#iamartemisday

for @iamartemisday​ 334 words Rated T

~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay this one has potatoes, where’s the gravy?”

Darcy was holding two containers in her hands, neither of which had potatoes, so Steve had to stop what he was doing and look for the container she was referring to. It was in front of the coffee maker, across the kitchen. Of course.

“I have the gravy, but let’s stick to talking about what’s in your hands before we talk about the loners, okay?”

“Fine, but I need five of these in the next four minutes for my cousin and her family.”

“I thought they came already.”

“No. That was my aunt. It’s just confusing because she’s the same age as me. My cousin is also the same age as both of us and she’s got three kids and a wife.”

“Got it.”

Steve added gravy to the container in front of the coffee maker and then checked to be sure it was full.

He’d signed up for this. Gleefully, all the way back in October. Back when Darcy’s family realized that the pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, but they still wanted some of Darcy’s famous glazed ham and all the trimmings. So of course, Darcy had offered to make it and Steve had offered to help her package it up so each family could come and get theirs, from a proper distance and they could all eat together in their cars while zooming.

Holidays in the time of Covid, Darcy had called it.

And he hadn’t truly appreciated the size of Darcy’s family until he was tasked with plating nineteen separate dinners in the span of about thirty minutes.

“Just my mom and Dad to go,” she said, snapping the lids on the last of the five. “And then we can eat too.”

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her. As much as he complained, he wouldn’t trade a second of this. It made Darcy so happy. And he had no issues with anyone in her family. AND they were being properly distanced.

So… I got this in March, forgot about it or something, rediscovered it but by then I had NO IDEA what prompt list the numbers were from...then, long story short, I did some detecting Thursday night and found the right list!

Anyway, without further ado…

47 - Not a Date  

69 - Flirting Under Fire

This would be a fic where Darcy is a member of The Avengers PR team. When Brock Rumlow comes in after his undercover stint as terrorist Crossbones, stealing back stolen technology for Fury, Darcy is assigned as his PR rep. It's her job to rehabilitate his image, turning him from wanted terrorist to loyal patriot, risking everything for his country, and she does a pretty good job of it even though he irritates the absolute hell out of her.

When the Avengers hold their annual charity ball, Maria Hill asks Darcy to accompany Brock in her capacity of PR agent - she's there to field the trickier questions, act as a shield against some of the more predatory reporters, gossipmongers, and groupies.

Once at the ball, Rumlow seems to be intent on having a good time. The first part of the evening is a series of interviews and every single one of them starts by asking him who his date is. 

The more Darcy tries to explain that she's his babysitter, not his date, the more he behaves like she is. 

As the evening progresses she not only has to deal with a couple of extra persistent reporters, but with an increasingly flirty Rumlow. The thing that surprises her the most though, is when she realises she doesn't mind.

Dude, honestly? You’re the one who keeps acting like I’m telling you that you don’t belong in a fandom.

And I’m just stuck baffled that you think that this is some kind of either/or thing.

Like let me explain something incredibly fuckign stupid to you.

I’m a part of a few different RP communities. I’ve got OC’s and canon characters I RP as. And as anyone knows who interacts with RP communities is that every last ELEMENT of what we do is writing, it’s all creative output. And it’s done entirely for fun.

Do you understand this concept?

That all this writing, the writing I do for my own entertainment, the collaborative efforts that are either part of a strict community (Homestuck RP) a vague community (Cartoon Characters) or a general theme (Superheroes) are each a display of SILLY SELF-INDULGENT SHIT I DO IN MY SPARE TIME FOR FUN.

YOU. You are the one defining what does and does not count as self-indulgent shit. Not me. And you’re taking offense at the concept that your original writing of your original concepts somehow ceases to be fun if you’re forced to recognize that it’s gone so fucking AU that it’s changed setting, genres and characters beyond all recognition.

At this point I SHOULD be spending my time working on something ridiculous and only nebulously connected to canon that only works because that I’m part of an outrageous AU that only barely connects to the core setting is because that’s how fucked up the core setting is. I do it for fun, it’s entirely self-indulgent. But instead of being able to do that silly stuff OR work on the elaborate backstory of my ‘distaff version of a supervillain that’s gone so far from canon that I’ve had to accept she’s my personal OC now, and have commissioned art of her because of it’ I’m having to sit here and explain to YOU that you’re taking this WAY too fucking personally.

Fuck it I’m in a bad mood now I’m just going to post a picture of my favorite OC and then work on her original story concepts. It’ll make me happier.

Thank you so much for the request! I’ve never done a band!au before, or a messy meet, so thank you for the challenge, @iamartemisday I hope I did it right and that you enjoy it anyway! :)))

17-band!au, 4-meet messy, 27-“that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.”

 Jane was running late, like nearly an hour late, and the show was only ninety minutes long. Her car of course, a Picasso more than a car really, made up of different parts of different colored cars decided to break down tonight of all nights. It wasn’t a beautiful car by any means, but up until recently it had always gotten her from point A to point B. She didn’t come from money, and she worked her tail off in high school to pay for it. Now two years into college, she was planning on trading it in with the money she’d earn from an internship to an astrophysicist. But that wasn’t until the summer and they still had several months worth of classes. This was the worst time to lose her car.

But right now she couldn’t think if that, or the fact she’d left it abandoned on the side of the road. She couldn’t run in her heels, knowing on this uneven pavement she’d probably break her ankle. So she hobbled along on unsteady legs, carrying her violin case and cursing her course choices. Band wasn’t something she needed, or even wanted to take. Her father had played, and left her his violin before he died. Jane was about to begin her freshmen year, the loss still brutally fresh and she chose music as an elective in remembrance of him. Music was her father’s passion, astrophysics was hers.  

Still, she let out a sigh of relief as she entered the parking lot and the entrance to the Music Hall came into view. Just a short way now, she just needed to make it inside without falling and she might be just in time for her solo. It was Bach, the name of the composition still escapes her, all she memorized was the section she’d be performing. She paused as she neared the door, pulling down the skirt of her black, halter top dress and doing her best to straighten her hair. Taking a few deep, steadying breaths, she walked the final few steps to the door and reached out.

The door, however, flew open towards her – so hard it appeared it would fly off the hinges. The hinges held, however, that didn’t stop the door from hitting her in the face and knocking her backward until she fall in the garden along the front of the building. She sat up immediately despite the spots in her vision, checking her nose for blood and luckily finding none. But she noticed her bare foot, and the broken shoe that rested beside it. She faintly heard cursing in a smooth British accent coming closer.

At least it wasn’t raining. She didn’t fall in a puddle of mud and nothing was broken. Except her shoe, realizing the four and half inch heel had lost a solid 3 inches. Maybe she could get away with it. As long as she stood stock still while she played, she likely wouldn’t faceplant into the orchestra. A tall, intimidating man in a three-piece suit knelt before her, stretching out his hand to help her up.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

He looked genuinely concerned and she’d never before seen a man with jet black hair that had such bright, vivid eyes. The tears burned in her own eyes, her ankle wasn’t twisted, but this day had been horrible enough and this was only making things worse. She didn’t even wanna do the stupid solo! But Mr. Selvig insisted, even called her his favorite student to butter her up.

“Oh don’t cry, Darling, very bad idea,” he said, waving his program across her face as if to dry her tears, “Your make-up will run. 0/10 would not recommend–”

“10/10 would recommend you not hit me in the face with a door and break my shoe!” she cried, swatting at his outstretched hand as she hauled herself off the ground. Before she could bend to pick it up, the stranger was already handing her the violin case, “I have a solo and I’m already running late…”

She yanked the case from his hand and took hold of the door, pushing passed him as she hobbled on uneven shoes. The nerve!

She felt him rush up behind her.

“I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but your shoe isn’t the only thing ruined…” her steps faltered at his words.

“What?”

He didn’t answer, merely pointed to her left hip. A tear in the dress that went from her hip to just below her armpit. Her whole side was exposed – she’d never be able to hold the violin up and play without everyone getting an eyeful. 

“Oh my god! Are you kidding me?!” she glared at him, mouth agape and a true loss for what to do now. She obviously couldn’t run home and change.

“Before you murder me, just follow me. I have an idea.” he said with hands in the air, walking backwards away from her.

“Follow you? To where?”

“The drama department…” he called as he ran from her view..

She rolled her eyes, removing her other shoe to run after him. As she passed the backstage door of the auditorium, she could hear they were nearing the end of the song before the movement. Luckily, her solo was about five minutes into the piece, which meant she had just under 8 minutes to get new clothes, new shoes, and get back and in place to play. By the time she caught up to him, he was bent in front of the door, she assumed he was picking the lock.

“Do this a lot, do you?” she asked, stopping at his side.

“Not since I was a child.”

The lock clicked and despite herself, Jane was relieved to see the doors open. He switched on the light, seeming to know his way around. He rifled through the rack of costumes, some of the most ugly and ostentatious dresses she’d ever seen.

“Are you in the drama department?”

“Yes, as well as the band.”

She scoffed, “You’re not in the band, I’ve never seen you in our rehearsals.”

“I’m usually late due to one of my courses. I try not to draw attention, so I sit toward the back and I’m always first to leave.”

Jane didn’t respond. It wasn’t impossible, she just couldn’t believe this man had sat a few rows behind her for the last few months and she never noticed.

“What do you play?”

“The chello…Ah!” he pulled a black gown from the rack and held it up to her. It was a long, A-line slip of a dress, black with a plunging v-neck and lace trimming. He held it out to her and motioned to a small fitting room to the right. She sighed and took the hanger. What choice did she have?

“I’ll sort out some shoes for you in the meantime…” he said as she closed the door behind her.

“Thank you…” she called, studying her face and still in shock that it wasn’t bruised or bleeding. That door hurt, and she was certain her nose had been broken. 

There wasn’t time to waste and so she pulled the dress up and zipped the side the closed. It didn’t quite fit. She’d worn the halter top because it was form fitting and left her arms free to play. This dress was way too long, and the plunge of the v-neck nearly reached her belly button. 

“It doesn’t fit…”

“I expected as much. Step outside, I have a remedy.” his voice was much closer and she bit her lip as she debated just staying in this dressing room all night, or at least until everyone from the concert had left.

Jane did as he asked though, reluctantly opening the door and holding the dress closed across her chest. His eyes did a swift once over, not in lust or anything inappropriate, but appraising and calculated. In his hands he held a pair of black heeled boots; the heel was not only shorter but wider as well.

“Put these on first…” she took them with one hand, unwilling to release her grip of the front of the gown.

“So why did you leave in the middle of the performance?” she asked, trying to distract herself as she slipped on the shoes. A near perfect fit. 

“I just needed some air,” he replied, already kneeling before her in an obviously expensive suit, several pins stuck out the corner of his mouth. She held her breath, watching his deft fingers work along the hemline, pinning the fabric where it reached her ankles. A man of many talents…odd talents, but full of surprises.  

Staring was rude, but Jane just help couldn’t help herself. She’ll be needing some air if she doesn’t get herself together. All she could think about was how those long fingers would feel brushing along her jaw, or moving through the short length of her hair. The man could be a model with those angles to his face, but Jane could swear she’d never seen a more gorgeous man than him.  

His long black hair, the paleness of his complexion, those mischievous, vibrant green eyes. If Snow White had been a man, Jane was sure this man was him. And his eyes never wavered as he stood, pulling her wrist away and gathering the fabric in the valley between her breasts. She could hardly breath and he seemed entirely unaffected as he bunched the fabric, inserting two more pins to keep it together.

He stepped back abruptly and turned her around to face the mirror. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders as he, too, studied her reflection in the mirror. He’d created a rather nice looking knot where he’d gathered the fabric, it almost looked like it belonged there. The v-neck was still lower than she’d normally wear, but he’d done a remarkable job covering her up. A cellist and seamstress...

“You look perfect. Even your make-up held up.”

“Thank you…for all your help – for everything.” she turned to face him, extending her hand, “I’m Jane.”

“A pleasure to meet you Jane. I’m Loki.” instead of shaking her hand, he knelt down to kiss the back of it. She couldn’t control her giggle.

She smiled, “That explains it then…”

“What?” he asked, gently releasing his hold.

“Loki…God of Mischief.” It was his turn to smile, and even look a little surprised. 

“Ah, very good. Most people around here don’t know my namesake.”

“I’m not most people…” she said, and his smile only widened. It made him even more attractive if that was even possible. The blush tainted her cheeks and Jane ducked her head, retrieving her violin and making her way back to the auditorium.

**

“No Miss Foster, you are definitely not most people.”

Loki watched her leave, allowing her to get back and enter the auditorium alone. He didn’t need any gossip getting started. But he couldn’t stop smiling after meeting such a captivating and beautiful woman. Perfect complexion. Heart-shaped face. And her wide blue eyes, looking up at him with – ok, scorn – but also curiosity. And maybe even a touch of awe. But now was not the time to dwell on that.

He’d had his eye on her for some time, but he knew her from his astrophysics class. Her understanding and grasp of the subject awed him, and he’d spent several months just working up the nerve to talk to her. Instead he slams her in the face with a door. Hardly his best moment, but what’s done is done. The hard part is over, they’ve met, he knows her name and she knows his.

Turning out the light, he closed the door behind him, unable to lock it. The sound of her violin filled the halls and he picked up his pace, sneaking in the back stage door. He watched from the shadows, strangely proud of her for her determination to be here and not just give up. He was also proud of his own quick thinking - the dress really did look made for her. He’d have to remember to thank his mother later, despite always complaining when she taught him such feminine things.

Do you have some kind of speed-reading mutant power?

Yes. Yes I do.

My brother and I used to have competitions to see who could read a book fastest (same number of pages) and then would quiz each other on the plot (it had to be a book the other had already read) to make sure neither of us were cheating.

I got very fucking fast at it. Oh, and he’s 5 years older than me. I used to regularly beat him from age 10 or so onwards.

I once massively upset a guy on a 2-hour flight from Brisbane to Melbourne by reading The Da Vinci Code, cover to cover, during the flight (for the first time, too, I bought it in the airport bookshop). He got SO MAD, telling me he’d been reading the book for 2 months. Didn’t believe I’d actually read it properly.

I think I might have annoyed him even more by telling him it was hardly my fault he was a slow reader, but seriously, fuck that dude. Calling some woman you don’t even know a liar because she has a skill you don’t? That’s some shitty behaviour.

Thinking back, I should have just spoiled the ending for him. That would have been even MORE fun.

Natty Cat

Story by Artemis_Day

Art by Wolfsdrache

Link to story and art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917755

Rated G (no warnings apply)

5,900 words.

Steve/Natasha, background Bucky/Jane.

Everyone has secrets, and everyone has hobbies. Nobody could've expected Steve's secret hobby.

2 Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?*  Stucky and Stony.  

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?*  LMAO - you picked the one that I consider myself to be legitimately salty about.  So, I used to be very very very into ShieldShock.  I even wrote a few things for the pairing, and for awhile they were my ride or die non-canon OTP.  But in the lead up to Civil War I came across some mean!Girl fans who not only turned me off of ShieldShock but actually drove me out of fandom for awhile.  I don’t hate the pairing and do still read it occasionally (and revisit old favorites) but it’s hard for me to root for them, so I don’t go looking for it.  

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom?  Darcyland is not always the supportive and inviting environment that it seems to be.  If you write outside the box, if your kinks get a little too kinky, if you dare to write a beloved character as anything other than upstanding and righteous - you may find yourself the target of a slew of anon hate in your in box or hateful and horrible comments on your fic.  It’s happened to me, it’s happened to more than a handful of people I’ve been friendly with.  That may be the way it is in ALL corners of fandom... but there is definitely a sense of morality or kink policing that happens if you step out of line - even if your work is tagged and appropriately marked with warnings. And it all happens behind the scenes... just a series of anons on tumblr or ‘guests’ on Ao3 will descend on you to put you in your place.  If you don’t have a thick skin, it sucks.  Obviously I love it here, I’ve been here since 2013 and I love the people that I interact with.  But it’s not all cheerleading and slumberparties anymore.  Maybe it never was. I feel like an old lady, “back in my day...” *shrug*

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?  For me, in MCU fandom it’s Pepperony - hands down.  

Merry Christmas @iamartemisday! 

Animated version here

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