Anonymous asked: Raaaadiiiii, your MCU/Hamilton thing is killing me with how awesome it is, I am so sold on everything about this, my life is so much better with this in it. Do you have any more to say on the matter?
peradii:
OF COURSE I DO. btw i am taking tremendous liberties with mcu canon because i don’t read the comics. i don’t know how infinity stones work.
- Alright, alright: not the last ever showing of Hamilton but the actors are going their separate ways and it won’t be the same after this night, and oh how bright the lights are and Lin Manuel Miranda’s eyes wet with tears and history has its eyes on you and eleven Tony awards and history made, history in the making, an audience singing along in their hearts and minds, hands tight in laps as if in prayer, thoughts tangled along the same lines: if only there was time –
- Here’s the thing: there is an infinity stone in New York. Left behind by the Chitauri invasion: waiting, waiting, waiting. It pulses red and violet and gold, all the colours from the heart of the universe, shaped from the very stuff of creation, carried in the claws of one of Thanos’s finest warriors, cast aside in panic as the Hulk attacked. And there it has waited – I am not biding my time; I am lying in wait – for something, for an awakening, for the sort of mad passion and love and song that created it in the first place –
- have I done enough? have I told your story?
- Infinity stones are alive – for a given definition of alive. Think insectoid levels of sentience. They don’t understand morality but they understand this: what they need to survive. And beneath New York, buried first under rubble and then under construction, the stone senses the hungry pulse of humanity. It stirs. It vanishes, leaving a nebula of colours that defy human description. And it reappears beneath a Broadway stage. And as the music fades away and the emotion infuses it with heat and life it dissolves into a reaching, grasping thing and – if you only had time –
- Alexander Hamilton dies. This is written; it cannot be unwritten. But the belief, the tremendous desperate cry from an audience in 2016, coupled with the energy of a dying infinity stone, coupled with a patch of reality thinned by invasion from an other world –
- He wakes up in a dumpster, somehow twenty again. If I only had time –
- Are you telling me, says Lin Manuel Miranda, wet-eyed and disbelieving, that I resurrected Hamilton through the power of song – and Stark starts saying something about transdimensional reach and wormholes and Thor laughs mightily, claps a hard hand on his shoulder and says yes great one, that is what you have done.
For @littlestartopaz, Wanda/Vision, C (“Please, don’t leave”) and G (“I almost lost
you”) from this, post CA:CW
Time for pain, children.
Blame it on the fact that I found this gloriously accurate post full of
thoughts about Wanda’s stint in the Raft. In which Wanda has some trauma from being wrongfully imprisoned by a bunch of dickheads, and doesn’t talk much anymore.
“Wanda,”
Steve said quietly, wrapping his hand around hers—he had tried to steer her by
an elbow at first, the old habits of the forties coming up under stress, but
she had stumbled back so quickly she’d barely missed falling off a curb. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave a tug and she drifted after him,
silent. He steered her toward the couch
in their newest hideout and she let him push her down until she was sitting
down, her hair pulled back into a tidy braid and her hands linked tightly
together in her lap. A blanket settled
over her shoulders—Sam—and she slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, binding
her arms tightly around her knees.
“We’re
just going to be in the next room, kid,” Sam said, resting one hand on her
shoulder, and waited, as if to give her a space to reply. When she said nothing, he squeezed her
shoulder and followed Steve out of the room.
Wanda waited until they were gone and reached out with her fingers to
catch the blanket and tug the corners over her hands.
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words-writ-in-starlight:
words-writ-in-starlight:
I write. I swear to God. I actually love writing fanfic. BUT, and here’s the catch, I have a ton of trouble coming up with short fic ideas. Short anything ideas, really. The most memorable example is that one time I decided to write how I thought someone being able to see the future would pan out, just a few pages of character study, dicking around with super powers, nothing fancy. Smash cut to a year and a half later, I’m wrapping up my 350 page novel and staring dismally at my 200 additional pages of worldbuilding. And it’s always like that, it gets so out of hand.
SO. My solution to that is this. If you have a craving for a specific pairing that you know I ship, shoot me a prompt and I’ll throw together a short fic for you and post it. I’m trying to unwind after finals, so it’ll be good for me, and you’ll get fic, so it’ll be good for you.
Hit me up.
This is your reminder that I’m bored and open for prompts.
Actually, this is a comment that they made Steve Rogers HYDRA in the most recent comic and I’m incredibly upset about it, so send me prompts so I have something else to think about.
rhiannananana asked: Youre looking for short writing prompts right? What about a character making a meal or something? I think I saw marvel in the tags so, uh, what about Steve cooking/figuring out how to work a microwave, since they were apparently made after ww2..?
All right all right all right, Steve with cooking implements, I am very here for this. We’re going to assume that, somewhere between the movies, the Avengers DID actually cohabitate in the Tower, because I’m having trouble letting go of that part of comic canon. This is probably right after the first movie, before Ultron and Winter Soldier. Unfortunately that means no Sam, which I am sad about, fortunately that means I am not within my rights to wallow in the pain that is Bucky Barnes. And awaaaaaay we go.
“All right, and that button does what again?” Steve asked, frowning.
Tony huffed a sigh and drummed his fingers against the counter, agitated. “C’mon, Cap, we’ve done this like twelve times, how do you not have this yet?”
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words-writ-in-starlight:
I write. I swear to God. I actually love writing fanfic. BUT, and here’s the catch, I have a ton of trouble coming up with short fic ideas. Short anything ideas, really. The most memorable example is that one time I decided to write how I thought someone being able to see the future would pan out, just a few pages of character study, dicking around with super powers, nothing fancy. Smash cut to a year and a half later, I’m wrapping up my 350 page novel and staring dismally at my 200 additional pages of worldbuilding. And it’s always like that, it gets so out of hand.
SO. My solution to that is this. If you have a craving for a specific pairing that you know I ship, shoot me a prompt and I’ll throw together a short fic for you and post it. I’m trying to unwind after finals, so it’ll be good for me, and you’ll get fic, so it’ll be good for you.
Hit me up.
This is your reminder that I’m bored and open for prompts.
Request from @littlestartopaz: I has a Plunnie for thee. Little snit bits between Wanda and Vision at the compound about Vision learning to do things like when it’s okay to go into someone’s room. Or being the only one to knock on the wall like it’s a door. Or that one time he knocked on the floor under her bed because she was having nightmares and scared the shit out of her.
Pre-Civil War, so no spoilers.
“Pardon me, Miss Maximoff, Captain Rogers asked me to–”
“Hey!” Wanda yelped in alarm, casting a hand out toward him. Red light lashed out and left scorch marks on the wall, passing through him harmlessly. He looked startled, eyes widening as he hung there halfway through the solid wall, and she dropped her arm, scowling. “Do you mind?” she asked, tightening her grip on the towel wound around her chest. Her hair dripped down her shoulder, a neat twist, and she could feel each drop of water leaving a cold track over her skin. “It’s polite to knock if someone’s door is closed.”
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Anonymous asked: Vision/Wanda "We are snowed in and the power's out, how do avoid hypothermia." Mini-fic PLEASE??? Also, mid-air kissing if it isn't too much trouble?
All right *cracks knuckles* gonna do kind of a combo to hit as many of those aspects as possible. Post-Civil War, minor spoilers, I guess, and I’m assuming they’re not all actually holed up in Wakanda.
The apartment T’challa had acquired for them–in Brooklyn, because Steve left it up to Sam and Sam had pointed out the advantages of knowing the terrain–was middling in size, but it seemed echoingly huge at night. Wanda hadn’t realized just how quickly she had grown used to the quiet noise of the others in the compound, someone always on hand to sit with no matter how late she was awake. Insomnia and nightmares were rampant among the Avengers, and she was no exception, but now…now there was no one. Steve was in his room, probably awake himself and trying to work their way out of this impossible problem. Sam was better at sleeping than most of them, only really awake about one night in seven. Lang was gone, Clint was out on a recon mission to check up on an old contact. Barnes–Bucky–was still comatose in Wakanda, while they tried to find a cure for seventy years of brainwashing and torture. She had offered her services, nervous, and T’challa had agreed to keep her in mind as a last resort–Wanda’s experience was all putting stuff in, but she could probably learn to take things out. Until they found a solution, though, the man with the metal arm and the haunted blue eyes would stay in his glass coffin.
And Wanda was awake and alone and cold, at three in the morning on a Saturday, sitting on a couch and staring at a dark television.
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