Prompt: Highland/Stargate. Methos, SG-1, any. Methos is decidedly unimpressed.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/245229.html?thread=49600237#t49600237
When Methos heard about the SGC, about how humanity had looked under its collective nose and seen what was there all along – Ancients, Antarctica – he was amused, but decidedly unimpressed. He remembered the so-called "Ancients". Merlin. Morgan Le Fay. Others, with their superior notions of technology and what it meant to be civilized. All of them too afraid to get their hands dirty.
So he enlisted, and he signed on as a lowly marine, and he waited for his chance to go through the gate. He kept himself in check, kept himself impressive enough to be chosen for a gate team, but not so impressive that he'd get stuck in the lab with Lam running tests on him to make sure he was human (he was, just immortal).
Daniel Jackson was a bright young man, knew many languages, and more than once Methos was tempted to test him, see what he knew, but instead he listened to the man ramble to himself as he pored over half a dozen translations at once, and it was like taking a pleasant stroll down memory lane.
Methos had forgotten more physics than Samantha Carter ever learned, but she reminded him how capable humans could be in so short a time. She was brilliant, made leaps in logic that should have defied reason, and she made new and old technology come alive together. Methos liked her, and refused to be charmed by her golden hair and blue eyes.
Methos contemplated Vala Mal Doran, intrigued by the hints of ancient shadows in her eyes, and wondered if he could find a good way to talk to her, find out how old she really was. With her pigtails and incessant flirting, she was hiding something. He hoped it was more interesting than plain old human pain.
As for Cameron Mitchell – he looked too much like a man Methos had once known and loved, but he was all wrong, too cheerful, too sunny, with that mid-western drawl.
When Methos was assigned to Atlantis, he didn't know whether to be excited or relieved. He'd heard so much about it. It was high time he got to see it. Ten thousand years was a long time to wait, even for the immortal and endlessly patient.
Showing posts with label Highlander. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Highlander. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
No. 90
Prompt: Highlander/Harry Potter, Methos + Bloody Baron, no one understands why the newest Muggle Studies teacher is respected by the scariest ghost in the castle (or why they sometimes speak in what sounds like gibberish but is actually how the Baron spoke in life)
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/693535.html?thread=91319327#t91319327
Draco Malfoy knows that just because the Dark Lord was defeated by a half-blood doesn't mean that everything he values about being a pure blood is absolute rubbish. Whatever victory the masses imagine for themselves, they are wrong. His way of life, his history and culture are not all evil, and they will never go away. So he skulks through his real seventh year (eighth year, the professors are calling it, the students in it exempt from prefect duty or sports teams or really anything except class and searching for job opportunities for the future) with his Slytherine pride and pure blood pride burning in his heart. He will not make the same mistakes his father made. He will bring honor to the Malfoy name.
There is a new Muggle Studies teacher (what happened to the old one gives him nightmares still, though he will never admit it). The man is young and handsome and utterly refuses to wear proper robes, instead parading about the school in purely muggle clothes - trousers, shirtsleeves, waistcoat, jacket, bow-tie. Judging by the way the mudblood and half-blood students react to him, his clothing is professional and appropriate for a muggle, so Draco keeps his opinion to himself, but he thinks maybe if there were a similar class for incoming mudbloods to learn about pureblood ways, maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong...before.
Draco steers clear of the muggle studies teacher - and scoffs at any of his turncoat classmates who take his class in the hopes of currying favor with Potter and his crowd. Best as he can tell, the man is a muggle. What was that mad old cat thinking, allowing an actual muggle into the castle, to know about their world?
Or was he a squib?
Draco wonders if there's something he can do, with magic, to persuade the muggle that his has no place in the magical world. Draco isn't a weak wizard, and he's not a stupid one either. His father would never have tolerated it, even if he was constantly battling Granger for the academic recognition he deserved.
So he plotted, and he researched (curses, hexes, pranks from the Weasley shop), and he scouted (where the professor's living quarters were) and one night he was ready. Gathered up his implements, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and crept up the north tower.
He was just outside the professor's door when he heard it – a musical, rolling babble, like someone was speaking nonsense. Was the professor insane? Someone ought to notify McGonagall immediately.
Draco crept closer, and the professor's door swung open – perfect, he wouldn't have to use the password finding charm, one less clue to lead back to him – and the Bloody Baron drifted out of the room.
Draco froze. He was a Slytherin and even he knew to respect the Baron. And then his heart leapt. The Bloody Baron, a true Slytherin, had come to do Draco's work for him, to purge the castle of the unworthy.
Only the Baron was...laughing? And then the professor emerged from the room, books tucked under one arm, and he was laughing too, and then he spoke that musical babble again, and the Baron responded in – the same language. An old language. One so old Draco had never heard it before (and no Malfoy properly educated in the dark arts could get away without knowing at least Greek and Latin).
Draco flattened himself against the wall as they passed by, sure they'd hear his heart pounding. But they kept chatting and laughing, and the Baron angry was far less terrifying than the Baron happy.
Whoever the Muggle Studies professor was, he wasn't one to be trifled with after all.
Draco waited till they were well out of earshot, and then he took himself off to bed.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/693535.html?thread=91319327#t91319327
Draco Malfoy knows that just because the Dark Lord was defeated by a half-blood doesn't mean that everything he values about being a pure blood is absolute rubbish. Whatever victory the masses imagine for themselves, they are wrong. His way of life, his history and culture are not all evil, and they will never go away. So he skulks through his real seventh year (eighth year, the professors are calling it, the students in it exempt from prefect duty or sports teams or really anything except class and searching for job opportunities for the future) with his Slytherine pride and pure blood pride burning in his heart. He will not make the same mistakes his father made. He will bring honor to the Malfoy name.
There is a new Muggle Studies teacher (what happened to the old one gives him nightmares still, though he will never admit it). The man is young and handsome and utterly refuses to wear proper robes, instead parading about the school in purely muggle clothes - trousers, shirtsleeves, waistcoat, jacket, bow-tie. Judging by the way the mudblood and half-blood students react to him, his clothing is professional and appropriate for a muggle, so Draco keeps his opinion to himself, but he thinks maybe if there were a similar class for incoming mudbloods to learn about pureblood ways, maybe things wouldn't have gone so wrong...before.
Draco steers clear of the muggle studies teacher - and scoffs at any of his turncoat classmates who take his class in the hopes of currying favor with Potter and his crowd. Best as he can tell, the man is a muggle. What was that mad old cat thinking, allowing an actual muggle into the castle, to know about their world?
Or was he a squib?
Draco wonders if there's something he can do, with magic, to persuade the muggle that his has no place in the magical world. Draco isn't a weak wizard, and he's not a stupid one either. His father would never have tolerated it, even if he was constantly battling Granger for the academic recognition he deserved.
So he plotted, and he researched (curses, hexes, pranks from the Weasley shop), and he scouted (where the professor's living quarters were) and one night he was ready. Gathered up his implements, cast a disillusionment charm on himself, and crept up the north tower.
He was just outside the professor's door when he heard it – a musical, rolling babble, like someone was speaking nonsense. Was the professor insane? Someone ought to notify McGonagall immediately.
Draco crept closer, and the professor's door swung open – perfect, he wouldn't have to use the password finding charm, one less clue to lead back to him – and the Bloody Baron drifted out of the room.
Draco froze. He was a Slytherin and even he knew to respect the Baron. And then his heart leapt. The Bloody Baron, a true Slytherin, had come to do Draco's work for him, to purge the castle of the unworthy.
Only the Baron was...laughing? And then the professor emerged from the room, books tucked under one arm, and he was laughing too, and then he spoke that musical babble again, and the Baron responded in – the same language. An old language. One so old Draco had never heard it before (and no Malfoy properly educated in the dark arts could get away without knowing at least Greek and Latin).
Draco flattened himself against the wall as they passed by, sure they'd hear his heart pounding. But they kept chatting and laughing, and the Baron angry was far less terrifying than the Baron happy.
Whoever the Muggle Studies professor was, he wasn't one to be trifled with after all.
Draco waited till they were well out of earshot, and then he took himself off to bed.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
No. 79
Prompt: Highlander, Methos, he's forgotten more holy days than most people know existed
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/691677.html?thread=90996701#t90996701
He's forgotten more holy days than most people know existed, but in this new, politically-correct, socially conscious world, when he calls into work and tells his boss it's a religious holiday and he's taking the day off, it's never a lie, but it's not really the truth anymore either.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/691677.html?thread=90996701#t90996701
He's forgotten more holy days than most people know existed, but in this new, politically-correct, socially conscious world, when he calls into work and tells his boss it's a religious holiday and he's taking the day off, it's never a lie, but it's not really the truth anymore either.