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26 September 2008 @ 07:33 pm
I'm such a copycat. Fic Prompts & Ideas  
After seeing synecdochic's amnesty fic post it got me to thinking of the slips I've had sitting around lonely in my WIP file (some for years). I don't see myself expanding them at any point in the future and decided to post them. Some of these might be considered nothing more than a prompt, so if anything here inspires you feel free (i'd appreciate it if you'd let me know if you do.*g*) Several can be somehow fit to either SG-1 or Farscape.

His dreams are but smoke and illusion, making it hard to see. So I sleep when he does. When he awakens, the fog is still thick, palatable almost, but I find breaks and drive through in the distraction of routine.


I don’t know when my dreams stopped. Dreams of escape, of who I used to be. I think this life is a dream. I don’t know when I’m awake.


My hands moved as if on autopilot. Vibrations traveled up one arm and down the other, leaving behind a tingle.


There is no pipe.

His hands are empty, but he could imagine that the weight was still there. Length and mass, just right for the immediate task.

The irony was not lost to him that the last time he masqueraded as a Peacekeeper; he’d also used a pipe to kill. The nurse was just lucky.

He had a reason then. ‘The virus made me do it.’

The dog ate my homework.

Same difference. It was only an excuse, the blood was there.


It starts with a simple touch, fingers trailing across sweaty flesh. Burning the tips of her fingers with desire that courses through her, through the both of them.


The voice is a whirlwind, singing past your ear, drowning out all other sound. Causing everything around to come to a standstill. It takes the form of your pubescent fantasies turned nightmare.

A tilt of the head, you listen, unable to do anything but. You are a statue, frozen in time.


There isn’t a sound I want to hear more than my name on her lips. Breathless. Barely a whisper.


(this piece was particularly about the Peacekeepers after PKwars)

The call goes out, no port or landing field is spared the beacons.

Fathers gather up arms to protect their homes and families.

Sons go for glory, and to live up the image of hero.

Mothers cry over unmarked graves, while daughters wonder of what could have been.

Corridors go naked, silenced voices scream their echo.

On the far reaches there are rumors. Rumors tinged with blue fire, speaking of planets swallowed whole. Names, almost sacred, are whispered with reverence.

One carries more meaning.


Cries filter through the air. Reaching me even with my hands pressed against my ears. They ask too much. I can’t save them.

I can’t even save myself anymore.

The sun doesn’t reach me here. In the shadows is where I hide now. I feel too much at home here. There’s no chance of me accidentally seeing my own reflection. My own eyes accusing me of cowardice.

I let my feet move through dirt caked with blood, pushing aside rags that used to be worn by living souls only a few weekens before. Broken mortar scratches my back as it slides down the wall of a building I once knew the name of. My own blood trailing down, but I don’t care. It tells me I’m still alive.


Cries filter through the air. Reaching him though his hands are pressed tightly against his ears. They ask too much of him. He knows he can’t save them.

He can’t save himself anymore.


“So, how long has it been?”

The voice surprised him, causing John to jump. He tried to hide the yelping noise by coughing slightly. “Ma’am?”

A blond, dressed in almost nothing but thin gauze, stared at him for a moment. For all the world looking as if she were choosing from a menu as she licked her lips. “How long have you been in space, alone, with no – companionship?”

Remembering the threats issued by the very large bald man, John shuddered. “Not long enough. Shouldn’t you be back in your quarters? On the other side of the ship?”

She laughed in answer. “I do as I please, when I please. No one rules me or my girls.”

“Lady, that’s not what I was told, and I have no intention of permanently joining your bodyguards by losing my family jewels.”


Low hanging clouds shadow the world. Holding within itself, a fog that creeps and crawls as its fingers down and inside.

Smoldering all desires and dreams.

I grasp it, wanting the absence of light.

Over the river and through the woods to my soul, only to find it pasted together with steel and blood and a wish for a better day.

For a better night sleep.

There was an ocean before me, and an endless plain at my back, but I turn to neither. Instead I look and reach up, trying to catch a falling star in my palm. To fight away the darkness I desired only yesterday.


There’s a presence about her.

You can feel it even standing across the room. An armor, that permeates every fiber that tries to enfold you, is driving deep within while repelling in the same instance.

You reach out.

Try to allow yourself – to force – the words.

Force away the fear.

But he holds you, controlling your emotions, keeping them in check.

The monster under the bed has the key, barring the lock. Moving of its own volition.

You fall.

She falls harder.

Breaking and shattering into a million pieces of glass with the Sun reflecting and blinding you in the truth.
moodswing: crazycrazy
Liza: On a deadlinelizamanynames on September 26th, 2008 08:16 pm (UTC)
This is a very cool idea, and one I've been considering.

Some of these are veeeeeeeeeery interesting... *sets brain to percolate*

(As a note... you posted the "The call goes out..." bit twice. Once witht the note about it being about PKs after the war, and once a bit above that, without.)
Kaz: Fanfic Crackkazbaby on September 26th, 2008 08:37 pm (UTC)
I'd been considered it before but at that time I'd hoped to do something with these.

*pets your percolating brain*

(thanks for letting me know. somehow i'd repeated two different sections. fixed now)
eclipse: Farscape_Epicgigerisgod on September 26th, 2008 08:22 pm (UTC)
I need to re-read this a few more times. The sections aren't in chronological order, are they? There's serious poet in you and it comes through here.

And oh, this, right here:

‘The virus made me do it.’

The dog ate my homework.

Like you plucked it from his brain kiddo.
Kaz: Fairytales (John)kazbaby on September 26th, 2008 08:41 pm (UTC)
The sections aren't in chronological order, are they?

Not really. It's hard to tell really when some of these were originally thought of because some were copied from my notebooks long ago.

There's serious poet in you and it comes through here.

*blushes and bows*

Like you plucked it from his brain kiddo.

Thank you!