Last Post of the Year
This year has both flown and dragged, been awesome and awful, and made me (personally) both better and worse. But it's being kicked out the door on an hourly basis around the world and I'm not sad to see it go.
I was unemployed for most of it (except for the three temp jobs, the current of which has the potential to turn into a real one in a few months) and I went to at least 15 interviews (maybe more?) and wrote at least 70 individualized cover letters. (This is not the number of jobs I applied to since a whole mess of them required some online application process without cover letters and at least two of the interviews came through personal reference.)
Also my dad was in a car accident and had to get surgery to replace a disk in his spine. But he's better now.
BUT.
On February 7th, my nephew was born. And he's adorable and brilliant and his face lights up when he looks at me, and he's the best thing that's happened to my family in years.
Also, I took the bar again, which sucked mightily, but this time I passed, which was wonderful and now I'm licensed to practice law in the state of Maryland. (And I still owe everyone comments. Oops.)
I watched movies and just endless tv and read a lot of books. I might even have been more social this year than in past ones. I mostly wrote Avengers fic (Clint/Darcy) but I did finally finish Acute Angles (Criminal Minds) and I just scribbled this down for avengerkink the other day. It's brief because I wanted it posted before it could get away from me, but I am having thoughts about expanding it when I have time.
Title: Russian Winter
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse)
Pairing:: Clint/Natasha
Prompt: Untrack This
While on a mission in (suitably snowy mountain range of author's choice), Clint and Natasha get trapped in a cave by an avalanche. Cue them "sharing body heat" to stay warm while waiting for an evac from SHIELD.
Russian Winter
The Russian (or Soviet) Winter is a common explanation for military failures of invaders in Russia. - Wikipedia
"Strip," Natasha orders brusquely.
"Um," Clint says intelligently.
She glances up at him as she pulls down the zipper on her suit. Her eyes are mission-still and she lifts an eyebrow.
"Right, sharing body heat," Clint says, relieved to have caught on. His brain is sluggish and reluctant to leave his first, obvious, interpretation, mostly because it's so new and terrifying. Tasha's beautiful - more than that, breathtaking, and amazing, but that's a thing that's been academic at most. They're closer than lovers; they're partners, and Clint has long sensed Natasha doesn't have sex for fun. He struggles out of his parka and lets it drop to the floor. Snow still rests in teh folds of the shell and he thinks he should really hang it up and brush it dry so they can use it as insulation for the bedclothes.
Tasha is shrugging her suit off with an elegant roll of her shoulders and dragging the sleeves inside-out as she frees her arms. Her skin is milky in contrast - a redhead's complexion - the blue-green veins more vivid than usual. She leans down to push the suit off her legs and Clint can see she's wearing an opaque black sports bra and matching boyshorts underneath. They seem to make those areas of her body disappear against the shadows.
"Don't stare," she says and Clint flinches. His hands had stilled on his vest closures and they're stiff when he tries to make them work again. Natasha steps up to him and takes over. She looks smaller than usual without her suit and weapons, but Clint can see her fingers are a little slower and a little clumsier, if still better than his own. "And don't shiver," she adds, leaving the vest undone for him to shove off and starting in on his belt.
"You don't let me have any fun," Clint volleys back, but takes a breath and stills his muscles. She's right, it's a waste of energy, hurting more than it helps.
The corner of her mouth quirks up as she opens his pants at the waist. "Get in bed."
"Good thing I like my women bossy," he says, playing along, as he pushes the leather down his thighs and jerks open the easy fastenings on his boots. They're made to release even when manipulated with puffy, heavy gloves, so they open easily and he drags the whole mess off. "Fuck," he says when his feet hit the cold floor. He's wearing two pairs of socks but that kind of cold seeps and he can see goosebumps rising on Tasha's skin.
And she likes the cold.
Clint moves for the bed, too slowly and clumsily to be considered a dive. He burrows under the covers and strips off the singlet he wore under his vest. Skin-to-skin contact is best and Tasha slips in next to him stripping off her own top.
"You don't have to," he says as she pulls her hair free, but can't bring himself to add, It's not that cold, because it is.
She ignores him, because that's what she does when a response is only required for his comfort, not hers. Her flesh is cold when she slips a leg between his and tucks the other one up over his hip, her upper body nestling in against his chest. Even her breasts are cold against his chest but he can feel her heartbeat the curve of her chapped cheek against his clavicle and each shared breath raises their combined temperature a tenth of a degree and he thinks, maybe, they're going to be all right.
I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year's Eve and that all of your 2012s are more wonderful than you imagined. See you on the flipside.
This entry was originally posted at http://smittywing.dreamwidth.org/4620.html. If you wish, you may comment there using OpenID.
I was unemployed for most of it (except for the three temp jobs, the current of which has the potential to turn into a real one in a few months) and I went to at least 15 interviews (maybe more?) and wrote at least 70 individualized cover letters. (This is not the number of jobs I applied to since a whole mess of them required some online application process without cover letters and at least two of the interviews came through personal reference.)
Also my dad was in a car accident and had to get surgery to replace a disk in his spine. But he's better now.
BUT.
On February 7th, my nephew was born. And he's adorable and brilliant and his face lights up when he looks at me, and he's the best thing that's happened to my family in years.
Also, I took the bar again, which sucked mightily, but this time I passed, which was wonderful and now I'm licensed to practice law in the state of Maryland. (And I still owe everyone comments. Oops.)
I watched movies and just endless tv and read a lot of books. I might even have been more social this year than in past ones. I mostly wrote Avengers fic (Clint/Darcy) but I did finally finish Acute Angles (Criminal Minds) and I just scribbled this down for avengerkink the other day. It's brief because I wanted it posted before it could get away from me, but I am having thoughts about expanding it when I have time.
Title: Russian Winter
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse)
Pairing:: Clint/Natasha
Prompt: Untrack This
While on a mission in (suitably snowy mountain range of author's choice), Clint and Natasha get trapped in a cave by an avalanche. Cue them "sharing body heat" to stay warm while waiting for an evac from SHIELD.
Russian Winter
The Russian (or Soviet) Winter is a common explanation for military failures of invaders in Russia. - Wikipedia
"Strip," Natasha orders brusquely.
"Um," Clint says intelligently.
She glances up at him as she pulls down the zipper on her suit. Her eyes are mission-still and she lifts an eyebrow.
"Right, sharing body heat," Clint says, relieved to have caught on. His brain is sluggish and reluctant to leave his first, obvious, interpretation, mostly because it's so new and terrifying. Tasha's beautiful - more than that, breathtaking, and amazing, but that's a thing that's been academic at most. They're closer than lovers; they're partners, and Clint has long sensed Natasha doesn't have sex for fun. He struggles out of his parka and lets it drop to the floor. Snow still rests in teh folds of the shell and he thinks he should really hang it up and brush it dry so they can use it as insulation for the bedclothes.
Tasha is shrugging her suit off with an elegant roll of her shoulders and dragging the sleeves inside-out as she frees her arms. Her skin is milky in contrast - a redhead's complexion - the blue-green veins more vivid than usual. She leans down to push the suit off her legs and Clint can see she's wearing an opaque black sports bra and matching boyshorts underneath. They seem to make those areas of her body disappear against the shadows.
"Don't stare," she says and Clint flinches. His hands had stilled on his vest closures and they're stiff when he tries to make them work again. Natasha steps up to him and takes over. She looks smaller than usual without her suit and weapons, but Clint can see her fingers are a little slower and a little clumsier, if still better than his own. "And don't shiver," she adds, leaving the vest undone for him to shove off and starting in on his belt.
"You don't let me have any fun," Clint volleys back, but takes a breath and stills his muscles. She's right, it's a waste of energy, hurting more than it helps.
The corner of her mouth quirks up as she opens his pants at the waist. "Get in bed."
"Good thing I like my women bossy," he says, playing along, as he pushes the leather down his thighs and jerks open the easy fastenings on his boots. They're made to release even when manipulated with puffy, heavy gloves, so they open easily and he drags the whole mess off. "Fuck," he says when his feet hit the cold floor. He's wearing two pairs of socks but that kind of cold seeps and he can see goosebumps rising on Tasha's skin.
And she likes the cold.
Clint moves for the bed, too slowly and clumsily to be considered a dive. He burrows under the covers and strips off the singlet he wore under his vest. Skin-to-skin contact is best and Tasha slips in next to him stripping off her own top.
"You don't have to," he says as she pulls her hair free, but can't bring himself to add, It's not that cold, because it is.
She ignores him, because that's what she does when a response is only required for his comfort, not hers. Her flesh is cold when she slips a leg between his and tucks the other one up over his hip, her upper body nestling in against his chest. Even her breasts are cold against his chest but he can feel her heartbeat the curve of her chapped cheek against his clavicle and each shared breath raises their combined temperature a tenth of a degree and he thinks, maybe, they're going to be all right.
I hope everyone has a wonderful New Year's Eve and that all of your 2012s are more wonderful than you imagined. See you on the flipside.
This entry was originally posted at http://smittywing.dreamwidth.org/4620.html. If you wish, you may comment there using OpenID.