[fic] Pumpkin Carving Contest, Smoak and Honor
Title: Pumpkin Carving Contest
Fandom: The Avengers
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Pairings: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Nick Fury
Word Count: 523
Summary: A rare day off lets Clint and Natasha celebrate Halloween. Of course, they put their own flair on it.
Author’s Notes: Putting this here for archival reasons. Originally written for the All The Things Fall Free-For-All on be-compromised.
Natasha felt her jaw crack at the force of her yawn as she climbed down the ladder that led up to the loft area of Clint’s apartment. She’d heard him get up and rustle around down in the lower part, and the fact that it was Clint and not somebody else meant she’d been able to get back to a light doze. But the noises had roused her curiosity too much for sleep, so, hair in disarray and trailing the blanket from the bed because it was getting chillier in the loft and Clint didn’t seem to recognize cold temperatures at all, she wandered over to check it out.
What she saw made her eyebrow go up.
“Coffee’s on the stove,” Clint said as he set the second hollowed out pumpkin on the newspaper next to the first.
“Mm.” Natasha poured herself a cup and wrinkled her nose at the pumpkin spice creamer next to the pot. She took a long sip as she studied her partner, who was fiddling with the pumpkin placement still. He’d eschewed his shirt, though he had his “light” quiver strapped to his back and an arm-guard bracing one forearm. Whatever he planned to do, he was going to be shooting left-handed. Speaking of which… “What’s going on?”
Clint grinned over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not as such.”
“Pumpkin carving contest.”
She caught the knife he tossed her without looking at it and just looked at him.
“Kids are coming by to trick or treat tonight, Nat. If there aren’t any pumpkins outside the door, how will they not know this is the coolest apartment in the building?” Apparently satisfied with the pumpkin, Clint walked over to join her in the kitchen area and picked up his coffee. “Rules are you can carve whatever you like but the pumpkin has to be the scariest thing you can think of, and no peeking at each other’s pumpkin.”
Natasha took another sip of coffee, considering. She’d never actually carved a pumpkin before. “Who’s the judge?”
“The kids, of course. And no bribing them with candy.”
“Would I do that?”
“Gleefully and without hesitation.” He tasted a bit like pumpkin himself when he kissed her, but Natasha found she didn’t mind as much. “Ready?”
“You’re going down,” Natasha told him, flipping the knife around to a better grip as she eyed her pumpkin. The move had nearly made a trainee wet himself the week before, but Clint just grinned and moved to the other side of the apartment, giving himself as much room from the two pumpkins on the table as he could.
Clint pulled the first arrow out of his quiver and nocked it. “Go!” he said.
The knife and the arrow hit the two pumpkins at the same time. Several hours later, the candy bowl in front of the apartment stood empty. Surrounded by the leftover wrappers, the two assassins couldn’t help but concede that it was a tie, though Clint pointed out that maybe next year, they would get better results if they didn’t ask children to pick between two pumpkins with Nick Fury’s face on them.
Title: Smoak and Honor
Fandom: Arrow
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Pairings: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Characters: Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Oliver Queen
Word Count: 540
Summary: It’s a silly rite of passage.
Author’s Notes: Putting this here for archival reasons. A little backstory: this is an Arrow AU of a fic I wrote three years ago, called The Wingman. It involves Morgan Grimes battling against Daniel Shaw in a Guitar Hero-type game on Chuck’s behalf so that Shaw can continue shopping in the Buy More. I wrote it in the space of a night and still wonder what was wrong with my head.
Felicity leaned over her controller and thought, I’m going to be sick. “I’m going to be sick,” she said.
Her best friend and the lead green shirt John Diggle, however, simply plucked her up by the back of her Nerd Herd blouse and set her on her feet. He always made that move look so easy. “You are not going to be sick,” he said, brushing off the controller. “You are the Buy More’s undefeated Guitar Shredder champion and three-time prize winner of the string cheese cup. You spent five years living on your brother’s couch and playing all night so you could be the best.”
Felicity glared. “I spent five years sleeping on my brother’s couch because I got kicked out of MIT and rent in Starling City is astronomically ridiculous.”
“My way sounds better,” Diggle said.
“This is ridiculous. This is so ridiculous. There should be something in the Rules about this, about how you don’t actually have to defend the honor of your significant other if you’re not actually dating that significant other because he’s the spy and you’re a walking government database!” Felicity rested her head against the cool plastic of the controller.
“The Rules took into account many things, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t take into account one Felicity Megan Smoak. What did you expect?”
“What did I expect? I expected not to battle Drag-You-All-The-Way-To-Hell-Ena ‘Assman’ Bertinelli in a silly guitar game to defend the rights of my not-really-my-boyfriend boyfriend to shop at a big box electronics store.”
“Too bad,” Diggle said, utterly cheerful. “And it’s not a silly guitar game. It’s a rite of passage.”
“It’s a silly rite of passage.”
Diggle’s face twitched, the way it always did whenever he was screwing with her. He should’ve been the one to get the database, not her. He was big and buff and could defend himself in a fight. And yet, the entirety of the government’s secrets had gone to the one woman who couldn’t keep herself from blurting out every single thing that crossed her mind, which was fine when that was innuendo and silly observations. Less fine when it was the identity of several long-term moles within Al Quaeda.
“At least,” she said, finally rising to her feet and putting the strap around her shoulder, “Oliver isn’t actually here to witness my humiliation.”
“You’re going to win, how is that a humiliation?” Diggle asked.
“It just is.” Felicity glared.
“Did somebody say my name?” And there he was, the CIA’s best and brightest, strolling into the Buy More back room in a T-shirt that looked way too soft and his off-duty leather jacket.
Felicity went white. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a tournament defending my honor.” Oliver smiled. “I couldn’t miss that.”
“You realize it’s plastic guitars and not bat’leths or anything,” Felicity said. “It’s not going to be that exciting.”
“Still,” and Oliver flung an arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close enough to smell his soap and that islandy smell that was all him, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Oh, brother,” Felicity said, and, with her men flanking her on either side, stomped out toward the Home Entertainment Center to face her rival.
Fandom: The Avengers
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Pairings: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Nick Fury
Word Count: 523
Summary: A rare day off lets Clint and Natasha celebrate Halloween. Of course, they put their own flair on it.
Author’s Notes: Putting this here for archival reasons. Originally written for the All The Things Fall Free-For-All on be-compromised.
Natasha felt her jaw crack at the force of her yawn as she climbed down the ladder that led up to the loft area of Clint’s apartment. She’d heard him get up and rustle around down in the lower part, and the fact that it was Clint and not somebody else meant she’d been able to get back to a light doze. But the noises had roused her curiosity too much for sleep, so, hair in disarray and trailing the blanket from the bed because it was getting chillier in the loft and Clint didn’t seem to recognize cold temperatures at all, she wandered over to check it out.
What she saw made her eyebrow go up.
“Coffee’s on the stove,” Clint said as he set the second hollowed out pumpkin on the newspaper next to the first.
“Mm.” Natasha poured herself a cup and wrinkled her nose at the pumpkin spice creamer next to the pot. She took a long sip as she studied her partner, who was fiddling with the pumpkin placement still. He’d eschewed his shirt, though he had his “light” quiver strapped to his back and an arm-guard bracing one forearm. Whatever he planned to do, he was going to be shooting left-handed. Speaking of which… “What’s going on?”
Clint grinned over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not as such.”
“Pumpkin carving contest.”
She caught the knife he tossed her without looking at it and just looked at him.
“Kids are coming by to trick or treat tonight, Nat. If there aren’t any pumpkins outside the door, how will they not know this is the coolest apartment in the building?” Apparently satisfied with the pumpkin, Clint walked over to join her in the kitchen area and picked up his coffee. “Rules are you can carve whatever you like but the pumpkin has to be the scariest thing you can think of, and no peeking at each other’s pumpkin.”
Natasha took another sip of coffee, considering. She’d never actually carved a pumpkin before. “Who’s the judge?”
“The kids, of course. And no bribing them with candy.”
“Would I do that?”
“Gleefully and without hesitation.” He tasted a bit like pumpkin himself when he kissed her, but Natasha found she didn’t mind as much. “Ready?”
“You’re going down,” Natasha told him, flipping the knife around to a better grip as she eyed her pumpkin. The move had nearly made a trainee wet himself the week before, but Clint just grinned and moved to the other side of the apartment, giving himself as much room from the two pumpkins on the table as he could.
Clint pulled the first arrow out of his quiver and nocked it. “Go!” he said.
The knife and the arrow hit the two pumpkins at the same time. Several hours later, the candy bowl in front of the apartment stood empty. Surrounded by the leftover wrappers, the two assassins couldn’t help but concede that it was a tie, though Clint pointed out that maybe next year, they would get better results if they didn’t ask children to pick between two pumpkins with Nick Fury’s face on them.
Title: Smoak and Honor
Fandom: Arrow
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Pairings: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Characters: Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Oliver Queen
Word Count: 540
Summary: It’s a silly rite of passage.
Author’s Notes: Putting this here for archival reasons. A little backstory: this is an Arrow AU of a fic I wrote three years ago, called The Wingman. It involves Morgan Grimes battling against Daniel Shaw in a Guitar Hero-type game on Chuck’s behalf so that Shaw can continue shopping in the Buy More. I wrote it in the space of a night and still wonder what was wrong with my head.
Felicity leaned over her controller and thought, I’m going to be sick. “I’m going to be sick,” she said.
Her best friend and the lead green shirt John Diggle, however, simply plucked her up by the back of her Nerd Herd blouse and set her on her feet. He always made that move look so easy. “You are not going to be sick,” he said, brushing off the controller. “You are the Buy More’s undefeated Guitar Shredder champion and three-time prize winner of the string cheese cup. You spent five years living on your brother’s couch and playing all night so you could be the best.”
Felicity glared. “I spent five years sleeping on my brother’s couch because I got kicked out of MIT and rent in Starling City is astronomically ridiculous.”
“My way sounds better,” Diggle said.
“This is ridiculous. This is so ridiculous. There should be something in the Rules about this, about how you don’t actually have to defend the honor of your significant other if you’re not actually dating that significant other because he’s the spy and you’re a walking government database!” Felicity rested her head against the cool plastic of the controller.
“The Rules took into account many things, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t take into account one Felicity Megan Smoak. What did you expect?”
“What did I expect? I expected not to battle Drag-You-All-The-Way-To-Hell-Ena ‘Assman’ Bertinelli in a silly guitar game to defend the rights of my not-really-my-boyfriend boyfriend to shop at a big box electronics store.”
“Too bad,” Diggle said, utterly cheerful. “And it’s not a silly guitar game. It’s a rite of passage.”
“It’s a silly rite of passage.”
Diggle’s face twitched, the way it always did whenever he was screwing with her. He should’ve been the one to get the database, not her. He was big and buff and could defend himself in a fight. And yet, the entirety of the government’s secrets had gone to the one woman who couldn’t keep herself from blurting out every single thing that crossed her mind, which was fine when that was innuendo and silly observations. Less fine when it was the identity of several long-term moles within Al Quaeda.
“At least,” she said, finally rising to her feet and putting the strap around her shoulder, “Oliver isn’t actually here to witness my humiliation.”
“You’re going to win, how is that a humiliation?” Diggle asked.
“It just is.” Felicity glared.
“Did somebody say my name?” And there he was, the CIA’s best and brightest, strolling into the Buy More back room in a T-shirt that looked way too soft and his off-duty leather jacket.
Felicity went white. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a tournament defending my honor.” Oliver smiled. “I couldn’t miss that.”
“You realize it’s plastic guitars and not bat’leths or anything,” Felicity said. “It’s not going to be that exciting.”
“Still,” and Oliver flung an arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close enough to smell his soap and that islandy smell that was all him, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Oh, brother,” Felicity said, and, with her men flanking her on either side, stomped out toward the Home Entertainment Center to face her rival.