![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
midweek entertainment
I am not seeing much fun happening today, or tomorrow, so when I found this meme stuck off in a drafts folder, I decided I could at least play around some without the "finish!this!" of an actual bingo meme. I have no idea where it came from or how many strikethroughs I was allowed to do, but I'm doing it for fun, so I added in favorites. Play with me?
Pick a trope from this list and provide a fandom/pairing** and I'll tell you something about the story I'd write for that combination*** (i.e. write a snippet from the story or write not!fic or tell you the title and summary for the story I would write)
1. stuck in an elevator
2. snowed in
3.drunk!fic roadtrip!
4. food porn
5. pretending to be dating/married
6. secretly a virgin
7. amnesia
8.meet the parents! (or the metaphoric equivalent) friends to lovers
9. time travel
10.truth or dare sex pollen
11. historical AU
12. accidental-baby-acquisition
13. apocalypse fic
14. curtain fic
15.High School / College AU steampunk AU
**whatever you want, doesn't have to be one of "my" fandom/pairings. This is how we get into new fandoms, right?
***Extra-special bonus: Given how many things I have started on, if I have something that fits the trope, I'll post a snippet of that in addition to whatever I come up with for the fandom/pairing of your choice.
Pick a trope from this list and provide a fandom/pairing** and I'll tell you something about the story I'd write for that combination*** (i.e. write a snippet from the story or write not!fic or tell you the title and summary for the story I would write)
1. stuck in an elevator
2. snowed in
3.
4. food porn
5. pretending to be dating/married
6. secretly a virgin
7. amnesia
8.
9. time travel
10.
11. historical AU
12. accidental-baby-acquisition
13. apocalypse fic
14. curtain fic
15.
**whatever you want, doesn't have to be one of "my" fandom/pairings. This is how we get into new fandoms, right?
***Extra-special bonus: Given how many things I have started on, if I have something that fits the trope, I'll post a snippet of that in addition to whatever I come up with for the fandom/pairing of your choice.
no subject
no subject
Bucky knew he was screwed as soon as Steve looked up. They were 200 miles from the nearest embassy, the ruins of what had been a Hydra lab smoldering around them, and Steve… Steve was cradling the only living thing they'd come across in the entire search like he was never letting it go.
"We can't just leave her," Steve said.
Bucky stifled a sigh and reached down to give Steve a hand up out of the ruined basement. Privately, he thought that any kid who could survive an entire building coming down around her--with or without super-hi-tech cradle or incubator or whatever the hell it was that Steve had pulled her out of--was probably better equipped to deal with life on her own than he and Steve were to deal with her, but yeah, he guessed he could see where Steve was coming from.
"What if they come back for her?" Steve said. "What if they were using her, exper--"
"Yeah, I got it," Bucky said, and okay, fine, he had a trigger or two. He was going to trust that Steve wasn't punching his buttons deliberately.
"We'll take her back to New York," Steve said. "See what Jarvis can find out about what might have been going on here. Find her a home and family if we can."
He looked down at the baby and she blinked dark blue eyes up at them, her face solemn and quiet. Most kids would have been screaming their heads off by then, but not this one. It was like she already had gone through the wars even though she couldn't be more than a couple weeks old. That was just wrong on so many levels Bucky didn't even want to think about it.
He looked back up at Steve, who was watching him with a smile on his face.
Yeah. So screwed.
no subject
THEY WOULD BE AWESOME DADDIES. Well, once they were able to be woken up in the middle of the night without pulling a weapon from underneath the pillow, Bucky.
no subject
no subject
Jim/Bones, fake dating/married, 1/2
Leonard McCoy was not a man comfortable with grand gestures, but dammit, it had been his marriage on the line. He’d been willing to try anything.
It wasn’t enough--he thought he’d known that even as he’d tried--and so he was left with nothing but empty rooms showcasing a view that offered little comfort for all its spectacular sweep. The north Georgia mountains might not have the grandeur of the Rockies or the romance of the Smokies, but they’d kept their rural roots, and the lush green of summer still spilled down the mountainsides to meet up with the rocky, tumbling waters of the Chattooga. He made the final walk-through with his cousin, Georgiana. Like always, she’d been there to clean up his mess. It was too bad some things were beyond even her talent for fixing.
“It’s a beautiful place, Len,” she said, as they locked up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while? Take a little break?”
“You know that’d make me crazy, Georgie,” he said. Even if this place wasn’t a plain and simple reminder of how big a failure I am. He didn’t say that out loud, because he wasn’t in the damn mood to listen to her run Jocelyn down, even if she’d be doing it out of loyalty. She frowned at him as though she was reading his mind, which wouldn’t surprise him all that much. “I do better when I keep busy.”
“I know, darlin’,” Georgie sighed. “You weren’t built for this place and we both know it. I don’t know that the city’s going to scratch that itch, but I know we’re not doing right by you.”
He let her give him a kiss and fuss at him all the way down the mountain because he couldn’t argue with her.
Jim/Bones, fake dating/married, 2/2 (so far)
It was insurance convention time and every strip club in the city was rocking 24/7. Jim didn’t quite get the connection, but apparently, the insurance industry liked to cut loose while looking at naked people and they were happy to overtip like crazy, too, so he didn’t really care. He was catching maybe three hours of sleep a night (day, really), but everybody needed extra help behind the bar and he wasn’t about to miss out on stockpiling a little extra credit just to sleep, especially when most of the people he was serving were so lit they never noticed if what he was pouring was what they’d ordered.
It did mean he wasn’t paying quite as much attention to who was around him and how close they were, though, which meant he didn’t notice the three guys closing in on him until they already had him in an alley.
“Fuck,” Jim grunted as they slammed him into a wall. Three guys, even three goons, generally wouldn’t be an issue, even as sleep-deprived as Jim was, but Jim couldn’t be so lucky as to get jumped by a couple of morons out looking for a little credit. No, his luck was holding true to form, because he knew these guys and they worked for the biggest pimp in the city. Coincidentally, it was the same guy Jim had been turning down since his first week in town and apparently, he didn’t take no for an answer.
The hiss of a hypospray kicked Jim’s reflexes into overdrive and he twisted away from them right as they tried to inject him. He didn’t quite get away cleanly, though, and he could feel the first effects of the drug hit his nervous system and made him fight harder. He put one down with an elbow to the face and managed to trip up the other two long enough to get his ass out of the alley. Score one for always ending up outnumbered in bar fights and knowing how to dodge the big dumb ones, Jim thought, staggering toward the corner and lights and people. It probably wasn’t going to matter, though; he could hear the goons sorting themselves out behind him, and whatever they’d given him was fucking him up pretty bad. All he’d probably done was piss them off enough to get the shit kicked out of him before they delivered him to their boss.
Jim got it to the corner and stumbled as he tried to turn, fetching up hard against a light post. He heard them laughing behind him and yeah, this was not going to end well. He was just about to turn around and go for one last stand--because if he was going down, he was going down fighting--when a new someone caught him around the waist and held him up.
“There you are, darlin’,” a rich warm voice drawled, and Jim got a flash of nice eyes and a fairly sarcastic smirk. “I got us a cab, just like I told you I would.” The new guy tumbled Jim into the back seat of the hover-cab right as the goon squad came pelting up to the corner. The last thing Jim remembered before the drugs really zonked him was the new guy saying, “Go,” to the driver. Knowing his luck, Jim figured he was probably in really deep shit, but it was a nice voice and not-nasty eyes, and hey, so far, this guy wasn’t hitting him. It made for a nice change, Jim thought as he passed out.
Re: Jim/Bones, fake dating/married, 2/2 (so far)
And what a rocking start. Bones' grand gesture (And saving Jim) and Jim fighting off Pimp Goons! I loved it!
no subject
I guess I'm not allowed to pick "all of the above," huh?
#6, Sam/Dean would be HI-larious. But of all of them, I think a Wincest #15 might be the most interesting to me.
no subject
The Impala banked left sharply and all but threw Sam from the bed. Still mostly asleep, he managed to grab one of the brass fittings that served as a headboard at the last second and kept himself from being tossed against the bulkhead or onto the deck.
Dean's half of the bed was empty and the sheets cool to the touch; obviously, he'd been gone for a while. Hauling himself up and off the mattress and looking out of the porthole to see nothing but the silvery mist of a cloudbank, Sam understood why. Dean had the weather sense of an airship captain twice his age; there'd be no way he'd sleep through a change in the baro-meter as must have occurred, and even less of a chance he'd allow anyone but himself at the helm during it.
Sam reached for his shirt and breeches, pulling them on quickly and stamping his feet into his boots. He was reaching for his gloves and goggles when the distinctive clanging of the pneumatic tube signaled the arrival of a message. Sam unlatched the door cut into the exposed brass pipe and carefully worked the glass carrier free. The note inside merely told Sam that Castiel was expected back from his aether-walking inside the hour and had sent word ahead with one of Bobby's small, flying robots that he had news from across the Divide, but the postscript also mentioned that there was tea brewing in the galley. Given that Dean wouldn't come near the stuff ordinarily, Sam decided he'd accept the gesture as an apology for the bruises Dean had left on his hips. Sam had yet to determine exactly why Dean felt such a gesture was necessary, especially given Sam's own enthusiastic encouragement of anything that might possibly leave Dean's mark on him, but he wasn't about to make a fuss about it.
On the way through the galley, Sam filled an extra carafe with Dean's preferred brew: inky black coffee from the high mountains south of the equator. As expected, Dean was on the bridge, goggles and gloves in place to fight the high-altitude winds for all that his coat was unbuttoned and billowing behind him, booted feet planted wide to keep his balance as he fought the helm. Sam didn't need to see his face to know that he was smiling, merely pulled his own goggles down and went to join him.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Clint/Natasha, secret virgin 1/2
Clint finished reading through the reams of files they'd liberated from a previously unknown Red Room data center and rubbed at the headache that had been steadily forming behind his eyes. Natasha was… brittle, far beyond what was to be expected and he was clearly missing something.
"You okay?" Clint kept his voice as low-key as possible. Maybe this was just that it'd been a while since the Red Room had reared its head, or maybe there was something more, but… They'd worked through a lot of shit together and they both knew that the quieter they kept things, the more room they had before they got to the point that throwing things was the only way to keep from shooting them.
"I'm--I don't know what I am," Natasha said, shaking her head. She laughed, a true and delighted sound, and it should have made Clint's skin crawl, but he was going to trust her for a little bit longer. There was very little in what he'd read that was anything but horrific, but Natasha had the most solid grip on reality than anyone he knew. Some of his nervousness must have shown on his face, because Natasha settled down and put one hand on his. He turned his palm over and she slid her fingers between his.
"I'm not losing it," she said. Laughter still danced in her eyes. "Or, well, maybe I am, but honestly, not for the reason you're thinking."
"Okay," Clint said slowly. "Why don't you explain to the jarhead. Little bitty words, Tash."
"Don't you see?" Natasha waved her hand, the one he wasn't hanging onto, over the stacks and stacks of files. "All these missions, all the… debriefings--there's no time between any of them." Clint nodded, because he still wasn't seeing it. "This is everything, every single thing I did with them. Everything."
"And you're laughing because…?" Clint could see the value in knowing what had actually happened; her memories had always been so suspect that he knew she coped by only relying on external validations. If the CIA or SHIELD or MI6 or Mossad could confirm her presence in a specific time or place, she moved those memories into the Yes column but everything else stayed suspect. Given what was actually in the files, though, he wasn't sure there was much cause for celebration.
Re: Clint/Natasha, secret virgin 2/2
Clint looked down at the stacks of files, and then back up at Natasha, still at sea. If there was something not-bad in those files, he wasn't getting it. From what they said, she hadn't been much more than five the first time she went out with another agent, and maybe eight the first time there was a confirmed kill on one of her missions. She'd walked into banks and embassies and balls and concert halls, an accountant or a secretary or a debutante or a dancer, and--
"Sex," he said, and her hand tightened almost painfully on his. "There's not one mission where you slept with anyone--" He broke off and stared at her, a little taken aback by the complete reversal of assumptions the actual records had revealed.
"I never had memories of doing that--but we both know how little that's worth--"
"Romanoff," Clint sighed.
"Barton," Natasha sighed back, giving him that particular eyebrow arch that said he was being overly sentimental and that she was perfectly aware that it was only her memories that were worthless, not the rest of her.
"Just saying," Clint said, because he didn't care how soft she thought he was, he wasn't taking her being in the right headspace for granted. She never assumed that for him, either.
"Do you know what the best part is?" Natasha asked, and she was back to the laughter dancing in her eyes.
"It gets better?" Clint answered, partly because he knew when he was the straight man in a conversation and partly because he really did want to know what was better than finding out you actually hadn't been whored out for a decade or so.
"Once I left--" Natasha smiled at Clint's snort, which he couldn't help because 'left' was such an innocuous cover for 'burned the program to the ground and salted the earth that remained' -- "Once I left--first, I was on the run, and then, I was trying to stay alive, and then you came along with your 'proposal' and then everything else happened and… I never actually did. Anything."
She said the last part in enough of a rush that it took Clint a good couple of seconds to make sense of it all, and then he knew he looked like an idiot, but -- "No shit?" he said finally. "Nobody?
"No shit," Natasha said solemnly. "Nobody."
"I--wow." Clint stared at her, but this time when she started laughing, he could laugh along with her.
no subject
no subject
#11: Ethan/Brandt
Or
#12: Marta/Aaron
no subject
So. Please to have Sub Rosa.
It was not uncommon for Miss Jane Carter, the noted American anthropologist, to attend the lectures her friend and associate, Mr. Benjamin Dunn, gave at the Royal Society in London. It was also not unusual for Miss Carter to host a salon upon the topic, an invitation to which gentlemen had been known to come to blows over. Less well known were the very private meetings held at the end of those salons, the meetings where Messrs. Hunt and Brandt, representatives from Mr. Roosevelt's corps of investigators could meet and pool information with those from Prime Minister Gladstone's. Almost virtually unknown were the details of the missions Hunt, Brandt, Carter and Dunn undertook on a regular basis. This particular evening, the trail that began with the assassination President Garfield will take them all east to the Hungarian mountains and the remains of the Racosczy.
no subject
Anthropologist!Jane! Late nineteenth-century explorers are bullet-proof for me, you know that! (and I read a whole book about Garfield's assassination last year).
thank you!
no subject
no subject
Really, thank you!!!
(I am not yet caught up on Downton, though I think I've been spoiled some stupid person on fb, commenting on a friends post. I spend all my time in fandom, years and years, and generally, the only time I'm spoiled is by stupid mundanes who DON'T GET IT. Tonight is #2's stats final; once that's done I am looking forward to several hours with the Abbey-ites. I am also looking forward to your prompt--am right now trying to decide who's survived so far. :D)
no subject
no subject
Downton Apocalypse, 1/?
Once the prison was overrun and he fought his way free, it took John Bates nearly two months to make his way to Yorkshire. There was no reason to suppose Downton survived the Horror (he passed the smoldering ruins of more than one country house on the way) but he had no other place he cared enough to live for. He waited two days for a train north, and got further than he'd hoped, but after that, he walked.
He kept to himself as a matter of course; the other survivors he encountered were guarded but not, for the most part, actively hostile. He'd scavenged a brace of pistols not far from the prison; he wore them on his hip and did not hesitate to draw them if he noticed someone with a mind to start something. Three times during his journey, he was offered a ride. He refused the second offer, as the group that made it seemed more interested in his kit than in being helpful, but the other two were families journeying as he was and he accepted their offers gratefully. His leg was steadily deteriorating, but there was little he could do except elevate it at night and pray to a God he no longer believed in to let him finish his journey.
It wasn't until he had nearly accomplished his task goal he acknowledged how little hope he still held for a happy ending to that journey. The village green bore a too-great resemblance to the battlefields he'd seen as a younger man, and the houses and shops around it were little more than burned-out piles of stone, not even fit enough for him to spend the night. The final mile of his journey--and it would be the end, regardless what he might find--would forever loom ominously in his memories. The sun dipped low to the southwest, throwing shadows long and distorted across the entrance drive. The once neatly manicured lawns and fields were overgrown and choked with weeds, and Downton itself, when he made the final turn and caught his first glimpse of the abbey, was stark and black against the just darkening sky. He felt the last of his hopes bleeding away, taking his energy and will with them. He stumbled and went to his knees and thus did not see the figure on horseback until he was nearly under the hooves.
Bates threw himself to one side as the horse--a good-sized gelding, one that was still well-fed--reared back and the dogs running next to it let loose with a crescendo of bays and howls. Bates got a quick glimpse of breeches and boots and a long, billowing coat as the rider fought for control, curses being flung in a low, hoarse voice. For a some few seconds, Bates thought they were overset, that it was too much horse for the rider, but the gelding wasn't mean-tempered, only startled, and he let himself be calmed. The dogs settled, too, and in the sudden quiet, as Bates worked his good leg back under him and started the long process of getting to his feet without a cane, a woman's voice said, "My god, Bates?" and he slewed round to see that the rider was Lady Mary Crawley.
Re: Downton Apocalypse, 1/?
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thanks...I'm going to be away for a few days,so if I don't respond to a message or something right away, I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
no subject
no subject
Ive been dying dying to read a White Collar
13. apocalypse fic
Basically Id love to see some Peter/Neal and them fighting their way through a hoard of ____. Fussy urban neal and Peter being a badass like he was in 4x2 when that group of islanders were chasing Neal....
Yes that would be LOVE..lol.
no subject