(no subject)
First of all, all my squee belong to vagabond_sal, who wrote me Age of Apocalypse Scott/Warren. I'm not sure if anybody remembers just how long I've been jonesing for AoA Scott/Warren, but I am very happy right now.
Less interesting, I've got some Easter Egg ficlets too:
vagabond_sal requested Diana/Bruce:
When consciousness returns to her, Diana sees Bruce speaking softly with two of her gods. Aphrodite starts at something he says and - for an instant - seems almost pensive. She vanishes.
Ares looks at Bruce with an expression of cruel amusement, but he also leaves. For Bruce, that is enough.
Bruce turns and walks to her. He bends to help her shrug off the chains that had once belonged to Hephaestus, and Diana smiles at him. "I'm not surprised you're so adept at negotiating with gods."
Bruce's stare is flat behind his cowl. "I've had practice."
"Oh?" says Diana, and Bruce nods - a slight movement of muscle and dark material. The chains come loose from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor; they collect golden light like Bruce collects shadow.
"You were a goddess."
"Once," Diana says. "And now I am myself."
The edges of his lips twitch into something only those few who know him would recognize as a smile. "Yes."
Bruce offers her a hand, although he knows she does not need it, and although she does not need it, Diana accepts. His gauntlet closes around her bracelet as she climbs to her feet.
He hands her the god tempered metal. "Diana," he says, and this time his expression softens. "You were always yourself."
Diana thanks him, because she knows him well enough not to respond with, But so are you. She rests a hand on his shoulder, and smiles when he doesn't move away.
daegaer requested Crowley/Bentley, Paris 1968 during the May Revolution:
When Crowley finally came back to the street where he parked, he could barely even see the Bentley for the swarm of moving, angry humanity. Now, the best thing might have been to walk up to his car, effortlessly dodging the flying rocks and trucheons, and calmly drive away. Or he might have wandered back off, secure in the knowledge that nothing could hurt his Bentley if he didn't really believe it would.
Instead, Crowley dropped his shopping bags and shouted, "My car!"
Several of the combatants blinked, suddenly noticing the pristine 1926 Bentley in the centre of the melee, and one young policeman stumbled against the hood, bringing his truncheon down by accident.
The sound of dinging metal rang out eerily well over the noise of the fighting, and both the protesters and the police stopped for a moment, shifting uneasily. Their expressions took on a glassy, frightened quality, like they were expecting something large and sharp and not very well understood. As one, the mob moved off to the next street over, and then Crowley heard the sounds of fighting pick up again.
Crowley ran to the Bentley. He placed his fingers gingerly over the injured metal, and it popped back into place. The scratched paint healed over.
"It's okay, then," Crowley said softly. "You're all right."
The Bentley, obviously traumatized, said nothing.
angharad requested Kerr Avon/Tricia McMillan, but, as I'm not familiar with Avon, instead gets a wild card of Trillian, no tea, dark chocolate:
Trillian watched Arthur stare into the cup. "So?" she asked. "How is it?"
"It's the right colour," said Arthur.
"Yes, but is it the right beverage?"
Arthur moved the cup up a few inches, and then lowered it again. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe if I don't try it, I can keep pretending it's tea. And I can, er." He looked back at the cup. "Hold it."
"I suppose you could," said Trillian. "If that's what you want tea for."
Arthur sloshed the liquid around, and then raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and brought it back down. He stared at it again.
"Well?" said Trillian.
"It tastes like dark chocolate," said Arthur despondently.
"You like dark chocolate," Trillian pointed out.
"But I wanted tea." Arthur sighed. "I was nearly eaten by a five-headed gorilla robot, and that's not even the oddest thing that happened to me today. I wanted something comforting."
"I think chocolate is comforting."
"Then you should drink it." Arthur passed her the cup. "And I'll have to find comfort somewhere else."
Arthur headed off towards the crew quarters, and Trillian took a sip of the drink. She thought it was actually quite good.
*
Later, Ford found her on the bridge, asking the ship's computer questions. He grinned contentedly* at her, and said, "So I owe you the usual, then?"
Trillian made a gesture that might have translated to yes. "What I don't understand," she said, "is why, whenever we stop down on a planet, you get the Nutri-Matic fixed so that it makes tea."
"It makes Arthur happy," said Ford.
"Yes," said Trillian. "But afterwards, you always end up paying me to break it again."
Ford gave her a sly grin.* "Well, when it's left to me to make Arthur happy, I'm happier. You have to treat the universe like a cosmic zero-sum game. It says so in the Guide."
Trillian eyed him wearily. "I suppose that's because you wrote it there," she said, and Ford just continued grinning at her.
"But why get me to do it?" she said.
"I couldn't ask Zaphod," Ford said. "He'd get drunk and think it'd be funny to tell everyone."
"No. I mean, why don't you break the Nutri-Matic yourself?"
Ford stared at her for a moment. "That's a horrible suggestion," he said. "I'd never sabotage Arthur's happiness that way."
"But it's all right if I do it?"
"Sure," said Ford. "No one cares what you do."
Trillian rolled her eyes, and Ford grinned at her like he knew he'd won*. She tossed the empty not-tea cup at him, and was even more irritated when he didn't even have to glance away before grabbing it out of the air.
*Not to be confused with his happy, suspicious, hungry, or I'm sorry, was that *your* Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster? grins.
So then, is everybody else sure they don't want one of their own? It's a good chance to get crack-fic, or possibly to get even with me for the utterly insane requests I've been making of you fine people.
Less interesting, I've got some Easter Egg ficlets too:
vagabond_sal requested Diana/Bruce:
When consciousness returns to her, Diana sees Bruce speaking softly with two of her gods. Aphrodite starts at something he says and - for an instant - seems almost pensive. She vanishes.
Ares looks at Bruce with an expression of cruel amusement, but he also leaves. For Bruce, that is enough.
Bruce turns and walks to her. He bends to help her shrug off the chains that had once belonged to Hephaestus, and Diana smiles at him. "I'm not surprised you're so adept at negotiating with gods."
Bruce's stare is flat behind his cowl. "I've had practice."
"Oh?" says Diana, and Bruce nods - a slight movement of muscle and dark material. The chains come loose from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor; they collect golden light like Bruce collects shadow.
"You were a goddess."
"Once," Diana says. "And now I am myself."
The edges of his lips twitch into something only those few who know him would recognize as a smile. "Yes."
Bruce offers her a hand, although he knows she does not need it, and although she does not need it, Diana accepts. His gauntlet closes around her bracelet as she climbs to her feet.
He hands her the god tempered metal. "Diana," he says, and this time his expression softens. "You were always yourself."
Diana thanks him, because she knows him well enough not to respond with, But so are you. She rests a hand on his shoulder, and smiles when he doesn't move away.
daegaer requested Crowley/Bentley, Paris 1968 during the May Revolution:
When Crowley finally came back to the street where he parked, he could barely even see the Bentley for the swarm of moving, angry humanity. Now, the best thing might have been to walk up to his car, effortlessly dodging the flying rocks and trucheons, and calmly drive away. Or he might have wandered back off, secure in the knowledge that nothing could hurt his Bentley if he didn't really believe it would.
Instead, Crowley dropped his shopping bags and shouted, "My car!"
Several of the combatants blinked, suddenly noticing the pristine 1926 Bentley in the centre of the melee, and one young policeman stumbled against the hood, bringing his truncheon down by accident.
The sound of dinging metal rang out eerily well over the noise of the fighting, and both the protesters and the police stopped for a moment, shifting uneasily. Their expressions took on a glassy, frightened quality, like they were expecting something large and sharp and not very well understood. As one, the mob moved off to the next street over, and then Crowley heard the sounds of fighting pick up again.
Crowley ran to the Bentley. He placed his fingers gingerly over the injured metal, and it popped back into place. The scratched paint healed over.
"It's okay, then," Crowley said softly. "You're all right."
The Bentley, obviously traumatized, said nothing.
angharad requested Kerr Avon/Tricia McMillan, but, as I'm not familiar with Avon, instead gets a wild card of Trillian, no tea, dark chocolate:
Trillian watched Arthur stare into the cup. "So?" she asked. "How is it?"
"It's the right colour," said Arthur.
"Yes, but is it the right beverage?"
Arthur moved the cup up a few inches, and then lowered it again. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe if I don't try it, I can keep pretending it's tea. And I can, er." He looked back at the cup. "Hold it."
"I suppose you could," said Trillian. "If that's what you want tea for."
Arthur sloshed the liquid around, and then raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and brought it back down. He stared at it again.
"Well?" said Trillian.
"It tastes like dark chocolate," said Arthur despondently.
"You like dark chocolate," Trillian pointed out.
"But I wanted tea." Arthur sighed. "I was nearly eaten by a five-headed gorilla robot, and that's not even the oddest thing that happened to me today. I wanted something comforting."
"I think chocolate is comforting."
"Then you should drink it." Arthur passed her the cup. "And I'll have to find comfort somewhere else."
Arthur headed off towards the crew quarters, and Trillian took a sip of the drink. She thought it was actually quite good.
*
Later, Ford found her on the bridge, asking the ship's computer questions. He grinned contentedly* at her, and said, "So I owe you the usual, then?"
Trillian made a gesture that might have translated to yes. "What I don't understand," she said, "is why, whenever we stop down on a planet, you get the Nutri-Matic fixed so that it makes tea."
"It makes Arthur happy," said Ford.
"Yes," said Trillian. "But afterwards, you always end up paying me to break it again."
Ford gave her a sly grin.* "Well, when it's left to me to make Arthur happy, I'm happier. You have to treat the universe like a cosmic zero-sum game. It says so in the Guide."
Trillian eyed him wearily. "I suppose that's because you wrote it there," she said, and Ford just continued grinning at her.
"But why get me to do it?" she said.
"I couldn't ask Zaphod," Ford said. "He'd get drunk and think it'd be funny to tell everyone."
"No. I mean, why don't you break the Nutri-Matic yourself?"
Ford stared at her for a moment. "That's a horrible suggestion," he said. "I'd never sabotage Arthur's happiness that way."
"But it's all right if I do it?"
"Sure," said Ford. "No one cares what you do."
Trillian rolled her eyes, and Ford grinned at her like he knew he'd won*. She tossed the empty not-tea cup at him, and was even more irritated when he didn't even have to glance away before grabbing it out of the air.
*Not to be confused with his happy, suspicious, hungry, or I'm sorry, was that *your* Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster? grins.
So then, is everybody else sure they don't want one of their own? It's a good chance to get crack-fic, or possibly to get even with me for the utterly insane requests I've been making of you fine people.