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plot bunnies, free to a good home
hokay.
So, for some reason, recently my brain has been going overtime, with the planning and the ideas and the plotting of random fic. This, needless to say, is NOT WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING in any way shape or form. I should be studying for finals (eep!), or planning for study abroad, or eating, or sleeping, or any of the other things I tend to not do.
But the ideas, they come. And since the index cards are quick to get unsightly (plus, you know, I kind of need those for making flash cards with), I will put them here.
The Willie Taylor fic—wherein the Athosians sing their traditional songs, one of which is a murder ballad similar to Willie Taylor (wherein the girl's lover is press-ganged, and she goes to find him, and is discovered to be OMG a girl, and is told where she can find her boy, and finds him, but 'walking along with a lady gay,' so she shoots them both, goes back, and is made a ship's commander. rock on, unnamed girl!). And the team, not understanding this, thinks it's a sweet little song, until Teyla translates it. After that, Rodney is totally accepting and calm, and Sheppard's a little creeped out, and Ford is just confused as hell. Unless this actually happens in season 2, in which case Ronon is hungry and oblivious. Or possibly plays a guitar-like instrument, because in my mind Ronon is somewhat musical, when he's not being chased by the Wraith.
the six scary people fic, which is actually half written, but is unfortunately all in my stats notes. Basically, what if they didn't gel as easily as they did? Elizabeth Weir: the ways she is betrayed, and the way she betrays, and the whithertos. (she comes back fucked up and crazy and Simon's all, oh, love of my life, so sorry i'm an asshat, here, let me comfort you, you're away from them all now, and she goes after him with a knife. yeah, I know. My subconscious is a scary place.) This is the story that comes from my realization that, really, everyone in Atlantis has the potential to become a seriously scary person.
The one with Kate Heightmeyer, musing on the refugees they pick up, and how gender biases are totally a function of privelege. Character-piece, introspective.
I want to see Carson and Teyla hang out, in the first season. They're both strangers in a way a lot of the others aren't, Teyla because of the obvious and Carson because he never wanted to come here—everyone else is either military or driven by the urge to discover. not a romance—just a nice little comfort vibe thing. Maybe during a checkup?
Rodney, forced into an immersion situation because you can't see the sacred stone without speaking the sacred language, and he's got to be the one because of his ginormous brain. basically, I want to make Rodney go to language classes. This is my not-very-secret desire. Also, I want to give him ducklings, because Rodney+small children, who love him despite the bitchy=happy me.
Thanksgiving fic! explaining Thanksgiving to Teyla and Ronon, who, seriously, would think that it was just the bestest holiday ever. Yay, teamfic!
The one with Rodney's torrid affair, and the ex sending pictures.
The one that's a songfic, to 'everything I've got', with Cadman and Carson—I'm not yours for better, but for worse.
Something with dancing. This is maybe the one where Rodney gets seduced by random-ass new scientist, and John completely can't deal with it. He can dish it, but he can't take it! Mostly because I really want to have this scene, somewhere:
He made it all the way to Weir's office, not seeing anyone as he went, making lists and reasons, counterarguments and strategies. She was busy when he got there, though, so he waited, flipping a pen on his fingers until she grabbed it out of the air and put it back on her desk, still talking on the radio. Bates was on the other end, something about a sewage backup out on pier 4, and, yes, fine, raw sewage was bad, but couldn't Elizabeth see that what he had to say was way more important? Finally, she clicked off the radio, and he stepped forward, explaining the situation, but she held up her hand and stepped around him.
"Sorry, John, but I really need to get over there—apparently there's an inscription that needs to be translated, and none of Bates' team can figure it out. I'll talk to you later, though, if it's all right?" It wasn't, not at all, this was urgent and critical and needed to be dealt with ASAP, but she was already setting off down the corrider at a jog, so he let her go. He'd just have to deal with the threat himself.
Which was when he realized that he was considering the prospect of Rodney McKay getting laid on a regular basis as a threat to the base; that he was treating Madrin Townsend, five foot two and skinny as a rail, as more dangerous than the Wraith; that he was, in a word, fucked.
Not knowing quite what else to do, he sat down against the wall outside Weir's office. Some of the personnel passing by gave him odd looks, but, he figured, if anyone had heard what he'd been muttering (oh god, muttering) as he'd hurried down the halls, things really couldn't get any worse.
If you want any of these, please, take them. In all probability, I'll never actually write more than a few scenes of each, and I'd love it if they had a home to go to.
So, for some reason, recently my brain has been going overtime, with the planning and the ideas and the plotting of random fic. This, needless to say, is NOT WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING in any way shape or form. I should be studying for finals (eep!), or planning for study abroad, or eating, or sleeping, or any of the other things I tend to not do.
But the ideas, they come. And since the index cards are quick to get unsightly (plus, you know, I kind of need those for making flash cards with), I will put them here.
The Willie Taylor fic—wherein the Athosians sing their traditional songs, one of which is a murder ballad similar to Willie Taylor (wherein the girl's lover is press-ganged, and she goes to find him, and is discovered to be OMG a girl, and is told where she can find her boy, and finds him, but 'walking along with a lady gay,' so she shoots them both, goes back, and is made a ship's commander. rock on, unnamed girl!). And the team, not understanding this, thinks it's a sweet little song, until Teyla translates it. After that, Rodney is totally accepting and calm, and Sheppard's a little creeped out, and Ford is just confused as hell. Unless this actually happens in season 2, in which case Ronon is hungry and oblivious. Or possibly plays a guitar-like instrument, because in my mind Ronon is somewhat musical, when he's not being chased by the Wraith.
the six scary people fic, which is actually half written, but is unfortunately all in my stats notes. Basically, what if they didn't gel as easily as they did? Elizabeth Weir: the ways she is betrayed, and the way she betrays, and the whithertos. (she comes back fucked up and crazy and Simon's all, oh, love of my life, so sorry i'm an asshat, here, let me comfort you, you're away from them all now, and she goes after him with a knife. yeah, I know. My subconscious is a scary place.) This is the story that comes from my realization that, really, everyone in Atlantis has the potential to become a seriously scary person.
The one with Kate Heightmeyer, musing on the refugees they pick up, and how gender biases are totally a function of privelege. Character-piece, introspective.
I want to see Carson and Teyla hang out, in the first season. They're both strangers in a way a lot of the others aren't, Teyla because of the obvious and Carson because he never wanted to come here—everyone else is either military or driven by the urge to discover. not a romance—just a nice little comfort vibe thing. Maybe during a checkup?
Rodney, forced into an immersion situation because you can't see the sacred stone without speaking the sacred language, and he's got to be the one because of his ginormous brain. basically, I want to make Rodney go to language classes. This is my not-very-secret desire. Also, I want to give him ducklings, because Rodney+small children, who love him despite the bitchy=happy me.
Thanksgiving fic! explaining Thanksgiving to Teyla and Ronon, who, seriously, would think that it was just the bestest holiday ever. Yay, teamfic!
The one with Rodney's torrid affair, and the ex sending pictures.
The one that's a songfic, to 'everything I've got', with Cadman and Carson—I'm not yours for better, but for worse.
Something with dancing. This is maybe the one where Rodney gets seduced by random-ass new scientist, and John completely can't deal with it. He can dish it, but he can't take it! Mostly because I really want to have this scene, somewhere:
He made it all the way to Weir's office, not seeing anyone as he went, making lists and reasons, counterarguments and strategies. She was busy when he got there, though, so he waited, flipping a pen on his fingers until she grabbed it out of the air and put it back on her desk, still talking on the radio. Bates was on the other end, something about a sewage backup out on pier 4, and, yes, fine, raw sewage was bad, but couldn't Elizabeth see that what he had to say was way more important? Finally, she clicked off the radio, and he stepped forward, explaining the situation, but she held up her hand and stepped around him.
"Sorry, John, but I really need to get over there—apparently there's an inscription that needs to be translated, and none of Bates' team can figure it out. I'll talk to you later, though, if it's all right?" It wasn't, not at all, this was urgent and critical and needed to be dealt with ASAP, but she was already setting off down the corrider at a jog, so he let her go. He'd just have to deal with the threat himself.
Which was when he realized that he was considering the prospect of Rodney McKay getting laid on a regular basis as a threat to the base; that he was treating Madrin Townsend, five foot two and skinny as a rail, as more dangerous than the Wraith; that he was, in a word, fucked.
Not knowing quite what else to do, he sat down against the wall outside Weir's office. Some of the personnel passing by gave him odd looks, but, he figured, if anyone had heard what he'd been muttering (oh god, muttering) as he'd hurried down the halls, things really couldn't get any worse.
If you want any of these, please, take them. In all probability, I'll never actually write more than a few scenes of each, and I'd love it if they had a home to go to.