#cartinelli fanfic

[mx-loar-tev]

Me: This fandom needs more content!

Me: *goes to create stuff for this fandom*

Me:

Me:

Me: *disappears into the void*

One year later...

Me: so I have 27 new WIPs and finished none of the ones I was working on before...

Me: oh and I have one new hyperfixation on a totally different TV shows. Bye!

.

[emerysaks]

heyy could you do a fluffy cartinelli fic where they're old ladies living happily ever after

Thanks for the ask! Gal Pals

A/N: This ask is set in 1981 when Raiders of the Ark premiered. The Uptown Theater was a movie theater nestled in Washington, D.C.’s Cleveland Park neighborhood. Built in 1936, it hosted several world premieres, including Jurassic Park, and it was one of the 32 theaters to play Star Wars on opening day.

Peggy ended up in DC with S.H.I.E.L.D. in this universe, and Angie followed.

***

“Hurry up, darling. We’re going to be late!” Peggy glanced at her watch and sighed. After almost 35 years, she should be used to Angie running behind schedule.

“Hold your horses, English. I’m coming,” Angie grumbled as she came into the room. “Some of us had to work today and are exhausted.”

“Were your students troublesome?” Peggy teased. She placed her hand on Angie’s back and ushered her through their front door.

“Summer classes are rarely troublesome, Peg,” Angie corrected. “They just get excited because of the summer musical revue.”

Peggy turned the key in the lock and tugged at it. Satisfied their home was secure, she turned to Angie and offered her arm. Angie slipped her own through and shrugged. “Honestly, I shouldn’t complain. Most of the teachers would kill to have interested students.”

“Most teachers didn’t share the stage with Julie Andrews and Carol Channing,” Peggy observed.

Angie rolled her eyes. “I was in the ensemble. I don’t think Julie knew my name until you showed up and started talking in the same posh accent.”

“Such a lovely woman.”

“Meanwhile,” Angie pressed, “I don’t think my resume impresses my students.”

Peggy let her eyes trail down Angie’s form before resting appreciatively on the soft curves of her bottom. “Perhaps not your male students,” she smirked.

Angie scoffed. “I’m 56, Peggy.”

“And they’re hormone-fueled college students. Trust me, I’ve been to your shows. I’ve seen how their eyes wander,” she growled.

Angie slapped her hand against Peggy’s arm. “Stop it. You’re almost 60.”

“I’ll never be too old for jealousy, darling.”

Angie threw her a sly grin. “Are you too old for other things?”

Peggy tugged her closer. “We don’t have to go to the movie tonight,” she winked.

“Nope! I’ve been dreaming of movie popcorn all week,” Angie told her. “We’re going.” She glanced at Peggy and cleared her throat. “We can talk about that… later.”

“Flirting aside,” Peggy smiled, “your students love you, as evidenced by the waitlist every semester. They’re going to be heartbroken when you retire.”

Angie nodded and smoothed a hand down her dress. “I’ll miss them, too.” She gazed thoughtfully at Peggy. “Was it hard for you? Leaving the field and becoming a Director? I know retiring from teaching college drama isn’t the same, but-”

“Darling, I’ve told you many times. Your job is not lesser than mine.”

“You saved the world from Hydra, Pegs. And aliens. And that one guy who could talk to slugs.” She pursed her lips. “That one was weird, and I still don’t fully understand it.”

“And you educate the minds of future generations,” Peggy interrupted. “I daresay your job is more important.”

“Do you miss it?” Angie pressed again.

Peggy grew pensive. She’d been Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. for over thirty years but still sometimes longed for the adrenaline-fueled missions in a foreign country. She’d always enjoyed fieldwork, and although she occasionally participated in missions here and there, her job these days tended to be at a desk, sifting through requests and dealing with bureaucratic nonsense.  

“I do miss it,” Peggy admitted. “I miss the camaraderie in the field. The satisfaction of capturing an enemy agent. Going to sleep at night sore and bruised but knowing the world’s a little bit safer because of it.”

“I don’t miss it,” Angie told her softly. “I hated nights waiting up for you. Hoping you were safe. Cleaning up your bloodied face and hands. Watching you while you slept and wondering if you’d return the next time you left.”

Peggy sighed. She knew all of that. She’d only been released from the hospital for a few days in March 1977 before she tried to volunteer for a mission her team could handle without her. When Angie found out, a particularly explosive argument ensued. In the end, Peggy had trudged into Howard’s office and told him she needed to scale back fieldwork and focus on how she could best serve S.H.I.E.L.D. from her desk.

“I know, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”

Angie smiled and bumped her shoulder against Peggy’s. “Well, I probably shouldn’t have said some of those things back then. But,” she continued, “it’s much nicer getting to see you every day. Nice to worry less, too.”

“You might not have to worry if Johnson gets his way,” Peggy scowled. “I’ve never seen someone campaign so hard for an unavailable job.”

“Oh, please,” Angie rolled her eyes. “They’ll have to pry your cold dead body out of that chair before you willingly leave.”

Peggy frowned. “That’s a big dramatic.”

“Am I wrong?”

Peggy smiled but didn’t answer. “Tell me again what we’re seeing?”

***

“Raiders of the Lost Ark?”  Peggy asked, studying the poster plastered outside the Uptown Theater.

“Yup!” Angie grinned.

“Han Solo made a biblical movie?”

Angie laughed and nudged Peggy in the ribs. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the actor’s name. Besides, I know you secretly think Harrison Ford is a dreamboat.”

Peggy turned away from the poster and frowned. “What? No! I merely said he was a nice-looking man.”

“Come on, Pegs. Any time we pass a Star Wars poster, you glance at it appreciatively.”

Peggy huffed. “He’s young enough to be my son.”

Angie giggled. “And Greer Garson was old enough to be my mother, but that didn’t stop me.”

“You always did have a soft spot for English accents,” Peggy murmured affectionately.

“You think?” Angie laughed and slipped her arm back through Peggy’s. “Now, let’s go get some popcorn and find a seat. I’m excited to see Han Solo beat the Nazis.”

Peggy looked startled. “What?”

“You’ll see,” Angie promised. 

***

Peggy found their seats and waited for Angie to sit before taking hers and handing the giant bucket of popcorn Angie had insisted they buy. As she sipped her drink, she watched Angie fish a bag of candy from her purse, followed by another box of Cracker Jack.

“Retrieving a measuring tape or lamp out next?” Peggy asked dryly.

“I understand that reference,” Angie smirked. “And no, I’m not. But I refuse to pay what they want for a box of Cracker Jack.”

“So, you resort to candy smuggling.”

“Whatever it takes, English. I’m saving money. Be grateful.”

Peggy shook her head in amusement and passed the soda to Angie. 

Angie took a long sip and gazed at Peggy. “You know one of the best things about being old ladies now?”

“I thought we established that we’re not old.”

“Hush, grandma.”

Peggy rolled her eyes but said nothing.

“Nobody gives us a second glance when we go out. We’re just two older – okay, middle-aged ladies – spending time together. Best friends. Gal pals.”

Peggy snorted inelegantly. “Gal pals. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that one.”

Angie laughed. “Yep. Gal pals. Getting popcorn and sharing a soda.”

The lights dimmed, and cheers broke out in the theater as the opening credits began to play. 

Peggy felt a warm palm slip into her lap and brush against her thigh. She glanced at Angie. Her lover’s eyes were fixed on the movie screen, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

Peggy placed her hand over Angie’s and laced their fingers together. She leaned over and felt Angie shudder when her lips brushed against her ear. 

“What else do these gal pals share, darling?”

Angie turned her head until her lips were almost touching Peggy’s. “I promise to tell you all about it when we get home tonight, English.”

Peggy’s pulse quickened, but ever aware of their surroundings, she pulled away and returned her gaze to the screen. Giving Angie’s hand a squeeze, she settled in her seat and watched Indiana Jones swing across a deep chasm, off to seek his ark and adventure.

[ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok]

Title: Opening Night AO3: Part of “Agent Carter Bingo Moodboards” Rating: General Warnings: None Relationship: Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli Word Count: 137 Additional Tags: Moodboard, Drabble, -Ish, Fluff, Established Relationship, Backstage, Acting, Nervousness, Pet Names, Nervous Angie Martinelli, Summary: Backstage buzzed with nervous excitement, so no one gave a second thought to Angie’s pacing. Notes: Made for the @agentcarterbingo prompt “Nervous.”

After weeks of preparation, opening night finally arrived. Backstage buzzed with nervous excitement, so no one gave a second thought to Angie’s pacing. She peaked behind the curtain for what must have been the eighth time in as many minutes, scanning the audience for any sign of Peggy.

Still nothing.

She sighed, ready to resume her pacing when a stagehand interrupted her.

Showtime.

Angie hurried to her mark and with the rise of the curtain all thoughts and worries fell away. She’d always known she was meant for this, for the stage, and the way her words and actions flowed so effortlessly proved that to her with each and every second.

Only to be tripped up ever so slightly when her eyes locked on another pair in the front row.

Peggy smiled as she mouthed, Hello, darling.

[tatsumiku1]

Once again begging the cartinelli fanfic writers to please come back. I can't take it anymore.

[hunterofartemis151]

Hi! Welcome to my page!

I use this page for my fanfic writing. You can find me by this name on ao3 and Wattpad, and by CrofterKing on ff.net.

These are the fandoms I will write for:

Harry Potter (any gen)

Percy Jackson, Magnus Chase

Marvel (Primarily MCU)

Hunger Games

Heartstopper

Wednesday

Sanders Sides

Ted Lasso

Our Flag Means Death

Hazbin Hotel

Dead Poets Society

What will I write? Great question! Here's a list:

Anything LGBTQ

Reader insert

Depending on the prompt, smut

ALL THE FLUFF AND ANGST YOU CAN HANDLE

Disabled characters

Age appropriate relationships (same age to five or six years between depending on younger person's age)

Time travel! This means based on the above I may write a fic between to characters if the younger person time travels back to meet with the older person back in time.

Most common AUs. Just ask!

Imagines

Blurbs

What WON'T I write? Here's my list:

Child (under age of consent) with an adult in any romantic or sexual relationship. If they're old enough to be the younger person's parent I don't write it. See above for my comfortable age range, and the one exception (time travel) to the rule.

Certain kinks. I've read a lot of shit and I... will not write stuff. If your prompt is ignored and you've put in kink specifics don't re-submit it. I may add a list here later.

Hateful content towards any specific person or community.

IF THEY'RE RELATED IT AIN'T HAPPENING

Nothing sexual with age regression

What ships I'll definitely write for:

Wolfstar

Moonstarchaser

Jily

Jegulily

Jegulus

Solangelo

Percabeth

Pernico

FierroChase

Hearthblitz

Stony

Stucky

Stonucky

Brutasha

Spideypool (NOT TOM HOLLAND RYAN REYNOLDS)

Pepperony

Steggy

Cartinelli

Katniss and Peeta

Haymitch and Effie

Charlie and Nick

Tao and Elle

Darcy and Tara

Wenclair

Any sanders sides ships except Creativitwins

Tedependent (TedTrent)

Roy, Jamie and Keeley

Keeley and Rebecca

GentleBeard / BlackBonnet

Radioapple (With immense respect to Alastor's sexuality and romantic orientation)

Dusthusker/Angelhusk

Anderperry

Reader with a character/character(s)

Maybe more, just ask!

This list may change, and I'll alter it as I get requests!

I'll post it on here with links to the other sites I write on.

Unless I get a prompt that sticks in my brain, it'll be oneshots.

I in no way endorse the actions or thoughts of JK Rowling.

Also I'm in school so that will take precedence over writing.

Cheers!

[fuckthisappiguess]

“Goddamnit!” Angie cursed as she dropped the glass she had been cleaning. The diner was empty, save one lone costumer sitting in a corner booth. It was the end of a long shift, and her patience was wearing thin. She grabbed the dustpan from under the counter and knelt to sweep up the glass. As she did so, the bell on the door rung.

“I’ll be right with you!” Angie called. She stood, and -- Jesus Christ. She found herself face to face with the most beautiful woman Angie had ever seen. The woman sat at the counter directly infront of Angie. Her lips were bright red, her hair perfectly curled, and her cheekbones… goddamn. But mostly, it was her eyes that fascinated Angie. Her eyes were a light brown, the color was perhaps nothing special, but the warmth, and intelligence, and light behind them that made Angie want to get to know her better.

“Excuse me?” Angie snapped back into reality at the sound of the woman’s voice. It was polite and accented -- English, Angie thought.

“I’m sorry hon, it’s been a long day. What can I do for you?” Angie recovered, hoping the woman wouldn’t notice her gawking.

“I’ll have some tea, please. Earl grey, if you have it,” the woman said, running a hand through her chesnut hair.

“Sure thing. I’m pretty sure we have some somewhere,” Angie said, shuffling through the shelves. “Bingo!” she grabbed a cup from the counter and started to boil some water. “Probably not as good as the stuff you’ve got in England, but it’s all I’ve got for ya.”

“I’m sure it’ll suffice,” she said with a smile.

“And, here we are,” Angie grinned, pouring the water over the teabag in the cup, sliding it across the counter.

“Thank you… Angie,” the woman said. Angie was startled at first that she knew her name, but quickly realized she was wearing her name tag.

She shrugged, trying to be nonchanlant, “Anytime, English.”

The woman quirked an eyebrow, “English?”

“What, am I wrong?”

“I suppose not,” she smiled, taking a sip of her tea. She made a little face (adorably, if you asked Angie), but kept drinking.

“Not so bad, huh?”

The woman just smiled again, and took another sip. Angie giggled, before heading over to the corner booth again, a slight spring in her step. Angie wasn’t quite sure what, but something about this newcomer held her attention, fascinating her. She returned to the counter, juggling the various dishes she had cleared, sliding them into the kitchen.

“So, what’s a fancy English gal such as yourself doin’ in the States?” Angie asked, trying to keep her voice calm and collected.

“Work,” the woman said vaguely, seemingly avoiding a straight answer.

“Oh yeah? What kinda work?” Angie countered, her interest piqued.

She sighed, running a hand through her perfect chesnut hair, “Military, actually.” Angie’s eyes widened in surprise and opened her mouth to reply, but the woman quickly added, “Nothing to intense, mostly deskwork, paperwork and the like.”

“Huh,” Angie nodded. “You must be real busy right now. What with… Everything…” she waved her hands for emphasis. As she gazed at the customer, she couldn’t help but picture her in a military uniform, looking fierce and intimidating.

“Yes, I suppose we are,” she said, taking a long sip of tea.

[fire-ash-rebirth]

Marvel Femslash Bingo Prompt: Professor AU (Peggy x Angie)

Students in the theatre department were of the opinion that Dr. Martinelli, according to her RateMyProfessor reviews, “looks like a cinnamon roll, and is actually a cinnamon roll”. Her Introduction to American Musical Theatre class was a common favorite for the theatre undergrads, and she was one of the most requested advisors amongst the graduate students. In contrast to some of the older, stuffier, Shakespeare-is-the-pinnacle-of-theatre professors, Dr. Martinelli was well known for seeming to actually have fun with the material, and welcoming alternate interpretations and new ideas from the students. Coupled with her generally exuberant personality, it was no mystery why she was so beloved by her students.

If one were to read the RateMyProfessor reviews, or even just ask around the history department, it would be difficult to create a uniform (or even vaguely coherent) understanding of Dr. Carter. Some thought she was strict but fair, rewarding hard work with little tolerance for shenanigans. Some thought she was hilarious and fascinating. Some thought she was the devil incarnate. No one thought she was boring. Curiosity alone was enough to prompt students to sign up for her History of 20th Century Espionage class.

While they had never intended to hide the nature of their relationship, Dr. Carter wasn’t exactly one to keep her heart on her sleeve, and Dr. Martinelli’s tendency to use pet names added a certain amount of unintentional obfuscation. While all the theatre students knew about Dr. Martinelli’s beloved “English”, few would have guessed the nickname belonged to Dr. Carter. So when Dr. Martinelli announced to her class that the next unit would involve an examination of Spies Are Forever, and that Dr. Carter would be joining them next week to discuss the historical context, nobody thought anything of it. 

Considering the standard theatre student’s tolerance for history, the class found themselves surprisingly engaged in Dr. Carter’s guest lecture. Some of that could be attributed to inherent comedy of the juxtaposition of such a serious historical analysis against such a ridiculous story, but Dr. Carter’s presentation of the material had a surprisingly personal tone to it that certainly didn’t hurt. But the real noteworthy moment came at the end of class, as Dr. Carter was packing up her things and the students started filing out of the classroom, when the stragglers heard Dr. Carter commented to Dr. Martinelli, “You’ve certainly got a solid group of students this year.”

Like any group of self-conscious young adults, they might have slowed their pace in order to overhear Dr. Martinelli respond with a wink, “You weren’t so bad yourself, English.”

[stop-grating-cheese]

Seven - A Cartinelli story

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182080

hi everyone, I have posted my first fanfiction! this is my first time publishing work so please be nice :) it's a peggy carter/angie martinelli fic based on the song seven by Taylor Swift I hope you all enjoy!!

tagging: @stuckys-hot-dogs​ @spook-greaterx @likea-black-widow-baby

[sagesiren]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Agent Carter (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Summary:

Her day had started nearly forty hours before when North Korea had marched too far South for anyone's liking, and she'd been subsisting on coffee and frustration at the American government's incompetence since. 

While her fledgling organization wasn't large enough nor old enough to be regarded as a player on the national level quite yet, her agents were more capable than any others in the country by half, and she still suspected vital information was being withheld. 

Not to mention that the process of moving her base of operations to D.C. - and every agent along with it - was hard enough without a war complicating things.

Or a child.

(It's 1950 and Peggy decides she needs a live-in nanny after gaining custody of her niece, Sharon. Enter: Angie.)

it’s already been a few weeks since it was revealed, but this was my work for the SSR Confidential exchange this year! 

[emerysaks]

Happy Pride, everyone! I hope your month has been amazing.

Here’s a little treat for the last few hours of June!

[allieebobo]

Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli

Rule #1: Peggy Carter is sometimes wrong. 

Summary: 

Peggy falling in love with another scrappy Brooklyn kid, in a mostly-canon re-write of Agent Carter season 1 and a non-canon-re-write of season 2, because we all know how that went down. Domestic shenanigans from New York to L.A.

Chapter Three: Peggy puts her guns to good use.

Angie and Peggy find themselves with very little time to spare for each other - or for anything besides work, for that matter - and after a while, Angie decides enough is enough.

[Extract - read the full thing on ao3]

It’s perhaps unsurprising then that in between the whirlwind that has become their work lives, Peggy and Angie barely see each other.

Every morning, Peggy gives Angie a quick peck on the cheek, makes them both a cup of coffee and is out of the house by half-past seven. Every night, Angie returns from a late-night shoot or evening party or dinner appointment and slips into bed as quietly as she can. Peggy would stir and murmur a sleepy “goodnight love,” before they both slipped back into sleep again almost instantly. Other nights, Peggy would climb in from a particularly thorny mission, clean up as quickly as she can, and climb into the sheets. Angie would turn over sleepily and hold her, their bodies fitting snugly against each other. On very rare occasions, they’d kiss for as long as they can both stay awake, though the high score on this is dismal: something like 2.3 seconds.

The weekends are slightly better. They usually succeed in clobbing together a couple of hours to catch each other up on the past week – and, on occasion, indulge in some of what Angie calls “non-verbal catching up” – before some emergency inadvertently crops up and ends in one of them (if not both) exiting hurriedly with a string of apologies and promises they both know they won’t – and can’t – keep.

Sometimes, Angie would have a late-enough shoot that she’d have time for a hurried breakfast with Ana before leaving; Peggy and Edwin saw each other thanks to Howard’s side quests, but outside of that, they’ve maybe had three non-work-related conversations in the past three weeks.

But this life is everything they’ve ever dreamed of and more. They’re doing what they love, what they’re good at, and the excitement tides them both over for a while. Soon though, they realize that they’re exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically, but neither can decide if they’d really have it any other way.

One afternoon, after returning home from an early-morning shoot, Angie reheats the cup of coffee Peggy has left out for her and finds herself staring at a tiny framed photograph on the kitchen counter. It’s Peggy, wearing an army uniform and a crooked half-smile and a twinkling gaze. Peggy had finally handed it to her, back when they’d been living in Stark’s house, after she’d spent all morning badgering her about not having something to “remember her by”. (“What are you, eighty? Why can’t you remember me without a visual aid?” “We need something to put on the bedside table, alright?”)

She looks around the apartment and sighs. She misses having entire mornings to badger Peggy about random things. In stark contrast to the Jarvises, their portion of Stark’s mansion remains almost completely bare, apart from the bed they sleep in and the single table they’ve stationed in the kitchen. None of them had had any time to go furniture shopping, and they’d taken only their clothes and the bare minimum of knick-knacks from New York.

Today, the expanse of hardwood flooring and undecorated walls feels oppressively sterile, seeming to scream out at her in neglected anguish. Boxes of their stuff from the old apartment remain unopened and stacked neatly by the door. She’s suddenly gripped with the need to do something to make the place feel more like home.

She grabs the telephone and rings her PR manager to ask if it’s possible to postpone her press event, the only thing she has scheduled for that day. At first, he’s apoplectic, then cajoling, then resigned. At the end of the day, he’s used to this shit. “Fine,” he huffs. “Take the day off. You’re a hard worker, Martinelli. But don’t make this a habit.” Angie grins and thanks him profusely before rolling up her sleeves and getting down to business.

When Peggy returns home that evening, she’s hit with the smell of garlic bread wafting from the kitchen. Then she notices the newly-fixed-up coffee table and shelving in the living room. Her first thought is that the Jarvises must’ve come back early from the week-long beach trip they were on and decided to be helpful with all the free time on their hands, but she had not seen their car in the driveway. Her next suspicion is that they might’ve been visited by a very kind and conscientious burglar, because it’s been so long since Angie’s been back earlier than eight on a weekday, and who the heck would’ve had the time to purchase - and fix up the new additions to their flat?

She pads her way into the kitchen and finds Angie standing at the stove. She wraps her arms around the woman from behind. “So you’re the conscientious burglar,” She says, nuzzling her nose into Angie’s shoulder.

Angie laughs and tries to shrug her off, but the agent clings on tight and refuses to let go. She even peppers a quick smattering of kisses along Angie’s cheek and neck, until Angie finally turns around and, still giggling, pushes her away. “You’re messing with the magic,” Angie tells her, shaking her head as she lifts the lid to give the ragu another stir.

“You’ve been busy,” She says, finally letting go of Angie and stepping round to try and cop a taste of the sauce – only to have her fingers whacked away. She sighs and settles for copping a kiss instead. Angie softens and smiles against her lips, and Peggy takes this as permission to step in closer and deepen the kiss. Angie sighs into it, then wastes no time in dropping her spatula so she can cup Peggy’s face with both hands. The agent’s hands drop to Angie’s waist. The kiss turns heated; Angie’s gaze is hungry as she makes short work of Peggy’s jacket, which falls to the ground beside them and is promptly kicked away as Peggy hitches Angie up onto the kitchen counter.

Then the pasta pot froths over and Angie curses, breaking away quickly. Peggy snatches the lid off and lowers the fire. Angie hops off the counter and grabs a towel to mop up the spillage.

Crisis averted, they turn back to grin at each other, hearts still pounding. Peggy’s the first to break the silence. “I tasted ragù on you,” she accuses.

Angie’s laugh rings out and Peggy is reminded just how much she’s missed the sound. “Chef’s privileges, darling. Can you take the bread out of the oven?” Peggy complies, setting the tray on the counter. She’s about to grab a piece but Angie pre-empts her and hip-checks her out of the way. “-No . Calm your britches, woman, jeez – what do they have you doing in that office of yours? Jumping jacks all day?”

Peggy suddenly turns sober, something clearly on her mind. “Actually, about uh, about work – I wanted to talk to you.”

Angie sighs and bites her lip. She’d wanted to broach the topic more delicately. Over dinner, perhaps. Or after a glass of red each. Still, now was as good a time as any. “I wanted to talk to you about work too,” She says quietly.

Peggy pauses at this. “Okay, you go first.”

Angie takes a deep breath. “I know it’s difficult because we’re both busy and I mean, I love my job, hell – I’ve waited my whole life for a break like this. But the thing is,” She frowns as the pasta threatens to boil over again. She reaches out and switches the stove off completely before continuing. “You’re the best part of my day. Truth be told, you’re the best part of my life. And I’d like to have a little more of you. I want to make more time for... us. I know it won’t be easy - for you, especially, but I’d like to try.” She stares up earnestly at Peggy, then notices that the woman’s smiling. She narrows her eyes. “Why are you – what did you want to talk to me about?”  

Peggy laughs. “Well, I have to say... You did all the heavy lifting, love. Now all I have to do is agree with you.” Angie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now too. “There will always be... some parts of my job that are non-negotiable. But there are parts that are. Today I just sat my team down to tell them not to call me on the weekends unless it’s a real emergency.” She grimaces slightly. “I mean, we’re still... working on coming to some sort of consensus on what ‘emergency’ means, but it’s a start.”

Angie quirks an eyebrow. “Knowing you, a filing mishap probably counts as an emergency.”

Peggy snorts and doesn't even attempt to protest. “I’ll work on it. I will never stop working my arse off to make sure I spend enough time with you.”

Angie sighs and pulls Peggy close. “I missed you,” She whispers into Peggy’s neck as the other woman’s arms tighten around her, strong and sure.

“I missed you too,” Peggy breathes. The moment is broken only when her stomach gives a loud and insistent rumble. “Sorry. Clearly I missed your amazing cooking, too,” She adds.

Angie laughs and smacks her in the arm as they release each other. “You’re a true romantic, Margaret Elizabeth Carter.”

Peggy smiles and scoops the pasta and sauce out onto two plates. “You bring it out of me.” Angie pours out glasses of wine. They both settle into their seats in the dining room. “Candles?” Peggy offers, and Angie nods in agreement.

"Are we going to be able to find them though?" She asks, casting a worried glance to the boxes of their stuff by the door.

Peggy makes a sound of vindication. "This is precisely why I told you we should have an efficient labelling system," She says, finding them easily. "See: 'small functional knick-knacks'," She says, sticking the candles into their holders and putting them on the table. Angie rolls her eyes and lights the candles.

They talk till the candles turn to stubs, casting a warm, flickering golden glow over their faces. Peggy feels an ache rise in her gut as she takes in the beautiful sweep of Angie’s lips - the ever-present sparkle in her eyes - and marvels once more how lucky she’d gotten. “Have I ever told you how glad I am to have you in my life?” Peggy asks, quietly, and sees the woman’s face lights up, as though hearing the words for the first time, as though she’ll never get tired of being told how much Peggy wants her, needs her.

“Tell me again,” Angie breathes, and Peggy does - says it a few times in words and a few more in slightly more creative ways.  

[remedial-wit]

21/02/19

Femslash February day 21 - Cartinelli

Sickfic

When Peggy comes back home from another long day, the house is silent. Which is strange.

Because usually, Peggy comes home to the sound of singing Broadway tunes, or Angie reciting sonnets and lines for auditions,  or hot oil sizzling in a pan for cooking, or, at the very least, the radio on. But instead the house is still, and cold, and utterly too quiet. It's just enough to put Peggy instantly on edge.

Everything looks in place, there's no mess or anything glaringly suspicious she's noticing (barring the silence.) Peggy would almost just assume Angie's gone out, except her house keys are still in their little key dish by the entrance, and her coat and boots are still left in the foyer.

“Darling?” Peggy calls, treading down the corridors slowly, alert. “Are you home? Angie?”

The feeling of dread creeps further up her spine, and Peggy holds her breath, listening for anything.

Oh, this is all her fault. She should have been more careful — it was foolishness, stupidity , putting Angie in harm’s way by moving in with her. How could she ever think for a second she could keep contacts with a civilian , let alone share a bed with one. And Angie is so sweet and kind and utterly unequipped to be dealing with Peggy s kind of trouble, and now she might be —

From two doors away, the door to their bedroom, a gross, wet noise sounds, and Peggy freezes.

She’s at the door in an instant, practically kicking it down.

From under the covers, Angie lets loose a loud sneeze and blows her nose.

“Hi Pegs,” she says, looking up. Her voice is all nasally and throaty and quiet. She lets out a little sniffle. Her eyes drift down to the handgun held tightly in Peggy’s grip. “What’ve you got there?”

“Oh,” Peggy replies, a little stunned. “You're sick .”

And she really is. Her skin is both pale and flushed, her skin is clammy, the little curls of hair around her face sticking, her eyes are much too watery, and she's definitely shivering. She lets out another shocking sneeze.

“Nah, I'm fine.” she says.

Peggy rolls her eyes, storing her handgun away again properly, before approaching the bed. Angie is bundled up in a sort of mountain-cocoon of sheets, with her head peeping out at the top.

“It's freezing in here, no wonder you're ill,” says Peggy, turning on the electric heating Howard set up a few months back before climbing into bed as well.

“Stop it,” Angie protests batting her away with her hands weakly, but she leans into Peggy's warmth anyway. “I'll make you sick too.”

Peggy hums and curls her arms around her and kisses the top of her head.  “Oh, so you admit it, huh?”

“Shut up, English.”

Angie is small in her arms, head resting, now, in Peggy's lap, eyes closed, breathing heavily through her mouth, fitting perfectly. Even just sitting here like this, back against the headboard, is just so comfortable, and Peggy allows herself to stroke a hand down Angie's soft honey curls.

They’ve been living together for almost a year now, and sleeping together for almost half. What used to be Howard's mansion is now their home. Soft, worn in, cotton duvets, curtains in Angie's favourite shade of rosy pink, cushions embroidered by Peggy's mother, and a crocheted blanket from Angie's Nana draped over the both of them on the bed in soft grey.

And Peggy… Peggy never thought she would be able to have this sort of thing, especially after Steve and the war and the SSR position, even if they have to keep it a secret.

It's still nice to go on picnics, or dinner dates happily and eagerly supplied to them by Jarvis’ services, even though they both insist it is unnecessary.

She is truly happy now, and she has someone to share it with.

Not to mention, Angie deals with Peggy’s particular brand of vocational trauma brilliantly. Peggy is almost in awe, it's amazing.

“Thanks for taking care of me Pegs,” says Angie softly after a while, voice a little croaky. “Man, what did I do to deserve you?”

Peggy lets out a small laugh, and smiles down fondly at her. “Oh, sweetheart. I think it's the other way around, I'm afraid.” She replies, and bends to drop another kiss on Angie's head. “Now, tell me where your mother's soup recipe is so I can take care of you even better.”

Like you always take care of me, she thinks.

[just-an-enby-lemon]

Thinking about writing a salty good parent Howard Stark fic. He is a great dad and love his new son but it's kindda pissed about it. Where Agent Carter Howard accidentaly created a variant by bringing main MCU baby Tony to his reality (AC it's a diferent universe and Cartinelli is real I don't care) and he just automatically assumes responsability and than is angy over it (mostly with other him)

Howard: Oh cool, I didn't want children, I used protection and all that but them this asshole who dares to use my name just refuses to be a dad and now here am I having to trow my alcohool away, being forced to have responsabilities and buying a bunch of kid shit and kid friending my lab so he can invent without hurting and making sure he doesn't have alergies and parent-teacher conferences and pausing my date life, fuck ...

Peggy: You know you don't HAVE to do it, right? I don't want you to send him back but you can, or you can give him to me and Angie or to the Jarvises and...

Howard: SHUT UP. I'm already planning his bar mitzva.

Peggy: He is five?

Howard: He will be 13 someday.

[northby-northwest]

hey! I remember you saying you were a writer a while ago, and I was wondering if you had any Cartinelli headcannons you'd like to write?

girl this has been sitting in my google docs for like. a year? and it's quite literally my fifth attempt at fanfiction. i did have a really popular fic on wattpad when i was like. 11.

anyway! enjoy these 500 words.

Margaret Carter made a habit of calling home when she was going to be late. It was only the polite thing to do, of course. Her “roommate” would cook her dinner, maybe even wait awake for her, if she didn’t ring ahead. Hell, if she didn’t, Angie would chew her ear off. Peggy Carter was not in the habit of getting scolded by 5’5” Italian women.

So when Chief Thompson dismissed the men with the instructions to call their wives, it was only sensical for Agent Carter to ring her lover. No one paid her any mind, anyway. After the Stark case was resolved, she went right back to being a fly on the wall to the men at the SSR, albeit with a lot more field opportunities.

The phone was picked up on the second ring. “Angie, darling-”

“English! Thank god. Are you dead?” Angie’s Italian drawl and New York speed only increased with stress, which is a good word to describe what the woman was feeling at the moment.

“I’m perfectly fine, darling. It’s just-”

“Oh thank god. Y’know, I was cooking my Nonna’s meatloaf recipe- you know, your favorite-” Peggy very much knew. Her mouth watered at the thought, “and I remembered I hadn’t gotten a call from you all day. Are you swamped? Is there some big shot murderer who needs catching?”

“I’m afraid so. Will you be alright?” Peggy clutched the phone tight, despising not being able to spend the night with her love.

“Absolutely spectacular! I’ll pop the meatloaf in the oven so it stays warm for you.” Peggy could practically hear Angie’s smile through the phone. “I love you, Peg. Stay safe out there, kay?”

“And I you, darling.” Peggy wholeheartedly wished she could say the words back, but she couldn’t, not in the proximity of any craning neck or passing ear. Angie understood, of course. “Couldn’t let the meatloaf get cold.”

“Who was that?”

Peggy quickly slammed the phone down, whipping around to see the intruding man behind her. “Jesus H. Christ! Daniel!”

“Did you not hear me coming?”

“No! I obviously did not.”

“Who’s ‘darling’?” He wiggled his eyebrow mischievously.

Peggy pulled up the curtain of English emotional-distance. “No one.”

Daniel’s eyes widened with glee. “Oh my god. Peggy Carter has someone at home. I can’t believe it!” He paused, a shit-eating grin growing on his face. “Agent Carter has a wife to call home to.”

“I do not. That was Angie, my roommate.” Peggy brushed him off quickly. “She makes me dinner sometimes, I didn’t want to keep her.” The best lies are half-truths, as they say.

“Well that-” Daniel was cut off by a screeching Jack Thompson.

“Carter! Sousa! Do you have nothing better to do?”

[blazestarninja13]

Blaze’s fic masterlist

Here’s a masterlist of the current stuff that I’ve written so far! I’ll update this every time I write something new.

Marvel

Agent Carter

No Other Love- (Cartinelli) Peggy is Stressed and Angie is there to tell her to chill

Christmas Cookies- (Cartinelli) Angie and Peggy attempt to make sugar cookies and chaos ensures

Carter Comforts- (Cartinelli) Peggy comforts Angie after a bad Broadway audition

[fuckthisappiguess]

New chapter of “The Things that Haunt Us” up!

“You really don’t need to help me.”

“Well, I want to, so too bad.”

“Angie, really, I’m perfectly capable of taking a bath--“

“English, you’ve been in pain all evening--”

“That’s not exactly a new thing, I can handle it.”

“Just because you can handle it doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“You’re being ridiculous, I don’t understand why you can’t just let me--”

“Because I don’t want you to slip and fucking hurt yourself!” Angie shouted, feeling her face turn red hot, her hands trembling. Peggy’s face went white and void of expression. She took a deep breath, in and out, and her shoulders slumped forward.

“I just… I just want you to be careful. And I don’t want things to get worse because of a bath,” Angie whispered, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry.”

Peggy nodded ever so slightly. Angie reached out a hand, a silent request for permission to touch. To her relief, Peggy met her half way, their fingers intertwining.

Peggy had been home for a two days now, and had been very obviously avoiding bathing. But today, she had decided that it was time. And although Angie understood it was important for her to be independent, she would not entertain the idea of Peggy getting in and out of a bath by herself. She saw how Peggy stumbled around their apartment, wincing with every step, lowering herself down ever so carefully onto their couch. Of course, Angie left the apartment daily for work, but then Peggy was around Steve and Bucky, and they had strength in numbers. But she hadn’t really been alone yet.

“Okay. Ready?” Peggy nodded again, and Angie led her to the bathroom. She had noticed that occasionally Peggy would simply stop speaking. It wasn’t always clear what triggered it. Sometimes it was obvious that something had happened, but othertimes it felt random. So Angie learned to pay close attention to Peggy’s mood, knowing when to take the lead, and when to leave her space.

Read the full chapter and fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015304/chapters/69647670