Working on that Riley/Remy/Peggy fic. Somehow managing to work on "Closing Time" and "Stolen Tarts: Sibling Rivalry" at the same time while also working on a favour for Katt.
Have spent the last week throwing up more than I'd care to admit, fighting off lightning headaches, and ignoring back pain. Have also been working almost every day.
Please don't
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For fic:
X-Men 919
Scarlett and Riley
"It's about time we get serious about this. We have to take out the trash."
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That was going to be my original plan, but then I realized that Jane was -- at least in Scarlett's opinion -- trash, and needed to be taken out. Oh, Scarlett, you devious minx you.
(Deviousness runs in the Summers genes. I shouldn't be surprised. *glances sideways at Riley*)
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Fury looked unimpressed. It took a trained eye to catch this; the man might have had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but it was a range, however small.
"Is there a problem, Coulson?"
"There was a thing there a little while back."
He nodded.
"Which is exactly why I'm sending you."
Phil Coulson failed to follow this logic, but he fingered the car keys in his pocket nonetheless.
***
Parking his car, Coulson took off his sunglasses and looked at the Mansion in front of him before putting them back on.
It was a given that there would not be a warm welcome waiting for him. The last time he'd visited, the staff was recovering from the loss of the Professor, as well as both Scott Summers and Jean Grey.
That had ended...poorly. While there had been no real collateral damage, that poor fountain would never be the same ( ... )
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Assistants Anonymous: Pepper Potts, Moneypenny, and Competent!Nikki meet to vent. Often.
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God, I love them. Thanks for giving me the chance to write them, not just individually, but together!
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i hope not, i just know that at one point I was sitting on the bathroom floor eating bugles and crying because i had no one to show that it looked like I had witch nails when i stuck them on the ends of all ofmy fingers."
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"Jarvis," she called. "Can you let me in, please?"
The locked door clicked open, and she scanned the room only to see Tony in the bathroom.
He was sitting up against the bathtub, wearing his typical workshop gear: jeans and a tee-shirt. He was also, based on the nearly empty bottle at his side, very drunk.
"Tony," she said, using a tone of voice normally reserved for saying things along the lines of bad dog and no busicut. "Is there a reason you're here ( ... )
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She also, apparently, makes the bestest drinking buddy ever. Go figure.
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