#in starstruck odyssey we have 'who do you know in this room right now'

[advent-march]

I love when Zac's anger, as a PC, bleeds into his character and he drops the wildest lines. It happens at least once every campaign.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober22 day twenty-nine

a/n: this is a bday gift for @ginger-canary, who is partially liable for the crack ship that is astra logue/margaret encino that i now inflict upon you, there is a fic preceding this that will probably remain in freckles and i's DMs unless y'all are clamoring for it but fair warning - this fic is spicier than my usual fare lol. with that out of the way, read on!

"You love this, don't you?"

fandoms: legends of tomorrow/dimension 20 (a starstruck odyssey)

word count: 1400

Astra knew she was in for trouble when she saw that familiar hot dog shaped ship. After all, it was hard to miss the Wurst. 

She’d been standing on the bridge talking with Gideon when it appeared in front of them out of nowhere. She should have known they couldn’t just leave it behind - the time drive was still faulty, so they were stuck drifting through Anarch-Era trying to dodge the Fixers. It was still better than being in jail since they’d gotten the fabricator working. But she’d hope that what happened in Baustin would have stayed in Baustin, that Margaret Encino’s spot on the historical fucks list would never be revisited. 

Truly, what luck did she have to bump into them again?

Her plan was to ignore it, but Gideon made that difficult. When she locked eyes on the ship, she asked, “Isn’t that those people we met back in New Texas?”

“I don’t know, could be,” Astra said, fiddling around with the screen in front of her to avoid taking a closer look at the ship. 

“They were quite fun. Especially that Sidney Sundry,” Gideon said, grinning. 

Astra glanced up at her. “I mean, there’s probably a million ships like that out here.”

Gideon didn’t seem convinced by her attempts to distract her. “Or did Miss Encino break your heart back in Baustin?”

“She didn’t break my heart,” Astra grumbled. “We hooked up once and were done.”

She was quiet for a moment, staring out at the ship. “You know, as much as I love you and the rest of the Legends, it would be nice to hear some other people’s voices.”

It took her a moment to realize what Gideon was about to do, but she was already hailing the ship before Astra could stop her. “This is the Waverider here, designation WR-2059, am I speaking to the Wurst? Riva, isn’t it?”

Astra hadn’t really chatted with Riva back at Barry’s Big Win. Yet when she heard the voice come in through the ship’s speakers, she knew she was fucked. “Yes, this is Riva speaking?”

“Hi, I don’t know if we got to talk much, but this is Gideon. We showed up at your casino opening, me, Astra, and Spooner.”

At the mention of Spooner’s name, they gasped. “Oh, yes, I remember Spooner! It’s lovely to see you all again. Very nice ship, may I say.”

“Thank you. It used to be me, but-”

Astra knew that if she just listened to this conversation, she would get a headache, so she said, “Hey, Astra here. Astra Logue. Is Margaret around?”

“Yes, hold on a marbec,” they told her. 

There was silence of Riva’s end, and Gideon turned to Astra with a grin. “Should I give you two some privacy?”

“Oh, so now you respect people’s privacy,” she said. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. If you need me, I’ll be seeing if Behrad needs any help in the engine room.”

Gideon scampered off as Margaret’s voice came in over the speakers. “Hey there, stranger. I thought you were on the run.”

“Still are,” Astra said. “I thought you were too.”

“Well, we kinda figured that one out,” she told her. 

Astra glanced around the bridge, ear out for any Legends with bad timing creeping up. “I’m shipbound at the moment,” she said. “In case you were going to ask me to come on over.”

She wished she could see Margaret right now, to see her sly smile, how she was probably lounging in her captain’s chair in that dark blue pantsuit. Astra had seen that image in her dreams many times, except she’d been in her lap most of those dreams. 

“There’s always our escape pod. Does your ship have room for visitors?” Margaret asked. 

“We have a jumpship dock, if that’s what you’re asking. It might not be completely compatible, but it’ll work.”

Over the line, she could hear her hum. “I know we said it was going to be a one-time thing…”

“You need a little stress relief?” Astra asked. 

“Let’s say that.”

“I should probably ask the captains. Or really, the stand-in captain,” she told her. “How many captains do you have?” Margaret asked incredously. 

“Too many. Give me a minute. Martron. Whatever.”

Astra walked away from the bridge and deeper into the ship. She hazarded a guess and dipped into the lab, where Zari was mid-game of Go Fish with Spooner and Booster. 

“Hey, we’re getting a visitor,” she said.

Spooner set her cards down as she and Booster stood up. “The Fixers found us.”

“Not that kind of visitor,” Astra said, holding her hand up. “Just those people we met in Baustin.”

Zari laughed. “You mean whoever left you a hickey at that party?”

“I’m not answering that,” she said, leaving the three of them to her game. But she could still hear Zari’s chortles coming from down the hall to give Margaret the okay. 

It took a while to figure out exactly how to get the escape pod into the jumpship bay, which thankfully had more than enough room for two small ships. She’d seen the escape pod when it housed a Royal Blue Mastiff. However, next to the jumpship, it looked out of place. It looked much older despite them being far in the future. But she couldn’t say much, given that she’d brought shoulder pads into the 21st century from stuck-in-the-80s Hell.

After so much time, seeing Margaret Encino felt like a fever dream. She swept out of the escape pod, her short heels hitting the metal as she came over to her and pulled her into a kiss without hesitation. There was nothing particularly romantic about it. But it took her off her feet, and caught her off guard. 

When Margaret broke away, she looked around the jumpship docking bay. “I figured your ship would be a lot more colorful.”

“Time Master aesthetics are a lot more bland than Americadian tastes,” Astra said, recalling the tour she’d gotten back on the Wurst.

Margaret laughed at that. “Yeah, they are.” She put her hands on her hips. “So, I gave you a tour of my ship, how about a tour of yours?”

“Alright,” she said. “Buckle in to be bored.”

The Waverider had many less points of interest. She showed off the library, where Gwyn and Alun were catching up on lost time. They breezed over to the galley, where Gary and Ava were sharing cups of coffee. Then they popped into the engine room to check on how Behrad and Gideon were doing with the time drive. And finally, back to the lab where the Go-Fish crew waved through the glass, lest Zari give her the big-sister eyebrow wiggle treatment. 

Well, not finally. The last stop they made were the quarters. After tiptoeing past the captain’s quarters, Astra led Margaret to her room. With the knowledge that her two neighbors were both busy, nosy Legends were the last thing on her mind. 

“You love this, don’t you?” Margaret asked, plopping down in her blood-red armchair. 

Astra crossed her arms. “Love what?”

“Being on your own turf.”

She snorted. “Please, the only thing about my own turf I love is being able to lock the door.” In fact, she went over the panel next to her door and locked the doors to the hall and the en-suite she shared with Spooner for good measure. “There. No one busting in.”

“Let me put it this way,” Margaret said. “Last time, I was the boss. But now it’s your ship, your rules.”

Astra looked her over in her armchair, one elbow propped up on the arm as her bright blue eyes glittered with anticipation. She made the executive design to come over to her and place one knee on the cushion of the arm chair, leaning in close to her. “You sure you wanna give up your position?”

“Well, we’ll probably never see each other again once those friends of yours figure out how to leave Anarch-Era,” she pointed out. “I’ll let you have a little fun.”

“No one has to let me do anything,” Astra said. She straddled her lap, running her fingers through her red hair. “Let’s make this run-in worth it.”

As she leaned in to kiss Margaret Encino once more, she wondered if she could get something special from putting someone on the historical fucks list twice.

[voiceless-terror]

What We’re Given and What We Make

@aspecarchivesweek Day Two: Family, also for @dheiress, who prompted Jon/Gerry/Martin waking up!

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Martin wakes to Gerry’s soft touches, his fingers mapping constellations from the freckles on his arm. “Mm. Morning, love. Jon already up?”

“Actually, I think you’re on top of him.”

“Ah, alright.”

The sunlight is filtering through the window Jon forgot to close and it’s been letting in a cool breeze all night; it’s probably why Jon’s currently burrowed mostly underneath him, an almost imperceptible bump in the covers. Martin loves the fresh scent that floods the apartment but Jon’s bound to be grumpy about it, waking up with a stuffy nose and an irritated throat. He’ll blame it on one of them; Jon enjoys dodging responsibility for these small, inconsequential things. And they always let him.

Gerry meets his eyes with a knowing look, stopping his ministrations to reach up and give Martin a dry peck on the forehead. “Sleep well?”

“Reckon so.” He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Gerry’s ear, smiling at the demure look it earns him. He’s so lovely in the morning light, clothes rumpled and the remnants of eyeliner smeared across his cheek. Jon likes to help him take it off in the evening, smooths a towel across his face like Gerry’s made of porcelain and liable to break. The intimacy of the motions and the tender care behind them makes Martin want to put pen to paper.

When he first met Gerry he expected someone much, much different, the image from Jon’s starstruck tales paint a certain type of picture, you see. Someone arrogant and dashing, a hero from some gritty drama. But he’s shy, quiet and almost unassuming. Jon drags him over from the bar, practically vibrating in excitement and where he should feel jealousy at their interlocked hands he instead feels a sense of belonging, like the man’s hands are made for holding and the other’s waiting for Martin to take.

“This is Jared Keay, Martin-”

“Ger-ard,” the man stresses, throwing a fondly exasperated look Jon’s way before meeting Martin’s eyes. “You can call me Gerry, though.”

Gerry. There’s a friendly cadence to it, warm and kind. Martin likes the way it rolls off his tongue, likes to whisper it to himself when the man dozes on his chest, soft and unguarded only when he’s alone with them. It had taken them quite some time to break his shell and see past the deflective humor and occasional posturing. Breaking down his walls was a task Martin took to with relish- he’d done it with Jon, and he’d do it again. Gerry was worth it.

And Gerry’s not one to ruminate, he doesn’t like to dwell on the memories of times with his mother or at the Institute where Jon currently slaves away. But Martin knows he hasn’t quite shaken them off, he can read it in the way he considers his words, when he hesitates at certain touches. Martin can relate; he still hears the phantom echoes of his mother’s voice, her criticisms that followed his every move. When it gets to be too much Jon assures him of his importance, of his worth outside of being useful, and now he has Gerry to do that too. These days, Martin’s starting to think he deserves such devotion. 

He hopes Gerry’s starting to think the same.

He remembers when he first opened the bookstore, when Gerry helped him set up shelving and plan the layout. Gerry’s telling one of his stories, one Martin’s heard a thousand times and will gladly hear a thousand more. He passes Martin a hammer and for a brief moment their hands touch; an electric pulse shoots up his spine and he knows Gerry feels it too, judging by his own shiver. They were getting close; Gerry spent many nights at their flat slowly opening up and feeling comfortable in his skin. Martin’s been waiting for this moment but Gerry didn’t expect it; he withdrew from them until he could put a name to something he’d never quite felt before. 

And so two became three. 

“You know, I didn’t think this would ever happen to me,” Gerry confesses one night, while the two of them lie in bed, Jon puttering away in his study. “Didn’t think I was built for it. But then Jon came along and you, and- I don’t know. It just feels right.”

“Because it is,” Martin replies, running a hand down Gerry’s back, rucking his shirt up just a bit. He’s so sure of the truth behind his words because he’s watched it happen. He’s watched Jon’s admiration give way to something deeper, Gerry’s easy acceptance of his boundaries. He’s felt the way his own body reacts to Gerry’s presence, how his smile lights up any room. They don’t make each other whole, but they make each other happier. And isn’t that the point, to be loved for one’s self and not what one can give? “We’re all built for love, one way or another. We just have different ways of expressing it.” 

Gerry and Jon are born storytellers, their banter and chemistry off the charts, and Martin could listen to them for hours not saying a word. In years past he would’ve felt jealous but now he feels only adoration at their closeness and how relaxed they are with each other. He admires the ease with which they spin worlds for Martin to get lost in. 

But late at night Martin speaks in rhythms that could put their words to shame, reading an odyssey in a line of tattoos on skin just to see the blush on Gerry’s face. His I love you is a prayer, devotion enough in every syllable to make Jon weep. These are the nights where they forget the outside world exists- they have only each other, their bed, their hands, and Martin’s words.

He enjoys this power, but uses it sparingly. After all, his partners can’t always be putty in his hands.

So Jon works, Gerry plans and Martin dreams of a time when the three of them can be happy and content for all days, when the lines of stress fade from Jon’s face and the touch of a hand brings only the echoes of love and not pain. When Gerry’s touches are no longer hesitant but bold and purposeful. He thinks that day’s coming.

But for now he laughs when Jon groans to life underneath him, takes the blame when he inevitably complains in a nasally tone about the open window. And when Gerry shoots him that secret little smile, he’s reminded that this is enough, that he’s enough. 

He finally has a home, and a family to fill it.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715103

[bidermanbiderman]

Happily Evans After

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1300

Summary: Heading home from a long day at work the reader runs into someone totally unexpected and they nerd out together

Warnings: Nothin, just some nerdy fluff.

A/N: This is the first fic I’ve ever posted to Tumblr? I’m excited to be moving back to Boston soon and I couldn’t help but imagine what’d be like to run into Chris on the subway. (For those who have never been to Boston the T is the subway/light rail. Mostly convenient but breaks down a lot) Constructive criticism is always welcome!

It had been an exhausting day at work and (Y/N) was just ready to get home. She had forced herself to stop at the gym before hopping on the Orange Line to take her regular commute so she was clad in a boring old workout outfit with a zip up hoodie and her favorite baseball cap. The perfect outfit that screamed, “don’t fricken talk to me” in traditional Boston fashion. The train was crowded but nowhere near what it was like during peak times, at least right now she was fortunate to have enough room to move around a bit.

That was, until the second stop.

For some reason it seemed like the entire population of Boston wanted to get on the T at State St, and (Y/N) found herself pressed up between a pole and a very buff man. She was grateful that she had remembered to grab her favorite hat that morning as she was able to avoid making eye contact with anyone and she shrunk into the crowd, waiting for the train to start moving again.

The taller man apologized for being pressed up so close against her but she only gave a nod in response. “Nice hat,” he added with a grin and when she looked up she locked eyes with none other than Chris Evans.

She would fervently deny that in the moment she was starstruck but she did find herself unable to speak for a second, caught off guard by the bright blue eyes staring back at her. She smiled when she noticed that his hat matched hers exactly, ‘NASA’ written across the front in bold letters.

“Right back at you,” she replied but her smile turned into a grimace when the train came to an unexpected stop, the crowd shifting and pushing them even closer. She cursed under her breath.

“Well, guess we better get comfortable,” Chris sighed, but glancing down at the woman he could tell she was anything but.

“That’s easy for you to say up there.” She was easily a foot shorter than him and the crowd of backpacks and elbows around her nearly swallowed her up. If she was being honest, it was getting a little hard to breathe. Suddenly she felt a breeze of cool air and she looked up again to see that Chris had slid his arm behind her, holding on to the pole that she was leaning against and creating a barrier, giving her just a few inches of extra space. She thanked him with a soft smile and he returned it.

“So… you like space?” Chris asked, grasping for anything to make conversation about. Being trapped on the T was nothing new to either of them and he figured a little small talk wouldn't hurt.

“Yeah, I mean I was expecting a little more considering its not rush hour but its the T,” she shrugged but when he laughed she realized that might not have been exactly what he meant. Her cheeks flushed as she added, “Oh you mean space space.”

“Yeah, like matching NASA hats, space,” he replied still grinning, and he couldn’t help but notice his heartbeat pick up slightly at the sight of the shorter woman getting flustered.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek before responding. “Well yeah, who doesn’t? The real question is, what’s your favorite space movie?”

“What! Come on there can’t be just one,” he tilted his head, looking down at her.

“Fair enough, top three then,” she beamed up at him.

He thought about it for a minute, “Okay well… excluding movies that are centered around aliens, because I love those too but that would add too many to the list,” she nodded as he spoke, and he paused, inhaling deeply. “In no particular order, 2001: A Space Odyssey, a classic. Interstellar, blew everyone’s mind…” he had to stop to think.

“Aaaand?” She waited.

“Well the Martian only came out like a week ago and I’ve already seen it in theaters twice so I guess I have to add that to the list at least at this moment.”

“Not too shabby. Have you read the book for the Martian? Because the movie is great but it barely scratches the surface of how cool the book is,” she replied and when he shook his head she gasped, feigning offense.

“I just haven’t managed to get around to it yet!” He threw his free hand up and at that moment there was a jolt as the train started again. (Y/N), being barely tall enough to grab the handles in the first place never mind when the train was packed, had nothing tangible to hold on to and when the train jerked into action again she found her hands gripping Chris’ bicep to hold herself steady.

“I, uh.. Sorry,” she apologized as she found her balance and glanced around for something, anything else for her to hold on to. Unfortunately all handles within reach were occupied.

“It’s fine,” he replied with a reassuring smile, even going as far as to adjust his grip on the pole behind her so that his arm was essentially around her waist, helping to steady her even more. She tried to pretend that she didn’t notice but the blush in her cheeks gave her away.

“Well listen, I actually just finished reading it… for the third time. But I’d be more than happy to lend you my copy,” she said, pulling out the slightly worn, well loved novel that just conveniently happened to be sitting at the top of her work bag.

“I mean.. Are you sure?” He asked, brows furrowed and she nodded fervently, pressing the book into his chest. He didn’t want to borrow something of hers when he may never get to see her again, but, he thought to himself, it would be a great excuse to meet up with her again. “Okay fine but, write your number inside the cover,” he added, grinning.

It’s a good thing she hadn’t been drinking anything at the time because she would have spit it out onto everyone around them. “What?” she managed to stammer out. Chris Evans… her number? It didn’t make any sense to her.

“You know, your phone number? So I can get the book back to you, if I ever have enough time to read it? You do have a phone number, right?”

She couldn’t get her thoughts together enough to form a full sentence but she did manage to nod. Her hand dove into her work bag, digging around at the bottom until she pulled out a pen. She realized that she hadn’t been paying attention to how many stops had gone by until she heard her stop announced over the loudspeaker.

“Shit! This is me,” she exclaimed as she grabbed the book back and quickly scrawled her name and phone number on the inside of the front cover. The train came to a halt and some of the passengers started to file out. “I look forward to hearing what you think,” she said quickly, the corner of her lips turning up and her eyebrows raised as she handed the book back to him once more.

For a second he found himself lost in her smile and before he could respond she was stepping off the train. He glanced down at her name and phone number scribbled in the cover and glanced back up just in time to see the doors closing. She had stopped on the platform, causing quite an interruption in the flow of pedestrian traffic, but it was worth it to give Chris one last wave as the train pulled away.

As the train sped up and he watched her turn and walk away, he wondered to himself how soon would be too soon to text her.