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abandoned fic dump!
My internet has been so sporadic the last two days it hurts me. Sorry to anyone I was talking to last night when it went out for good. (Julie, you are adorable. It took me, like, five minutes to load all of the offline IMs from you.) Anyway, since I've finally gotten off my ass and started writing again, it's time to clear out some old things in My Documents I never posted or don't think will ever become full fics.
A Hurricane I'll Never Outrun
Light McShep; PG-13; 880 words
This one's actually finished, but I'm not really fond of it, so it never got posted.
The Shrek AU
Would have eventually been McShep; G; 560 words
I had a whole elaborate premise for this, in which Meredith was not cursed to be an ogre at night, but a man. Yeah, that's right. It never got off the ground, though - mostly because I had no clue who to cast as Donkey.
Five Times Sam Didn't Say Sorry
Gen; PG; 400 words
I think I had a whole thing plotted out for this at one point, but I can't find any notes for it anywhere, and I don't remember where I was going with it, so.
A Hurricane I'll Never Outrun
Light McShep; PG-13; 880 words
This one's actually finished, but I'm not really fond of it, so it never got posted.
They can’t find a trace of the first unit – no dog tags, no ripped uniform fabric, no witnesses. No bodies. It’s as though the five members of Harper’s team had never existed to begin with. The not knowing is hard. Harder even than two weeks later, when another gate team misses their check in and Lorne and Ronon find their shriveled, maggot-ridden corpses tossed carelessly over the roots of a large tree.
Keller puts a shaking hand over her mouth, as white as the sheet covering Sergeant Craig Thompson’s still form, and Rodney’s abruptly reminded of how young she is.
“I don’t – I – I can’t,” she whispers, and it’s Ronon who steps up in front of her, his big hands gentle on her wet cheeks.
Rodney watches until John touches his shoulder and leads him away.
It doesn’t stop there, because the Pegasus Galaxy has been beautiful and awe inspiring – the culmination of Rodney’s life work – but it has never, ever been nice.
-
“Rodney. Rodney, answer me, damnit.”
Rodney rolls onto his side, coughing weakly when his lungs protest the sudden movement, and blinks dust out of his dry eyes. His fingers ache dully, but he reaches for his radio anyway, hooks it clumsily over his ear and takes a minute to just listen to John’s worry-rough voice, letting the familiar edges of it calm him.
“I’m here,” he says finally.
A strangled noise, and then Sam’s voice, sounding far away and relieved. “Jesus, McKay.”
“I don’t know where here is,” he manages, rolling onto his back again to take the weight off his ribs with a moan, “but it’s kind of dusty. We should have a maid in.”
By the time John gets to him, moving fallen debris and fried computer parts out of the way, Rodney’s vision is spotting purple and black and he can barely breathe against the pain. John touches his forehead, his shoulder, the bruised bump of his wrist where it’s lying on his belly, and says, “Hey. Hey, buddy, I’ve got you. It’s okay now,” with a sort of quiet anguish that Rodney doesn’t understand.
He finds out later – after his ribs have been bound and his hands have been cared for and the steady drip of pain killers has lulled him – that no one else in the lab survived. Radek’s hand is fisted in the blankets next to Rodney’s arm while he explains; while he says, “Miko, she…”
And, perversely, all Rodney can think about is how grateful he is to have yelled Radek out of the lab this morning in bad temper.
-
A hail of bullets catches them by surprise off-world, and they lose two marines before they even know what’s happening. Someone shouts and points up at the rooftops of the squat buildings surrounding the market place. Another man goes down soon after, sputtering through mouthfuls of thick blood, shot in the throat a foot away from where Rodney’s standing.
He watches, horrified and stuck to the spot – aching to soothe the terror in those dark eyes – until John grabs his shoulder and pulls him away.
It’s not the first time they’ve been forced to leave their dead behind, but it’s the first time Rodney’s vision has sharpened and he’s taken vicious pleasure in cocking his gun and bracing himself against the recoil: a life for a life.
-
The Wraith showing up again is almost a relief. Humans are incomprehensible and illogical, but there’s no way to mistake the intent of a being with a hole in its hand meant to suck the years out of you.
Except.
Except there are only a bare hundred of them on Atlantis now and no sign of more to come any time soon. They’re all so weary and beaten down that survival almost seems like something that happens to other people. Teyla tells him, “We are strong,” and smiles and bumps her forehead against his with more genuine affection than usual.
Rodney believes her because she’s the closest thing to divine grace that he’s ever known.
-
John comes back to them a week later than he was supposed to with infected cuts on his chest that form the shape of a Wraith’s hand. He’s staggering before he even makes it two feet past the gate; despite the fact that Ronon’s closer, Rodney gets there first, wraps his arms around John’s welcome weight and lets it drag him down to his knees.
“You idiot,” he says, “you idiot, don’t ever – you could’ve –”
“Rodney,” John says warmly, breath against the shell of Rodney’s ear, “I’m okay, I’m home. I’m okay.”
No one says a word when Rodney takes John out of the infirmary later, curling his hand in the hem of John’s gaping shirt like he’ll never let go, and they’ve only just stepped inside John’s quarters when Rodney grabs John’s face between his hands and kisses him so long and desperate they sink to the floor in a dizzy tangle.
-
The next morning, senior staff gathers in the briefing room at Rodney’s request. John sits at his right, eyes glinting like polished steel.
“I’m sick of this,” Rodney tells them all. “I’m going to fix it.”
The Shrek AU
Would have eventually been McShep; G; 560 words
I had a whole elaborate premise for this, in which Meredith was not cursed to be an ogre at night, but a man. Yeah, that's right. It never got off the ground, though - mostly because I had no clue who to cast as Donkey.
Once upon a time, in a land far removed from our own, there lived a princess of legendary cleverness and temper. She was striking in the way that most princesses are striking – that is to say, she had lovely eyes (a starling blue that had often garnered many compliments from her parents) but was otherwise very plain.
Unlike most princesses, however, Princess Meredith was, well.
-
“Yes, yes, it’s all very amazing: ooh, ahh. Can we please move on to the part where you leave and allow me the complete, uninterrupted quiet I require to do my very important work?” Eight year old Princess Meredith crossed her arms over her chest and tapped the dainty toe of her shoe against the marble floor, looking as foreboding as a blonde-haired little girl could.
Her tutor wearily rubbed his eyes. “Your highness, I’m afraid I can’t do –”
“I got all of your stupid questions right, didn’t I?” Sure enough, the chalk board at the front of the room was covered with mathematical equations – the lower half, at least.
Meredith planted her hands firmly on her tiny hips and looked magnificently unimpressed.
“Shoo,” she added helpfully.
-
Her parents liked to call her “strong willed”, and her peers never called her anything at all – mostly because, as far as Meredith was concerned, she had no peers – but her tutors opted for stronger language.
She lived a contained life, nose constantly buried in a stack of books at the back of her private library or holding up safety glasses while she experimented in a small room near her bed chambers – one which had been labeled off-limits to the palace staff very early on in Meredith’s life. When academics and small explosions could not interest her, she often found her fun baiting the royal guards into towering rages.
...
"Unhand me!" Meredith squeaked, kicking her feet. "This is not proper rescuing protocol! According to rule thirty six in the Knight in Shining Armor's Shining Handbook, you're supposed to -"
"Sorry, princess," her unnamed rescuer said, not sounding it at all. He dumped her on the grass unceremoniously and brushed his hands off on his pants, as if she were the one in rusty armor and not him.
"I have no idea who you are, sir," Meredith said furiously as she did battle with her skirts, trying to sit up, "but I'll have you know that I'm very important, very royal, and not to be carted around like a sack of apples! How dare you treat me with such disrespect!"
The man didn't show he'd even heard her, turning to the side to pull his helmet off. For a moment, Meredith was struck dumb by the sheer height of his hair. And then he looked straight at her. "I honestly don't care who you are, highness." While she sputtered, enraged, he finger-combed his hair into a different - but equally strange - shape. "I'm not here to rescue you by choice. I was sent."
"By whom?" Meredith demanded.
"Prince Cowen."
Meredith was slightly mollified - at least she wouldn't have to deal with this indefensibly rude man for the rest of her life. A prince was obviously more likely to be her true love, of course. "Why didn't he come for me himself?"
Five Times Sam Didn't Say Sorry
Gen; PG; 400 words
I think I had a whole thing plotted out for this at one point, but I can't find any notes for it anywhere, and I don't remember where I was going with it, so.
1.
The car’s too quiet without the steady rumble of the engine, open road beneath her tires. Sam’s scared. He misses his night light, the soft glow just enough to keep the shadows at bay; he misses the heavy weight of his brother against his back, every snuffling breath fanning out over the nape of his neck and stirring the soft hairs there until Sam has no choice but to shiver and fall asleep and dream of sun-dappled, windy meadows.
He’s not a stupid little kid anymore, though, and he’s not going to let a tree branch creaking keep him from making his point. He can be just as stubborn as Dean and Dad, and if the two of them don’t know that by now, well – they will soon.
Sam tells himself he’s not scared when something pings noisily off of one of the Impala’s rims. He tells himself he’s not scared when the grotesque hand appears, inching eerily up the window with slow, measuring taps. He tells himself he’s not scared, but he still wishes Dean were sitting next to him, cracking silly, inappropriate jokes to make Sam laugh.
A long, yellowed nail screeches down the glass, leaving a deep gouge. Sam’s heart trips in his chest, and then starts up again, beating twice as fast. He carefully steadies the gun in his right hand and reaches for the door handle, listening to his own breath stutter out, uneven with fright.
“Sam, get down!”
He reacts automatically to the tone of voice he knows so well, throwing himself into the foot well of the passenger seat and covering his head with both arms – just in time. The window shatters above him, shards of glass cutting into his skin. It stings.
“Sam, hey – Sammy.” Familiar, welcome hands touch the back of Sam’s neck, the round of his shoulder, slide down his spine as if checking to make sure he’s all there. “Shh, hey. It’s gone, okay? God, you scared the crap out of me. Don’t ever do that again.”
Sam shudders and curls up against Dean’s chest, letting his brother gather him close and whisper platitudes and threats in equal measure. Sam doesn’t say anything except, “Don’t tell Dad,” wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve and wishing he was as fearless as Dean.
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akal;fsjdgd;dkfjdfgldkghjdgfhk;dfhlkdfgjdsf
And then I had to stop reading so I could cry.
OMGBOYS! *heartclench*
(Sorry 'bout the crazy IM's! I had to babble at Grant at someone. <3)
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It's just that kind of day. I was listening to an Obama speech earlier and started to cry.
HE DID - on the trading floor! And then she got arrested. POOR DONALD. :(
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(He seriously got busy on the trading floor? I didn't know he had it in him!)
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REALLY?
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I'm glad you liked it, though!
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And I loooooooove romance novels where the princess falls for her protector instead of the lame prince.
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It would be such a cranky love!
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I had a whole elaborate premise for this, in which Meredith was not cursed to be an ogre at night, but a man. Yeah, that's right.
Oh man, I think playing with that premise could have been tons of fun, but I understand your Donkey concerns.
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Yeah, I think it's better to just let that one lie. Fandom would eat my head if I did it wrong.
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and now I get to spend all afternoon pondering Meredith's predicament and her savior's strange hair.
I think it's worth writing even if you cannot find a donkey and feel like getting further away than a straight re-telling! (hee, I said straight /isfive).
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I'm not sure how I would go about it without Donkey, since he's sort of the go-between, but, yeah I can see the veering. Maybe I'll pick it back up when I'm done with sweet charity. :D
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Although! I wrote an original short story the other day. It's not very good but it's something. I wish I had TIME to coax my muse out and also OMG maybe I should do a wip amnesty day too. So many SPN fics I will never finish *sigh*
I will leave you with this very culturally valuable icon...
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