Down on the corner, out in the street
Wah hoo, I'm making a post that isn't an obnoxious RL update. Fandom funtimes go!
I am weak as a kitten as I write this. Due to a number of RL events, I have finally ponied up and started going to the gym I joined way back in December. Further, I purchased a few personal trainer sessions in order to get educated on how Real Adults exercise (that is, not flailing uselessly at the machines and inadvertently pulling a muscle--as you do), and the very first one was today. I have literally never done so many push-ups in my entire life combined. It's kind of cool, and yet I can't help but wonder how sore I'm going to be tomorrow.
Speaking of flailing, that feels like what I have been doing with fic lately. Like what feels like everyone else on the planet, I saw Avengers and have Many Feels about it, but in general: I fucking loved it and want to have its many babies. THIS MOVIE, I LIKE IT! ANOTHER! Buuuuut I have started no less than 3 pieces of fanfic, all of which I have yet to finish, one of which is going to be completely different from how it started out. But there are bits and pieces of them I like a lot, even though I don't know how much of it is going to make it into the finished versions, so.... guess what, have some fic-bits. It's all Avengers stuff and none of it is explicit.
Born on the Fourth of July: Happy Birthday, Mr. Rogers Steve/Tony. I just want to write something sweet and fluffy, no lie.
The thing Steve can't understand is how everyone figured out it was his birthday.
It was in his file, of course. But he'd expected--okay, hoped --that everyone would take one look at Captain America being born on the 4th of July and laugh it off as some kind of wise-guy putting notes in his file after his presumed death. He'd applied to the army enough times with enough fake information that it was no surprise some errors had made it into the final copy.
His teammates asked him about it, of course. And he'd scoffed when they'd asked him if the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan was really born on the fourth of July, and then quickly changed the subject to something more pertinent, like why 11-year-olds kept walking by singing Come here rude boy can you get it up, come here rude boy is you big enough and no one but Steve was upset about it.
* * * * *
"So," Tony said conversationally. Steve glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. "Since today is a special day, I thought we should make some special observations for it."
"Beyond going out to dinner and then to see the fireworks?" Steve sat back, letting the newspaper fold against the table, his attention effectively diverted. "How much is even open today? It's a national holiday, isn't it?"
Tony waved his hand, an airy, dismissive gesture like swatting a fly. "No, no, no. I meant, for your birthday, Steven."
Steve took this moment to choke gracelessly on his coffee. "It's not--"
"No arguing! I've already taken care of all the planning." Tony glanced at his watch, seemingly oblivious to Steve's sputtering protests. "And everyone will be here in just a few minutes, so I better proceed with the first part of your birthday present." Without further ado, Tony came around the breakfast bar to stand in front of where Steve sat at the kitchen table, dropped to his knees, and opened Steve's pants.
* * *
The Turing Test (What Would Tony Do) Also known as the Jarvis Gets Himself A Body fic. Gen, because really I just want the Avengers Brovenging around and also I have sensitive robot trope feels.
Steve heard Tony's raised voice floating to his ears from down the hall. "Get in here, Steve!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming..." Steve hurried down the hall, torn between irritation and apprehension. He walked into the lab, glancing over the usual explosion of tools and parts and half-finished machinery, frowning as he looked around for Tony. "Tony? Where are you--"
"Right here, Steve." Tony stood up, no longer obscured by the shell of the Mark 6 Iron Man armor he'd been crouching behind, and that was when Steve noticed the other person in the room. Tony had been crouched in front of a tall, straw-blond man, toned and naked from the waist up, and in fact had his hands on the stranger's stomach. Steve's gut dropped; what the hell had he just walked in on?
"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers," said the stranger in a voice that was perfectly familiar. Steve froze. His eyes flicked to Tony's face, taking in the way Tony's eyebrows were drawn up towards his hairline, noted how pale Tony was under his tan.
Steve's throat worked for a few moments before he could force the word out. "Jarvis?"
"Correct," said the stranger, in Jarvis's smooth English accent.
"Uh," said Steve.
Tony laughed, a short, bright sound, and put his hands on his hips. "Another fine moment from our resident Capsicle," he said. "Would that we were all so succinct."
"Captain Rogers' reaction is perfectly understandable," said the stranger---Jarvis, Steve correctly himself mentally, wondering distractedly why it was so strange to see a face to go with the voice now, when it had always been so odd to hear a voice but see no face. Steve found himself staring at the distinctly human form in front of him, at the sweatpants Jarvis was wearing that were obviously Tony's, judging from the way they didn't quite reach Jarvis's ankles. He wasn't wearing any shoes, and his face was as smooth and calm as his voice, his eyes a bright, intelligent blue. And he looked perfectly human. There was no trace of machinery about him at all. "He is unaccustomed to associating my voice with a physical form. As are you, Mr. Stark."
"Well strictly speaking that isn't your body, that's just the LMD that I was closest to finishing--"
"LMD?" Steve interrupted. "Hello? An explanation would be great, Tony. Or Jarvis. If either of you would be so kind."
"Indeed," said Jarvis, and Steve watched in astonishment as Jarvis's mouth quirked at the corners in an unmistakable smirk.
"I am in so much trouble," Tony muttered, smacking Jarvis lightly in the shoulder. "Okay, the short version: LMD stands for Life Model Decoy. Machines that walk and talk and look and act like humans, basically. I've been working on creating one for awhile now, and creating human look-alikes isn't actually the hard part, as you can see."
"Oh of course not," said Steve. "Why would I ever think it might be difficult to create a robot capable of perfectly mimicking a living, breathing human."
* * *
Chasing the Dragon Loki/Bruce Banner AUish, sort of a pre-movie AU. This is the one that I have totally thrown out with the bathwater and intend to re-do with a different approach, but I liked what I wrote of it a lot, so here it is.
To be fair to Bruce, the first time he met Loki, he had no idea who he was--or that Loki was even a he.
One moment he was standing on the porch of his one-room house on the edge of town, listening to the nightly sounds of darkness and enjoying the reprieve from the heat of the day, and the next a woman stood at the edge of the light cast out by Bruce's front door, watching him. She was tall, dark hair tumbling over pale shoulders, her eyes green and strangely luminous in the darkness. A trick of the light made it seem as though tall, arching horns rose gracefully from her forehead.
Bruce stared. Frowned, blinked and rubbed at his eyes, looked again. The horns were gone, but the woman was still there, and now she was smiling.
"Hi there," Bruce said. His voice seemed flat, muted in the humid air around them, as though a bubble had fallen on the edges of the clearing, cutting him off from the outside world. "Are you sick? I usually see patients at the clinic but if you're really ill, I can see what I can do right now."
The woman crossed her arms, but gave no other sign of recognition. Bruce sighed; it was strange for a foreigner to be in this part of India and not speak English, but not unheard of. "[Do you understand me?]" he asked, switching to Hindi and hoping not to inadvertently offend.
The woman smirked. "The locals speak of a monster in the jungle outside of town, an asura," she said, her English perfect, only the faintest trace of an accent that Bruce could not quite place. "Green and huge, unstoppable, like a dragon in its fierceness. I came to see the monster with my own eyes."
Bruce's skin prickled, his blood going cold despite the heat of the Indian summer evening. "There's no monsters here," he said carefully. "Just me." Bruce smiled, putting his hands in his pockets, but mentally he was already running through his various escape routes. He'd deliberately picked a village to work in on the edge of deep jungle, for this exact reason.
"Indeed," said the woman, stepping forward into the circle of light, moving towards Bruce with an air of je ne sais quoi, so supremely confident. Bruce's mouth went dry, and he took a few steps back, watching her approach. "There's only you. Just the dragon."
Bruce's back hit the wooden wall of his house, and he stopped, still watching the approach of the stranger. "Don't," he said. It came out urgent, almost pleading.
He was so tired of running.
The woman reached the bottom step, her movements slow, unhurried. "Fear me not," she said, and this close Bruce could see her eyes were blazing, like twin emeralds in a porcelain face. "I come only to see if the stories are true. I have a fondness for monsters, you see."
"No, you don't understand," Bruce said, and he went sideways, or started to, but the woman seemed to flicker, skipping the rest of the steps and appearing in front of Bruce, her hands on either side of Bruce's shoulders, her face just inches from his. Bruce froze, eyes wide, his heart thundering in his chest.
"Oh, but I do," the woman said, and pressed her mouth to his.
* * *
Welp, that's probably enough fic-bits. I have another fic sort of pre-writing stage with
thorne_scratch, that's kinda... San Francisco Giants/Supernatural crossover by way of a lot of weed smoked plus a trip to Mexico. Don't judge me. You don't know my life.
I have pictures to post too, and other bits and bobs, but this entry is long enough and I need to get home and clean my apartment for an impending Thai food/Blackula/Birthday extravaganza. I'm off! Like a dirty shirt. Peace out, LJ.
I am weak as a kitten as I write this. Due to a number of RL events, I have finally ponied up and started going to the gym I joined way back in December. Further, I purchased a few personal trainer sessions in order to get educated on how Real Adults exercise (that is, not flailing uselessly at the machines and inadvertently pulling a muscle--as you do), and the very first one was today. I have literally never done so many push-ups in my entire life combined. It's kind of cool, and yet I can't help but wonder how sore I'm going to be tomorrow.
Speaking of flailing, that feels like what I have been doing with fic lately. Like what feels like everyone else on the planet, I saw Avengers and have Many Feels about it, but in general: I fucking loved it and want to have its many babies. THIS MOVIE, I LIKE IT! ANOTHER! Buuuuut I have started no less than 3 pieces of fanfic, all of which I have yet to finish, one of which is going to be completely different from how it started out. But there are bits and pieces of them I like a lot, even though I don't know how much of it is going to make it into the finished versions, so.... guess what, have some fic-bits. It's all Avengers stuff and none of it is explicit.
Born on the Fourth of July: Happy Birthday, Mr. Rogers Steve/Tony. I just want to write something sweet and fluffy, no lie.
The thing Steve can't understand is how everyone figured out it was his birthday.
It was in his file, of course. But he'd expected--okay, hoped --that everyone would take one look at Captain America being born on the 4th of July and laugh it off as some kind of wise-guy putting notes in his file after his presumed death. He'd applied to the army enough times with enough fake information that it was no surprise some errors had made it into the final copy.
His teammates asked him about it, of course. And he'd scoffed when they'd asked him if the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan was really born on the fourth of July, and then quickly changed the subject to something more pertinent, like why 11-year-olds kept walking by singing Come here rude boy can you get it up, come here rude boy is you big enough and no one but Steve was upset about it.
"So," Tony said conversationally. Steve glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. "Since today is a special day, I thought we should make some special observations for it."
"Beyond going out to dinner and then to see the fireworks?" Steve sat back, letting the newspaper fold against the table, his attention effectively diverted. "How much is even open today? It's a national holiday, isn't it?"
Tony waved his hand, an airy, dismissive gesture like swatting a fly. "No, no, no. I meant, for your birthday, Steven."
Steve took this moment to choke gracelessly on his coffee. "It's not--"
"No arguing! I've already taken care of all the planning." Tony glanced at his watch, seemingly oblivious to Steve's sputtering protests. "And everyone will be here in just a few minutes, so I better proceed with the first part of your birthday present." Without further ado, Tony came around the breakfast bar to stand in front of where Steve sat at the kitchen table, dropped to his knees, and opened Steve's pants.
The Turing Test (What Would Tony Do) Also known as the Jarvis Gets Himself A Body fic. Gen, because really I just want the Avengers Brovenging around and also I have sensitive robot trope feels.
Steve heard Tony's raised voice floating to his ears from down the hall. "Get in here, Steve!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming..." Steve hurried down the hall, torn between irritation and apprehension. He walked into the lab, glancing over the usual explosion of tools and parts and half-finished machinery, frowning as he looked around for Tony. "Tony? Where are you--"
"Right here, Steve." Tony stood up, no longer obscured by the shell of the Mark 6 Iron Man armor he'd been crouching behind, and that was when Steve noticed the other person in the room. Tony had been crouched in front of a tall, straw-blond man, toned and naked from the waist up, and in fact had his hands on the stranger's stomach. Steve's gut dropped; what the hell had he just walked in on?
"Good afternoon, Captain Rogers," said the stranger in a voice that was perfectly familiar. Steve froze. His eyes flicked to Tony's face, taking in the way Tony's eyebrows were drawn up towards his hairline, noted how pale Tony was under his tan.
Steve's throat worked for a few moments before he could force the word out. "Jarvis?"
"Correct," said the stranger, in Jarvis's smooth English accent.
"Uh," said Steve.
Tony laughed, a short, bright sound, and put his hands on his hips. "Another fine moment from our resident Capsicle," he said. "Would that we were all so succinct."
"Captain Rogers' reaction is perfectly understandable," said the stranger---Jarvis, Steve correctly himself mentally, wondering distractedly why it was so strange to see a face to go with the voice now, when it had always been so odd to hear a voice but see no face. Steve found himself staring at the distinctly human form in front of him, at the sweatpants Jarvis was wearing that were obviously Tony's, judging from the way they didn't quite reach Jarvis's ankles. He wasn't wearing any shoes, and his face was as smooth and calm as his voice, his eyes a bright, intelligent blue. And he looked perfectly human. There was no trace of machinery about him at all. "He is unaccustomed to associating my voice with a physical form. As are you, Mr. Stark."
"Well strictly speaking that isn't your body, that's just the LMD that I was closest to finishing--"
"LMD?" Steve interrupted. "Hello? An explanation would be great, Tony. Or Jarvis. If either of you would be so kind."
"Indeed," said Jarvis, and Steve watched in astonishment as Jarvis's mouth quirked at the corners in an unmistakable smirk.
"I am in so much trouble," Tony muttered, smacking Jarvis lightly in the shoulder. "Okay, the short version: LMD stands for Life Model Decoy. Machines that walk and talk and look and act like humans, basically. I've been working on creating one for awhile now, and creating human look-alikes isn't actually the hard part, as you can see."
"Oh of course not," said Steve. "Why would I ever think it might be difficult to create a robot capable of perfectly mimicking a living, breathing human."
Chasing the Dragon Loki/Bruce Banner AUish, sort of a pre-movie AU. This is the one that I have totally thrown out with the bathwater and intend to re-do with a different approach, but I liked what I wrote of it a lot, so here it is.
To be fair to Bruce, the first time he met Loki, he had no idea who he was--or that Loki was even a he.
One moment he was standing on the porch of his one-room house on the edge of town, listening to the nightly sounds of darkness and enjoying the reprieve from the heat of the day, and the next a woman stood at the edge of the light cast out by Bruce's front door, watching him. She was tall, dark hair tumbling over pale shoulders, her eyes green and strangely luminous in the darkness. A trick of the light made it seem as though tall, arching horns rose gracefully from her forehead.
Bruce stared. Frowned, blinked and rubbed at his eyes, looked again. The horns were gone, but the woman was still there, and now she was smiling.
"Hi there," Bruce said. His voice seemed flat, muted in the humid air around them, as though a bubble had fallen on the edges of the clearing, cutting him off from the outside world. "Are you sick? I usually see patients at the clinic but if you're really ill, I can see what I can do right now."
The woman crossed her arms, but gave no other sign of recognition. Bruce sighed; it was strange for a foreigner to be in this part of India and not speak English, but not unheard of. "[Do you understand me?]" he asked, switching to Hindi and hoping not to inadvertently offend.
The woman smirked. "The locals speak of a monster in the jungle outside of town, an asura," she said, her English perfect, only the faintest trace of an accent that Bruce could not quite place. "Green and huge, unstoppable, like a dragon in its fierceness. I came to see the monster with my own eyes."
Bruce's skin prickled, his blood going cold despite the heat of the Indian summer evening. "There's no monsters here," he said carefully. "Just me." Bruce smiled, putting his hands in his pockets, but mentally he was already running through his various escape routes. He'd deliberately picked a village to work in on the edge of deep jungle, for this exact reason.
"Indeed," said the woman, stepping forward into the circle of light, moving towards Bruce with an air of je ne sais quoi, so supremely confident. Bruce's mouth went dry, and he took a few steps back, watching her approach. "There's only you. Just the dragon."
Bruce's back hit the wooden wall of his house, and he stopped, still watching the approach of the stranger. "Don't," he said. It came out urgent, almost pleading.
He was so tired of running.
The woman reached the bottom step, her movements slow, unhurried. "Fear me not," she said, and this close Bruce could see her eyes were blazing, like twin emeralds in a porcelain face. "I come only to see if the stories are true. I have a fondness for monsters, you see."
"No, you don't understand," Bruce said, and he went sideways, or started to, but the woman seemed to flicker, skipping the rest of the steps and appearing in front of Bruce, her hands on either side of Bruce's shoulders, her face just inches from his. Bruce froze, eyes wide, his heart thundering in his chest.
"Oh, but I do," the woman said, and pressed her mouth to his.
Welp, that's probably enough fic-bits. I have another fic sort of pre-writing stage with
thorne_scratch, that's kinda... San Francisco Giants/Supernatural crossover by way of a lot of weed smoked plus a trip to Mexico. Don't judge me. You don't know my life.I have pictures to post too, and other bits and bobs, but this entry is long enough and I need to get home and clean my apartment for an impending Thai food/Blackula/Birthday extravaganza. I'm off! Like a dirty shirt. Peace out, LJ.