Prompt:author's choice, author's choice, i put away my childish things - Daniel in foster care
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712436.html?thread=94106356#t94106356
“Daniel?”
“Hm?” He glanced up from his copy of Budge. It was his most prized possession, the one that had belonged to his mother, with her and his father’s endless annotations - criticisms in the margins.
His foster brother Simon (six years old, mother a drug addict, father abusive), rested his chin on his hands and peered at Daniel over the arm of the chair Daniel was curled in while he read.
“What do you dream about?”
“Finding out who really built the pyramids,” Daniel said. “Going back to Egypt one day. Finding treasure.”
Simon frowned. “Don’t you dream about having a forever family? A real mommy and daddy?” He’d been passed from relative to relative so many times he barely remembered the woman who called herself his mother when she bothered to visit once in a blue moon.
Daniel gazed into Simon’s little earnest face. He’d been in this foster home for a long time, was lucky that his parents had friends who were willing to take him in, but he was under no illusion that he was adoptable. He was too old. Too defiant. Talked back to teachers too much. If he weren’t so obedient about doing his chores and getting good grades, he’d probably have been sent on a long time ago, with the way teachers kept complaining about him (and of course his law guardian and caseworker defended him, saying he was bored because he was so brilliant).
He was both and more. Brilliant. Bored. And disillusioned about childhood. There was no safety and security. Disaster was a broken chain, a falling coverstone away.
They’d thought he was trouble because he hadn’t spoken for six months.
Then they’d thought he was trouble because he never stopped talking if he didn’t have his nose in a book.
“I have a forever family,” Daniel said. “They’re just in heaven right now.” He hesitated on heaven, because he’d studied too many cultures and religions and faiths to believe in a single vision of the afterlife.
“I want a forever family.” Simon sighed gustily. “My caseworker says I’m cute enough for one. Are you not cute enough for a new family?”
Daniel laughed. “No, I’m too old to be cute.”
Simon’s eyes went wide. “Am I too old to be cute?”
“No,” Daniel said quickly. “You’ll never be too old to be cute. There’s a forever family out there for you.” It was a lie. Simon had a tendency to lie and hoard food, sleep on the floor and steal things because he could. If he didn’t get it together, he’d be moved on and moved on and moved on and never get his forever family.
But Simon was a child, and he deserved to hold onto his childish dreams for just a little longer.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Monday, April 18, 2016
No. 39
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, John Sheppard's IDC comes through the Stargate from offworld, but it's Rodney McKay that walks through it.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712125.html?thread=94081725#t94081725
“Unscheduled off-world activation,” Chuck said.
Elizabeth lifted her head from the Ancient text she was studying.
“Major Sheppard’s IDC,” Chuck continued.
Elizabeth nodded. “Open the iris.”
Chuck obeyed, and the iris disengaged.
“Hang on now,” John said, and Elizabeth spun around.
“Major Sheppard! What are you doing here?”
John gestured to the sling his arm was in. Elizabeth stared.
“Ma’am?” Chuck asked. “Who’s using his IDC?”
They all stared as Rodney McKay came strolling through the gate. A Rodney McKay who was wearing the black-and-grey uniform of a soldier, wearing a tac vest and carrying a P-90, and was followed by...Teyla, Lieutenant Vega, and...Jeannie Miller, who was wearing the blue-and-grey uniform of a scientist.
“--For the last time, Meredith,” Jeannie was saying. “Your dumb act is getting really old.” Rodney raised a hand and waved to Elizabeth. “Dr. Weir,” he said, “we’re back safe and sound, but whatever Ancient tech was on that planet is either long gone or long-defunct. Jeannie didn’t get any readings.” “Rodney,” Elizabeth said, “why are you using John’s IDC? And what is your sister doing here?” Rodney, starting to unclip his P-90, paused. “Ma’am? Dr. McKay has been a member of my gate team since day one. And I used my IDC. I’m the military commander of Atlantis. Why would John Sheppard, who’s the CSO, have the same IDC as me?” He smiled up at John fondly, which made Elizabeth blink.
Jeannie cleared her throat. “Meredith, take a good look at John.”
“I know what he looks like,” Rodney said.
“He’s wearing a military uniform,” Jeannie said.
“That’s because I am the military commander of Atlantis,” John said. “Major John Sheppard, United States Air Force. Pleased to meet you…?”
“Major Rodney McKay, Royal Canadian Air Force,” Rodney said. He rounded on Jeannie. “Are you sure you dialed the gate right?”
“This is Atlantis, isn’t it?”
“The wrong Atlantis!”
“Sir,” Vega said, and that was just uncanny, “what should we do?”
“More importantly,” John said, “where’s our Rodney and Teyla and Ronon?”
“Did you experience any energy fluctuations or malfunctions or anything else unusual while you dialed or when the wormhole stabilized?” Chuck asked.
Jeannie shook her head. “The planet was basically empty. It was a routine recon.”
John said, “We should send Lorne and Zelenka through to the planet to check the DHD and see what they can figure out.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Chuck, you and Amelia run gate diagnostics. Hopefully we can figure this out.”
“I can help,” Jeannie said. “Mer could, too, if he’d stop playing dumb.” She actually punched him in the shoulder.
Rodney rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of longsuffering. “Yes, we can try to help.”
“I’m sure you understand, but we need you checked out by Dr. Beckett before anything else,” Elizabeth said.
Rodney nodded. “Of course. Make sure we’re not replicators or anything else unpleasant.”
John radioed for a security team, who relieved Rodney and his team of their weapons.
“I’ll escort them to Beckett,” John said.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. John trotted down the stairs to the gate room, looking Rodney up and down, amused by the notion of Rodney as a soldier.
“So,” John said, “I’m CSO in your universe, am I?”
“You’re brilliant no matter what universe you’re in,” Rodney said, and leaned in, kissed John on the mouth.
Everybody froze.
Jeannie cleared her throat. “Mer. Not our universe. American military. DADT.”
Rodney stepped back very carefully, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Right. Sorry. It’s sort of - reflexive at this point.”
John was blushing bright red. Elizabeth had never seen him blush before.
“Right. Let’s remember that not all is the same between our universes and keep our hands and mouths to ourselves from here on out, all right?”
“Right,” Rodney said, smiling tightly. “Lead on, Major.”
“After you, Major.”
Elizabeth noticed the way John’s gaze fixed speculatively on Rodney as the marines escorted them out of Ops, and she wondered if their universes weren’t so different after all.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712125.html?thread=94081725#t94081725
“Unscheduled off-world activation,” Chuck said.
Elizabeth lifted her head from the Ancient text she was studying.
“Major Sheppard’s IDC,” Chuck continued.
Elizabeth nodded. “Open the iris.”
Chuck obeyed, and the iris disengaged.
“Hang on now,” John said, and Elizabeth spun around.
“Major Sheppard! What are you doing here?”
John gestured to the sling his arm was in. Elizabeth stared.
“Ma’am?” Chuck asked. “Who’s using his IDC?”
They all stared as Rodney McKay came strolling through the gate. A Rodney McKay who was wearing the black-and-grey uniform of a soldier, wearing a tac vest and carrying a P-90, and was followed by...Teyla, Lieutenant Vega, and...Jeannie Miller, who was wearing the blue-and-grey uniform of a scientist.
“--For the last time, Meredith,” Jeannie was saying. “Your dumb act is getting really old.” Rodney raised a hand and waved to Elizabeth. “Dr. Weir,” he said, “we’re back safe and sound, but whatever Ancient tech was on that planet is either long gone or long-defunct. Jeannie didn’t get any readings.” “Rodney,” Elizabeth said, “why are you using John’s IDC? And what is your sister doing here?” Rodney, starting to unclip his P-90, paused. “Ma’am? Dr. McKay has been a member of my gate team since day one. And I used my IDC. I’m the military commander of Atlantis. Why would John Sheppard, who’s the CSO, have the same IDC as me?” He smiled up at John fondly, which made Elizabeth blink.
Jeannie cleared her throat. “Meredith, take a good look at John.”
“I know what he looks like,” Rodney said.
“He’s wearing a military uniform,” Jeannie said.
“That’s because I am the military commander of Atlantis,” John said. “Major John Sheppard, United States Air Force. Pleased to meet you…?”
“Major Rodney McKay, Royal Canadian Air Force,” Rodney said. He rounded on Jeannie. “Are you sure you dialed the gate right?”
“This is Atlantis, isn’t it?”
“The wrong Atlantis!”
“Sir,” Vega said, and that was just uncanny, “what should we do?”
“More importantly,” John said, “where’s our Rodney and Teyla and Ronon?”
“Did you experience any energy fluctuations or malfunctions or anything else unusual while you dialed or when the wormhole stabilized?” Chuck asked.
Jeannie shook her head. “The planet was basically empty. It was a routine recon.”
John said, “We should send Lorne and Zelenka through to the planet to check the DHD and see what they can figure out.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Chuck, you and Amelia run gate diagnostics. Hopefully we can figure this out.”
“I can help,” Jeannie said. “Mer could, too, if he’d stop playing dumb.” She actually punched him in the shoulder.
Rodney rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of longsuffering. “Yes, we can try to help.”
“I’m sure you understand, but we need you checked out by Dr. Beckett before anything else,” Elizabeth said.
Rodney nodded. “Of course. Make sure we’re not replicators or anything else unpleasant.”
John radioed for a security team, who relieved Rodney and his team of their weapons.
“I’ll escort them to Beckett,” John said.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. John trotted down the stairs to the gate room, looking Rodney up and down, amused by the notion of Rodney as a soldier.
“So,” John said, “I’m CSO in your universe, am I?”
“You’re brilliant no matter what universe you’re in,” Rodney said, and leaned in, kissed John on the mouth.
Everybody froze.
Jeannie cleared her throat. “Mer. Not our universe. American military. DADT.”
Rodney stepped back very carefully, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Right. Sorry. It’s sort of - reflexive at this point.”
John was blushing bright red. Elizabeth had never seen him blush before.
“Right. Let’s remember that not all is the same between our universes and keep our hands and mouths to ourselves from here on out, all right?”
“Right,” Rodney said, smiling tightly. “Lead on, Major.”
“After you, Major.”
Elizabeth noticed the way John’s gaze fixed speculatively on Rodney as the marines escorted them out of Ops, and she wondered if their universes weren’t so different after all.
No. 40
Prompt: Stargate Multiverse, Any, they put an address in the DHD, but that's not where they ended up
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712125.html?thread=94083773#t94083773
“You know what I’m looking forward to?” Rodney asked.
“What?” John scanned the horizon, P-90 at the ready. Even though their first contact with the natives had gone well, a soldier could never be too careful. The natives reported that they hadn’t been culled by the Wraith in a long time. Given how small their population was, that was understandable. Even if they were technologically primitive, their planet could be useful as an evacuation site in case of an emergency.
“Brownies,” Rodney said. “It’s brownie day in the mess hall. Daedalus came by with real cocoa powder. I heard Lorne talking about it.” He smiled dreamily. “Lorne’s such an amazing baker. He’s going to make a real great wife for someone one day.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” John said. “Lorne is also the champion of the SGC USAF annual boxing tournament four years running.”
Ronon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Whenever I spar with him -”
“You’d probably kick Bruce Lee’s ass,” John said.
Ronon looked confused.
“Never mind.” John checked their surroundings once more, then he, Ronon, and Teyla fell into formation to guard Rodney while he dialed Atlantis.
The gate fired up, no problems, and Rodney sent his IDC through. Since no one was chasing them, they waited three seconds for the gate shield to come down, and then they stepped through.
...And into some kind of medieval prom that was definitely not the Atlantis gate room.
The music came to a screeching halt, and all of the kids - some as young as fourteen, the oldest maybe nineteen - turned to stare at them.
“Rodney,” John said out of the corner of his mouth, feigning a smile, “what did you do?”
“I dialed Atlantis,” Rodney hissed back.
A tall man dressed like, no kidding, Merlin the wizard, complete with bright purple robes and a long white beard full of bells, stepped toward them.
“Hello, travelers,” he said.
“Hi.” John raised one hand in greeting. “I’m Major John Sheppard. This is Dr. Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex. We’re peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis.”
“Atlantis,” the old man said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome to the Yule Ball.”
“I think we might have hit a wrong button and ended up...here, instead of Atlantis,” John said. “So if we could just have access to your DHD, we’ll let you get back to your party and be on our way.”
“DHD?” Dumbledore inquired.
Rodney shaped a mushroom-like device with his hands in the air. “About yea high. Covered with the same symbols as on the gate behind us.”
“Gate?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“Ring of the Ancestors,” Teyla suggested.
“Some mirrors are gates,” Dumbledore said, “but I am unfamiliar with this Ring of the Ancestors.”
John spun around. Behind them was a massive stone wall, rising to a gothic arch, decorated with silvery icicles and shining snowflakes, and also a full-length mirror with a fancy wrought-brass frame. It looked like something antique from Earth, but not Ancient.
Rodney made a low sound of distress. “But it’s brownie day!”
“We do have brownies,” Dumbledore said. “Please, I am much intrigued by news of Atlantis. Let us speak, and perhaps I can help you find your way home.”
And that was how they found themselves in a dungeon, surrounded by house elves who were plying Rodney with brownies while he argued with a black-haired, hook-nosed man named Severus Snape over teleportation, portkeys, and other traveling magic, and John was thinking things on for Dumbledore over and over and over again.
“These are pretty good brownies,” Ronon said, taking another one from a tiny elf. “Thanks,” he said, and the thing promptly burst into tears.
Teyla shot him a look and tried to console it, and it cried more.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/712125.html?thread=94083773#t94083773
“You know what I’m looking forward to?” Rodney asked.
“What?” John scanned the horizon, P-90 at the ready. Even though their first contact with the natives had gone well, a soldier could never be too careful. The natives reported that they hadn’t been culled by the Wraith in a long time. Given how small their population was, that was understandable. Even if they were technologically primitive, their planet could be useful as an evacuation site in case of an emergency.
“Brownies,” Rodney said. “It’s brownie day in the mess hall. Daedalus came by with real cocoa powder. I heard Lorne talking about it.” He smiled dreamily. “Lorne’s such an amazing baker. He’s going to make a real great wife for someone one day.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” John said. “Lorne is also the champion of the SGC USAF annual boxing tournament four years running.”
Ronon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Whenever I spar with him -”
“You’d probably kick Bruce Lee’s ass,” John said.
Ronon looked confused.
“Never mind.” John checked their surroundings once more, then he, Ronon, and Teyla fell into formation to guard Rodney while he dialed Atlantis.
The gate fired up, no problems, and Rodney sent his IDC through. Since no one was chasing them, they waited three seconds for the gate shield to come down, and then they stepped through.
...And into some kind of medieval prom that was definitely not the Atlantis gate room.
The music came to a screeching halt, and all of the kids - some as young as fourteen, the oldest maybe nineteen - turned to stare at them.
“Rodney,” John said out of the corner of his mouth, feigning a smile, “what did you do?”
“I dialed Atlantis,” Rodney hissed back.
A tall man dressed like, no kidding, Merlin the wizard, complete with bright purple robes and a long white beard full of bells, stepped toward them.
“Hello, travelers,” he said.
“Hi.” John raised one hand in greeting. “I’m Major John Sheppard. This is Dr. Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, and Ronon Dex. We’re peaceful explorers from the City of Atlantis.”
“Atlantis,” the old man said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome to the Yule Ball.”
“I think we might have hit a wrong button and ended up...here, instead of Atlantis,” John said. “So if we could just have access to your DHD, we’ll let you get back to your party and be on our way.”
“DHD?” Dumbledore inquired.
Rodney shaped a mushroom-like device with his hands in the air. “About yea high. Covered with the same symbols as on the gate behind us.”
“Gate?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“Ring of the Ancestors,” Teyla suggested.
“Some mirrors are gates,” Dumbledore said, “but I am unfamiliar with this Ring of the Ancestors.”
John spun around. Behind them was a massive stone wall, rising to a gothic arch, decorated with silvery icicles and shining snowflakes, and also a full-length mirror with a fancy wrought-brass frame. It looked like something antique from Earth, but not Ancient.
Rodney made a low sound of distress. “But it’s brownie day!”
“We do have brownies,” Dumbledore said. “Please, I am much intrigued by news of Atlantis. Let us speak, and perhaps I can help you find your way home.”
And that was how they found themselves in a dungeon, surrounded by house elves who were plying Rodney with brownies while he argued with a black-haired, hook-nosed man named Severus Snape over teleportation, portkeys, and other traveling magic, and John was thinking things on for Dumbledore over and over and over again.
“These are pretty good brownies,” Ronon said, taking another one from a tiny elf. “Thanks,” he said, and the thing promptly burst into tears.
Teyla shot him a look and tried to console it, and it cried more.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
No. 38
Prompt: Stargate: SG-1, Daniel Jackson (+/Any),
Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/711094.html?thread=94007222#t94007222
"And for those reasons, your honor, I recommend that my client be emancipated, as emancipation is in his best interest." Anna glanced at the boy beside her, raised her eyebrows.
He nodded.
Judge Heinlein cleared his throat. "I appreciate your recommendation, counsel. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?"
Daniel cleared his throat, lifted his chin. "Your Honor, I've received a full-tuition scholarship to the University of Chicago's archaeology program. I've also received additional stipends for housing and book expenses. Over the past year I've demonstrated my ability to manage my own affairs. I graduated from school with honors, I've maintained my own budget and expenses. I appreciate the assistance I've received from the state, but after my foster parents passed away, my unstable residence in various group homes has been...less than ideal. I'm ready to strike out on my own. My education will go much more smoothly if I can handle things on my own without state intervention."
"All well and good, young man," Judge Heinlein said. "That's basically what your lawyer told me. But what about you? How will you feel, out on your own? Who will you go home to on the holidays?"
"I'll be fine, sir. I'll manage. I always do." Daniel smiled.
Heinlein raised his eyebrows at Anna. She shrugged. There was nothing else to say or do. There was no legal reason to keep Daniel in state's custody and every reason to set him free.
"In that case, I find that it is in Daniel Jackson's best interest to be emancipated and for court jurisdiction over him to be terminated. I release the Division of Child Services and the law guardian with our thanks. It is so ordered."
"Thank you, your honor," Daniel said.
Anna smiled at him. "Go wait out in the hall. I'll bring you a copy of the order."
Daniel nodded, straightened his tie, and left the courtroom. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Heinlein took off his glasses and sighed.
"He's a solemn kid, isn't he?"
"I don't think he's been a kid since the day I met him," Anna said. She shook her head. "Eight years old when his parents died."
"Well, he's a man now, as far as the state is concerned."
"I think he'll be a good man, sir," Anna said. She gathered her files into her briefcase.
"I hope so, counselor."
Anna glanced at the double doors and wondered what Daniel Jackson would do with his lifetime. She was sure it would be something wonderful.
Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age
The child is grown, and puts away childish things.
Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/711094.html?thread=94007222#t94007222
"And for those reasons, your honor, I recommend that my client be emancipated, as emancipation is in his best interest." Anna glanced at the boy beside her, raised her eyebrows.
He nodded.
Judge Heinlein cleared his throat. "I appreciate your recommendation, counsel. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?"
Daniel cleared his throat, lifted his chin. "Your Honor, I've received a full-tuition scholarship to the University of Chicago's archaeology program. I've also received additional stipends for housing and book expenses. Over the past year I've demonstrated my ability to manage my own affairs. I graduated from school with honors, I've maintained my own budget and expenses. I appreciate the assistance I've received from the state, but after my foster parents passed away, my unstable residence in various group homes has been...less than ideal. I'm ready to strike out on my own. My education will go much more smoothly if I can handle things on my own without state intervention."
"All well and good, young man," Judge Heinlein said. "That's basically what your lawyer told me. But what about you? How will you feel, out on your own? Who will you go home to on the holidays?"
"I'll be fine, sir. I'll manage. I always do." Daniel smiled.
Heinlein raised his eyebrows at Anna. She shrugged. There was nothing else to say or do. There was no legal reason to keep Daniel in state's custody and every reason to set him free.
"In that case, I find that it is in Daniel Jackson's best interest to be emancipated and for court jurisdiction over him to be terminated. I release the Division of Child Services and the law guardian with our thanks. It is so ordered."
"Thank you, your honor," Daniel said.
Anna smiled at him. "Go wait out in the hall. I'll bring you a copy of the order."
Daniel nodded, straightened his tie, and left the courtroom. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Heinlein took off his glasses and sighed.
"He's a solemn kid, isn't he?"
"I don't think he's been a kid since the day I met him," Anna said. She shook her head. "Eight years old when his parents died."
"Well, he's a man now, as far as the state is concerned."
"I think he'll be a good man, sir," Anna said. She gathered her files into her briefcase.
"I hope so, counselor."
Anna glanced at the double doors and wondered what Daniel Jackson would do with his lifetime. She was sure it would be something wonderful.
Monday, April 4, 2016
No. 37
Prompt: Stargate: SG1, any, walking on stars
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/708553.html?thread=93665737#t93665737
Carolyn knew Janet Fraiser had gone off-world more than once, usually to assist a planet's natives with her expertise, or to provide medical assistance in support of a treaty. The last time Janet Fraiser had gone off world had been, well, her last. So the first time her father authorized SG-11 to take her through the Stargate or a simple walkabout mission - glad-hand the natives, hand out antihistamines and boxes of tissue - she was nervous. Irrationally nervous, she was sure, because it was a simple mission. But Janet Fraiser had been a soldier as well as a doctor, and she was better equipped to handle what could happen on the other side of the gate. Anything could happen on the other side of the gate. Dr. Balinsky, sulking in one of the far cots and temporarily a woman, was proof of that.
She listened very carefully as the Quartermaster explained everything that was in her tac vest, and she listened even more carefully as Sergeant Edwards, the member of SG-11 assigned to her personal security, explained the basic hand signals for silent communication and tactical advances on a space. Carolyn knew how to handle a firearm well enough, but she'd never been good at using one under pressure.
"Don't worry," Edwards said, smiling. She was a round-cheeked, blue-eyed, pretty woman with a kind smile and glasses. "I've got your back. And hey, this planet is all human."
"All human?" Carolyn echoed.
"We were on an Unas planet overseeing a mine operation for forever," Edwards said, rolling her eyes. "The marines taught the Unas how to play football. Got tackled a few times. It's only thanks to your medical team's expertise that I'm still here." She nodded to the door. "Let's go."
Carolyn assembled with the rest of SG-11 at the bottom of the ramp in the gate room, and her heart pounded in her ears.
She heard he father give the go-ahead, and then it took all she had to force her feet to move, to keep pace with Edwards, who was striding up the gate like it was perfectly normal to get disassembled and shot across the galaxy.
At Stargate Command, it was.
They emerged on the other side in the middle of the night, with four shining moons overhead. It was perfectly, utterly quiet, no city sounds, no cars, no sirens, no music, no televisions. Just the wind rustling through the trees, and somewhere distant the sound of running water.
And the stars. Carolyn tipped her head back and stared. She was a city girl at heart, had followed her father from base to base all her life, had never had the chance to be somewhere without light pollution. Without air pollution. It was like there was no barrier between the planet and the sky.
Just...stars.
It was like she was walking among the stars. And in a sense, she was. Somewhere up in that sky was the Sun, the one that warmed Earth. She was standing on a planet that traveled around one of the stars she'd looked up at from Earth.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Edwards asked. She reached into her pocket, drew out one of those cheap little disposable cameras that still used film, aimed it at the sky, and took a shot.
Carolyn blinked at her.
Edwards shrugged. "I take a picture of the night sky on any new planet if I get the chance. Now come on - let's help some natives with their hay fever."
And on they walked.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/708553.html?thread=93665737#t93665737
Carolyn knew Janet Fraiser had gone off-world more than once, usually to assist a planet's natives with her expertise, or to provide medical assistance in support of a treaty. The last time Janet Fraiser had gone off world had been, well, her last. So the first time her father authorized SG-11 to take her through the Stargate or a simple walkabout mission - glad-hand the natives, hand out antihistamines and boxes of tissue - she was nervous. Irrationally nervous, she was sure, because it was a simple mission. But Janet Fraiser had been a soldier as well as a doctor, and she was better equipped to handle what could happen on the other side of the gate. Anything could happen on the other side of the gate. Dr. Balinsky, sulking in one of the far cots and temporarily a woman, was proof of that.
She listened very carefully as the Quartermaster explained everything that was in her tac vest, and she listened even more carefully as Sergeant Edwards, the member of SG-11 assigned to her personal security, explained the basic hand signals for silent communication and tactical advances on a space. Carolyn knew how to handle a firearm well enough, but she'd never been good at using one under pressure.
"Don't worry," Edwards said, smiling. She was a round-cheeked, blue-eyed, pretty woman with a kind smile and glasses. "I've got your back. And hey, this planet is all human."
"All human?" Carolyn echoed.
"We were on an Unas planet overseeing a mine operation for forever," Edwards said, rolling her eyes. "The marines taught the Unas how to play football. Got tackled a few times. It's only thanks to your medical team's expertise that I'm still here." She nodded to the door. "Let's go."
Carolyn assembled with the rest of SG-11 at the bottom of the ramp in the gate room, and her heart pounded in her ears.
She heard he father give the go-ahead, and then it took all she had to force her feet to move, to keep pace with Edwards, who was striding up the gate like it was perfectly normal to get disassembled and shot across the galaxy.
At Stargate Command, it was.
They emerged on the other side in the middle of the night, with four shining moons overhead. It was perfectly, utterly quiet, no city sounds, no cars, no sirens, no music, no televisions. Just the wind rustling through the trees, and somewhere distant the sound of running water.
And the stars. Carolyn tipped her head back and stared. She was a city girl at heart, had followed her father from base to base all her life, had never had the chance to be somewhere without light pollution. Without air pollution. It was like there was no barrier between the planet and the sky.
Just...stars.
It was like she was walking among the stars. And in a sense, she was. Somewhere up in that sky was the Sun, the one that warmed Earth. She was standing on a planet that traveled around one of the stars she'd looked up at from Earth.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Edwards asked. She reached into her pocket, drew out one of those cheap little disposable cameras that still used film, aimed it at the sky, and took a shot.
Carolyn blinked at her.
Edwards shrugged. "I take a picture of the night sky on any new planet if I get the chance. Now come on - let's help some natives with their hay fever."
And on they walked.
Friday, April 1, 2016
No. 36
Prompt: Any (except Supernatural), any/any, soulmark au in which any writing/tattoos/etc on the hand and forearm also appear on the soul mate's hand/forearm (so when Character A writes Milk, Sugar, Nice biscuits on their arm Character B gets the things before Char A has time to, and if Char B gets F U C K tattooed on his/her knuckles they appear on Char A's knuckles at exactly the wrong moment)
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/707714.html?thread=93573506#t93573506
Rodney was convinced his future soulmate was some kind of closeted manwhore, because every Friday and Saturday night (and one baffling Tuesday night) all through grad school (when most ordinary peons would be in college), phone numbers appeared on Rodney's right hand, along with girls' names. They vanished fairly quickly afterward, like his future soulmate was washing them off, but if his future soulmate was attracting the likes of Trixie, Dixie, Roxie, and Candy, Rodney wanted a new soulmate, please.
He was slightly mollified when he saw the math formulas that appeared during what would be regular class hours. Whoever his future soulmate was, he was good at math (and Rodney wasn't much for subscribing to stereotypes, but his soulmate had fairly masculine-looking handwriting, and also Rodney was basically bi but mostly gay).
And then Rodney came up with a great idea. He and his soulmate could play a game. Prime/Not Prime. Rodney started, using a six-digit number. The response was rapid and, more importantly, correct. It was a great way to stay awake during boring lectures, even if Rodney looked like a victim of the worst tattoo artist at the end of it.
He would get nervous, sometimes, when his soulmate took a long time to respond. He was even more nervous when his soulmate's handwriting was shaky.
He was terrified when his soulmate didn't answer at all for weeks on end.
They never dared send real messages. What's your name? Where are you? What do you look like? Can we meet?
Just endless rounds of Prime/Not Prime. They upped the ante with Mersenne Primes. Penalized each other (with little frownie faces) for using a number that had already been played before.
One time Rodney woke in the night screaming with agonizing pain in his left shoulder. His soulmate had been shot.
The messages became few and far between when Rodney started working for the Stargate program, because he was incredibly busy, and his soulmate was incredibly busy too, whatever he was doing.
And then he was selected for the Atlantis Expedition, and he hated the messy-haired chopper pilot who had the type of ATA gene expression Rodney would have killed for.
And then, one day, during a very dull meeting, Rodney turned his hand over and wrote a number and the eternal question: Prime/Not Prime? He wondered if their connection lasted across galaxies.
Across the conference table, Sheppard snorted and turned his hand over and picked up the pen he was supposed to be taking notes with and wrote, and ink appeared on Rodney's hand at the same time, Prime. You've used that number before.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/707714.html?thread=93573506#t93573506
Rodney was convinced his future soulmate was some kind of closeted manwhore, because every Friday and Saturday night (and one baffling Tuesday night) all through grad school (when most ordinary peons would be in college), phone numbers appeared on Rodney's right hand, along with girls' names. They vanished fairly quickly afterward, like his future soulmate was washing them off, but if his future soulmate was attracting the likes of Trixie, Dixie, Roxie, and Candy, Rodney wanted a new soulmate, please.
He was slightly mollified when he saw the math formulas that appeared during what would be regular class hours. Whoever his future soulmate was, he was good at math (and Rodney wasn't much for subscribing to stereotypes, but his soulmate had fairly masculine-looking handwriting, and also Rodney was basically bi but mostly gay).
And then Rodney came up with a great idea. He and his soulmate could play a game. Prime/Not Prime. Rodney started, using a six-digit number. The response was rapid and, more importantly, correct. It was a great way to stay awake during boring lectures, even if Rodney looked like a victim of the worst tattoo artist at the end of it.
He would get nervous, sometimes, when his soulmate took a long time to respond. He was even more nervous when his soulmate's handwriting was shaky.
He was terrified when his soulmate didn't answer at all for weeks on end.
They never dared send real messages. What's your name? Where are you? What do you look like? Can we meet?
Just endless rounds of Prime/Not Prime. They upped the ante with Mersenne Primes. Penalized each other (with little frownie faces) for using a number that had already been played before.
One time Rodney woke in the night screaming with agonizing pain in his left shoulder. His soulmate had been shot.
The messages became few and far between when Rodney started working for the Stargate program, because he was incredibly busy, and his soulmate was incredibly busy too, whatever he was doing.
And then he was selected for the Atlantis Expedition, and he hated the messy-haired chopper pilot who had the type of ATA gene expression Rodney would have killed for.
And then, one day, during a very dull meeting, Rodney turned his hand over and wrote a number and the eternal question: Prime/Not Prime? He wondered if their connection lasted across galaxies.
Across the conference table, Sheppard snorted and turned his hand over and picked up the pen he was supposed to be taking notes with and wrote, and ink appeared on Rodney's hand at the same time, Prime. You've used that number before.
No. 35
Prompt: Stargate Multiverse, Any, trailer park AU
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/707714.html?thread=93516674#t93516674
The radio next to the bed went off. Elizabeth groaned and reached for it. “Go for Weir.”
“Ma’am.” It was Chuck. Why a trailer park had a neighborhood patrol Elizabeth couldn’t even begin to guess, but she didn’t want to get into it too much. She was too tired for that. “The Scientists are at it again.”
“If they’re making noise or noxious fumes call the cops, not me.”
“They’re making a bomb I think, ma’am.”
“Then call the cops!”
“Ma’am, I think you need to see this.”
Elizabeth groaned and hauled herself out of the bed. “Fine. Be right there.” She rolled out of bed and pulled on the cleanest clothes she could find.
Atlantis Park was the dumping ground for the government’s rejects. Cam Mitchell in Unit 1 had lost both his legs in a crash as a USAF test pilot. He spent most of his days knitting blankets and scarves and sweaters and reminiscing about the good old days. John Sheppard had also once been a USAF pilot, but he’d crashed a chopper or something in A-stan and been sent home. He didn’t like to talk about it, tended to hang out on the porch of his little trailer and play his guitar and occasionally have screaming phone calls with his ex-wife. Jack O’Neill’s ex-wife had made an appearance only once in his entire time at the park. They’d had a quiet conversation, and after she’d left, O’Neill had broken three years of sobriety by getting blind drunk off of Carson Beckett’s scotch, and these days he wasn’t around much, leaving at dawn to fish somewhere and coming back with no fish and lots of empty beer cans. He’d had a girlfriend for a while, a pretty woman named Samantha, but she hadn’t shown up recently. Daniel Jackson was a disgraced archaeologist who taught ESL out of his trailer to hordes of illegal immigrants. Once in a while he and O’Neill would play chess, but he didn’t seem to otherwise have friends. McKay said Daniel thought the pyramids had been built by aliens, and he’d been laughed out of academia.
McKay didn’t have much room to talk, because he was living in Atlantis too.
And apparently he and Zelenka were building bombs.
“False alarm,” McKay said when Elizabeth stomped over to the little fire pit McKay and Zelenka had set up between their trailers. “Not bombs. Just s’mores.”
They had graham crackers and chocolate bars and bags of giant marshamallows.
“But you can make bombs out of sugary things,” Zelenka said, and Rodney glared at him.
Chuck stepped out of the shadows, flanked by Sheppard and O’Neill and Jackson, and Mitchell wheeled in beside him, holding up a sign.
Happy Birthday Elizabeth!
And this...this was why she’d never go back to working for the UN.
http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/707714.html?thread=93516674#t93516674
The radio next to the bed went off. Elizabeth groaned and reached for it. “Go for Weir.”
“Ma’am.” It was Chuck. Why a trailer park had a neighborhood patrol Elizabeth couldn’t even begin to guess, but she didn’t want to get into it too much. She was too tired for that. “The Scientists are at it again.”
“If they’re making noise or noxious fumes call the cops, not me.”
“They’re making a bomb I think, ma’am.”
“Then call the cops!”
“Ma’am, I think you need to see this.”
Elizabeth groaned and hauled herself out of the bed. “Fine. Be right there.” She rolled out of bed and pulled on the cleanest clothes she could find.
Atlantis Park was the dumping ground for the government’s rejects. Cam Mitchell in Unit 1 had lost both his legs in a crash as a USAF test pilot. He spent most of his days knitting blankets and scarves and sweaters and reminiscing about the good old days. John Sheppard had also once been a USAF pilot, but he’d crashed a chopper or something in A-stan and been sent home. He didn’t like to talk about it, tended to hang out on the porch of his little trailer and play his guitar and occasionally have screaming phone calls with his ex-wife. Jack O’Neill’s ex-wife had made an appearance only once in his entire time at the park. They’d had a quiet conversation, and after she’d left, O’Neill had broken three years of sobriety by getting blind drunk off of Carson Beckett’s scotch, and these days he wasn’t around much, leaving at dawn to fish somewhere and coming back with no fish and lots of empty beer cans. He’d had a girlfriend for a while, a pretty woman named Samantha, but she hadn’t shown up recently. Daniel Jackson was a disgraced archaeologist who taught ESL out of his trailer to hordes of illegal immigrants. Once in a while he and O’Neill would play chess, but he didn’t seem to otherwise have friends. McKay said Daniel thought the pyramids had been built by aliens, and he’d been laughed out of academia.
McKay didn’t have much room to talk, because he was living in Atlantis too.
And apparently he and Zelenka were building bombs.
“False alarm,” McKay said when Elizabeth stomped over to the little fire pit McKay and Zelenka had set up between their trailers. “Not bombs. Just s’mores.”
They had graham crackers and chocolate bars and bags of giant marshamallows.
“But you can make bombs out of sugary things,” Zelenka said, and Rodney glared at him.
Chuck stepped out of the shadows, flanked by Sheppard and O’Neill and Jackson, and Mitchell wheeled in beside him, holding up a sign.
Happy Birthday Elizabeth!
And this...this was why she’d never go back to working for the UN.