Remember That Time Jess Told The Hulk To Get In The Kitchen & Make Her A Sandwich?

Per qualapec’s instructions, I started reading Avengers Assemble with issue 9, and loved it. I got to this scene:

( Avengers Assemble 9-13 )

Also, can someone please help me find a fic? It had Jess responding to Clint being a cheating dick by getting drunk (I distinctly remember tequila) and having sex with a totally awesome lady. I THOUGHT that she had hooked up with Carol but I read through all two pages of their ship-fic on A03 (ohmygod, such a hardship) and couldn’t find it.

Help.

I also read Spiderwoman Origins and can only express my feelings in gif form:


( Read more... )

Fears & Nightmares (Marvel Cinematic Universe Edition)

Okay, I'm going to tell you right now, this, the previous post, and the next post are all due to qualapec. Feel free to send her flowers.

So, over email qualapec asked me about what I thought Pepper was afraid of and what her nightmares are like.

( Pepper, Natasha, Clint, & Bruce )

I’m drawing a blank on Thor, Tony, Jane, and my answers for Darcy would be so transparently mine, they’d verge on out-of-character.

Okay, so, flist, tell me about the other Avenger’s fears.

I learned the alchemy of guilt, lust, and distance.

This Is Not an Elegy
by Catherine Pierce

At sixteen, I was illegal and brilliant,
my fingernails chewed to half-moons.
I took off my clothes in a late March
field. I had secret car wrecks,
secret hysteria. I opened my mouth
to swallow stars. In backseats
I learned the alchemy of guilt, lust,
and distance. I was unformed and total.
I swore like a sailor. But slowly the cops
stopped coming around. The heat lifted
its palms. The radio lost some teeth.

Now I see the landscape behind me
as through a Claude glass—
tinted deeper, framed just so, bits
of gilt edging the best parts.
I see my unlined face, a thousand
film stars behind the eyes. I was
every murderess, every whip-
thin alcoholic, every heroine
with the silver tongue. Always young
Paul Newman's best girl. Always
a lightning sky behind each kiss.

Some days I watch myself
in the third person, speak to her
in the second. I say: I will
meet you in sleep. I will know you
by your stillness and your shaking.
By your second-hand gown.
By your bruises left by mouths
since forgotten. This is not
an elegy because I cannot bear
for it to be. It is only a tree branch
against the window. It is only a cherry
tomato slowly reddening in the garden.
I will put it in my mouth. It will
be sweet, and you will swallow.