but there was the elephant

anonymous asked:

buck if the avengers were animals what animals would they be???? thank you

i assume you mean based on personality, and not which avengers have been turned into which animals lately.
what has happened to my life that that is even a question i have to ask??

anyway, steve would be a dog. everyone is right on the money on that one; hed be big, fluffy, loyal as hell, appetite the size of rhode island and love to play fetch. and also have the bite power to sever a mans hand if he was so inclined. you would trust him with a baby but also to eat the face off anyone who threatened that baby. well. maybe not EAT. he does have SOME standards. theoretically.

tony would be a raven. reputation associated with death, but personality of a class clown–likes pranks, messing with people, and trying new stuff. dedicated to family and intelligent as hell. chatty. tool user. did you know ravens can people-talk? if they couldnt, im sure tony would figure out how anyways.

nat would be a swan. beautiful, graceful, but at the top of the do-not-fuck-with list in most animals books. mates for life and more loyal than you would think, with a take no shit and no prisoners attitude. i have a healthy terror of swans, as does any sane human being.

clint would also be a dog, but not like steve. hed be one of those scrappy little terrier mutts that descend from a working breed that are supposed to do things like kill rats. just as loyal and smart and fun-loving as the big guys, but makes up for lack of size with pure tenacity. and so scruffy its cute.

bruce would be an elephant. smart and social, with strong emotional bonds, generally calm and compassionate, but never something you want to be standing in front of when it gets pissed. also really enjoys peanuts?

thor would be a lion. content to chill out most of the time, and more social than most cats, but also totally down to throw down on a moment’s notice. pretty smart but not somebody you ever wanna cross. majestic as anything. 

i would be a bear. likes a lot of food in large quantities, and i would love to sit in a river and let dinner fling itself into my mouth. asleep like half of the time. big and badass but generally pretty chill, and smarter than you might think. also a faster runner than you might expect (that’s not really about me, bears can just run at like 35 mph which is a thought to keep you up at night.) and if theres one thing everyone knows about bears, it is that you do not mess with what they are protecting.
also they are opposed to forest fires?? not sure what that has to do with anything, but i guess i can get behind it

“Ah, Ideas-taster,” said Vimes, as the dwarf approached, “do allow me to introduce the Duchess of Ankh-Morpork… Lady Sybil.”
“Uh… er… yes… indeed… so delighted to make your acquaintance…” Dee murmured, caught off-guard by the charm offensive. “But, er…”
Sybil had picked up the code. Vimes loathed the word “duchess,” so if he was using it then he wanted her to out-dutch everyone. She enveloped Dee’s pointy head in delighted Duchessness.

– power couple, drift compatible | Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

anonymous asked:

Phil is planning to quit his job in SHIELD and move away. Clint needs to either figure out the way to make Phil stay or come clean about his feelings. (Or both :) )

Author’s note: these two prompts just seem to go hand in hand (kinda like Phil and Clint). To both Anons, thank you and I hope you don’t mind I put them together in one fill.

- Lola

He’s thought long and hard about it. He believed he was strong enough to handle anything that SHIELD could throw at him but it turns out he’s not. Not anymore.

To be that close to someone for so long and not be able to tell them how you feel; to not be able to act on those feelings. To feel the heat of their skin beneath your hands, their warm breath against your cheek, their tears on your fingertips not because you’re making love slowly, passionately with all the time in the world but because you’re keeping pressure on a wound desperately trying to stop them from bleeding out. To stroke their hair and wipe the sweat from their eyes while they hold tight to your hand not with love but from pain. To never be able tell them “I love you. It’ll be okay because I love you and we’ll get through this together.”

You get through it, that first time then the next, until one day it all becomes too much.

No. He’s not strong enough. Not anymore.

It’s time.

***

“What’s this?” asks Fury peering at the manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters as though it might be contaminated. In his line of work, it’s always possible.

“My resignation,” Coulson tells him dropping into the notoriously uncomfortable visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Hmmm. I’ll bite. Why is your resignation sitting on my desk, Senior Agent Coulson? And don’t get comfy. You can’t come in here, toss that on my desk, and sit your ass down like you’re here for a scotch and a chat.”

Coulson makes himself comfortable anyway – he’s the only one who can – while Fury pours the scotch. He accepts the drink, takes a sip and says calmly, “It’s time.”

Fury doesn’t bother sipping. He downs his in one and refills the glass.

“Shit,” he mutters.

They joke about a couple of times a year, especially when things are rough and friends and colleagues are injured… or lost. They joke about jacking it in and retiring to some small town or tropical island and doing civilian shit like teaching or becoming a mechanic or running a bar. Then they get drunk and start the spy shit all over again. But Coulson; Fury’s sharpest recruit, his one good eye, his… friend, once told him the day he said “It’s time” it was real. A point of no return had been reached and he wasn’t coming back from it. He had thought it was still a long way off but… guess not.

“You told them yet?”

Coulson shakes his head and takes another sip.

“You told him yet?”

Coulson drops his gaze. Fury sighs.

“Why don’t you just…”

Coulson cuts him off. “You know why.”

His voice is still calm but now there’s a slight edge to it and even Fury understands that pushing Coulson when he’s like this is a lost cause. He’ll get up and walk out and there’ll be no more talking. Ever.

“Mother-fucker!”

***

“I wanted to tell you two first. I owe you that.”

That brings the two of them up short from their ear flicking and rib poking of each other.

Coulson’s leaning against the front of his desk, arms folded across his chest, head tilted slightly to the side. Not his ‘duty stance’ which would be worrying. He’s relaxed, chilled even but something’s off.

“Fuck, boss! You’re not dying are you?” Clint asks… well demands.

Natasha gives his ear another painful flick. He pokes her ribs. Coulson rolls his eyes.

“I’m retiring.”

“Oh… is that all? Thought it was life or death or s’mthin.”

Natasha ceases all teasing and stares at her handler with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Really?”

Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it she recites in her head over and over.

He’d confessed all to her years earlier when they’d almost lost Clint on a mission gone wrong. He hadn’t meant to but his face gave him away. She’d slipped into the hospital room when Coulson was watching over him. The tears on his cheeks hadn’t quite dried and they’d glinted when he’d looked up to see her waiting silently by the door. But it was the look of absolute love and adoration and pain on his face just before he lifted his head which told her everything she would ever need to know about how he felt. His words later were merely confirmation of that which she’d already guessed.  

But he says it.

“It’s time.”

She closes her eyes for a moment then opens them again. The sadness in them is almost too much for him and he clenches his jaw bunching the muscles together in hard lump much like the one in his throat. She nods her acceptance and he nods his gratitude. They won’t speak of it again and she’ll keep the promise she’d made those years before. Clint won’t find out from her.

Oblivious Clint asks, “So if you’re retiring can I have your office?”

Coulson snorts and unfolds himself from his position and returns to his chair on the other side. “Hardly. Jasper’ll need somewhere to hide from you when he takes over.”

“Never worked for you.”

***

“He’s leaving,” Natasha says.

“He’s not,” Clint argues, bored with the conversation already. “He always says that when one of us gets hurt. And this time it wasn’t even that serious.”

In the scheme of things, he’s right. A couple of cracked ribs, a black eye and plenty of cuts and bruises were nothing spectacular. But for Coulson his “one day” had arrived and he wasn’t coming back from it.

“You have to convince him to stay.”

“He’s not…”

“Clint,” she says sharply. He flinches.

“Do you trust me, little bird?” she continues gently, regretting that she made him jump.

“Always, Tasha.”

“Then convince him to stay… or tell him how you feel.”

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

She touches her hand to his face and whispers softly, “Tell him. He’s moving back to Wisconsin in two months.”

***

When he finds out she’s right, Clint tries everything. Cajoling, threats, jokes, begging, the silent treatment. Being awesome, being a dick, being a complete and utter pain in Coulson’s ass… And with each new attempt, Coulson gives him that little half-smile and says quietly, “It’s time.”

Clint’s heart is breaking. The realisation finally hits him, Coulson – his rock, his comfort, his protector, the fucking love of his life – is leaving and there’s nothing he can do. His heart… his world… is falling apart.

He tries one last thing.

“Okay. I get it. You’re retiring. Moving back to Hicksville USA to teach high school students about Captain America and the Howling Commandos.”

Coulson snorts. He’s already considered how to work them into his lesson plans.

“Can I call in one last favour?”

“Pretty sure you’re on negative favours by now, Barton,” Coulson tells him with an amused look.

“Yeah, well probably but… y’know. One last negative favour?”

Coulson smiles properly, with dimples and creases in the corners of his eyes, which almost succeeds in cleaving the archer’s heart in two. But he ignores that sharp pain and does everything he can to hide his feelings. As usual.

“It’s still no for the office.”

Clint gives him a pitiful look; it’s not hard to do.

“Okay. One last negative favour,” Coulson agrees.

“Help me sort out my apartment.”

“Clint, by the time we do that I’ll be dead of old age never mind retired!”

Clint pulls out all the big guns and gives him a pitiful look and the puppy dog eyes. 

Coulson sighs. “Okay but… I’m putting a time limit on it. I move in a few weeks. Still have to pack.”

“I guess I could help…”

“Guess? Barton You’ll be with me 24/7 for the next week plus the few hours it takes to pack up my stuff.”

Clint ignores the comment about the time it will take to pack Coulson’s entire apartment. He has one week to change Coulson’s mind.

***

In the end it takes one box… well trunk.

“Can you give me a hand with this?” Clint asks dragging it out from a cupboard. They’ve worked pretty solidly for two days. Found a routine with the clearing and cleaning working smoothly as a team… as always. It saddens them both.

“Fuck, Barton! You got a dead body in there you’re not telling me about.”

Clint grins. “Nah, boss. You know I always tell you about those before I ask you to help bury them.”

Coulson huffs out a soft laugh that raises the hair on Clint’s arms and neck.

“You start, I’ll grab some beer.”

“Not gonna explode is it?”

“Ah… no?”

“Not encouraging, Barton.”

Clint gives his handler, soon to be ex-handler if this doesn’t work, a few minutes to uncover his treasures. They’re worthless to anyone but him. Useless trash really but he hopes they​ might mean something to Coulson. Might explain how he feels about the other man.

When he returns to the bedroom Coulson’s sitting with his back against the wall, surrounded by bits of paper (ticket stubs, torn flyers, rejected mission reports…); broken items (a watch, a fountain pen, a pair of glasses…); stuffed toys (an overstuffed bear, a dog missing an eye, a knitted purple elephant); a box full of bottle tops; a bag full of candy bar wrappers, another with hospital tags… a brick, a piece of rubble and a pile of stones… and so much more Coulson Phil recognises as going back almost ten years.

The elephant’s in Phil’s lap and he’s absently rubbing its ear. He looks up at Clint, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“All this time?” His voice is hoarse with emotion.

Clint shrugs then nods. He doesn’t move for a moment, standing awkwardly with the two bottles. He sets them down and slowly walks forward, as though not to spook the other man, and sits beside him on the floor. Phil’s eyes never leave him.

Their arms are touching, just enough to feel the warmth from the other. Phil lets his hand slide down to Clint’s resting on the floor, and brushes his knuckles against the archer’s. Clint takes his hand and carefully threads their fingers together.

“Stay,” Clint tells him softly leaning in towards him.

Phil squeezes his hand gently and nods. The kiss when it happens is a tender brush of lips before they rest their foreheads together. The rest will come but for now they’re happy just being like this.

***

“What’s this?” asks Fury peering at the manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters as though it holds an wanted surprise within. In his line of work, it’s always possible.

“My request for reinstatement,” Coulson tells him dropping into the notoriously uncomfortable visitor’s chair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Hmmm. I’ll bite. Why is your is your reinstatement request sitting on my desk, Senior Agent Coulson?”

Coulson accepts the offered glass of whisky, takes a sip and says calmly, “Because I’m getting married and I’d like to work alongside my husband.”

Fury smirks and tips his glass in a celebrity toast. “'Bout fucking time. Here.”

“Not going to explode is it?” Coulson enquires suspiciously, stopping another manilla file with SHIELD CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large black letters from sliding off the desk with his forefinger.

“You have to get over the whole exploding items thing, Cheese. Your first gig as Level Eight. We found Captain America.”

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Gentle giants  🐘 💕

Constable Shoe got to his feet. He was still, in his spare time, organizer of the Campaign for Dead Rights, and he knew how this sort of thing went.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he said. “You’ve got to get it a lot simpler than that. It’s got to have bounce. And rhythm. Like ‘Whadda we want? Dum-dee-dum-dee. When do we want it? Now!’ See? You need one simple demand. Let’s try it again. Whadda we want?”
The watchmen looked at one another, no one quite wanting to be the first.
“Another drink?” someone volunteered.
“Yeah!” said someone at the back. “When do we want it? NOW!”

– Reg is experienced at this | Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

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Sea ice swaying in waves, just off of Elephant Island, Antarctica

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Elephant Seal at San Simeon, California…scratching an itch.