Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard, While on an offworld mission, the team comes across a bunch of Nordic looking people, who are led by a man named Odin.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/699166.html?thread=92240414#t92240414
John, Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon stepped through the gate – and right up against giant double doors for some kind of medieval-looking hall. The doors swung open into a massive banquet hall where a bunch of tall, blond, strong-looking men and women were seated around a table feasting on just about everything under the sun.
The man at the head of the table, dressed in an amalgamation of armor and furs, rose up and hoisted his goblet.
"Welcome, Travelers! You who are brave enough and strong enough to traverse the Bifrost road are welcome in the Hall of Odin!" He had a deep, booming voice.
"Odin?" Rodney echoed.
"You don't think –" John began, but then Teyla stepped forward, a bright smile on her face.
"Thank you for your kind welcome, Odin," she said. "I am Teyla, and these are my companions Ronon, Rodney, and John. We are peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis –"
"Peaceful? Carrying P-90's and Berettas and a...what is that?"
A man rose up from the end of the table near Odin. He was tall and blond and strong, but he was also wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
Teyla balked, cast a confused look at John.
John raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We really are people, but sometimes we've gated into sticky situations, and it never hurts to be prepared."
"Calm yourself, Steve Rodgers," the man who called himself Odin said, laughing jovially. "Warriors are welcome in my hall so long as they come in peace."
John and Rodney exchanged looks.
"Did he just – ?" Rodney asked.
"Pretty sure he did," John muttered out of the corner of his mouth, then pasted on his most charming smile. "We do absolutely come in peace. We're interested in seeking mutually beneficial trade agreements or allies in the war against the Wraith."
"I'm sorry, did you say Atlantis?" A man popped up from seemingly nowhere beside the Earth-looking man; this new man was older, unshaven, dark-haired, sharp-eyed.
"Yes, also known as the City of the Ancestors," Teyla said, and she wasn't catching the references, not catching them at all, because the dark-haired man was wearing a white-t-shirt, and John was pretty sure he could make out a faint blue circular glow emanating from his chest.
"Say, Odin, you don't happen to have a son named Thor, do you?"
Odin beamed and clapped the shoulder of the massive blond, bearded man to his right. "You've heard of my son and his valiant deeds?"
"Yes," John said. "Heard of many of them. Thor, God of Thunder, wielded of the Hammer – uh –"
"My girlfriend's sister calls it Mew-Mew," Thor said, and this was just unreal.
"Hold on." The dark-haired man with the glow under his t-shirt held up a hand. "You said your names were Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, and John. As in...John Sheppard?"
A red-headed woman clad all in black lifted her head. "Did you say John Sheppard?"
It was John's turn to blink. "You've heard of us?"
Ronon said, "How did you know what our weapons are?"
"Are you from Earth?" Teyla asked. She'd realized something strange was going on.
"Earth?" Odin echoed blankly, and Thor supplied, "Midgard."
"Ah!" Odin beamed. "Friends from Midgard are always welcome." He waggled his eyebrows at Steve Rogers. "A surprising number of your kind have proven worthy of passage to Midgard."
"How have you heard of us?" Rodney asked.
The red-headed woman grinned. "Syfy Channel. Watch it religiously."
"You mean, a TV show?" Rodney's voice went up.
"You recognized us first," Steve Rogers said, and holy crap, was he really Steve Rogers?
"From comic books I read as a child," Rodney snapped.
"Rodney," John said in a low voice, "was there an explosion behind us when we stepped through the gate?"
"No."
"Quantum mirror."
"Also no."
"So..."
"Yes."
John cleared his throat. "Well, Odin All-Father, thank you for your generous welcome to your feasting hall, but I think we'd better be going. Right now."
"I thought you wanted to trade." The red-haired woman smirked at him, positively predatory.
Rodney glared and muttered, "Back off, Black Widow."
Teyla also looked confused. "John –"
"I have it on good authority you're busy with your own Interdimensional alien wars, and we're busy with our intergalactic alien war, so we won't bother you any longer." John grinned and started backing toward the gate.
"John," Teyla said in a low voice, "there's no dialing device."
"Nonsense." Odin waved them in. "Join us! There is plenty of food and drink. I would like to learn more about your people!"
"I bet Loki has the dialing device," Rodney grumbled under his breath.
Teyla smiled brightly again. "Thank you. Come, John, Rodney, Ronon, let us not offend our host's hospitality." And into the hall they went.
They emerged through the gate in Atlantis three days later hungover, well-fed, and with a trade agreement for the best apples the World Tree had to offer. Rodney discovered up close and personal that Natasha Romanov liked nerdy scientists (and it was John's turn to say Back off, Black Widow!), John was quicker at math than Tony Stark, and Ronon and Teyla still weren't sure how any of Odin's other earth-based guests knew half of their team.
Showing posts with label MCU. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MCU. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
No. 104
Prompt: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Bucky Barnes + Steve Rogers, their inauspicious first meeting as kids
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/697573.html?thread=91940069#t91940069
As soon as Ryan O'Leary and his gang cleared off, Bucky turned to the boy who'd jumped into the fray with him. He'd seen the kid at school, Steve something or other. Tiny and blond. Looked maybe five, but had to be at least seven if he was in the same grade as Bucky.
"I could've taken 'em myself," Bucky said. But he offered a hand, tugged Steve to his feet.
Steve was a wreck, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. "Yeah. But Mama says I should help a guy out, so –"
"Next time, don't bother," Bucky said. "Don't wanna have to send you back to your mama in a matchbox, do I?"
Steve hunched his shoulders. "I guess not."
And so they parted ways.
But Bucky heard around school that Steve hadn't done that just for him – he'd do it for anyone he thought was getting picked on. Bucky wasn't anything special after all. More than once, he saw Steve shuffling home, face cut or bruised, and he wondered why Steve kept getting his ass kicked for no good reason. Except he was helping the other kids, or trying. Maybe Bucky wasn't anything special, but Steve sure was. So the next time Ryan O'Leary's gang was out picking on Bucky, he put up his dukes, and when Steve joined in, Bucky made sure to watch his back.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/697573.html?thread=91940069#t91940069
As soon as Ryan O'Leary and his gang cleared off, Bucky turned to the boy who'd jumped into the fray with him. He'd seen the kid at school, Steve something or other. Tiny and blond. Looked maybe five, but had to be at least seven if he was in the same grade as Bucky.
"I could've taken 'em myself," Bucky said. But he offered a hand, tugged Steve to his feet.
Steve was a wreck, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. "Yeah. But Mama says I should help a guy out, so –"
"Next time, don't bother," Bucky said. "Don't wanna have to send you back to your mama in a matchbox, do I?"
Steve hunched his shoulders. "I guess not."
And so they parted ways.
But Bucky heard around school that Steve hadn't done that just for him – he'd do it for anyone he thought was getting picked on. Bucky wasn't anything special after all. More than once, he saw Steve shuffling home, face cut or bruised, and he wondered why Steve kept getting his ass kicked for no good reason. Except he was helping the other kids, or trying. Maybe Bucky wasn't anything special, but Steve sure was. So the next time Ryan O'Leary's gang was out picking on Bucky, he put up his dukes, and when Steve joined in, Bucky made sure to watch his back.
Monday, February 22, 2016
No. 100
Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, trust
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/697000.html?thread=91734696#t91734696
Steve. If you fall, I will catch you. Bucky. Who are you? Who am I? Steve. Take my hand. Bucky. Are you strong enough? Both panting, having averted certain death. Steve can't feel his arm. Bucky has lost his. But they're alive.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/697000.html?thread=91734696#t91734696
Steve. If you fall, I will catch you. Bucky. Who are you? Who am I? Steve. Take my hand. Bucky. Are you strong enough? Both panting, having averted certain death. Steve can't feel his arm. Bucky has lost his. But they're alive.
Saturday, February 13, 2016
No. 94
Prompt: Avengers movieverse, Bucky Barnes, (post-WS)
I want someone who knows me just to say my name
To tell me though things are different now somehow I'm still the same
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/694627.html?thread=91467107#t91467107
He was standing outside the museum when he met her.
She paused beside him, leaning on her walker and panting. Then she peered at him. "You know, you look just like this boy from my neighborhood in Brooklyn."
He stared at her, puzzled by her wrinkled face, her bright smile.
"His name was Bucky Barnes," she continued.
That was the name on the display in the museum, the display full of photos of the man he saw when he looked in the mirror. Except he wasn't that man. He was no friend, no hero.
He was relieved when she didn't ask his name, simply stood there catching her breath. He realized she was trying to walk and carry recyclable grocery bags at the same time.
"Do you need help, ma'am?" He kept his voice low, soft.
She beamed at him. "Just like Bucky, you are. Always so polite and helpful. I could use a hand if you have a moment."
He scooped up the bags with ease, careful to keep his gloves in place so she wouldn't see the truth of his left arm. She chattered about her home and her old neighborhood, her sisters and her friends playing ball in the street, running in their skirts and getting muddy and their mother yelling at them. He followed her down the sidewalk and away from the museum, down a side-alley she shouldn't have been traveling alone, and to an old red-brick building. He held the door open for her and followed her up the stairs, terrified every step of the way that she'd topple backward and fall and die, but she made it up to the fifth floor. He held the door open for her again and then, hesitant, followed her into her apartment. She put on the kettle and then eased herself down at the kitchen table before directing him about where to put the groceries. He felt like an invader, a spy as he poked through her cupboards and drawers and refrigerator.
But in between her directions she told him about the time her childhood hero Bucky rescued her kitten from a tree, and how he'd always pitch soft for her when they played ball in the street.
"You really are just like him," she said wonderingly. "The way you look. Your hands. A bit more quiet, and he was such a charmer. But just as handsome."
When all the groceries were put away, he stood awkwardly beside her refrigerator, hands in his pockets.
"Sit, young man, and have some tea," she said, and because he didn't have anything else to do, he obeyed.
The tea was good. Not like the Rooibos the scientists at the Hydra lab gave him sometimes. The old woman continued to tell him about her life, the deli on the corner where she'd get sandwiches to take to her father at work on summer days. There was a soda parlor on the corner from her house, and she'd help her mother do laundry so she had money to buy a soda or a sundae once a week.
As she talked, his memories began to unspool themselves. He could hear the rapid-fire Italian chatter from the brothers who ran the counter at the deli. He could feel the smooth wooden counter of the soda parlor. And he could smell the steam from the dry-cleaning place two doors down from the soda parlor.
That world was gone, obliterated in the forward march of time, but he'd been there. He could remember tiny arms flung around his waist as he landed in the grass beneath the tree, kitten cradled in the crook of his arm.
He was Bucky Barnes.
"Thank you for the tea," he said.
The woman patted his hand. "Thank you for listening to an old woman ramble." She sighed. "Bucky promised me I'd see him again, right before he enlisted. He was such a good boy, never broke a promise. But some promises can't really be made."
He gazed at her, wondered if she saw beyond his face to the person she'd once known, the hero and friend. "Maybe he did keep his promise, just in a way you didn't expect."
The woman laughed. "That's just the kind of thing Bucky would say." She patted his hand again, then sat back. "Well, I'm sure you have other things you need to be doing. Young people are so busy these days. Your mama raised you right, my boy."
"Thanks, Darlene," he said. He rose up, tugged on his cap. "I'm sure my mama would be flattered to hear that." He started for the door.
"Wait," the woman said. "How did you know my name?"
He'd remembered it, but he couldn't tell her that. The person he needed to speak to next was Steve.
I want someone who knows me just to say my name
To tell me though things are different now somehow I'm still the same
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/694627.html?thread=91467107#t91467107
He was standing outside the museum when he met her.
She paused beside him, leaning on her walker and panting. Then she peered at him. "You know, you look just like this boy from my neighborhood in Brooklyn."
He stared at her, puzzled by her wrinkled face, her bright smile.
"His name was Bucky Barnes," she continued.
That was the name on the display in the museum, the display full of photos of the man he saw when he looked in the mirror. Except he wasn't that man. He was no friend, no hero.
He was relieved when she didn't ask his name, simply stood there catching her breath. He realized she was trying to walk and carry recyclable grocery bags at the same time.
"Do you need help, ma'am?" He kept his voice low, soft.
She beamed at him. "Just like Bucky, you are. Always so polite and helpful. I could use a hand if you have a moment."
He scooped up the bags with ease, careful to keep his gloves in place so she wouldn't see the truth of his left arm. She chattered about her home and her old neighborhood, her sisters and her friends playing ball in the street, running in their skirts and getting muddy and their mother yelling at them. He followed her down the sidewalk and away from the museum, down a side-alley she shouldn't have been traveling alone, and to an old red-brick building. He held the door open for her and followed her up the stairs, terrified every step of the way that she'd topple backward and fall and die, but she made it up to the fifth floor. He held the door open for her again and then, hesitant, followed her into her apartment. She put on the kettle and then eased herself down at the kitchen table before directing him about where to put the groceries. He felt like an invader, a spy as he poked through her cupboards and drawers and refrigerator.
But in between her directions she told him about the time her childhood hero Bucky rescued her kitten from a tree, and how he'd always pitch soft for her when they played ball in the street.
"You really are just like him," she said wonderingly. "The way you look. Your hands. A bit more quiet, and he was such a charmer. But just as handsome."
When all the groceries were put away, he stood awkwardly beside her refrigerator, hands in his pockets.
"Sit, young man, and have some tea," she said, and because he didn't have anything else to do, he obeyed.
The tea was good. Not like the Rooibos the scientists at the Hydra lab gave him sometimes. The old woman continued to tell him about her life, the deli on the corner where she'd get sandwiches to take to her father at work on summer days. There was a soda parlor on the corner from her house, and she'd help her mother do laundry so she had money to buy a soda or a sundae once a week.
As she talked, his memories began to unspool themselves. He could hear the rapid-fire Italian chatter from the brothers who ran the counter at the deli. He could feel the smooth wooden counter of the soda parlor. And he could smell the steam from the dry-cleaning place two doors down from the soda parlor.
That world was gone, obliterated in the forward march of time, but he'd been there. He could remember tiny arms flung around his waist as he landed in the grass beneath the tree, kitten cradled in the crook of his arm.
He was Bucky Barnes.
"Thank you for the tea," he said.
The woman patted his hand. "Thank you for listening to an old woman ramble." She sighed. "Bucky promised me I'd see him again, right before he enlisted. He was such a good boy, never broke a promise. But some promises can't really be made."
He gazed at her, wondered if she saw beyond his face to the person she'd once known, the hero and friend. "Maybe he did keep his promise, just in a way you didn't expect."
The woman laughed. "That's just the kind of thing Bucky would say." She patted his hand again, then sat back. "Well, I'm sure you have other things you need to be doing. Young people are so busy these days. Your mama raised you right, my boy."
"Thanks, Darlene," he said. He rose up, tugged on his cap. "I'm sure my mama would be flattered to hear that." He started for the door.
"Wait," the woman said. "How did you know my name?"
He'd remembered it, but he couldn't tell her that. The person he needed to speak to next was Steve.
Friday, February 12, 2016
No. 92
Prompt: Marvel movies, author’s choice, It comes down to this: “Wasn’t his fault,” Steve says.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/694627.html?thread=91443043#t91443043
"Wasn't his fault," Steve says.
Pepper stares at the glass shards of the broken award in dismay.
"Couldn't have been Bucky," Tony agrees. "After all, why would the one-armed guy be playing catch? In the house?" He hides his baseball glove behind his back. Steve is the fastest on the uptake and he'd managed to hide his under the coffee table before Pepper saw.
Bucky's expression is surprisingly guileless, given what he used to do for a living.
Pepper eyes them all, and Tony knows she could get Jarvis to pull up the security feed and show her what really happened, but she just throws her hands up.
"Just don't do it again."
And she walks away. Tony admires the sway of her hips as she goes. Steve is already searching for a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess.
Bucky, who'd been hiding the ball behind his back, says, "Thanks for the save."
The fond, "Any time," from Steve is so heartfelt Tony feels a cavity coming on. He rolls his eyes and wonders if Steve will ever make a move, or if Bucky will finally see what's in front of him. Maybe not. But hey, at least they're both good for an old-fashioned game of catch now and again. Tony's dad had never played catch with him.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/694627.html?thread=91443043#t91443043
"Wasn't his fault," Steve says.
Pepper stares at the glass shards of the broken award in dismay.
"Couldn't have been Bucky," Tony agrees. "After all, why would the one-armed guy be playing catch? In the house?" He hides his baseball glove behind his back. Steve is the fastest on the uptake and he'd managed to hide his under the coffee table before Pepper saw.
Bucky's expression is surprisingly guileless, given what he used to do for a living.
Pepper eyes them all, and Tony knows she could get Jarvis to pull up the security feed and show her what really happened, but she just throws her hands up.
"Just don't do it again."
And she walks away. Tony admires the sway of her hips as she goes. Steve is already searching for a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess.
Bucky, who'd been hiding the ball behind his back, says, "Thanks for the save."
The fond, "Any time," from Steve is so heartfelt Tony feels a cavity coming on. He rolls his eyes and wonders if Steve will ever make a move, or if Bucky will finally see what's in front of him. Maybe not. But hey, at least they're both good for an old-fashioned game of catch now and again. Tony's dad had never played catch with him.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
No. 72
Prompt: Marvel movies, Steve Rogers/ex-Winter Soldier, come with me and just forget the world
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/690442.html?thread=90808586#t90808586
Steve found the ex-Winter Soldier on a Tuesday morning, hanging around the museum display about Bucky Barnes. He made sure to approach loudly, say, "Hey," as casually as he could, but the stranger with his best friend's face still started sharply and turned, looking hunted.
But when he said, "Steve?" he sounded plaintive, almost frightened, the way Bucky had when they were kids and one of them had a nightmare during a sleepover, and Steve couldn't help but close a hand around his wrist and tug.
"Come with me."
"But –"
"Just forget the rest of the world." Steve bundled Bucky into his car, and they drove, far from the city both of them knew, till the urban skyline gave way to country horizon. Steve found a house in a small town, a fixer-upper that he could buy for cents on the dollar because the thing was a foreclosure, and he bought it in cash on the spot. (Being dead for as long as he had while his accounts accrued interest for decades plus combat pay with SHIELD made for a pretty penny.)
The real estate agent looked askance at Steve's shadow, the bulky man who held himself like he wanted to be as small as he could and was possibly missing an arm. Steve explained, calmly, that his friend was a veteran, and that made the real estate agent warm up considerably, but Bucky barely said a word to the woman.
Once the deed was in hand, Steve set about fixing the house. He and Bucky made camp - sleeping bags, propane stove, canned food - in the living room, and for months they worked side-by-side in near silence. It took them a while, but soon they found a rhythm to working together, maneuvering in small, awkward spaces and sharing tools. Bucky stared at each tool like he was trying to read a book in a foreign language, and Steve despaired of him ever recovering the handy-man dexterity he once had with a hammer or a wrench.
For the first few weeks, the neighbors avoided them, but then one day the doorbell rang - it was one of the first things Steve fixed, after watching a YouTube video about it - and a woman was there with a Tupperware container full of home-baked cookies.
She was Baptist and a widow and constantly chattered on about the seemingly endless church activities and socials she was involved in (and invited them to), but she didn't blink at the way Steve looked at Bucky sometimes, and when the weather turned colder, she even brought over a hand-knitted sweater with a little closed sleeve for Bucky's missing arm. She also brought over lots and lots of home-cooked food that could be stored in their little freezer and easily reheated in their little microwave, and even though Steve had demonstrated his superhuman strength more than once, she occasionally sent her grandson over to shovel their driveway and sidewalks.
And slowly the ramshackle little house became a home, and Steve and Bucky became part of the neighborhood, and the only people who ever knocked on their door were well-meaning neighbors, and none of them mentioned SHIELD or the Avengers even though more than one of them had recognized Steve.
When Bucky finally kissed him, Steve hoped the world had forgotten them and would never think of them again, because they were where they were supposed to be, and they would never leave.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/690442.html?thread=90808586#t90808586
Steve found the ex-Winter Soldier on a Tuesday morning, hanging around the museum display about Bucky Barnes. He made sure to approach loudly, say, "Hey," as casually as he could, but the stranger with his best friend's face still started sharply and turned, looking hunted.
But when he said, "Steve?" he sounded plaintive, almost frightened, the way Bucky had when they were kids and one of them had a nightmare during a sleepover, and Steve couldn't help but close a hand around his wrist and tug.
"Come with me."
"But –"
"Just forget the rest of the world." Steve bundled Bucky into his car, and they drove, far from the city both of them knew, till the urban skyline gave way to country horizon. Steve found a house in a small town, a fixer-upper that he could buy for cents on the dollar because the thing was a foreclosure, and he bought it in cash on the spot. (Being dead for as long as he had while his accounts accrued interest for decades plus combat pay with SHIELD made for a pretty penny.)
The real estate agent looked askance at Steve's shadow, the bulky man who held himself like he wanted to be as small as he could and was possibly missing an arm. Steve explained, calmly, that his friend was a veteran, and that made the real estate agent warm up considerably, but Bucky barely said a word to the woman.
Once the deed was in hand, Steve set about fixing the house. He and Bucky made camp - sleeping bags, propane stove, canned food - in the living room, and for months they worked side-by-side in near silence. It took them a while, but soon they found a rhythm to working together, maneuvering in small, awkward spaces and sharing tools. Bucky stared at each tool like he was trying to read a book in a foreign language, and Steve despaired of him ever recovering the handy-man dexterity he once had with a hammer or a wrench.
For the first few weeks, the neighbors avoided them, but then one day the doorbell rang - it was one of the first things Steve fixed, after watching a YouTube video about it - and a woman was there with a Tupperware container full of home-baked cookies.
She was Baptist and a widow and constantly chattered on about the seemingly endless church activities and socials she was involved in (and invited them to), but she didn't blink at the way Steve looked at Bucky sometimes, and when the weather turned colder, she even brought over a hand-knitted sweater with a little closed sleeve for Bucky's missing arm. She also brought over lots and lots of home-cooked food that could be stored in their little freezer and easily reheated in their little microwave, and even though Steve had demonstrated his superhuman strength more than once, she occasionally sent her grandson over to shovel their driveway and sidewalks.
And slowly the ramshackle little house became a home, and Steve and Bucky became part of the neighborhood, and the only people who ever knocked on their door were well-meaning neighbors, and none of them mentioned SHIELD or the Avengers even though more than one of them had recognized Steve.
When Bucky finally kissed him, Steve hoped the world had forgotten them and would never think of them again, because they were where they were supposed to be, and they would never leave.