Wandering through my dreams...

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 01:14:22 GMT

Well, I figured it was about time I updated this thing, so here's part of what came out of my head for NaNo, if you care.

Chapter I - Prologue

Lillian ran from the big ranch house, tears streaming down her face. Her torn dress hung from her shoulders in pieces as she held to front together with one hand. Her other hand hung by her side, shoes dangling from her fingers as she fled barefoot into the darkness of the night.

‘How could he?’ she thought to herself. ‘What gives him the right to take what I don’t want to give him?’

She finally stopped running; it was time to make a plan. She sat on a nearby rock, and dipped her aching feet into the stream trickling and dancing over the near black rocks. The water of the stream ran red with the blood from her bruised and broken feet. Fleeing without pause to put her shoes on was probably not the best idea in the world, but what else was she to do? She couldn’t stay in that house any longer. Her eyes closed as she tried to hold back the memories, but unbidden they swept over her.

His hands grasped her shoulders as he turned her gently, facing her towards the stairs.

‘NO!’ her mind screamed at her other self, but there was no stopping the memory as it swept her away again.

She could see herself, laughing as the boy led her up the stairs. The boy talking softly in her ear, nowhere as drunk as he seemed. Herself, still an innocent even after countless nights like this one, typical party rife with alcohol, loud music, drugs and sex.

The boy, not yet a man, himself veteran of countless nights like this, just as she herself is, leading her into a room. The door kicked casually closed behind them, glasses and cups set on a table beside the door, his mouth on hers, and his hands on her shoulders.

She lets him, she is willing to give him this, to go this far, but she has limits, things she will not do.

His hands drop to her waist, pulling her close as he turns, trapping her against the wall.

His mouth moves to her neck, trying to be seductive, managing only wet and cold as the heady exhilaration wears off. She pushes at him, tells him she’s not in the mood anymore, but he doesn’t listen.

She realizes that she can’t smell any alcohol on his breath; he isn’t drunk at all. He knows precisely what he’s doing. He scares her now.

Her heart pounding in her ears again, she knows she needs to relive this memory, this night, or she won’t be able to move.

She pushes harder, trying to make him understand that she can’t, that she WON’T. He doesn’t listen, tells her to stop. Be quiet, be a good little slut.

He rips her shirt open, baring her breasts and stomach; she flails at his head, in a panic now. His hands reach for her skirt, intending to push it up around her waist.

She panics, and kicks him. Hard. He drops to the floor in a crouch, holding his crotch, eyes streaming in pain.

She darts out the door, slamming it behind her. She snatches her shirt closed as a couple kissing in the hall turn to look.

She darts down the stairs, heading for the door, ignoring the calls that follow her; she slips out into the night.

Lillian curls into a ball, wrapping her arms around her waist to avoid try and shield herself from the memories, but still they come.

She is halfway down the drive when he calls to her. “Lillian!”

She ignores him.

“Lilly! Get back here! I didn’t mean it!”

She still doesn’t turn.

His voice turns hard. “Lilly, you get back here right now you bitch.”

She turns and looks at him, a tall, strong looking silhouette on the porch. “No” she says, proud when her voice doesn’t shake.

“Lillian, if you leave now…” He leaves the threat hanging, gives her the opening to slink back to him like the whipped cur he wants.

But she won’t. She has never allowed him to rule her, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to start now. She turns and begins to walk again.

He comes off the porch, his feet crunching loud on the gravel of the driveway.

“Run Lilly!” Comes from her best friend’s throat, but is then cut off as someone slaps her.

“Don’t run bitch,” the boy calls, “It’ll just be worse when I catch you!”

His voice fades as she breaks into a run, weaving between the cars and out of his sight.

Her face wet again, she pulls her feet from the stream, and pulls on her shoes. She winced as the blood soaked through her socks, but tied the thin leather over her feet anyway.

She staggered to her feet, and limped out of the clearing, grasping at trees and bushes as she went. Her only thought was to get away, if she went far enough and fast enough, maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her.

The tall man watched her staggering form from the cover of the brush, following her silently, slipping through the branches and leaves soundlessly, tracking her every movement.

‘This is the one.’ He thought to himself. ‘She must be watched. I must protect her.’
.

I'll probably throw the next couple of chapters up here too, but i have to warn you that the whole story sort of got away from me. As in it isn't really about the person who I had intended to be the main character any more. Oh well, you'll see, should you chose to read this.

Wed, 19 Nov 2008 18:27:33 GMT

So Sister City in on Fanfiction.net enjoy that there please I'm a lazy bum and don't have the time post it here since it's now around 20 some odd chapters typed and 40 ish on notes and paper all over the place.

I'm doing NaNoWriMo, the username there is cdsg23 - enjoy.

Thu, 08 May 2008 20:33:08 GMT

Title: The Sister City
Author: Sunny_Tuesday
Rating: No clue, let me know.
Notes: Two things, 1. This is an AU. It didn’t start out that way, but I have to admit that it kind of got away from me. Oops.
2. Some things you might want to know:
********* Change of viewpoint
“Wordswordswords” actual spoken words
‘Wordswordswords’ thoughts or jumpers/Atlantis speaking
~WORDSWORDSWORDS~ Time and place, or just one
--Wordswordswords-- mental communication
Disclaimer: God how I hate these things. What do I have to do to convince you people that I don’t own this stuff! Well except for Lilah and Bri, they’re mine; they wander around all my stories and cause havoc. As always. And I guess I sort of own the Sister City, as much as anyone can own it really…

~ABOARD THE DEADALUS~

“Will you stop yelling at me?” he yelled.

“Why.” She snapped, turning to face him she threw her arms out to the sides as she did. “What can you possibly say that would make any difference right now?”

“Why don’t I start with ‘I’m sorry’ and go from there.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“No. You know what? ‘I’m sorry’ is just not going to cut it this time. I’ve given you a second chance. I’ve given you a third chance. Hell I even gave you a fourth chance to prove yourself; but obviously you can’t. That’s it okay? Thank god I’m not going to have to work with you again, and don’t even think about coming crying to me to fix your idiotic mistakes Andy. You got that?” Without waiting for an answer the slender, petit redhead strode out of the room.

She stormed down the hall of the Deadalus, brushing past scientists and Marines alike without a second glance.

She stopped at a door just like any other in the hall. She knocked twice, then waited until a soft ‘come in’ was heard.

She opened the door, and stepped into the crew quarters, fighting to maintain her iron control over her emotions. She threw herself across the bed, and incidentally across the tall brunette dressed only in a sports-bra and exercise shorts already seated there.

“Bri, what’s wrong?” the brunette asked, setting her book aside to rest her hands in the long red hair.

“Nothing Lil” the fair skinned beauty answered, burying her face in the tan girls exposed stomach.

“Brianna, don’t give me that ‘nothing’ crap. I know there’s something seriously wrong and so do you. You know as well as I do that you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t. Not here in this bloody military space ship.”

Hazel eyes bored into the pale skin on the back of her neck, and Bri shifted uncomfortably, wrapping her arms around her lover’s waist.

“Andy” she murmured after a while. Lifting her green eyes to meet the glowing hazel eyes of her partner. “He fucked up again. I can’t in good conscience even let him step onto the city if he can’t even do something as simple as this.” She buried her face again, this time twining her legs into the other girls.

“Well what did you ask him to do?” The brunette asked softly, rubbing the red hair spread across her stomach and thighs. “Are you giving him things to do that he is even capable of?”

“I asked him to re-run the ZPM proof Lilah. With the basis I gave him you or I or god even Caldwell could run it in our sleep. Okay so maybe Caldwell would need to be awake but the point is he could do it and even if he weren’t right he’d still be closer than that IDIOT with a supposed degree in physics. If he’s got a physics degree I’ve got an English degree!”

“You do have an English degree dear.” Lilah murmured. She’d already figured out that her friend and lover just needed some time to rant. She was just glad that Bri wasn’t going to Atlantis as a scientist, or even as a military leader. Hopefully as a physician and physical therapist there would be fewer of these explosions.

“Not a PhD.” Brianna countered, already beginning to doze off as she lost the momentum from her rant.

Lilah grinned. There was no way she could get Bri back to her quarters, but after that explosion that had echoed throughout the ship, well, anyone who needed to find Bri would know to find her seeking comfort and a listening ear from Lilah.

She made her decision, and nudged the redhead in the side. Slivers of emerald green peaked out from under eye-lids, and the sleepy girl murmured “Go ‘way, sleepin’.”

Lilah chuckled “I’m not making you leave, but you need to budge up a bit so I can lie down.” With a groan the sleepy girl rolled herself onto her side. Lilah turned out the light, and slid down. Bri flopped back over, wrapping herself tightly around her taller lover. Lilah sighed, then her arms rose to wrap around Bri’s back. The two drifted off to sleep, smiles on their faces.

~ON ATLANTIS~

*Crack*

“Ow!”

“Sheppard this is Weir, come in.”

John held up a hand, and Teyla pulled her next blow. Setting her sticks down she moved to the other side of the training room. He walked to the bench where his radio sat, and picked it up as Teyla continued her own workout on the other side of the training room.

“This is Sheppard.”

“John, I need to see you in my office for a minute, are you busy?”

“Let me go shower and I’ll be right there.”

He signed off, then turned to Teyla. “Doctor Weir’s calling, mind if we pick this up tomorrow?”

Teyla shook her head. “That will not be a problem Colonel Sheppard.”

“Thanks Teyla.” John headed for his quarters to change out of his sweat drenched workout clothes and take a quick shower before heading for Weir’s office.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 12:21:47 GMT

Flameheart Parts 8 & 9

#8
Images, feelings and emotions rushed through him a torrent; he was helpless, caught in the grip of a force stronger and more intense than could ever be imagined. He remembered the lessons taught to him by the ones who had entrusted this secret to him. He began to recite poetry, the rhythm pushing the flood to the sides, allowing him to see clearly and search for the information he needed.
His words were drowned out by the flood for a long, timeless hour, until he heard his voice again, beginning a new poem.

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

He stopped speaking, and watched the fires churn just outside the protective bubble he had created. He shook his head and muttered
“Thank you Dylan Thomas. I’ll have to remember that. I can’t remember the shield going up so fast ever before.”
He sighed deeply, and began the arduous search for the information he needed.
**********
Hours later Flameheart tumbled from the Library, shaking his head in wonder and astonishment. He reached back in with one careful talon, and pulled out a person.

#9
The girl huddled on the floor, shaking. Still overwhelmed by the power of the Library. Flameheart watched her, his head cocked to the side. He had learned many things while in the Library, none of them good, and all of them deeply disturbing.
As he had thought the men still in the castle belonged to a mage, a powerful mage. He had found the castle, broken in past all the wards set by generations of guardians, found the portal, made it through, and somehow escaped.
His survival in the fires of the Library was no mystery anymore; the mage had brought along this girl, and positioned himself behind her as he searched for answers. That was the only reason Flameheart had brought her out, she was an unwilling pawn, and had asked nothing of the Library.
The Library had known all this, and was powerless to the stop it, so it had preserved the girl as best it could; dimming its fires and trying its best to protect her. That alone was a surprise, the Library had never shown such a sense of awareness before. Flameheart wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 12:19:45 GMT

Title: Flameheart and the Elves
Author: Sunny_tuesday
Notes: As part of a group story written elsewhere.

#1
Flameheart the dragon sighs deep in his cave high on the mountainside. He'd tried to remain out of this conflict for as long as possible, but now there was simply no choice. The ancient creature pulls himself to his feet, and passes a wing over the shimmering pool of water at the back his cave, killing the spell that has allowed him to watch the world unnoticed for centuries. He lumbers to the front of the cave, and as the clouds drift away from the moon, he spreads his wings and lifts himself into the air, as the creatures in the forest below fall silent, terrified by the sight they haven't seen in 153 years, Flameheart flew again.

#2
Flameheart soars out over the mountains, heading not into the realms of the people, but further into the deep wilderness of the snowy mountains. The griffins had been released from their prison almost 75 years ago; he had watched their movements carefully, knowing that eventually he would have to trap them again. Then he had lost them. He had assumed them to be dead, but apparently they weren’t. He had seen the collars the griffins wore around their necks, the controlling spell was an old one, so old even he had forgotten about it. Whoever this mage was who controlled the griffins, he had access to knowledge long thought lost by the human realm, which was why Flameheart had now left his sanctuary, and why the old dragon flew to one of the many lost castles scattered, hidden, throughout these mountains. He spotted the deserted castle looming up out of the nighttime darkness; he fanned his wings, pulled his feet under him, and dropped to a graceful landing on the stone of the inner courtyard. “Nice to know I haven’t forgotten how to fly” he grumbled under his breath, looking around to orient himself. It had been a long time since he was here last. He folded his wings tight against his sides, and lumbered off into the castle, in search of something he had left here over 200 years ago.

#3
“Now where did I put that stupid key?” Flameheart muttered, using his nose to throw old furniture off to the side. This had seemed like a great security system when he first thought of it, but then he had been much younger, and had thought that nothing could compel him to re-open the Library of Souls. Flameheart stopped digging through the pile of old, rotting furniture, and thought hard for a second. Suddenly he turned and rushed out of the room, his tail crashing into a pile of chairs, sending them flying. He paused, and turned to look back over his shoulder. His shoulders lifted in a semblance of a shrug, then he turned back, and continued out of the dungeons, heading up to the great hall. When this castle was still inhabited the great hall must have been a thing of beauty. Even now, it was breathtaking. Mosaics covered the walls, now they were partially obscured by soot from torches. Mold grew everywhere, enough to make the dragon sneeze. His feet left deep impressions in the dust covering the floor, as he paced slowly up to the dais, where even now the throne sat in sorry splendor, the spells still holding even after all these years. Flameheart remembered when he had found this castle. The first king had the throne made in memory of all the warriors who had died in the battle to take the castle from the Lord of Elements. Flameheart had given the king the spell that still remained on the throne. The king wanted to be sure that the warriors would never be forgotten, so he had traded Flameheart for the strongest spell he had that would protect this monument from the ravages of time. Flameheart sighed, and shook himself out of his reverie, without noticing his feet had carried him to the base of the throne. Flameheart bowed his head respectfully, then reached out a long talon, and fished something from the bottom of the throne. He held up the key, dangling it from one claw. The metal of the key still shone, untarnished even through the ages. Flameheart lowered his head, and hung the ring of the key off one long tooth. He turned, and left the hall the same way he came in. A few seconds later he re-entered the hall, grumbling as he paced up to the dais again, then behind it, pushing aside a moldy tapestry, and passing through the hidden door behind it.

#4
After getting lost several more times, he managed to get out to the courtyard where he had landed. The big red and bronze dragon shook himself, ridding his wings of spider webs and the remains of tapestries. He took off grumbling too himself, still in a foul mood. “Now why don’t I remember that stupid cellar? And who puts a trap door to the cellar in the middle of the King’s bedroom?” A flock of pigeons suddenly burst out of the courtyard below him, startled into flight by the thunder of his wings. The flock suddenly surrounded him, screeching in alarm. Unfortunately for them, Flameheart had had enough. “I have had a really, REALLY bad day.” He muttered, tracking one of the stupid birds with his eyes. Suddenly his jaws opened, and snapped shut with a crack. The birds bolted as a single tail feather fell from the mass of birds as the flock fled, leaving Flameheart blessedly alone in the sky. ”That’s more like it,” he murmured, twisting his body through a giant corkscrew in the sky, reveling in the feel of the harsh wind against his wings. He then soared in a circle over the castle he had recently vacated, getting his bearings before he headed off to another castle at the opposite end of the Himalayas. “This could be a long week,” he thought as he found the markers, oriented his body along their line, and took off into the South West. Five hours later he landed at the next castle, fishing the key out of his mouth as he walked up to the door, he snapped at the ravens that had been following him for the last eight miles, then grumbled, and hissed at the birds. That did it. The birds took off, finally leaving him alone. Flameheart stuck the key into the lock, turning it and letting himself into the castle.
**********
An hour later he re-emerged, once again covered in dust and thoroughly annoyed at the world. He shook himself, and sneezed at the large cloud of dust, dirt and debris that rose from his back. He sighed, opened his mouth, and dropped a small bag, a pile of dust, and another key onto the ground. He strode over to the moat, and took a long drink, cleaning his mouth of the dust he had carried. He thought for a second, and then looked at the sky, checking the position of the sun. “Time to check on those griffins I guess” he said to the castle wall.
Flameheart leaned his head out over the moat, growled a spell deep in his throat, then breathed on the water before him. He watched the past few hours of events, noticing with approval how well the twins had handled the griffins. Suddenly he yelled, “Stop! Real speed!” He watched the water intently for five minutes or so, then reached out a paw and splashed the water everywhere. He spun on his haunches, and launched himself quickly into the air, with none of his usual grace. He glanced around once he was in the air and recovered from his less than graceful take off. “Now how did that stupid magician tie them to the castle? How’d the idiot even FIND the damn building in the first place?!?” he yelled into the clear sky.
**********
Sitting on a mountaintop an hour later, Flameheart focused on the distant castle, muttering another spell as he closed his eyes, he opened them again and looked down, examining the lines of magic energy around the third, and final castle before the library.
He swore, the entire place was riddled with wards, alarms and traps. “Let’s get this over with quickly then, before those griffins figure out that I’m not at the last two castles, once I’m in the library I’ll be safe.” Flameheart sat for another ten minutes muttering to himself. “Well this pep talk obviously isn’t doing anything except giving those dumb birds more time. Let’s just get this over with.” He stretched his wings out, and fell of the cliff, gliding down the mountain toward the castle that contained the key to the Library of Souls.

#5
The dragon wrenched his head upward, letting his neck lead the rest of his body as he glided up the wall to the castle. He had come in close to the ground, as close as he could get without walking; and now had to try and avoid those stupid griffins. He still wasn’t quite sure where they were; he only knew that they were probably coming. He had crossed the first of the wards five minutes ago, the signal for the creatures to come. He wrenched his body around a 90-degree angle, soaring over the top of the building, to land exposed on the very top of the tallest tower. He fished a key out of his mouth, and unlocked the trapdoor under his feet. He pulled the trapdoor up, letting it rest on his back as he slid through the hole into the castle. Leaving his tail resting in the hole, he turned around, sliding his head under the trapdoor and pulling the key out of the lock. As he pulled his head out of the hole, the trap door locked behind him. He sighed
“Good thing I wasn’t planning on going out that way.”
He slunk down the hallway, trying to make himself as small as possible while he hugged the wall. The place where he was most likely to be discovered was up ahead. He had to cross a balcony across the rear of the great hall, and he could smell the people in there. There were more than enough to be a problem if he was discovered.
**********
He took a deep breath, trying not to breath in the smoke billowing through the window beside him. Ducking his head back into the roiling smoke now choking the hallway, he used his nose to gently nudge the door open. The smoke began to pour through at an alarming rate, or what would have been an alarming rate if he hadn’t been counting on exactly that happening. As the smoke began to fill the hall and obscured the balcony, he slunk across, pausing only briefly to booby-trap the floor behind him.
As he shut the opposite door behind him, he chuckled to himself. Anyone who tried to get through the door now would be drenched in soapy water, immediately after which they would find themselves sliding back onto the floor of the great hall as a cascade of freezing cold water swept them back down the stairs before dissipating.
“Three more bloody floors of this.” He muttered. “Why on EARTH did I ever think that the library needed to be this protected?”
A screech echoed down the hall, and he murmured “Oh yeah, that’s why.” And he raced down the hall to the next staircase he fit into. “But I still don’t remember why I put the damn portal in the basement.”

#6
Flameheart dropped his massive bulk down the tight staircase. As he reached the landing he winced at the damage his scales had done to the expensive wood paneling the last time he’s been here. He hadn’t really been able to get a good look at the damage, but now he could see clear through to the stone on the other side. He knew that there were definitely easier ways he could have set this maze up, but booby-trapping every other floor in the two stair cases had seemed like the easiest option at the time. He was just thankful that he didn’t have to go back through the great hall again. In fact he really couldn’t, not without setting off another set of traps that would make the rest of the trip ten times harder.
**********
The dragon paused in the hall suddenly looking at the niches beside him; he then backed up a few feet to look in the niches he had just passed. After seeing the suit of antique armor in the niche he had previously passed, he nodded to himself, then began walking again, this time going slower, and counting under his breath.
“One…two…three…four…five…sixth on the left” Flameheart stuck his head into the niche and pushed a stone panel with his nose. “Then one…two…third on the right” He repeated his actions in this niche, and then continued down the hall.
“Thirty…thirty-one…thirty-two…thirty-third both sides” This time the dragon reached out with a claw and held down a panel on the floor in front of the left hand niche while using his tongue to turn a small stone dial on the roof of the one on the right.
“That should do it then.” He muttered, contorting his neck so he could look and make sure the dial was positioned correctly.
“Well here goes,” he whispered, gathering himself. He took a step forward, opened his wings slightly, and fell through the seemingly solid floor.
**********
He landed with a thump on stone several stories down. As his full weight settled on the stone slab, his ears picked up the sound of stone grinding on stone. He looked up, and saw the faint glimmer of light from his entrance disappear as the solid stone cover slid back across under the illusion.
“Damn it.” He shook his head. “That entrance finally works and it’s right when I need it to be broken.”
Flameheart shook himself; then he stretched his wings out to the sides, relieving the cramps that had built up from holding them clamped tight to his body for so long. He winced as he heard and felt the pops from the muscles in his wings and shoulders releasing. He knew he should have been stretching more during his self-imposed exile. He really was out of shape if a simple run through a castle and a squeeze through a tight hallway could tire him out so much. He chuckled to himself at some un-heard joke, and then bowed his head. Unlike most human mages, Dragons needed an intense amount of concentration to cast some of the simplest spells. No one knew why, nor had anyone known when dragons were still partners to humans. Many had searched for an answer, but nothing had been found. All anyone knew was that spells such as that which conjured fire, mage light, and heat were barely worth the effort, unless a dragon was in a situation like this, with no visible light anywhere.
A flickering ball of teal light appeared over Flamehearts head. He glared at it, and it gained strength, steadying as it did so until he was able to look out over the giant chasm that was the last defense before the portal.
The dragon chuckled to himself again, spread his wings, and fell head first off the ledge into the giant cavern below the castle.

#7
As he snapped his wings open, he sent a mental command to the mage light he had created. The ball of energy glowed brighter, and rose, flattening out as it did so, stretching itself almost impossibly thin, before it tore apart. The pieces scattered themselves across the ceiling, each one still glowing brightly. The combined effect was enough to illuminate the entire cavern.
Flameheart looked down as he soared, the shimmering red portal cast a sinister, evil looking glow across the floor of the canyon a mile down. He spiraled down until he landed on the floor in front of the portal. He looked up, and hissed a command, the balls of mage light began to re-merge into one, which dimmed, and soared down to hover above his head. He took a deep breath; he really, REALLY hated doing this. He sighed gustily, and then with another deep breath, he closed his eyes and stepped through the portal.
**********
Nothingness.

Cold nothingness.

Cold, earth shattering, mind-numbing nothingness.

Silence.
**********
Several interminably long seconds later, Flameheart tumbles from the portal. He may be the keeper of The Library, and its guard; but even he does not know where, or in what plane of existence it rests. There was only one way in, and only one way out of The Library, and they were truly the final guards. All could enter, but only a select few could leave. That was the true key to the secrecy of The Library, that the knowledge gained could only be removed by a select few.
He drags himself to his feet, shaking dust from his wings. He sends another command to the light that followed him through the portal. The light swings sideways, pausing to light the torch set in the wall, before it swings back across his head to light the torch on the other side. The misty ball floats to his front, and settles in a stone cup on the top of a pedestal, where it glows for a minute before sinking into the stone. For a moment the only light comes from the torches by the entrance, but then the stone pillar begins to glow from within, the second part of the mage light spell Flameheart cast. The mage light settles into the stone, diffusing through it, and waking ancient spells that light the rest of the room.
How something this BIG could still be this claustrophobic Flameheart has never been able to figure out. After all, this place has to be at least a hundred times bigger than the cave he stayed in for the past 153 years, and that didn’t feel claustrophobic at all. Maybe it was the complete lack of natural light, or maybe it was the way that the magical light simply didn’t dispel shadows completely. “Or maybe,” he thought wryly, “it was the giant glowing ball of energy that hovered in the center of the room.”
He walked down the steps carefully, watching the catalogue as it rippled, following his motion. He made his way around the walkway that ringed the catalogue until he reached the Questioner’s Podium on the far side from the entrance.
Dimly he could see a blue-green glow that leaked out from underneath the catalogue.
The other portal.
He stares at the Podium for a long minute, before he visibly braces himself, and steps forward. He can hear the musical chiming of the catalogue the moment he touches the podium, a seductive sound designed to lure in and trap the unprepared.
The dragon shook himself as the musical spell of the great library’s catalogue fell over him, then he spoke the carefully worded question he held in his mind.

Parts 8 & 9

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 12:16:08 GMT

Just some thoughts.

How has humanity become so immune to war? How does hatred fail to touch us anymore? Loss is not something any child should have to face, especially when it is the loss of a sister or brother.

It was not until I heard about the death of my friend’s older brother that I realized how little death touched me anymore. Death fails to raise compassion in my heart. Suffering and pain cannot stir the light of hope from the depths of my crying soul.

I fear I am becoming numb. I fear that I am losing all hope, all anger, all anguish, all emotion. I can’t find anything that touches me now. I can’t find anything that makes me feel.

I don’t know how humanity can continue like this. I don’t know how we can continue to survive. We place so little positive value on the fact that our emotions can and will guide us, yet we always listen. Everything inside of us is screaming that this is wrong; yet we continue to fight, why. Why do we fight even as our judgment weeps? Because we feel.

Perhaps the only way to end the wars, the only way to end the killing, is to feel everything. Empathy, compassion, caring… love. Those are what stops wars. Not armies. Feeling is what ends the violence.
As we grow more inured to violence and bloodshed, we find ourselves in the ever-increasing danger of being locked in a bloody tide. Unable to break away, unable to stop killing.

If we cannot feel, we cannot live; and our reaction to bloodshed is sowing us the long road ahead. It branches here, and we must now make a choice. We must choose between cold plastic exteriors, and hearts of stone that bleed only when they are cut by steel; or exteriors of fragile glass, tempered by the fires of this trial, and hearts of lace-spun gold, beautiful and fragile, yet open to all that threatens to destroy us even now.
It is time, and the human race must choose. Either we choose to live as animatrons, responding to orders with no thought to the implications or reasoning; or we choose to see the suffering around us, and in that seeing, we choose to feel, and then to fix the problems that plague our world.

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 22:28:54 GMT

Title: A Message to a Sister
Author: Sunny_tuesday
Rating: PG
Word Count: 320
Warnings: Bad sunny, you made someone cry
Disclaimer: Not mine… unfortunately

Somehow, somewhere,
I know that you are waiting,
Looking upward with hope,
Always looking for a sign.

You never thought I cared, but I do.
I always have.
Even when you drove me up a wall,
I cared.

I don’t know how to make you believe,
That I thought of you every sunset.
That my heart wept when I couldn’t hold you,
That I missed you every second of every day.

I had everything I ever wanted,
But I never was complete
I missed you every time I realized,
That I could never go home again.

It wasn’t till I stepped over the line,
That I realized how much you meant to me.
I know we never really talked at all,
But you were there if I ever really needed you.

It’s hard to tell if you will take this seriously,
Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.
I haven’t been the best brother
So you have every right to be mad.

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,
This being so far away from you
Now we don’t even know if we’ll live through the day
So I wanted to say goodbye, before it’s too late.

Jeannie I don’t know how to put into words all I feel
You know I’ve never been good at that
So I guess this is how I say goodbye,
I will see you in heaven my love, my life, my sister.
Rodney

P.S. Jeannie, I want you to know that I am happy now. I met someone who makes my heart sing. He helped me find myself after so long being alone, and now he’s helping me say goodbye. John thanks you for taking care of me growing up, and he promises to take good care of me in your stead. Jeannie, I will always love you, and know that I care more than I can ever say.

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 23:35:37 GMT

Title: Reconciliation
Author: Sunny_tuesday
Rating: PG-ish, pairing: McKay/Sheppard, hints of Teyla/Carter
Word Count:
Warnings: Vague spoilers for “Doppelganger”
Author’s notes: Currently un-beta’d, read at your own risk.
--Wordswordswords-- = thoughts
“Wordswordswords” = speech
Disclaimer: No they don’t belong to me, if you really want a dusty rubber band ball that has been living in the black hole that most people refer to as “the space under your bed” I could go fish it out, but I’m not sure why you would want me to do that. Besides which I’d think it would be pretty obvious that they don’t belong to me. After all, they wear clothing on the show don’t they?

Rodney leaned his head against the shower wall, breathing deeply and forcing his back muscles to relax as Atlantis poured water down over him.

A grand total of 17 days had passed since Samantha Carter had taken control of the Atlantis expedition, and already Rodney could see trouble on the horizon.

So many situations that they had seen in the last two and a half weeks had shown a disturbing parallel to missions run by SG-1; and he could already see that Sam was comparing.

The energy being who lived in a crystal, the terrible enemy who almost could not be killed; when the entity had been inside hem, she had commented on the similarities, but Rodney had seen it in her eyes. --If this had been SG-1, we would have seen something different, no one would have died. --

Rodney was no expert, but that kind of complacency would end in more deaths. She was going to begin to believe that she had seen it all, and just when she relaxed, as she was bound to do; something new would show up, and that would be the thing to destroy them all.

Rodney sighed deeply, and told the shower to turn off. Grabbing a towel he moved into the bedroom. There was really nothing he could do except hope that the new thing would take its time. At the very least enough time for them to prepare.

* * *
Rodney had learned very early on that if you were good at something, people didn’t care if you knew what manners were. Unfortunately he had to wait another six years before he could act on that knowledge, and even if people didn’t necessarily like a mouthy ten-year-old, the nuclear bomb he had built two years ago convinced most of them.

Contrary to popular opinion in two galaxies, Rodney not only had social skills, he could use them; and occasionally he did, when he chose. He just hadn’t chosen too for the past 30 years.

After all, manners came with the downside that if you were nice to people, they started to think you liked them. Then they asked you to do things for them.

* * *
Now Rodney wore his abrasiveness like one of those comforting sweaters you never wanted to take off, a sweater made of Kevlar that repelled all advances.

Atlantis had changed that. Since he came here he had found people who had taken the time to dig through the mask. Willing to peel away the layers and try to find the real Rodney hiding under the bluster and show.

John had done that easier than everyone else. That was why he called him Sheppard instead of John; it was just one more barrier keeping him from getting too close. But John still tore away the barriers as fast as Rodney could put them up. It scared him. He had never found someone willing to try this hard before. Never.

* * *
Rodney lay down on his bed, thinking back to the past days couple of days.

Rodney had looked at the John standing in front of him. Whichever one this was had just thrown its counterpart through the Stargate in John’s brain. He sent out a quick prayer that this really was John, because if it wasn’t he was dead.

Then he had put his foot in his mouth.

“…I would have thought there would be more beautiful women.”

John had paused. It had not been his imagination. John had definitely paused..

“Yeah.”

Rodney had long since made his peace with his bi-sexuality, but now he was realizing that he might actually have a chance to get what he had wanted for so long.

* * *
In Antarctica it had been a case of simple lust. Lust for the beautiful, messy-haired pilot who sat down in a chair and sent vibrations humming through his bones. As his barriers fell away, the lust had changed, developed, grown into something more.

Rodney had hidden that behind blustering and ramblings about the beautiful blond at the SGC, as he had hid all his feelings for American military personnel since he had arrived back from Siberia. When he was trapped in the sinking ‘jumper, it had not been a mirage of Carter (as he had told everyone) that kept him sane, it had been John.

Rodney was scared; he was always scared, but usually not like this. This was a different kind of scared. He was scared the John would hate him. Rodney couldn’t deal with that

He sighed. There was no way he was going to get to sleep now.

He got up and headed towards the mess hall, food could never hurt.

He loaded his tray with far more than he could possibly eat on his own; he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be the only one awake tonight.

He walked out on the balcony and saw John and Teyla already there.

He blathered something about ‘just coming down for a midnight snack’.

“Yeah, we couldn’t sleep either” John replied, stealing some food off Rodney’s tray as he sat down. Rodney nodded to himself, and made the requisite noises about food thieves; placing a private bet that they would be joined by Ronon, Keller and Carter at least.

Several hours later, as hints of the sun began to show rising in the east, Rodney’s tray had been picked clean, and the Keller and Ronon had left.

* * *
Rodney watched silently as Teyla placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Perhaps it would be best if we left now.” She said softly. “I believe that John and Rodney probably have things to talk about that they would rather we didn’t hear.

Sam glanced at Teyla in surprise, then at John and Rodney, leaning on the railing with a carefully maintained distance between them.

“Yes, I think that’s probably a good idea” she said.

“It’s Teyla,” John remarked, “When does she ever have a bad idea?”

Teyla merely smiled, then she dragged Sam away.

John watched them go from the corner of his eye, then turned his back on the ocean, leaning back on the railing.

Rodney glanced over, and had to stop himself from laughing at the interest John was suddenly taking in his own military issue combat boots and the floor surrounding them.

Rodney knew better than to push this. Whatever John felt he needed to say, it was something that he needed to get out on his own.

“When you were in my head, you asked me about the lack of hot girls…” John paused, pushing himself up off the railing and walking across the balcony. He leaned against the wall, carefully looking everywhere except at Rodney.

After a good twenty minutes of silence, Rodney sighed. Self-revelations were all well and good, but he had to get to work some time this morning.

“Yes…and…so?” he prompted, interrupting John’s thoughts.

“Hmmm?” John answered, looking up at Rodney for the first time since the conversation started.

“You were saying about the girls…?” Rodney hinted, then snickered when John looked away and blushed.

“Oh for..” Rodney realized that if John went at his own pace, it could well be another century before he actually said it.

Rodney decided to take matters into his own hands.

He stalked over to John “Is this what you’ve been trying to say?” he asked, before trapping John’s head against the wall with is hands, and pressing his lips to John’s.

Heat and wet and lips and teeth and tongue and…

“God yes,” John whispered after Rodney pulled away, then John’s hand was on the back of Rodney’s neck, pulling him back in.

John’s lips eased over his own, all heat and softness. He felt a tongue brush his lip, requesting entrance; he opened to John, then melted against the strong body pressed against his. John pulled back, and Rodney could have sworn that his ears were ringing as he wrapped his arms around his best friend, his love, his John.

As John’s arms came around him, he could have sworn he heard John whisper “There were no hot girls because you were always all I needed.”

* * *
Teyla and Sam watched the two men on the balcony, smiling as they wrapped their arms around each other.

Sam smiled, wrapping her arm around Teyla’s shoulders as Teyla’s arm slid around her waist. The brunette rested her head on the blonds shoulder.

“They will be okay.” She said softly.

“Yeah, they will.”

~Fini

Sun, 21 Oct 2007 12:58:54 GMT

Title: Touch
Author: Sunny_tuesday
Words: ~500 words
Disclaimer: If I owned them you would see this on screen.
Notes: Written for the Skin Hunger Challenge.
Other Stuff: Really the first Fic I've ever written. Please be gentle.

Touch. He’s always needed it, craved it, loathed it. To touch another person sets his whole body singing; but he can’t afford that. Never.

To never touch is lonely - but safer by far. He has always been sensitive, and he never could control it. A single touch looses his inhibitions, makes him loose control. They can’t afford that out here.

It’s been too long since he could last let himself go, since he has let himself feel another person; another body against his own. Arms around him and legs tangled with his own. Clothing a barrier between them, yet a welcome one, keeping the feeling at bay, helping him hold onto a semblance of control. The last time was on Earth, before Atlantis, before Antarctica… before John.

It had been Radek back then, and only because they were friends. He had been vibrating, shaking, overloaded with sensation from being crammed on an airplane for hours on end. It had been a release; it reminded him of the real reason he doesn’t like to fly.

Four long hours. Scratchy seats, the sterility of the air in the cabin, like, and yet so unlike the comforting air of his labs. The stranger sitting next to him, asleep within the first half hour, falling over onto his shoulder, his whole body vibrating from the pressure.

And now this.

They’d run on adrenalin and amphetamines for god only knew how long, adrenaline giving out after 36 hours, replaced with the drugs.

They’d dulled his senses, thank god. The brush of a body against his own in the hallway as they darted from disaster to disaster no longer enough to make him tremble. Blessed relief.

Then it was over. They’d been sent back to earth, panic and adrenaline holding off the need for a little while longer. But he knew it couldn’t last.

Then they were back. He wonders abstractedly when Atlantis stopped being a city, and became home. That night he sits in his room, still awake, reminded that even home can be lonely.

The moon is out, he thinks the view from the pier might distract him.

The door opens, and John is there. Standing outside, looking as lost and alone as he feels. He looks at John, standing outside his door in the middle of the night, craving closeness, craving touch as much as he is.

John steps forward, crosses the threshold carefully, not sure if he will be welcome. His hand comes to rest on his shoulder, the weight of a palm pressing into the joint welcome, a pressure that sends shivers of emotion rocketing through his body. He reaches out, pulls the warrior into his quarters, arms coming up to wrap around another body; finally finally giving in. The need for touch realized. Two men, the soldier and the scientist facing off loneliness in the darkness of the night. Secure in each other’s arms.

Sun, 21 Oct 2007 12:29:09 GMT

Title: Hold me
Author: sunny_tuesday
Details: 167 words, Mcshep
Rated: G...I think
Notes: written for the Skin Hunger Challenge, hopefully you all know where that is, 'cause I still have issues with linking anything.

Why can’t you see,
The darkness resting in my soul?
Why can’t you see,
The shadows lurking deep within?

I am no good for you,
Tarnished see? Broken.
Can’t you see the hurt,
Pulling me away?

You’ve heard the names they call me,
You call me them yourself.
You can’t know how deep it cuts
When you mouth those hateful words, even in jest.

What can I do,
To make you believe?
That this is no joke,
That this really is me.

I’ve told you my truths; they’re there for you to see,
If I thought you’d accept me,
I’d just come and show you,
But I feel that you’d run, and I’d lose you forever.

They called me pretty-boy, Kirk, others too hateful to mention
I know you don’t mean it,
The way that they did,
But still it hurts me.

I know I could never be good enough for you,
Yet still I crave your touch,
Please Rodney -
Can’t you just hold me?

*Please go easy on me, this is the first thing I've written that I like enough to post anywhere*