and I would never dream of thinking that I know how you feel, but this sense of belonging, of having a purpose, is what helped me get through the worst of it. Who wants to share what, in their experience, helped them?”

The silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it with a plate of ribs.

Hmmm, I might get a early dinner at the diner. Focus, Wilson!

“Drawing.”

The voice is soft, and a lot of heads turn towards it.

Uh. Tall and Blonde. Look at you go.

No, seriously, Sam would love to watch him go, as sad as it would be to see him leave.

“Hello,” Sam says, focusing all of his attention on the man.

“H-hi,” he stammers back, his fair complexion betraying the sudden pink on his cheek. “I’m Steve--Steve Rogers.”

“Welcome, Steve,” all the group sing-songs in unison, snickering and even laughing outright.

Sam is so proud of those jackasses.

“Thank you,” Steve says, a crooked grin making an appearance on his face. “As I was saying, drawing helped me connect with my--our-- squad,” he says, pointing his thumb at Dark and Buff.

Though Winter Treat suits him better, damn Natasha for putting ideas in his overactive head.

The man glances at Steve before returning his attention to-- oh .

He’s keeping his eyes on Sam--not in a confrontational manner.

If anything, it’s an appreciative look--damn right distracting too, Sam tells himself, focusing on Steve’s words.

“It was a moment of peace in the chaos,” Steve continues, “when I could find a moment and a spot to draw my squad.”

“It was a pocket of home for us too,” Winter Treat pipes up, his voice softer than his appearance lead Sam to think it would be. “When Steve drew us.”

Sam nods. “Because he was drawing you relaxed, or …?”

“Because it was a semblance of normalcy in places where normal didn’t exist,” the man says, looking up to stare at Sam. “A sign that no matter how lonely it felt, even in the middle of the group, something else was waiting and we were not as alone as we felt.”

To have his hastily composed message unknowingly sent back to him makes Sam uneasy for a moment.

“That’s a good thing to remember,” he says to cover his agitation. “No matter how nightmarish our experiences were, we were not, we are not alone in them. Who else wants to share?”

More people seem encouraged to speak up, and Sam lets the meeting run its course like he usually does, only interjecting every now and then to keep the flow going.

Through it all, he catches Steve and his broody friend looking at him intently. They even quietly speak in each other’s ear, all while glancing at him.

More than once, the meeting lulls into silence because Sam was too distracted to notice.

Very flattering, sure, but so very unprofessional of him!

---

The meeting comes to a close, and after sending everybody home with good wishes and homemade toffees, Sam almost starts jogging to get to the diner.

He’s not usually so ravenous when he comes out of a Vet day, but it was a good one, full of positive energy.

That, and he has a craving of a very different kind that has no chance of becoming a reality, so he’ll eat his feelings if nobody objects to his plans.

“Careful, on your left!”

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin but twists his body to let a crazy deliveryboy zoom by him on his left.

“You alright, Sarge?”

Sam huffs a laugh as he looks at the two men walking towards him. “Right as rain, Cap,” he replies as Steve and his friend who is still nameless get close.

“I hope the meeting didn’t scare you away,” Sam says, digging his hands in his pockets lest he does something he’ll regret.

As in, reaching out to see for himself if those pecs are real because damn son .

“Not at all,” Steve replies, a boyish grin on his lips now. “It was quite interesting.”

“Why Kilroy?”

“Buck, manners.”

‘Buck’ frowns at Steve before glancing at Sam. He twists his mouth in regrets. “I’m sorry, Sarge,” he says softly, “I need to … acclimate myself back to normal situations.”

“Nothing to apologize for, …?”

“James. Bucky,” he corrects himself. “Sergeant Bucky Barnes.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Sarge,” Sam says, waving his hand in the air as if to erase the whole past awkwardness. “Civilian life is quite a challenge.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why did you mention Kilroy?” Bucky asks again, and Sam would love to chat with those two fine ( fiii-iiine ) specimens, but his stomach grumbles and he can’t stay.

“Care to join me for dinner?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a look. The type of look that shows years of knowing each other (biblically? One can hope, those two together must look insanely hot. Like, Sahara hot).

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Sam’s dinner doesn’t look much, but he knows for a fact that their ribs are the best in the Tristate area.

“Really?”

Steve sounds doubtful, but he’ll eat his words when the plate arrives, and Sam has no qualms about telling him so.

If he knew that it would make Bucky laugh, he would have joked sooner, ‘cause it’s a sight to behold.

“Sorry if I have my doubts,” Steve says, sitting very prim and proper--which only makes Bucky, and in an echo, Sam, cackle even harder-- “but where I come from, the ribs are already top notch.”

“Unless you’re from the deep South like the boss here, wherever you come from doesn’t hold a candle,” Sam replies, leaning back into the leather seat and smirking at the man.

Yes, he is aware that the move pulls at the fabric of his t-shirt over his chest and arms, why do you ask.

Gotta strut the strut and flaunt his stuff.

Bucky’s eyes travel along his arm, so that’s definitely one win.

“Just from Brooklyn,” Steve replies and Bucky cocks his head and smirks like this answers everything.

“Yeah, okay, Amanda’s ribs will get you on your knees and thanking the Lord.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

The words are softly spoken, but Sam almost chokes on air.

Did …

He …

He did, didn’t he?

When he looks back at them, there is a very alluring twinkle in both men’s eyes.

“Here you are, boys,” the waitress says, startling all of them out of their staring contest. “If you need anything, let me know, alright Sammy?”

“Thank you, ‘Manda,” Sam says, sending her a dazzling smile. She pats his cheek and returns to the kitchen with a spring in her steps.

“Regular here?”

Sam unfolds his napkin. “I practically grew up on Amanda’s cooking,” he replies, taking the time to savor the smell of the smoked meat, the barbecue spices and sauce, and the garlic fries, all blending together into “home”. “Her son and I were partners back in Afghanistan. When Riley was shot, I went home and she put me back together.”

“Through Love?”

“Through food.”

“Ah.”

“Sorry for your partner.”

“Dig in, it’s better warm.” And I need to not think downward-spiraling thoughts .

The look on both Steve’s and Bucky’s faces after their first bite is one Sam needs to cherish: surprise, delight, and hunger, all wrapped into one.

“I bow to this diner’s superiority,” Steve says with his mouth full, which Sam finds way too endearing for it to be natural. “This is … like … like …”

“Like a hug in your mouth,” Sam says, picking up a fry and savoring the taste of garlic and victory.

“Exacty.”

“Sooo,” Bucky says, lazily picking up a fry and lodging it between his lips like some sort of cowboy, “about Kilroy?”

Sam smiles, thinking about his favorite blog. “It came up on a blog that I follow online,” he explains, “and I thought about what it meant to me, and from that point on, built my speech. Why?”

Steve and Bucky exchange a loaded look. “A blog?” they ask in unison.

“Yeah, I’m on Tumblr,” Sam says, his cheeks heating up. “It’s my escape from … everything.”

“Not judging, we have a blog too.”

“What about?”

“I think you know.”

Sam raises one eyebrow. “How would I know?”

“The same way I know you make a mean hot cocoa.”

“And that your kitchen is a work of art.”

It takes Sam a moment to absorb the words, and then his eyes bulge out of his head.

New York and the world may be small, but that small? No, he did not see it coming.

“Memetymologist?”

“RedWingToTheRescue?”

Sam can feel a smile stretching his lips from ear to ear, and what’s even better, that smile is mirrored on the faces of both of the men across from him.

“Why memes?”

Steve leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Same reason you cook, I think,” he says softly, his crooked smile making a comeback.

Is that a dimple? Oh my God.

“We follow you, too.”

Sam would have noticed the blog following him back, and his face must show it.

“Individually.”

“Ah.”

“It’s very comforting.”

“You don’t say.”

“That kitchen is really amazing.”

“Want to see it irl?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, but the twinkle is back so he won’t berate himself too harshly.

“I wouldn’t dare refuse such an offer,” Steve says, pulling his wallet and standing up in one fluid motion.

Sam’s throat is so dry, all of a sudden.

“The things I’ve dreamed of doing in that kitchen will rock your world,” Bucky adds, a small smile making his eyes crinkle.

Sam gulps as he stands too, and would you look at that, ends up between the two men.

“By all means,” he manages to say, extracting himself from the Buff Sandwich (the Buffwich, if you will) to lead the way.

He believed that today would be a good day, but never did he imagine it would turn out to be quite that good.

---

His kitchen has never seen that kind of scene.

Never.

Sam is never going to be able to cook without having a Pavlovian boner.

Well, that’s tomorrow’s problem, isn’t it, because all of his attention is required right now to avoid dampening the mood with an injury.

“The moment you rolled your sleeves, I wanted to take that shirt off,” Bucky growls against the soft skin of Sam’s neck as he unbuttons the offensive garment, “and worship those arms.”

“Have you looked at yourself?” Sam tears himself from kissing Steve to reply, one hand groping Steve’s chest while the other gets tangled in Bucky’s silky hair.

“Hm-hm, still want to do all the things to your body.”

“Count me in on that plan, Buck,” Steve chuckles as he meets Bucky over Sam’s shoulder to kiss him.

Sam has an hand on both their head and he angles it a little bit to the left, pressed as he is between their bodies.

Oh, he’s definitely in for a treat, wherever this goes.

Ah, treats.

“Summer and Winter,” he murmurs as he alternates between Steve and Bucky’s neck to press kisses and kitten licks.

“Uh?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, that’s--that’s good,” Bucky says. “Sam, can you--ugh, can you move?”

“No.” If anything, Sam presses even more against him, encouraged by Steve who turns him more fully towards the other man.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve says, one hand on Sam’s hip and the other cupping Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s eyes are black, with just a ring of blue left in them. “A bit--a bit overwhelmed here.”

“Alright,” Sam says with a sigh, moving back against Steve. “Let’s all relax and use this kitchen for its intended purpose, hm?”

Bucky and Steve give him a perfect salute. “Sir, yes sir.”

Sam smirks, shoving both his guests towards the kitchen chairs. “Wanna try my hot cocoa?”

“I thought we were.”

“You did not just say that.”

Steve snickers into his palm. “I think he did, Sarge.”

“Tsk tsk. No whipped cream for you.”

“Aww,” Bucky says, sitting at the table with his legs wide opened. “I was really interested in getting the cream.”

“He does like cream.”

“Good to know. Only if you behave then.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky repeats closing his legs but sprawling even further into the chair.

Debauched, that’s what he looks like, and Steve, even sitting as straight as he is, is not a lot better.

Definitely my treats .

#samwilsonbirthdaybang #sometimes i write #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #fluff #memes #comfort food

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tcm--holland · 7 years

Text

wings // peter parker

request from anon: hi! i was wondering if u can do an imagine where Nat & Tony knows that Peter likes the reader who is also Nat's goddaughter and they make them bond by buying them both chicken wings 🤣 also the reader is like a mini version of Nat 🤗

word count: about 2k

a/n: whoa things got so busy!!! haven’t been active in like a week but i’ll see if i can write more this weekend!! school is kinda killing me but i’m doin my best <3 also this is an au where nat and tony would be on better terms. hope you guys like this adorable request (and i hope i wrote it well for whoever requested) uneditedddd <3333

masterlist

_______________________

“He’s not even trying to hide it. What a kid.” Tony mutters as he watches. It’s a sad sight, really. You and Peter are in the weight room, but there isn’t very much lifting going on. He’s leaned against the wall, hitting on you in a way only a fifteen year old boy can: incredibly unsubtle and awkward in manner. And although you’re flattered, you simply cannot take a hint and have no idea what he’s getting at.

“What’s worse is that she’s completely clueless,” Natasha says back. “I thought I taught her better than this. Is this really my legacy?” She takes a disappointed sip of coffee. You and Peter are so lost in your own world that you hardly notice Tony and Natasha ogling. They’re sitting outside of the room by the breakfast bar, but the walls are both thin and made of glass.

You get into position to deadlift a weight, your focus unswayed. You just hope Peter just won’t start talking and distract you. You’d rather not deal with another injury right now. As you slowly lift it from the ground, Peter is silent, watching you. Thank God.

As soon as you finish, he gushes, “Wow, Y/N, that was so cool! You’re really, really good at that. You’re so good at everything.”

You turn to look at him, serious as ever. “Thanks, Peter. But my form really needs work. If I keep stiff legging, it won’t go well with my back. And I need to be lifting heavier, two-fifty pounds sucks.” At one point, you start talking to yourself more than you’re talking to him, but he nods along anyway.

“You look pretty tired, you should refuel,” he says, eagerly offering you some of his protein shake.

You politely shake your head. “Let me guess, that’s one of Stark’s protein shakes.”

“Uh...yeah. Why does it matter?” He asks, confused.

“It’s full of crap. For a genius that is excellent with technology, he cannot, for the life of him, figure out the culinary art. Nat’s are way better.”

“What? No, hers taste like soggy cardboard! How can you even take a sip without gagging?” Peter exclaims.

“That ‘cardboard’ is made of vitamins. And important nutrients. Why drink a protein shake when there isn’t even any protein in it?”

Both Natasha and Tony look extremely offended at this. Later on, you take a few sips of water and use a towel to wipe the sweat from your forehead. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Want to get, like, pancakes?” Peter asks, nervously playing with the hem of his muscle tee.

“Sorry. I already ate. Deadlifting on an empty stomach kills me. And I can’t have pancakes if I’m not on a cheat day.” Yes, you’re craving pancakes terribly right now. But if there’s one thing Nat taught you well, it was self-control.

“Oh.” His faces falls slightly.

“I have practice with Cap in an hour, so I’d better get going. See you later?” You give him a rare smile. Upon seeing you smile, he’s immediately back to grinning. It’s admittedly pretty cute.

Tony sets his head in his hands. “You realize we have to do something, right?” His voice is muffled by his hands.

Natasha glances over, eyebrows raised quizzically. “Like what? We can’t just rule this one a lost cause?”

“No. You want two heartbroken, sad teens on the team? I sure don’t.”

She sips the last of her coffee, tossing the cup into the trash. “I think you secretly care about Parker too much to let him go through his life unsheltered, but okay,” she mumbled.

“And you don’t overprotect Y/N?” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Tony, she’s my goddaughter.”

“And Peter’s my...intern…kind of.”

“See?” Natasha gave him a look. He gave her a look back.

“So? You’re not related to her, and I’m not related to him. There’s hardly a difference. Anyway, we need a plan.” Tony changed the subject quickly.

“A plan, right.”

A few hours later, Natasha and Tony carefully set up a sort of ‘trap’. As you walked past Peter in the living room to go meet with Clint to do some archery, he’d say hi. And that’s where they’d ambush you.

At around five, you enter the living room as expected, walking past Peter. He glances up immediately. “Hi, Y/N!” As soon as he says it, the doors instantly slam shut and lock themselves. Peter instantly flips out of his seat and you both stand back to back in fighting stances.

But instead of facing a threat of any kind, you hear a voice above you. “Hi kids,” Tony greets.

You both relax and side eye each other. “Did he just call us ‘kids’? He never does that, why is he doing that?” Peter asks, a little freaked out. You can only shrug.

“We’re going out today,” Tony begins, ignoring Peter’s comments.

“We are?” You ask without restraint. There’s a short period of silence, and you can just imagine Tony fuming.

“Yes,” he says, clearly through gritted teeth. “It’ll be a family dinner. Me, Natasha, and you kids.”

“He’s doing it again!” Peter whisper shouts to you.

You cross your arms. “What kind of family dinner is it without the whole team? And it’s kind of weird, because it implies a brother-sister bond between me and Peter.” Peter does not look enthused at this idea.

“Okay, you know what? If it matters so much to you, punk, then it’s not a family dinner. It’s just a dinner.” Tony can’t stand you sometimes, but you’re okay with that. You know that he does care, deep down. Very, very deep down.

“Why are we getting dinner -” You start to question, but Peter cuts you off.

“Sweet, where are we going?” Peter asks, sitting back down on the couch.

“Y/N, it wouldn’t kill you to be more like him sometimes,” Tony mumbles, but then there’s an audible slapping sound. “Fine. Fine! Y/N’s fantastic just the way she is.” The sarcasm drips from his tone.

“Thanks, Stark.” You can’t help but grin, taking a seat beside Peter.

“Yeah...don’t call me that.”

“Okay, Stark.”

He sighs. “Anyway. We’re going to get buffalo wings.” You instantly open your mouth, but he gets there before you do. “Yes, Y/N, I’m getting there. Natasha wanted to try this place that serves fake meat. Their wings are supposed to be good.”

“Hm. Okay. Can you open the doors now? I’m late, and I know Clint won’t care, but I have a schedule,” you stand up again.

The doors slide open. “See you for dinner, Y/N,” Peter waves as you start leaving.

“Yeah, you too.”

Hours later, everyone is dressed and ready. Neither Natasha nor Tony was able to get you to wear anything other than a sweater and jeans. But it turns out to be okay, because Peter comes out in a similar outfit. Jeans and his school sweatshirt, simple.

“They're both dressed like they're going to a family dinner,” Natasha leans over, lowly talking to Tony.

“Uh...that's kind of what I told them to get ready for.”

“Great going, Stark.”

By the time you get to the restaurant, you and Peter are hungry. Before either of you can even take your seats, Tony and Natasha fill up one side of the booth. You give Peter a polite smile and step aside to let him in first. He grins back and slides in. You take your seat next to him.

You don't know how to feel about eating fake meat. The last time you did, you got food poisoning and couldn't train for almost a week. You'd rather not have that happen again, but this place seems okay to you so far. The only reason you're really here is because it’s clear that Nat wanted you to come. But there's something strange about it all, especially with Tony and Nat. Taking you and Peter out, getting dinner...it all feels a little off to you. As though you're missing something. You can't shake it off.

After what feels like an eternity, the wings finally arrive. You quickly grab a plate and load it up with food. When you look at Peter, you see him doing the same thing and can’t help but grin a little. He laughs in response, pushing up his sleeves to start eating. You stare for a few seconds. Have his forearms always been so...muscled? When he glances at you, you quickly look away.

You think you might be blushing. Come on, Y/N, have a little control, you chastise yourself in your head. You pick up a wing and take a bite, not knowing what to expect. Oh god, this is the best thing you’ve ever had in awhile. You suddenly understand where Peter is coming from when he says Nat’s shakes taste terrible. It’s a beautiful combination of tender tofu, tangy barbeque sauce, and mouth-burning hot sauce. You thought you hated barbeque sauce!

You eye Tony as he gingerly picks up the single wing on his plate, skeptical. He glances up at you, and you nod enthusiastically to encourage him. Slowly, he leans into the tofu wing, like he’s going to kiss it. It’s a strange sight, really. He eventually takes a bite. As soon as he does, he looks a little dead inside. He slowly closes his eyes, drawing his eyebrows together. “Why, God? Why?”

Upon seeing this, you burst into laughter, your face slowly reddening from laughing so hard. You don’t outwardly express much emotion around anyone but Nat, but Tony’s done it for you. Gasping for air, you try to explain what happened to Peter only to end up giggling again.

Then you see everyone staring at you, and you quickly dial it down. Were you being too much? You purse your lips, taking another bite of your wing as you try to hide your face with your hair.

Peter’s lips are parted as he watches you. Breathily, he says, “Could you do that again?” His hands shake a little as he takes another bite. You turn to look at him, eyes widened slightly.

“Natasha and I are going to go get real dinner. Have fun, kids,” Tony quickly stands, turning to give Natasha a look. She nods slightly, getting up. You look at her, not knowing where to stay or join them.

Nat’s lips curve into a small smile and she winks before turning away with Tony. You stare after her and then turn to look at Peter. Why are you so nervous? Are your hands supposed to be sweating? You can’t focus on anything else, and you don’t know why. On the exterior, you appear normal, except for the fact that you’re shamelessly staring at him. He catches you and his cheeks turn the unnatural red color of the sauce covering the wings.

It’s almost as though the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just you and Peter, in this booth, a few feet away from each other. Everything is muffled in comparison. Were just too busy all the time to notice how much he genuinely adored you? You catch his shy gaze and find yourself leaning in against your own will. Your heart pounds faster than it does when you do your high-intensity cardio.

He tilts his head to the side to meet your lips, but it never happens. As your lips brush his, your phone starts ringing. You open your eyes and look at him. He shakes his head and smiles. “Take it. It’s okay.” You smile apologetically back at him and pick up.

“Cap, I was kind of...in the middle of something. Yeah. Later. Bye.” You finally turn back to Peter, cheeks rosy. Slowly, you reach out to take his hand. He accepts yours gratefully and interlaces his fingers with you, barbeque sauce and all.

___________________

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#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #mcu #mcu imagine #spider man #spider man imagine #spider man: homecoming #spider man: homecoming imagine #tom holland

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15001700tt · 6 years

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The Victorians, they really aren’t tho

STATION #3

There was a flaw in their plan that they didn't notice when planning. How were the other two Stations supposed to inform the last when they arent on the same planet? How did that slip through their mind? But it was already too late for that, so theyre going to wait like patient people that they are not.

They had another thing to deal with that they dont know how. They had finally found out that Sang Hee is back and they dont know how to react. Some are still walking on eggshells with her and some are confused. Including Sang Hee, she can barely remember everything. She can remember being in her home, playing around with other kids, but she doesnt remember ever using her powers, or meeting any of the guys. Chen had tried to help by giving her books, documenting their lives, which she thought was creepy. They explained that its normal, the books talked about things she didn't understand, so she gave up and set the book down.

"I dont understand anything in this book. Who the hell are Victorians?" She said running a hand through her hair. She went and sat down next to Je Ki. They were now in china where the two royals lay on their beds looking peaceful.

"They are our enemies, they have been trying to take over our planet for years. They almost did a decade ago." Chen said.

"What about me? Where do I come in in all of this" she asked.

"I dont think you fully understand how powerful you are, you are not just limited to healing animals, plants and humans, you can heal bigger organisms such as a planet" Minseok explained.

"What?" She snapped, Yixing was sitting next to her, tensed.

"They didn't realise this because they only wanted to use you as bait. They never got the chance anyways" Yixing added.

"The only reason why they keep on invading us is because their planet, Barron Planet is dead. They want to revive it using our core. But in order for the core to be used by non-Exonians it destroys itself." Chen had opened the book and recited to the group.

The two remaining girls sat quietly and watched, as they figured out how to recover Sang Hee's memories.

"Jongdae Oppa, dont you think its a bit weird how they they never asked nicely?" Je Ki stated, causing a humorless chuckle to ring out.

"Victorians have fought with us for the longest time, but it was our parents generation that received the most damage. The Victorians have elected a new leader from their noble family, Zoya Khan" Xiumin started off.

"Hold up? Noble family?" Sang Hee questioned.

"Yeah they dont have a king" Jongdae responded. She nodded and Minseok continued.

"His second in command was Zack Lock. They were so powerful they had almost gotten what they wanted. They were skilled fighters and masters of their art; spirits." He paused, "If you had noticed while you were getting us, you were informed to get us to Barcelona as soon as possible because of this reason, the spirits are everywhere, and if the spirits are controlled by the Khans, he would find out where you are and you wouldn't survive."

"Barely able to capture him they put him in prison for years. Although the couldn't find Lock, they thought that he wouldn't come back. They were wrong."

"Lock had came back after a few years and helped Khan escape. They had been planning to use of the noble's daughter as bait."

"His plan didn't work, but the daughter had vanished before he could touch her"

"He also didn't realise that his plan had been flawed, because that daughter was the most powerful Healer known to their kind." Minseok gave a pointed look towards Sang Hee.

"Youre talking about me?" She was stunned, all of this happened and she didn't even remember. Soo Mi listened as she sat comfortably next to Jongdae who had his arm around her shoulder. In such a short amount of time they had gotten super close.

"The planet is powerful no doubt but the Healer was better. In a sense where she doesn't destroy everything around her."

"How powerful are we talking? Cuz like you keep on mentioning the stones and the core but i dont get it" Je Ki protested.

"When the twelve in rule die they are buried with their Nonas, so imagine how powerful the ground is when the most powerful warriors and royals are embedded in your core." Minseok responded.

"After recapturing both Lock and Khan they are both thrown in jail. The Victorians hid on their planet unsure what to do without a leader."

"On the day of the decrowning of the older generation..." Minseok paused, drawing in a heavy breath. He hated that memory, watching everyone around him die. The most dearest people slipping through his fingers.

"They attacked...Khan killed almost all of the older generation...the younger generation had to flee somewhere they wouldn't look and fast."

"You chose earth." Soo Mi stated.

"Yeah, Sehun was 17 when he lost his parents, he was devastated. Could barely move" Yixing remembered, he had to do a lot of healing those first few month.

Soo Mi was listening but also looking around the room, there wasnt much. Kris and Tao lay motionless as if not bothered by the cruelness of the story. They couldn't even finish the story because the air twitched and three people landed in the middle of the room, Jongin, Jae Eun, and Ji Hee.

The room had already been pulsing with silent energy, now that four of the royals are here it was pumping. The girls haven't said anything since they were recovering from the teleportation.

"God, i hate doing that" Jae Eun groaned holding her head.

"Oh believe me you dont want to do it the other way." Soo Mi muttered casting a small glare to Jongdae that was laughing quite behind his teeth.

"Oh, hi, i am Jae Eun, this is Ji Hee" the beautiful girl introduced.

"Y'all know me" Kai smirked as the girls shook their heads at his annoyingness, the two royal's attention got turned to the two figures laying down on the beds. They got closer and their gemstones glowed.

The girls were amazed by their Nonas, they weren't like the Lightsticks or even the necklaces that Hyun Jin and Nat made. The gemstones were embedded into their wedding rings.

As the two Royals approached the boys. Seemed to start moving. Not waking up completely but the actions of waking up from deep slumber. As they stood over the two men, with their rings close to their hearts. The action seemed to awake the male heirs.

"I dont think you're pregnant" Chen said to Jae Eun, as he eyes her flat stomach.

"I am going to beat you so hard that you aint gonna have babies. Is that what you want?" she asked him sweetly. He shook his head not smiling anymore. Soo Mi giggled, diverting Chen attention to her joyful face. He raised an eyebrow in question. She shook her head with an apologetic face.

"You're here" it wasnt a question more a statement, but came from the oldest heir. He was looking around in confusion.'What had happened?' He thought. He could barely remember anything.

"Hey babe, you might want to get to the castle now to get crowned, but you know you can take your time." Ji Hee told Kris as he looked around the room.

Tao was still shaking off the haziness when he focused in on his pissed off wife. Almost instantly it was like his memory was jogged and fear struck him. For those around him and are watching it was amusing to see such a tall fearful man be the epitome of being scared from his pissed off, very not pregnant wife.

"You stupid shit! I wasnt pregnant and yet you still froze yourself because of the stupidest reason known to man" she screeched causing Je Ki to curl into Minseok.

"I was taking precautions." He tried to excuse himself, but instead got hit by his very angry and emotional wife. Also there were a lot of kisses in there too but mostly hitting.

"Are you sure youre not pregnant cuz i think i see some hormones churning" Jongdae commented, but got pinched by Soo Mi that was pushing his luck. Minseok saw this as his opportunity to divert attention and ask a question he had.

"Where's Luhan?" Kai's head turned towards the oldest member and tilted his head and smiled a bit.

"Getting yelled at by his wife back at the castle."

"Did we win the war?" Sang Hee asked halting all the side conversations that were happening. They haven't thought of that yet. They tried to push it back to the back of their Minds.

"Yes, Khan was killed" Kai stated into the silence.Sang Hee and Yixing sighed in relief. Sang Hee felt light headed, then the ground was uneven.

Yixing had caught her before she hit the ground. He looked at the shocked faces of his teammates.

"She's been worried this whole time" he sighed, "i felt it but i thought it was just nerves from the stories we've told her"

"It's better if we just take her to the castle and let her rest there." Ji Hee said. Everyone huddled together and Lay carried her passed out form.

As they landed everyone groaned, the Royals were all not used it but the other girls got used it. The groans of discomfort were drowned out by the agreement that Kai's teleportation is way better than the Nonagons. Almost immediately of landing Jongin was attacked by medium sized girl that had a bandaged on her arm.

"Youre late"

"We didn't really set a time for me to come back"

"Shut up" she mumbled. Before meeting the eyes of two amused girls. She waved and they waved back. She introduced herself as Alex. She lead the way back to the group. Almost everyone came out with at least one bruise. Chanyeol was getting stitches on the back of his right shoulder by a girl that looked half his height. As they passed people Kai and Alex introduced people to them. The girl was Nat, the list goes on.

"So what had happened?" Kris asks when he gets in close perimeter of Suho who was putting gauze on who he know knows as R.J.'s legs.

"I killed him."

"Elaborate"

"There not much, i didn't really give him a chance to say anything. I kinda just stabbed him and whispered 'revenge!'" He tried to sound serious, but in reality he felt no remorse. He did just kill a person maybe more but these are the people that killed his parents infront of his eyes with 'no remorse'.

"Nice man, didn't think you would do that, but hey life is full of surprises" Kris pats his back before smiling politely at the girl sitting down.

"Has anyone seen Luhan?" Sehun asks.

"Probably getting busy" immediately Jongdae responds, thus earning a slap on the back of his head from Soo Mi.

"Every time you make an appropriate comment you'll get hit." She simply stated.

"You go girl!" Mi Na appeared. Luhan following shortly behind her.

"For your information, we were helping Ji Mi and Kyungsoo and Baek and Hyun Jin with their wounds, so no there wasnt any funny business" Luhan cleared his throat, "yet" that earned a laugh from Jongdae.

With no hesitation Mi Na and Soo Mi smacked their boyfriends heads to get their heads out of the gutter.

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hetbigbang · 7 years

Text

2017: ARTIST CLAIMS!

IT’S ART TIME!!

To claim a story you want to do art for, please drop a comment below with: FIRST CHOICE – Story Number: # SECOND CHOICE – Story Number: # Email Address: Remember: first come, first serve!! (*Next year, we will try out the Preview Day thing.) Sign ups for artists as well as this claim post will remain open until all fanfics get claimed! Get all your friends out to come take on some art! If you're willing to sign up as a Pinch Hit Artist, go here. After you have claimed your story, you will receive an email from the mods with your writer's name & info, and the snippets they provided (it may not be immediate, but it should be within 24-48 hours). Authors: you will receive an email with your artist’s information once your fic has been claimed. Artists and authors are not required to chat, but it’s highly encouraged that you work with each other in whatever manner works for both of you. :) What are the requirements for art? You can make whatever kind of art you feel like, in whichever medium. Drawing, painting, digital, manips, vids, fanmix, fabric, mixed media, anything you can think of. We just ask that you put some time and genuine effort into it, as our authors have put major effort into their story. You are required to make a minimum of ONE piece of art for the story you claim. MORE IS BETTER. We love more! We want more! But, based on feedback from prior year’s artists, we only have a requirement of one piece of artwork. Make it nice, put some serious effort into it! :) (more questions about Art and Claims and stuff? Check out our FAQ.) ~ CLAIMS: For the first round of claims, please only choose ONE story to do. We will shortly open it up to a second round, where you may claim a second and third fic if you so wish. If you’re super ambitious and desperately want to do more than three, talk to the mods and/or leave a comment and we’ll see what we can do - you must complete what you claim, however, if at all possible. Trying to find back-up artists is a nightmare - please don’t make us do it. ;) And a reminder that no extensions will be granted. Artists, if you have the time, please consider also signing up to be a pinch hit artist in the event someone has to drop out last minute. Art and Fics Due - August 26th, 11:59 PM (Midnight) PST (here is a timezone converter.) The following are all listed alphabetically by first fandom (i.e. in an Supernatural/Avengers crossover, it will only be listed under Supernatural). ~ #1 Story Name: I Rule The Ruins (tentative) Fandom: Borderlands Pairing: Helga Steele/Ted Blanco Summary: The Crimson Lance is the worst place to fall in love, but the choice is taken out of Commandant Steele's hands when she meets Zed and Ned's 'forbidden brother' and sees a side of him that she'd never expected. #2 Story Name: Moments of Clarity Fandom: Dark Angel Pairing: Max/Alec Summary: Alec gets captured. Max rescues him—alone. Away from Seattle, they deal with their feelings, bickering, trusting, loving each other. But Alec needs to go back and find answers. As they journey home, their love begins to fracture, eventually separating them. Can they find their way back to each other? #3 Story Name: the acoustics of your voice Fandom: Fringe Pairing: Olivia Dunham/Peter Bishop Summary: Set right after the end of Entrada, Olivia and Peter start dating and go undercover at a sex club!! Peter gets sick and things take a turn. (Important note: not a fan of Marionette and the storyline that came after on this side.) (Also; explicit explicit. has m/m, m/f/m, f/f sex scenes. You know, sex club.) #4 Story Name: The Lows and Highs of Us Fandom: Grimm Pairing: Nick Burkhardt/Adalind Schade Summary: Because she’s involved with the Grimm and had the audacity to have his baby, Adalind is kidnapped and tortured by the newly formed Zauberbiest Council. In a race against time and with the help of his friends, including the captain, Nick sets out to save her before it’s too late. #5 Story Name: the bolder the lip Fandom: Iron Man Pairing: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Summary: In Iron Man 2, Tony asks if Pepper wants to go to Venice. In this story, she says yes. #6 Story Name: My Blue Bucket of Gold Fandom: Mad Max Pairing: Furiosa/Max Summary: Max returns to the Citadel to make an exchange of favors, but his end of a deal with Furiosa, as well as rising concern for the Dag’s struggles, proves to be an encumbrance he wasn’t prepared for. Change promises to heal, but some old habits are hard to wash out. #7 Story Name: Betting on a Fall Fandom: MCU Pairing: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff Summary: “I bet I can get them to become a couple,” Tony said. “There is no way,” Clint snorted. “Have you met either one of them?” “So that’s a yes to the bet?” “Damn straight it is.” (AKA what happens when the Avengers are bored and Steve and Nat are oblivious.) #8 Story Name: I genuinely have no idea at this point! I'm terrible with titles, so it will probably end up being either a song title or lyrics! Fandom: Once Upon A Time in Wonderland Pairing: Anastasia/Jafar Summary: AU where Anastasia came to Storybrooke with Will in OUAT's season 3. Ana is thinking about Jafar at Christmastime when one of Santa's elves hears her say the only way she'd contemplate a relationship with him is if his bottle showed up under her tree with a bow that said "Merry Christmas, Anastasia." Instead of using her wishes, Ana asks Jafar for answers. WARNINGS for death and dub-con/discussions of previous death and dub-con. #9 Story Name: Jughead and Betty's Epic Detour Fandom: Riverdale Pairing: Jughead Jones & Betty Cooper Summary: When Archie Andrews doesn't make the road trip he and Jughead Jones planned to take together, Jughead's other best friend, Betty Cooper accompanies him instead. #10 Story Name: currently untitled Fandom: Sanctuary Pairing: Helen Magnus/Will Zimmerman. Assorted past background pairings may pop up in passing, mostly canon, including: multiple for Helen (including Helen/Ranna, Helen/Charlotte, and Helen/Nikola), Will/Abby, Kate/Garris Summary: Helen's bringing the old team back together, but despite her grand plan there's still a lot of details to work out. Particularly regarding her relationship with Will. Set post-series. Includes a living (AI) Sanctuary, covert surface missions, Nikola, Kate, and Will still continuing to land himself in the infirmary. #11 Story Name: Let Me Drown In Your Laughter (Let Me Die In Your Arms) (the title's final) Fandom: Stargate Pairing: Laura Cadman/Evan Lorne, might also incorporate bits of Jennifer Keller/Ronon Dex Summary: It's the winter of 1868, and Cavalry officer Major Evan Lorne finds himself in the Middle of Nowhere, Colorado. How lucky that he comes across Atlantis, the horse breeding farm owned by Teyla Emmagan, Jennifer Keller… and that girl he met in Chicago five years go: Laura Cadman. #12 Story Name: Constant Still in Heart Abiding Fandom: Stargate Pairing: Sha're Jackson/Daniel Jackson Summary: Spinning off from the episode 2x9 Secrets, Daniel does manage to get Sha're through the Stargate back to the SGC. They plan to get help from the Asgard on Cimmeria to extract the Goa'uld symbiote Amaunet from Sha're, all the while navigating the politics of the SGC and Amaunet's own determination to retain Sha're's body #13 Story Name: A Promise to Burn Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Clarke Griffin/Bellamy Blake. Summary: Season 1 rewrite. How much of the story changes if Clarke sleeps with Finn instead of Bellamy after Wells is killed? from Het Big Bang http://ift.tt/2eEXAYH via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Het Big Bang #hbb2015

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